“We all have bad days,” he says after a while. “It’s just life. Someone once told me that the trick is to let it happen. We can’t control them anymore than we can control the good days. They’ll come, but they won’t last forever. They’re just a blip on the radar, that’s all.”
I don’t dare look at him because I’m just barely hanging on. I’m sure he knows that. I’m sure he can hear my heart thundering and he can see my cheeks, on fire with the effort it’s taking to keep myself still. One false move, one foot wrong, and I will disintegrate into a thousand pieces. Regardless, my mind is not still. My mind is like a whirling dervish.
“I’m hungry,” he says, out of the blue. “Are you hungry? I’ll get us something to eat.”
I want to say no, I’m not hungry. In fact, I feel sick. But he’s already digging around in one of the boxes outside his tent, and in any case, it feels very much like a rhetorical question because he didn’t even wait for an answer. Geezer comes over to sit down beside me, leaning against my leg, and I reach down to rub his ears. Luke looks up and sees us, flashing a crooked smile.
“He really has taken a shine to you. He must sense that you’re a dog person.”
“I’m not… a dog person, that is. I’ve never really had much to do with dogs.”
He falls back on his haunches and raises his eyebrows.
“Really? Not even as a kid?”
I shake my head.
“No, not even then.”
Grandad was allergic, but I don’t tell him that. That’s a conversation starter and I’m not ready for one of those. I sink my hand into the long fur on the back of Geezer’s neck, and he nuzzles further into my leg. My heart has stopped racing and I don’t feel so dizzy anymore. When I see that Luke has whipped us up a sandwich each, I even begin to feel pangs of hunger. I haven’t had anything to eat today, and my stomach has chosen now to remind me.
He walks back over to the makeshift bench and hands me a sandwich, then settles down beside me again.
“Sorry,” he says, as I take a quick look inside, spying what looks like tuna. “It’s not much, but it’ll fill a hole. I need to go grocery shopping. I’m out of the good stuff.”
“The good stuff?”
“Yeah, y’know – the good stuff, the crème of the crop, the stuff you’d serve to a guest. Kinda like the dinner you served up on Friday night. The good stuff.”
Suddenly, I feel guilty. He’s sharing the last of his meagre rations with me, even after the way I reacted this morning.
“It wasn’t anything special,” I mumble. “Honest.”
“It might not have seemed like much to you, but to me that was a goddamn feast – excuse my language. I still dream about it, nearly a week later.”
He grins at me, and I can’t help but smile back. He seems so relaxed, even though he’s living in a tent, working from sunrise to sunset, with little to show for it and a dog for company. I’m jealous. I wish I could be that content. Instead, it feels like I’m living on a knife-edge.
“I hope you like tuna?” he says, his smile fading.
“I do.”
“Thank God.”
We eat our sandwiches in silence, and Luke gives Geezer his crusts. It’s surprisingly good. I can’t remember the last time I ate tuna. James wasn’t a fan, so I stopped buying it.
Out of nowhere, that sinking feeling crawls up on me, stealing my appetite.
“Something wrong?”
I look up at him before I can hide the sadness. This is a mistake.
“What is it?”
Again, the words won’t come. I try to be angry, I try to summon that shit up from inside my soul, because the anger is easier to deal with than the pain. I try to swear and curse at James in my head, for spoiling what should’ve been a nice reprieve from all of that, but I can’t. The pain is too swift, too intense.
“Sian? What’s wrong?”
He’s just staring at me, those eyes cutting through me until I can’t see him anymore through the tears. The next thing I know, I’m running through the trees, across the lawn and clambering up the steps into the cottage, my beer and half a sandwich still in my hands.
***
Tuna. Bloody tuna. What next? Anger simmers on the outskirts, but it’s grief that inhabits my core. Sitting on the floor in the living room, the wall at my back, I can’t move. I’m paralysed by my memories of the past, and by my fears for the future. My present is frozen.
Licking.
Something is licking my fingers.
Through the haze I look down, and find Geezer lying right beside me. I have no idea how long he’s been there. My bottle of beer is lying by the door, a puddle of amber surrounding it. My sandwich is gone. I am gone, or that’s how it feels. I’m lost in that in-between land, the one between fantasy and reality, the one that straddles the line between everything I was and everything I am. I don’t even know if I’m really here.
“Hey.”
I look up slowly, through the haze that I’m struggling to breathe through. Luke is standing on the other side of the white curtain. He fills the space in a way that is both threatening and comforting. I want to squint, I want to pretend that he’s James, but I don’t have the energy right now.
“I wondered where you got to,” he says, pushing the curtain aside and sitting down beside Geezer and I, his back to the wall.
I’m not sure if he’s talking to me or the dog. I’m not sure I care. Everything feels like it’s falling apart but I’m too exhausted to stop it. I’m too tired of hurting to pretend that I’m not. I hang my head, because the effort of holding it up is too much. I wait for Luke to ask me something, to start digging. In a way I welcome it, because if ever there was a time to cut me open, it’s now. I won’t even feel it.
His hand sinks into Geezer’s fur, stroking it gently. He doesn’t speak, he doesn’t dig, he just strokes, slowly and evenly. Watching him has a soothing effect. It’s mesmerising, hypnotising even. My mind stops working. My heart slows, my eyelids get heavy. The sun is so bright, it hurts my eyes...
***
When I wake up on the couch, it takes a moment to remember where I am. Then, slowly, the pieces begin to fall together. I must’ve fallen asleep. It’s almost dark outside but the door is still open and the breeze is cool, even though my head feels like it’s on fire. The curtains twitch gently, this way and that. My body aches like I’ve just run a marathon.
I spy movement out of the corner of my eye and look down to see Geezer lying on the floor beside the couch, comfortable and content.
Geezer.
Luke.
I look around, but I can’t see him anywhere. Did he go home? I can’t explain why, but I know he’s here, somewhere. I can feel it. My sanctuary is not empty. I’m not alone.
“Hey.” I look up and he’s standing at the French doors, holding the white curtains open. “You’re awake.”
Has he been here this whole time? It must’ve been hours.
“Yeah,” he says, walking in and perching on the armchair across from me, his lanky frame swallowing the chair.
“What?”
“I’ve been here since you fell asleep.”
“How did you –“
“It’s written all over your face,” he smiles, a smaller version of that slightly crooked grin I’ve only seen a couple of times.
He can read my face? God, that’s frightening. How much has he seen? I wipe the sleep out of my eyes and ease myself up into a sitting position on the couch.
“I’m sorry,” I mumble, because I don’t want to encourage him to tell me how much he has seen in my face. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”
The smile fades, but he doesn’t take his eyes off me. I wish he would. I try to school my features into a mask that gives nothing away, but I have no idea how successful I am.
“Don’t be sorry. You were obviously exhausted. I know how that is.”
He didn’t look like he would. Compared to how I felt, he was the Energiser bunny.
“You didn’t have to stay,” I say.
The fact that he did makes me feel uncomfortably comfortable.
“It didn’t feel right just to leave you.”
I look around the room to escape his probing gaze. I remember sitting with my back to the wall, Geezer between us. But I woke up on the couch.
“I carried you over to the couch,” he says. “I was worried you were gonna hurt your neck, the way you were sleeping.”
God. He really can read my thoughts.
“You don’t have to –”
I stand up, but as soon as I do, my head swims. I can feel the air around me shudder, and my vision shifts, darkening at the edges.
“Whoa,” he says, his arm around me in a heartbeat, holding me upright. “Just take a minute. Sit down.”
I have no choice as he lowers me down on the couch again, gently pushing my head forward until it’s almost between my knees.
“Breathe slowly.”
My heart races, but I do as I’m told because I’m incapable of doing anything else. A few moments later my vision clears, and I carefully sat upright again, breathing heavily. That hasn’t happened for a long time, and it scares me.
“Have you had anything to eat or drink today?”
I dig through the haziness and nod.
“Anything apart from the beer and sandwich, I mean?”
Coffee? Yes, I poured it. But did I drink it? I can’t remember. Breakfast? I can’t remember. Everything is fuzzy. I shake my head.
“That explains it,” he says. “I’ll get you something to drink, and something to eat. Don’t move from this couch. Are we clear?”
“I don’t need –“
“Yeah, you do. You’re dehydrated, at the least. You need to drink, and you need to eat. Put it this way – I’m not leaving till I see you’ve done both, so just relax. I know my way around a kitchen.”
Somewhere deep inside, I’m grateful. I don’t have to think anymore. I can just sit here. I open my mouth to thank him, but he’s already up and in the kitchen. I can hear him opening the fridge and cupboards and drawers.
Soon, he comes back with my water bottle from the fridge. As if I’m a child who can’t be trusted, he opens it and hands it to me, watching as I take a swig.
“One sip – a decent one – every couple of minutes. Got that?”
“Okay.”
It feels like he’s done this before. He disappears back into the kitchen and Geezer shifts at my feet, sighing. There’s something about Luke’s manner that surprises me. He always gives me the impression of being easy-going, but tonight it’s pretty clear he’s confident about taking charge as well. I’m not used to that. I’ve been on my own so long, drowning, sinking, that I forgot how nice it was not to have to do everything, to not have to make every single decision.
“Sip,” Luke calls out, from the kitchen.
Obediently, I sip. After a few minutes, he comes back with a plate. On it, a couple of slices of cheese, an apple he’s cut into wedges, a few squares of chocolate and a sandwich, cut in half.
“Here you go,” he says, handing me the plate.
He flips on the lamp in the corner, flooding the room with light, and I wince.
“Sorry. Thought it might help if you saw what you were eating. It’s not how much you eat, it’s what you eat. Little, and often. Just nibble and sip, and you’ll feel better, trust me.”
I do trust him, which is weird, because it’s not something I remember making a logical, informed decision about. Maybe it’s his manner.
I pick up a wedge of apple and nibble on it. It’s sweet, and juicy, and even though I don’t feel hungry, it tastes good.
“Thank you.”
He sinks down into the armchair again, leaning back against the overstuffed cushion.
“You’re welcome.”
Geezer is sitting beside me now, looking attentively at my plate. I break a small piece of sandwich off and feed it to him.
“Hey, come on,” Luke says, sitting forward. “That’s for you, not for him.”
“I have some of those dog biscuits he likes. Can he have some?”
“You bought him food?”
He looks confused.
“Well, yeah. Is that okay?”
“I’m pretty sure he’s not going to complain,” he smiles, shaking his head as he gets up. “Where can I find them?”
I can’t remember. I can’t remember where I put them. I remember buying them, but I don’t remember where I put them after that. I can feel the panic welling up, even over something as simple as dog biscuits. Another memory gone. What’s next?
“It’s okay, I’ll look,” he says, disappearing into the kitchen, Geezer at his heels as if he can sense the impending treat. Cupboards open and close, and I can hear him talking to Geezer.
“Ah,” he says, a few moments later. “Got them. Cupboard under the sink.”
“Have you eaten?” I ask, trying to cover up the fact that I don’t remember putting them there. “You should make something for yourself while you’re there.”
It’s the least I can do, although I feel ridiculous telling him to help himself to a snack in my own kitchen. Nanna would turn in her grave.
“Don’t worry about me. You’re the one who needs to get some food and water on board. Nibble and sip, remember? I’m fine. I’ll grab something when I go back.”
I get an inexplicable pang in my chest when I think about being left alone again. It’s going to be a long night.
“Please? I’d feel better if you ate something, too.”
He’s hung around all afternoon, put up with my mood swings and now he’s playing nursemaid. The least I can do is give him food.
There is silence for several moments, but then I hear him in the cupboards and the fridge, and he comes out with a plate looking very much like mine.
“No,” I say, waving at him. “I mean real food – proper food. Anything you like. There’s steak in the fridge, and –”
“This is fine,” he says. “In fact, this is great. I haven’t had cheese in forever, because I don’t really have a fridge, just a box I put into the water to keep the stuff inside cool. Cheese is a luxury item right now. And I just felt like a sandwich, so this is perfect. Really.”
I’m sure he’s just trying to make me feel better, but he smiles and digs into his sandwich.
“Nibble and sip,” he says, between bites.
It was late when Luke and Geezer left last night. The cottage felt so empty. They took all the life with them, leaving me with the ghosts I was familiar with. Luke made sure I had eaten everything on my plate, and the water was finished and refilled for me to take to bed. I lay on my bed staring up at the moon through the open window, sifting through the day.