‘Grief affects everyone in different ways,’ said Mr Singh from behind the counter. ‘I was a surgeon, I saw a whole spectrum of reactions from indifference to heartbreak. But the person usually negotiates a grieving process. Sadness turns to anger, to disbelief, to depression – these are all natural ways of working towards acceptance. But not everyone travels that long, straight road.’
‘I certainly haven’t,’ said Yvonne, with a hard note of laughter. ‘I’ve had no anger or sadness anyway. It’s just as if Des has popped out to the shops and he’ll be back at any time. I get that . . .’ she patted her chest ‘. . . that anxiety in here while I’m waiting for him to turn up.’ Then she mumbled something else under her breath but no one could quite catch what she said.
‘Maybe the floodgates will open when it’s your anniversary or his birthday, Yvonne,’ suggested Sharon.
‘It was his birthday last Thursday,’ replied Yvonne. ‘We took some flowers up to his grave because our daughter wanted to and I put on a sad face but in all honesty I couldn’t wait to get home to watch Columbo. Now I’ve got the TV all to myself, it’s marvellous.’ And she grinned.
No one made shocked faces. It might have been odd, but even the newcomers felt as if they were in a space where they could say anything about their state without the fear of reproach, or judgement. They were all out of synch with ‘normality’, or ‘cracked up’ as Pete thought to himself.
He opened his mouth to speak then. ‘And I’m Pete, I’m a fireman, well firefighter I’m supposed to say now. I lost my wife a few months ago too. She was pregnant with our first child so it was a double loss for me.’ Little murmurs of sympathy rippled around the room. ‘I’m lucky that I do have friends to talk to, good friends, and I lost my mum three years ago so my dad knows what I’m going through except . . . except I just don’t want to load them with my troubles. So I feel isolated.’ He felt a croak claim his throat and took a quick slurp of coffee to wet it. ‘And they’d be so gutted if they knew I felt like this because they’d want me to turn to them first. But here I am, in a room full of strangers.’ He forced out a smile and it sat precariously on his lips.
‘A stranger is just a friend you don’t know yet,’ said Maurice, sounding very sage-like without being in the slightest bit patronising because it was obvious his heart was in the right place.
‘When are your hardest times?’ asked Mr Singh from behind the counter, in between mouthfuls of red velvet cake.
Laurie and Pete both started to speak at the same time and Pete indicated with his hand that Laurie should go first.
‘There’s no pattern. I can be doing something as simple as ironing a skirt and memories will start to bombard me. I’d understand it more if there was some connection but it comes out of nowhere.’
‘Same for me,’ said Pete. ‘I was fitting a smoke alarm the other day in a pensioner’s house and I started thinking about our honeymoon in the Lakes. I’ve noticed it seems to happen most when I’m doing something mundane. When I have space in my head, thoughts of her jump in. So I try not to have space in my head and end up exhausting myself.’
‘Do you cry?’ Yvonne asked him.
‘Yes, I do,’ said Pete, surprising himself with the ease with which he admitted that. ‘I can control it to an extent, but when I’m alone, I fold.’
‘I wish I could let go,’ said Yvonne. ‘I have to play act the other way, to dab my eyes and put on a sad face in front of the family when I feel nothing. I wish onions weren’t so smelly, I’d have slipped one in a hankie.’
‘When did you go back to work, Pete?’ asked Maurice.
‘I only took six weeks off. I was climbing the walls. I thought it would be the best thing for me and it was . . . in a way. Then . . . something happened on duty recently and I realised that I needed . . . help before I cocked up big time and endangered people. I hadn’t done quite as good a job as I thought I had about convincing everyone I was okay. This club came recommended to me by someone whose opinion I wouldn’t discount lightly. I didn’t want to sit in a counsellor’s office and do that one-to-one thing on a fifty-minute timer, if you know what I mean.’
‘I do,’ said Laurie. ‘I didn’t really want to admit that I needed help either. I’ve always been so . . . together, so capable. But I had no time to adjust. One minute my life was fine, the next – everything had changed.’ She smiled empathetically at Pete. It was so liberating to find like-minded people; she didn’t feel as unhinged as she had only an hour ago.
‘More coffee, anyone?’ called Mr Singh and Sharon jumped up, taking Maurice’s cup for a refill without him needing to ask. These small considerations were weighty for someone like Maurice who hadn’t experienced many of them, Molly knew.
‘I don’t know what’s worse, a lingering illness like my mother had or being cut down – whoosh – like a plant,’ said Maurice, with a chopping motion. ‘I hated seeing her suffering but she had the chance to do all the things she’d wanted to do for ages, like go back to Morecambe where she met my dad and she’d always wanted to see the Eiffel tower so we took the Eurostar to Paris and went right to the top and had a glass of champagne. It was wonderful. Do you know, my mother never told me once that she loved me until two nights before she passed. She wasn’t that sort of woman, one who did affection, but it’s helped me a lot that she didn’t leave me before doing that. I think it’s all I ever wanted, to hear her say those three words.’ His voice faltered and Yvonne leaned over and gave his arm a squeeze.
Laurie felt a hard lump of emotion clog up her throat. The poor man. She wouldn’t have wanted to see Alex suffer but being taken so suddenly and violently had left so much undone and unsaid. Unlike Maurice she hadn’t had the chance to say things she wanted to say. Or to ask the questions which now plagued both her waking hours and her dreams. Fate had stolen the time she needed to mend what was wrong. Now it would always be broken.
‘Mother was in such pain at the end,’ Maurice went on, shaking his head slowly from side to side. ‘I wish I could have taken her to the vets and have her put down like you did with your Billy, Sharon. Just an injection and let her drift off into her forever sleep, save her all that distress. I thought about putting a cushion over her face one night. It would all have been done in a minute.’ He held his hands up. ‘Then I’d have had to end it myself because I couldn’t live knowing I’d murdered my own mother. But I couldn’t have left Whistle with no one to look after him—’
Fearing that he was getting himself in too dark a hole, Molly butted in.
‘But, dear Maurice, you were a wonderful and dutiful son and could have done no more. And your mother is at peace now and it’s time for you to live a life for yourself.’ Life is meant for living was one of Molly’s dear husband’s phrases. He had made her promise to squeeze all the juice out of it – for both of them.
‘I went to the pictures by myself on Saturday,’ said Maurice. ‘I wanted to see that new Star Wars film in 3D but I had no one to go with and so I said to myself “Maurice, go alone.” So I did. And it wasn’t half the ordeal I thought it would be.’