Authors: Michelle Slee
“I want to go home,” said Matt, “I need to see my wife and son.”
“I’ll take you home Matt,” said Damien. He turned to Christine and kissed her lightly. “It will be okay I promise,” he whispered to her, “We’ll get through this.”
She nodded. But right now the pain was almost unbearable. She sat on the sofa and watched as Matt and Damien left. Then Mark packed up his things and he and Jim left together, Jim promising to ring her later to see how she was feeling. As the door finally shut Christine buried her head into the cushion and wept. She had never felt so alone in her whole life.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
It’s a cliché to say that life moved on, but it did, somehow.
She saw Matt in work and found that she could endure it. Somehow.
She ran. She threw herself into her running to escape some of the pain at least. Each week she’d pound away on the treadmill, her iPod
blaring in her ears, taking comfort later in the ache of her body and the tiredness that the exercise created. Tiredness meant sleep and she yearned for sleep because when she slept she dreamt.
And oh how she dreamt. In her dreams she saw Teresa, every time. She’d be watching television, playing in the park, eating food, sleeping. All scenes Christine remembered from the life they had shared. Memories that hurt too much to dwell on during the day came rushing back in sleep.
Sometimes Damien would wake her and tell her she’d been crying. She’d feel her cheeks and realise yes he was right, they were damp. Then she’d let him hold her and rock her as if she was now the child. She took refuge in him and he was extraordinarily patient with her. If it hurt him that she missed that other life so much – and it surely must have done - he never let her know. But she could see it sometimes in his face. But he was there for her. He took care of the house as she endeavoured to hold things together in work. He made her meals every night and made sure she ate them. He ran her bath every evening and sat with her patiently as she stared into space and wondered when she would feel normal again.
She heard him speak sometimes to her mother on the phone. Whispered conversations, words she could not quite make out, the general thrust of which she could guess. He was worried. Her mother was worried.
Once she heard the word depression. And it was true, she was depressed. She knew that. She wanted to sleep her days through. When not sleeping she wanted to run or work – to do anything but talk. And she could not see a way through this.
And then one night after Damien had gone to bed she found herself standing by the kitchen drawer, hand lightly clasped on one of the knives. Could she? Would she? She picked it up and touched the blade lightly to her wrist. Why couldn’t she feel normal anymore? Why did everything hurt so much? Memories of the life she had shared with Matt and Teresa continued to torment her, and even though she knew that a version of her was there now, living that life, it offered very little comfort. In fact it just made her jealous, jealous of that other Christine as if she were a love rival.
She put the knife back down. She would not do that to Damien. And she would not do that to her family either. She would go to see Mark, maybe take antidepressants, see if something, anything, could make her feel better and take away the ache in her heart.
The next morning Damien brought her toast and coffee in bed. “Hello my sweet,” he said, smiling at her and kissing the top of her head, “How are you feeling this morning?”
“I’m ok,” she said flatly. She knew she needed to sound more enthusiastic, but it was as if her chest had a tight band around her, constricting not only her breathing but any words that came out.
“I’ve got plans for us today,” said Damien. It was a Saturday. All she had planned was the gym.
“What sort of plans?” she asked him.
“It’s a surprise until we get there,” he said, “But you need to put on good warm trousers, a jacket and walking boots.”
“Okay,” she said.
They drove towards the coast but parked up on a side street, about a mile away. There was a footpath leading down to the bay. They started walking down the path. The sky was blue, cloudless. The bushes swayed softly in the breeze. Birds in trees rustled overhead. After walking for about fifteen minutes Damien grabbed hold of her hand. He held it tightly.
The road turned left. They walked on a few feet but now seemed to be nearing a cliff edge. But suddenly another path opened before them, to the right, leading sharply downwards. They followed the path, stepped through some arched trees into the darkness of the woods, took another left and emerged back into daylight.
The scene was astounding. A bank of pebbles and shingles gave way onto the dark navy blue sea upon which she could see three fishing boats. Further away on rocks sat another couple picnicking. A family of four were also walking on the beach, their dog running ahead of them,
darting now and then into the sea.
They walked around the foot of the cliff to the west. They stumbled over rocks as they went. She reached out to Damien to steady herself. The wind picked up and whipped her hair around her head. For the first time in a long time she felt breathless and excited.
She looked at Damien, smiling. “I’m so glad we came here,” she said to him.
“Me too,” he said, “I knew you’d love it.”
“Yes I do,” she said, looking around at the beautiful bay and up above her to the shining blue sky. She took a deep breath. The air was chilly and salty and wonderful. She felt something, a little something, finally start to spark back to life. She looked at Damien and she smiled. She loved him. They had each other. They were alive. “It’s beautiful,” she said. “Thank you.”
They sat for awhile looking out at the sea. Then it was time to leave. It was almost midday. The sun was shining brightly. A thought of her daughter in another world enjoying this beach came into her mind. She wondered if it was true and hoped that it was. Then she took Damien's hand and together they clambered up the cliff to rejoin the main path at its top and to make their way home.
About the Author
Michelle Slee lives and writes in Swansea. A former researcher into the 1
st
century church in Antioch she now writes about a wide range of topics including her recent marathon row (it was hard!), her training for the London marathon in 2013 (also hard!) and a little known game called World of Warcraft. She is the author of Keeping Azeroth Tidy and is currently working on a book about the Tarot and a fantasy humour novel The Guardian Spirit.
More books from Michelle Slee
Keep Azeroth Tidy
Ever wondered what your favorite World of Warcraft character says to their psychiatrist? Well wonder no more – you've found the World of Warcraft book with the answers. Ever wondered about the Azeroth World of Warcraft Cataclysm news they didn't want you to hear, including the staggering Deathwing confessions and Deathwing's personal Guide to Defeating his Spine. Well this World of Warcraft book is the one for you. Articles, news, revelations – it is all here. Read about the World of Warcraft races as you've never seen them before. Discover World of Warcraft quests that never were but should have been (10 Pandarian World of Warcraft quests that have never seen the light of day in World of Warcraft Mists of Pandaria ...it's an outrage!). And read the truth about World of Warcraft levelling as it's really done (weeping and alone after being booted from a dungeon). You'll even find here the World of Warcraft classic whodunnit The Case of the Bloody Five, the festive Winterveil Christmas Carol, the game changing Healer and Tank contract, Muradin's online dating profile and the truth about the World of Warcraft professions. Life in Azeroth - life in the World of Warcraft - will never be the same again. There are World of Warcraft books and then there is THIS World of Warcraft book. This is the World of Warcraft book for you.
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Questions for the Author?
Email me at
[email protected]
, follow me on Twitter @Bravetank or visit my blog www.bravetank.wordpress.com
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With very best wishes
Michelle