Star crossed

The green cotton gown felt tight around my neck. I couldn’t stand up so pulled at it ineffectively, trying to free a space by my throat. I felt hemmed in, constricted. I looked around the room, it was sparse, clinical, utilitarian. I swung my legs back and fore as I sat on the edge of the single bed, not too fast I thought to myself, I wasn’t up to that yet. I noticed my hands either side of me, bunched up fists pushing into the blue cover on the bed. I lifted my right hand up in front of my eyes, inspected the honeycomb effect the pattern from the blanket had left on my fingers and knuckles, red ridges stared back at me.

I still felt dizzy, realised I was suffering the after-effects of all the medication I had been given, but the medical staff had been able to run their battery of tests.  It felt like alchemy. Waiting to see the results of what could be made, what could be salvaged, what had to go. Or more aptly, what I had to let go of. Hopes, dreams. Not just mine though. Not since I had met Nick.

Silence. That’s what I noticed most, the still quiet. Brooding. Waiting. Someone had left the window open slightly, the garish coloured curtains blew slightly in a limp breeze. The sun was shining through the window, I raised my head, stopped staring at the grey, dull, tiled floor and turned slightly towards the warmth. That’s when I heard the footsteps. Getting closer, determined, methodical steps towards my door. They had my full attention now. Footsteps had fallen in the corridor outside my room all day, but these I felt would not pass me by, these would stop and carry the person into my room. There, the slight, almost imperceptible knock and the turn of the door handle – I still jumped slightly, obviously not as ready as I thought I was.

It felt strange, awkward even, that other people now had control of my life, held my fate in their hands. My future depended on what they could make of me. That felt mysterious, but I felt wrong-footed somehow - I couldn’t follow the normal pattern anymore. I was in for maintenance, to be assessed and perhaps found wanting. I didn’t know the faceless people who worked on my behalf, who fed their findings through to the man who would be standing in front of me now. Maybe this was the best way for them, they didn’t see the fall out, the life altering events their alchemy wrought.  

Nick smiled to himself. She would be wrapped in some exotic mud potion by now no doubt, he was sure of it. An impromptu spa day – an excuse for girly gossip with her friends as they enjoyed a pamper weekend. The bride-to-be and her bridesmaids, a wedding planning get together. Their wedding. Nick felt incredibly lucky to have found his soulmate. She was the defender of the underdog and everyone who needed a second chance. That was why he was at home looking after her, their, two dogs – strays of course. At least they had been until Estelle had rescued them. Had she also rescued him? She had provided purpose in his life, had given meaning to his life. He thought the dogs felt the same way too.

The dogs, Buddy and Marsha, were huddled by the open fire in the living-room. The day had turned damp and wet – the sun had lost its earlier position to the clouds that made the tiny cottage seem so dark. He flicked some switches to get more light into the room and also found himself lighting a candle – Estelle’s influence he realised with a chuckle. A subtle berry aroma began to float in the air.

Buddy, a furry grey and white Bearded Collie, snored loudly. Nick bent down to pat him affectionately, an older dog now he was more single minded than ever, but he still looked like a walking teddy bear. Whereas Marsha was sleek and jet black with accents of brown on her face, a younger dog. Nick watched her sleep silently, curled into the tightest ball he had ever seen. He was always amazed how a Rottweiler could look so little, so small. That was until she stood up. She hadn’t had her tail docked and it curled proudly over her back making her seem even more statuesque. Both dogs had presented themselves as tests he had to pass – not straight away when he had just been the builder hired to repair Estelle’s ancient, leaking conservatory, that’s how they had met. He hadn’t been introduced to the dogs then, not until things got serious between them, not until they had fallen in love with each other.

He knew the dogs accepted him as long as he made Estelle happy, Marsha seemed to whimper in her sleep, but she didn’t wake up, instead she tucked her head further around her body, as a shiver seemed to engulf her whole body. Nick frowned, worried the dog was sickening for something.

‘Not on my watch’, he mumbled out loud.

He looked at the clock, ticking its countdown of the hours and minutes he was missing Estelle - 7pm. She would be sitting at a bar now, sipping a drink with an umbrella in it, laughing at all the ideas her girlfriends had come up with for her hen night.

‘Tell me straight’.

Estelle said the words but didn’t know if she really meant them. That’s what you were supposed to say wasn’t it? And what was she supposed to do? Take it on the chin, deal with it? The two of them had stared silently at each other for too long. Each debating what to say, how to do this. How to draw a line under her life so far, to step from one moment into the next as a different person. The flow of her life not only interrupted but changed forever. She glanced at the clock above the door ticking relentlessly on, forwards, 7pm. She was still sitting on the edge of her bed.

‘Everyone is different Estelle…’, the doctor made his opening gambit. These were the words he had decided would start the next chapter of her life. She grimaced. Maybe they would make a good epitaph. She heard the warmth in his voice however, his low tone, listening as his words trailed off, the silence so evident when he didn’t continue, didn’t want to continue. Perhaps he was wary of giving her false hope, or maybe there was none to give.

‘We both know it’s happening already…there is no time left’, she offered, persistent, pushing him for a reply. Punishing herself. Needing to hear the words, the verdict delivered, the sentence passed.

‘We can talk tomorrow, look at options…’, he countered, wary of being drawn in to spiralling emotions, negative games, self-sabotage or self-abuse.

‘There are no other options, not when I, we...’, she faltered over this correction, angry her tongue had betrayed her, her thoughts proved traitorous as well, bringing pictures of Nick to her mind. She almost couldn’t go on, didn’t want to go on. But she had to, had to take control.

‘Not when the future was to be about leaving something of me, us, behind’, Estelle said. She had delivered the verdict herself.

Her doctor nodded his head, took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. She knew he cared, wanted to talk this through with her. But she was already retreating. Hurt. Angry. She would close down. Perhaps she would run away.

‘Estelle’, he offered again.

But she shook her head.

‘Just let me sleep, I haven’t got anything to say, words will change nothing’.

They stared at each other again, her doctor looked away first. He didn’t think she had really meant that - in his experience words changed everything.

‘I will get the nurse to check on you in a little while’, he said resignedly, before he closed the door behind him.

Estelle felt other doors close too. She didn’t think she would ever open them again. The room suddenly felt colder, the wind roamed around the window looking for a way in – just as she was looking for a way out.

They had got along so well right away Nick remembered. Each of them knew they were emotionally wounded, that the other one had their scars as well. But they laughed at each other’s jokes and clumsy gestures. No matter what they planned it always seemed to go wrong – picnics when a dry spell came to the worst possible end or tables booked for meals in restaurants that meant one or other of them had a last minute crisis and couldn’t make it… But they trusted each other, could see a kindred spirit, a kind heart in the other.  

Nick moved in, Estelle made room for him, and so did the dogs, eventually. He had asked her to marry him on one such rain-soaked picnic, as they sat on a bench in a park using Tupperware lids as make do umbrellas. She had said yes immediately – looking straight into his eyes. Laughing and crying in the rain. It’s the best weather for tears he had always found.  A phone was ringing. His phone. He looked around desperately, spotted it on the coffee stained table at the side of the sofa and quickly lifted it to his ear.

‘Hello’, he answered breathlessly.

‘Nick’.

It was Estelle. His heart missed a beat – it always did at the sound of her voice. How could one person mean so much? How could one person saying your name alter the world for you?

‘How is your drunken weekend going?’, he teased her.

Silence. It was deafening.

‘Estelle?’, he repeated, suddenly anxious, feeling a chill run down his back.  

He glanced over at the fire and silently berated himself for not building it back up again. The dogs stirred and Buddy eyed him accusingly he felt. The whole cottage seemed small, cold and bleak, the usual cosy glow was lost, he felt the walls bearing in on him, he felt pressed upon, compressed. He felt too big for the space allowed him.

‘I’m going to stay another day, take in a show…’, she told him.

‘Oh, I see’, she had caught him off guard, he suddenly felt empty, a sadness lodged in his chest, heavy as any lead weight. Anxiety tightened its grip on his stomach and squeezed mercilessly.

‘I thought you wanted to talk about the wedding and then come home…’, he finished lamely, unsure of himself, of what to say. He hated talking on the phone – it always ended badly. Words seemed to grow in substance and hang heavy in the air if you weren’t careful. At least that was his experience of telephone calls. And words he realised.

‘It’s not all about the wedding, it’s nice for me to have time too’, she snapped.

Nick thought her voice sounded stretched somehow, that while the words implied she knew what she wanted to say, tears were not far away.

‘Ok’, he reassured her. ‘You do what you need to do, I love you. We love you’.

Estelle held the phone to her ear long after she had said goodbye to Nick, his words echoing around her head. Finally, she dropped the phone back into her bag. The window in her room was shut now, the vivid purple and orange curtains were hanging straight and still, closed together they kept out the view of the wet night, but the room still felt cold. She suddenly missed her dogs, missed their accepting, comforting presence. She knew she missed Nick too. But it was too late. They had met too late. Were they ill-fated, star crossed lovers? Cathy and Heathcliff or Romeo and Juliet?

At forty and fifty respectively they thought they could grab a happiness that life had not been keen to let them have before. And now? How could she marry him and take away his hope? She would be tethering him to her fate, to her chance for less, for no more, for worse. No, she had started down her path now. Sown the seeds of doubt in Nick. To quell the ache in her heart she thought of the pity she didn’t want to see in Nick’s eyes. She held her head up, she didn’t need that from him or anyone else. Her own blue eyes flashed with flinty grey accents, her pride stiffening her resolve. Old wounds re-opened, old coping strategies raised their familiar heads and seemed perversely comforting.

She would tell him she had changed her mind. She would say she didn’t love him, never had she realised. Say she had made a mistake – she didn’t need anyone else in her life, it was just her and the dogs, that was how she liked it. She would take the dogs and go on holiday – rent a cottage by a beach, while he packed, while he left, while he unpicked his life from hers. Unhitched it.

Nick resolved he would try everything to find out what was wrong. He had felt uneasy as soon as the call ended. He knew he loved her so much. He knew she was more reserved, had always found it harder to show her emotions – show her love. But he also knew his future was joined with hers, his hopes and dreams revolved around being with her. Nothing else mattered, just them being together. And children. Maybe. Possibly. That was an added aspect to the relationship neither of them had thought they wanted before. Not with the people or circumstances they had in their lives before they had found each other.

A wife for him that had hidden her alcohol addiction better than her debts and affairs. A bitter divorce. Parents for Estelle who had been selfish and cold. She had never married, instead she had cared for and eventually nursed these same elderly parents. Not out of love but a sense of duty. He realised that for both of them children would be the decoration on a cake they already thought of as complete and iced anyway. He just wanted Estelle – she was his everything – and the dogs, they came as a done deal he knew, smiling ruefully.

Estelle checked in to a hotel the next day.

‘Is that ‘Mrs’ Hailstone?’, the receptionist queried, politely. A petite brunette with a wedding band, engagement ring and another thin jewelled band loading down one slim finger on her left hand. She looked impossibly young to be so far along in life, in relationships, and responsibility.

Estelle winced, her thoughts sliding away from her, presenting images of Nick on one knee, a small, diamond ring in his hand.

‘Ms, it’s ‘Ms’ Hailstone’, Estelle spoke slowly, grimly.

She all but snatched the keys from the smiling girl behind the chrome desk which looked more like a space-ship than Estelle thought it had the right to. It was all the small lights set into it, the lumps and bumps echoing a lunar landscape she supposed, her eyes feeling hot and itchy. Heading determinedly for the lift she got to her room just before the tears fell.

She just wanted to ring Nick, to hear his voice as he told her everything would be ok. He always made her feel better, reassured her. No, she couldn’t live a life of regret – or a life where she felt someone regretted being with her. She didn’t need anyone. She and the dogs were happy before he came along. Things would go back to how they had been before she had let him turn her life upside down. She would be back in control. The future she had glimpsed was gone.

The doctor had seen her again that morning, had come to talk to her before she left the hospital.

‘Estelle, please, talk things through with your partner, see how you both feel…’, he had implored her.

But she had cut him off – she knew how Nick felt, what he wanted. He had said it often enough. He wanted a family – so did she. But for her Nick was enough. She just knew he wouldn’t feel the same. She couldn’t make him commit to a relationship with someone who couldn’t give him what he really wanted. It was better this way. Better he felt she had changed – it was her fault after all. She had ruined everything.

For the second time in as many days the ringing phone made Nick jump. He hadn’t gone to bed, instead had stayed downstairs on the lumpy, blue sofa, the two dogs grateful to him for keeping the fire going through the night. He hadn’t slept much, restless thoughts kept him awake as he had stared into the flames.

He grabbed his phone from behind the soft velour cushion he had been using as a pillow. He pushed himself upright, not noticing the jacket he had lazily used as a throw falling to the floor.

‘Hello Nick’.

Estelle. He didn’t know what to say. He had longed to speak to her, to hold her, yet now he was scared. Scared of getting things wrong, making them worse, of ruining everything. The rain seemed to throw itself at the glass in the window frame, angry, wet tracks of despair, denied an entry into the cosy living room. But the dogs had heard their mistresses voice, two canine heads searched the room and two pairs of big brown eyes came to rest on his face – Buddy stared him straight on, Marsha held her head slightly to one side, curious, willing to give him the benefit of the doubt, possibly.

‘Nick, please don’t be angry’, she began.

He would take the dogs out for a walk he thought forlornly. It was just the weather.