Didn’t you hear me?

Janet Baldey
 

The heavy oak doors burst open and Leo fled down the curved white steps.  Without hesitation, he heeled to the left and strode down the street.  His mouth was raked into a thin line and furrows scarred his face.  There was just one thought in his mind, he had to get away from the grey faced men and their grey voices and away from the few friends who’d attended the hearing, knowing he couldn’t stomach their clumsy shoulder-pats and embarrassed sympathy.  His anger, simmering just below the surface ever since it happened, flared, and became white-hot.  How could she have done this to him?  He’d reached his car by now and stood thumping its roof with fury.

         At last, feeling dead inside, he got into the car.  For a long time, he sat, watching skeletal trees bowing under a freshening breeze. Slowly, he reached out his hand and switched on the ignition.  Immediately, the husky voice of his wife’s favourite singer, flooded the car.   His hand shot towards the ‘off’ switch but the damage had been done and his shoulders heaved as he lowered his head onto the steering wheel.

         “Why, Catherine. Why?”

         It was almost dark by the time he recovered.  He knew he couldn’t return to an empty house, so he headed in the opposite direction, threading his way through the evening rush hour, out of the city and onto the coast road.

         When he reached the boatyard, it was almost midnight.  Leo parked the car and stood looking out over the moorings.  The wind was blowing hard now, sending tattered clouds scudding over the moon.  All around him, he could hear the slap of the waves, the clinking of halyards and the creak of vessels being buffeted by the rolling swell.  He drew in a breath of salt-laden air and, despite everything, felt himself relax.  He’d always loved this place.  He’d bought Catherine a yacht, just after they’d lost their third child, thinking it might take her mind off her grief.  After, they had spent almost every weekend sailing.  The rougher the sea, the better Catherine liked it.  On his work desk, he kept a picture of her at the tiller.  Her hair was streaming in the wind and her face was beaded with spray.  He never tired of looking at it, when things were tough, it gave him strength.

         Suddenly, the words of her favourite song reverberated in his head….Didn’t I tell you, I’ll love you forever?  Didn’t you hear me?

         They were very young when they first met but he’d known, almost at first sight, that she was the one.  He remembered walking into the church youth club, intent on having a game of table tennis and a laugh with his mates. Then, he caught sight of a small, serious-faced girl with a cloud of black hair and big brown eyes.  She reminded him of a faun, so small, so dark, so silent.  He found himself wanting to protect her.  He squeezed his eyes shut and a fresh wave of guilt washed over him.  He’d meant to do his best but at the very time she’d needed him most, he’d failed her.

         At first, they were happy just to be together.  He remembered one sun-kissed afternoon when they’d ran along the sands at Rye, her slim, brown legs struggling to keep up with his and her protesting squeals as he brushed sand from her hair after they’d made love in the dunes.  She’d been so joyful then, her future stretched out before her, golden with promise like the sands they raced along.

         All Catherine had wanted from their marriage was to be a wife and mother.  She was not interested in a career; “a real home bird” his mother had called her.  But that was before; after losing three babies in a row, they’d started the soul-destroying round of specialist consultations.  With every visit, hope leached away and her happiness faded.  At first, he’d been supportive but as he became more and more caught up in his career, its distractions followed him home and he failed to notice how pale she was becoming.   All she wanted was to hold her baby; that was her tragedy and it was also his that he never fully realised how deep her longing was.  She sank into depression, her spirit languished and she spent long hours sitting alone in silence.  Then, the attacks of vertigo and dizziness began.  At first, their GP put it down to ‘nerves’ and offered antidepressants and it was only when she collapsed that she was taken seriously.  When MS was finally diagnosed, Leo was shocked into realising how far she had degenerated.  At long last, a surge of tenderness welled and he’d folded her slight figure in his arms. 

         “Don’t worry darling.  I’ll always be here to look after you,” he’d said.

         Didn’t you hear me?  Evidently, she hadn’t.  He’d come back from work one day, opened the front door and immediately felt the emptiness.  Pounding up the stairs, he burst into their bedroom only to find her limp body prostrate on the bed, her dark hair a curtain covering her face and an empty bottle of pills upended on the floor.

         Leo knew he couldn’t live without her.  Moving slowly, he raised the sail, heard the snap of the canvas as the wind took it and saw it billowing ghostly in the moonlight.  He nodded, bad weather was forecast and that would suit his purpose.  He cast off from the jetty and hauled on the tiller.  Without bothering to switch on his navigation lights, he set off and as he did, the first squall of icy rain slapped him full in the face.

Copyright Janet Baldey