‘So you bought a chipped vase because of BB?’
‘No, silly! I bought it for her. It’s a present.’
‘You’re going to post that thing?’
‘I’ll make sure it’s wrapped well. In fact, I think I’ve got some ribbon somewhere which would look just perfect with it.’
Luke thought about the conversation now. It had been just a week before the train crash and, as far as he knew, Helen hadn’t posted the gift to BB.
He left the bedroom, knowing that he had to find the vase. Their home only had two small bedrooms and the second housed a single bed for guests and what they called their overflow wardrobe. There was also a tiny chest of drawers in there. It was the only place Helen could have put the vase, Luke thought.
Sure enough, as he entered the room, he saw it. He walked towards it, picking it up carefully in his large builder’s hands, knowing that the last hands to have held it would have been Helen’s. He hadn’t really shown any interest in the piece before, but he did now. This beautiful, imperfect vase had been a gift his wife had bought for BB. He put the vase down and saw that there was a box on the bed and the large piece of bubble wrap that the vase had been placed in when she’d bought it. There was a piece of sky-blue ribbon too. It was just like Helen to make this gift as beautiful as possible, he thought.
He sat down on the bed and was just moving the box out of the way when he saw there was a card inside. Picking it up, he saw Helen’s handwriting and his eyes misted with tears. She had such pretty writing and had always written their Christmas cards, and all of his family’s birthday cards too, because Luke’s own writing was so awful. Seeing her writing again now, he remembered how she’d once laughed as he’d attempted to write out a thank you letter to his mother.
‘Let me!’ she’d said, taking the notepad away from him. ‘It looks as if a spider’s dipped its legs in ink and crawled all over the page when you write!’
He smiled as he heard her voice again and then he read the words she’d written to BB.
I wanted to send you something to thank you for all the kindness you’ve shown in encouraging me in my photography. You’ve made such a difference to my confidence. I feel so much braver in the decisions I make now in taking pictures and in sharing them with the world. I realise that I’ve only been living half my life up until now.
Luke read the phrase again, feeling increasingly disconcerted. Half my life. Is that how Helen had really felt? How had he not known that Helen was unhappy? Had he been so wrapped up in his own little happy world, building his business and going about his day-to-day activities, that he hadn’t seen her dissatisfaction?
He read on.
I only wish there was something I could do to help you as you have helped me. Helen. x
Tears blurred his vision and he felt that awful sick emptiness in his stomach. He knew what was coming and there was nothing he could do about it. So he gave into it, his body doubling over as he cried, the world shrinking around him so that nothing existed but his all-consuming grief.
He wasn’t sure how long he sat there for, the sobs wracking his body, but he felt strangely calm afterwards, sitting there on the edge of the bed in the spare room. He picked up Helen’s letter again, able to look at it now without breaking down. How like Helen it had been to want to try and help somebody. But how had she wanted to help BB? What help had she needed? Or what help did she still need?
Luke put the card down, feeling sad that it would never be sent and that BB would never see the beautiful gift Helen had chosen for her or receive the help that Helen wanted to give.
Later that day, Luke wandered through to the kitchen, acutely aware that another evening was about to descend. Another evening when Helen wouldn’t be arriving home. He made himself some tea, which consisted of toast and a chunk of rather tough cheese. But it was good enough for him; he wouldn’t taste it anyway. He put the radio on for a bit, welcoming the inane chatter of another human voice and then switching it off when it began to grate on him.
And then the phone rang.
He sighed, getting up to answer it.
‘Hi, Mum,’ he said, knowing it was her without even looking at the caller ID. She always rang the landline because she didn’t trust mobiles. He shook his head. ‘You really don’t need to ring me every day.’
‘Well, of course I do. I need to know you’re all right.’
‘I’m fine.’
‘Are you eating?’
‘I’ve just had tea.’ He raked a hand through his hair. Every night, it was the same questions.
‘What did you have?’
‘Mum!’
‘Because you’ve got to look after yourself.’
‘I am.’
‘But you’re not always answering the phone, are you?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean, I had your Aunt Petra on the phone. She called you last night. Several times, she said.’
Luke took a deep breath. ‘I must have been asleep,’ he lied, remembering the barrage of calls that had assaulted him all evening. He’d pulled the phone cable out of the wall after the third call, but he wasn’t going to tell his mum that.
‘Well, she sends her love.’
‘Send her mine,’ Luke said, ‘and tell her she doesn’t need to call again. Please.’
He heard his mother sighing. ‘Shall I come and stay for a while?’
‘God, no!’ Luke cried. ‘I mean, you don’t need to, Mum. It’s a long way.’
‘We
