The other phone.

The nurses were changing shifts when I eventually got there, but I made sure to thank each of them personally before I went in to see him. They had been lovely and were genuinely sorry that I hadn’t been with him when he died. They tried to make me feel better by saying how difficult it is finding a parking space at that time of day. 

I was more concerned that I wasn’t crying, and how that might look to them. I’m not a great one for showing my emotions and I know I can sometimes come over a bit cold. My mother always used to say, 

‘Hey, you, cold fish, show a bit of sensitivity’. 

The curtains were drawn around his bed and I could still hear the comings and goings of normal hospital life outside the room. He looked like he was asleep. And if I’m honest I didn’t feel anything. And I didn’t know how long I was expected to stay there. Is there a set amount of time that you should spend looking at your dead spouse?

I was later led to a dimly lit office that they called the Bereavement suite, where a young nurse spoke in a hushed voice, of the various organisations that might be useful, to help me through this difficult time. While she spoke, I sifted through the carrier bag of his belongings. There weren’t many; clothes, shoes, watch, wallet. A posh pen that one of the kids had given him a couple of Christmases’ ago, a puzzle book and two mobile phones. I recognised one of them, a small, simple thing that he’d bought last year, when he’d gone to pick up a slow cooker that I’d reserved at Argos. The other phone was larger, with a big screen front that looked all singing and dancing. That wasn’t him. He wouldn’t thank you for something like that. I stopped the nurse mid sentence and said... 

‘Excuse me, love, this is somebody else’s’. 

‘Oh’, 

she says, 

‘really? I’m sorry about that. It must have been gathered up with his things by mistake’. 

‘He isn’t - I mean, he wasn’t, very technical’,

I said, 

‘He would never have a fancy one like this’. 

‘It’s ok, don’t worry, I’ll sort it’,

she said.

So I handed it over to her. That was ten days ago. 

Then, yesterday, I’m vacuuming through, because the kids were coming round and I said I’d do a nice roast and get some juice in for the little ones, and I’m just doing the hall, when this Jiffy bag lands on the doormat. When I opened it this fancy phone comes tumbling out wrapped in a ‘with compliments’ slip from the hospital. I didn’t really know what to do with it, so I just left it on the sideboard and put the Jiffy bag out for recycling. But of course, our Tony loves his gadgets. So as soon as he gets here, he sees it straight away and he wants to know what I’m doing with a jazzy thing like that? 

‘It’s not mine, dafty’, 

I said. 

‘It belongs to some poor fella who was in with your dad. They’ve sent it to me by mistake’. 

‘it’s one of the latest models, top of the range’, 

Our Tony says.

I said for him to put it down and lay out the knives and forks, while I make sure the gravy doesn’t boil over. 

Anyway, later, after we’d eaten our mains, I’m dividing up an apple strudel in the kitchen, and Tony comes in. And I can see that he’s got this phone again, and I’m trying to divide this strudel up into five pieces - the little ones just wanted ice cream – and he says, 

‘Mum?’

He says, all curious like. And I look up at him, and I know what he’s going to say, but I don’t want to hear it, not now. And his face has got this surprised look on it. 

‘This is dad’s phone’, 

he whispers. And I’m focussing on this strudel and I’m not minding if my piece isn't as big as the rest because I knew he was going to say this, and I’m not feeling like any strudel anymore now. I’m just doing my best to not let him see my face. 

‘Who is this, with dad?’

 He says. And he holds the phone out in front of me. and I look, but I can’t see properly through the tears. But I didn’t need to see, because I sort of knew. 

‘Are you all right mum?’, 

Tony says.

And I mumble something about having been peeling onions. 

‘But we’ve not had any onions mum’, 

he says. 

‘What d’you mean, we’ve not had any onions? What d’you think that was up the chickens bum?’ 

 And we both laugh, and he looks at my face and he sees my eyes and he’s sensitive is our Tony - he always has been - so he puts his arms around me and he holds me close and tight, the way I used to hold him when he was little. And I say, ‘right, big boy, let me get on with this pudding and you go and see if those kiddies are all right for drinks.’

And as I start to pull away from him, he stops me and looks me full in the face. Then he kisses me on the cheek and goes back into the dining room and it wasn’t mentioned again. And we had a really nice afternoon, with the little ones running around and the kids telling funny stories about their dad, and all of their tears were happy tears. 

Then, last night when they’d all gone home I’m straightening around and I’m folding the tablecloth to put it back into the drawer and I see this phone again, where Tony had left it, and I pick it up, intending to put it away in the drawer under the tablecloth. But I didn’t, I took it over to the sofa and sat down. I didn’t know what I was going to do with it. I just looked at it at first. Then I lifted it up to my face… and I could smell his smell on it. I could smell him on it. 

Tony had switched it off, so I pressed at the buttons on the side until the screen lit up. My stomach was churning and doing somersaults while I waited for it to come on. Then… 

There they were, arms around each other, cheek to cheek and smiling. I wanted to throw the phone across the room. But I didn’t. I was shaking. I looked again and the screen had gone dark, so I pressed a button on the side, and it lit up again… She was younger and prettier than me and they looked… happy.

I touched the screen again and lots of little icons appeared. One of them was photos. My hand shook as I held my finger out to press on it, and almost immediately the screen filled with pictures of the two of them. Some of just him and some of her, but all smiling. I felt sick rise in my throat, and I wanted to jump up off the sofa and run to the bathroom. But my fingers were moving to another icon; messages. There was only one name in there, Melanie. And their last messages were at 2-45 on that day, ten days ago. Fifteen minutes before he died… While I was trying to park the bloody car.

‘I will be incomplete without you, my darling’, 

Her message said. 

‘Your name will sit on my final breath’, 

he replied.

And then the tears came again. This time they were thick and fast. I sobbed and I sobbed. I got up and went into the kitchen, I don’t know what for and I ran the hot tap. I don’t know why, because there was no dishes that needed doing. And I just stood there, steam from the water gliding up into my face. And then something came over me. I went back into the living room and picked up the phone again. And after a bit of fiddling around with the buttons I managed to get to where I was before, in their messages. 

My finger hovered over her number, and before I knew it… I was calling her! Every ring echoed in my head. She wasn’t answering, of course she wasn’t, why would she? Then The ringing stopped and there was silence... But then, I could hear her, she was trying not to cry, but the sobs were still coming out. And they came in great heaves. Great big heaves of grief. And I cried with her. I cried and I cried, and I cried. 

And without any words. Without saying anything, we both grieved for him together.