A memory of bliss

Sitting across from the benchtop, I can see my friend, her energy reminding me of fonder years.

I can see her family photo hovering over her head like a halo, a picture by the fence. With her spouse, they had long, flowing manes woven of gold, a handsome pair, young and free without a care in the world. Memories of sunshine and delight that felt as real then as it does now. It was heavenly, was being the very special word.

She rushes from washing a tomato to wringing her hands in the tea-towel, moving with the excitable energy of youth. She is humming to herself, the upbeat tune of a hip-hop song, whilst she spins and turns with the wind that pushes through the blinds. I didn’t want to break this perfect illusion; it would break her.

My eyes fill with tears, my breath catches in my throat.

Determined not to show weakness or give anything away, I look down minding the taste of the coffee in front of me. Tapping my spoon on the edge of the cup, swirling around the cream until it dissipates. The small biscuit untouched, and the napkin unmarked.

She hooks onto my down-trodden look immediately, “Jane, my Jane, what’s wrong?”

“Look, Holly, look I just want to discuss something with you. Do you know what Darold is up to?”

At the word Darold, I can feel it shift, her eyes, lips and nose shifting as she balances humor and something else that is unreadable, “Yes, absolutely, he is at work with those cheeky devils.”

I hesitate, counting the pimples dotting the top of my knee. The coffee turning into ash, bitter and repulsive, how do I reply? How can I reply?

I want to laugh, to show an innocent smile. But it would be the sweetest tasting poison, I can’t do it to her. I’ve sworn to be honest, and now I must keep that promise.

Finally, I respond with laughter, but it feels like it’s being pulled out of my lungs, “Yes, yes, he is the chief amongst them.”

As we sit there laughing at the joke, I continue, “Yes, the kids, his colleagues, they all love him.”

Holly nods, “That they do. It’s just a shame he isn’t around so often during worknights.”

“Yes,” I whisper, “it is. That is to be expected with his commitments.”

Holly walks over to the kitchen table, with the ingredients in hand. She runs her hand down the chopping board, throwing finely chopped onion into the bowl, where the lettuce and tomato are resting with the dressing.

I get up to join her, as she brushes off her hands.

Her knife hovers over the onion, her eyes focusing on it intensely.

As if she was weighing up her own doubts, with each click of the knife as it meets the board.

I hesitate to ask, feeling anxiety wash over my shoulders, “How are things now?”

Washing it over, she continues in that light-hearted tone, her voice perky and confident. She looks down slightly, “He’s still out late, but he’s promised that he will be free when the holidays roll around, we have a lot of plans.”

My eyebrows knit together, “He had a chat with Arthur I assume.”

“Yeah, but where we’re going to.”

“Yes, he’s been getting help from Janet. Helping with the computers, making sure that everything is running smoothly.”

Her voice catches suddenly, “Yeah.”

I turn towards Jane, trying to keep my voice level. Thought it is trembling more and more with each passing word that passes through my lips, “Jane. You know that Darold has been busy lately, why do you think that is?”

“No, no, stop Holly! You, you’ve been!”

“No, I haven’t, Jane, I would never….”

“I can’t believe you. How could you do this to me?”

She goes to grab the bowl, as if wanting to tear the ingredients away.

I hold her tight, as she cries, it disappears into the sink.

“Holly, please, I’m not saying that.”

I can sense it, that cornered desperation, hungry and ravenous for answers.

“I’m here for you, Holly, I always will be.”

Something inside her breaks. I can almost feel the crack, as if the glasses that they clinked together during their marriage broke and the memories of that happy day fade into her sadness.

Those days on the beach, that golden horizon where the memories were written into stone.

Holly looks at those photos as if they were there to taunt her, to mock that previous gem she held onto with all her heart. She is drawn inwards, like a small chick trying to hide away from lightening that is tearing through the sky. I close in folding my arms around her. I have her in my arms, this sparkle of light that gave so much to me, her tears run down my shoulder.

“I’m here for you, Holly, I always will be.” I repeat this to her, over and over until she relaxes into my arms. Slowly, she looks up into my eyes, “Why, why would he do this to me?”

“He didn’t mean to; he was always yours. That will never change.”

We sit there in silence for a while, watching the afternoon drift into the night, where thousands of stars shine their truth upon us. I let her go as gently as I can, like she was something precious to me, too valuable, too honest. Something that I need to hold onto as long as I can, the words drift away from me, until I can hear her cries, soft and vulnerable.

I sing to her gently, as we used to in the past.

She closes her eyes and listens, as my words rise and fall upon our shoulders like a fierce winter.

Yet here we are in each other’s arms, fighting against it.

Holding onto her, I raise her up to her feet, “He loves you, Holly, he always will.”

She pulls her features back into a neutral position, blinking away her tears and brushing them away on her sleeve. There’s an arching silence, and then she locks eyes with me.

“I’m sorry, my Jane, will you stay with me?”

“I will, what are friends for?”

I draw away, picking through the cutlery. I walk over to the kitchen table, with the food in hand.

Sitting at the breakfast table, we wait for the familiar rumble of the jeep rolling into the garage.

Now, he was walking up those stairs, and each step was like a heartbeat.

“Darold, I want to talk with you.”

“Holly, Holly, I’m here. I’m here for you.”