Breathe You In (7 page)

Ruben rested his arm along the back of the sofa,
toward me, but we were sitting too far apart for it to be around me. I studied
his legs, the stretch of his arms. He was tall and long-limbed. Matt had been
the same, but much thicker set. His biceps had bulged when he wore a t-shirt,
and his chest and shoulder muscles had rippled through a shirt when on occasions
he’d worn one. Ruben was slighter; whether he’d always been that way I didn’t
know. Maybe he’d lost muscle mass since his illness. That wasn’t to say he was
skinny, just not beefy, like Matt had been.

“Not particularly busy. I got those Earl Spencer
pictures framed and up. Perhaps you’d like to come and see them sometime?”

“Yes, that would be nice.”

“He was actually a pretty good artist.”

The barman approached us. We sat in silence as
he expertly popped the cork and poured two bubbling glasses of champagne. He
then set the bottle in a silver ice bucket alongside several small bowls
containing nuts, olives and triangular crisps.

“Cheers,” Ruben said, handing me a glass.
“Here’s to your new life in Northampton.

It was the perfect toast, maybe a little too
perfect, and I snatched in a breath, held it for a moment, willing myself to
stay calm. I could do this. The decision had been made, and I wouldn’t wobble
on my tightrope. “To Northampton.” I touched the rim of my glass to his then
drank.

He did the same. “
Mmm
,”
he said. “I don’t normally drink so I might as well enjoy the good stuff when I
do.”

“That makes sense.” I wondered if it was because
of the transplant he didn’t drink. I knew he’d be on tablets to stop his body
rejecting Matt’s organs. He’d have to take them for the rest of his life. Was
he allowed to drink alcohol?

“Has your work been busy?” he asked.

“No, not really. Christmas is our chaotic time,
and then January when the sales are on. People are pretty minimalist on make-up
this time of year, especially in this heat.”

He looked at me and smiled. I wondered if he was
examining my make-up. I only had on a slick of powder, sweep of mascara and the
barest hint of tinted gloss. This wasn’t a date, after all. Just a drink.

I sipped my champagne again.

“So, um, how long have you been widowed?” he
asked.

His question surprised me. I’d thought we were
just swapping pleasantries. “Oh,
er
, nearly two years.”

His brow creased. “I’m sorry. I was thinking
about you after we met in the park last week. How young you are to have gone
through losing your husband.”

“I’m twenty-seven. Matt was a bit older than
me.” I paused, wondering again if my husband’s name would mean anything to
Ruben. But his concerned expression didn’t falter. Of course, Matt’s name
wouldn’t mean anything. He had his heart and lungs, but he didn’t know his
name. They wouldn’t have told him that, it was against the rules.

I sighed. “He was thirty when he had an accident
at work.”

Ruben sipped his champagne. I watched how the
glass pressed on his bottom lip, flattening it slightly. When he’d finished he
set the drink on the table and sat back again, tipped his head as if urging me
to continue.

“He worked on a construction site, scaffolding
was his responsibility,” I went on. “He was in charge of a team of apprentices,
something went wrong, the inquest went into details but basically someone
hadn’t fixed about a two dozen poles together that should have been joined and
the whole thing collapsed. Matt fell with it, not very far really, he could
have walked away they said, without even a broken bone, but his safety hat, it was
faulty…he died instantly when a pole landed on his head from about thirty feet
up.” I tucked my hair behind my ears and touched my lips, remembering that
awful day and the decision I’d had to make about his organs going for donation.
Only his brain had died in the accident, the rest of him had lived on for a few
hours with the help of a ventilator making him a suitable donor, and part of
him was still living on now, in Ruben, not three feet away from me.

Ruben said nothing. He gave me a sad smile, and
his dark gaze connected with mine. I got the feeling he understood pain, maybe
not my pain, but certainly the terror of death, the shadow that lurked close.
It always amazed me that so many people treated death like an unsubstantiated
rumor, when you only had to look around to see the facts.

“It was horrendous,” I said, “the worst time of
my life. We’d been married for three years, together for five. We had all kinds
of plans and then suddenly it was over. He was gone. Not a goodbye, not a farewell
hug, nothing, gone. He just wasn’t there anymore.” My eyes filled; I could see
the tears brimming on my lower lids. I blinked, hoping they’d reabsorb, but overspill
point had been reached.

Ruben stretched over, set his warm hand on mine.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.”

“It’s okay, asking or not asking doesn’t change
the facts.” I caught the single tear and the bizarre thought that thank
goodness this wasn’t a date crossed my mind. If it was it would be bloody
disastrous. Ten minutes in and I was crying. “I miss him, of course, but I’m
trying to get on with my life. I think Northampton will help, when I settle in.
It will give me the change I need.”

“And you can start making new memories,” he said
gently. “That’s the thing about change, everything feels empty to start with, but
then when you settle into it, over days, weeks, months, that change becomes the
norm and it’s not different anymore. You find your feet and a new way to be. A
new place for you in the world that feels right.” He paused and rubbed his
chest, pressing his black, short-sleeved shirt against his sternum. “I think
you’re brave to have moved away from Leicester, it must be hard when your
people are there.”

“My parents are in Yorkshire, it’s just friends
I’ve left.” I sighed and pulled my hand from his, reached for my drink. “But I
feel like I’ve left him, even though he’s not there really. Well, unless you
count Hill Rise cemetery.”

“Do you go there often?”

“No, but I went today.”

He raised his eyebrows. “You did?”

“Yes, I had things to tell him, well, get off my
chest anyway. Usually I leave his mother to deal with his grave. I think she
likes it.”

Ruben nodded.

“So tell me.” I pasted on my I’m-okay-now smile.
“What else is there around here for me to see?”

Ruben blinked slowly and then nodded, ever so
slightly, as if he could see straight through my carefully applied mask and
knew damn well I’d changed the subject on purpose. “Well, next month there’s the
hot-air balloon festival, right there.” He gestured out of the window. “If your
new place faces the park you’ll have a great view, you won’t need to buy a
ticket. My flat is like a front row seat.”

“Oh, that sounds nice.”

He grinned. “It’s good fun. They have a bizarre
assortment of balloons, all shapes and sizes, some like giant sweet monsters,
others shaped like houses or fish. It gets international coverage.”

“I’ll look out for that. And what about these
country pubs you mentioned?”

“More than you can shake a stick at, though one
of my favorites is The Fox and Hound in Little
Brington
.
A really pretty thatched cottage affair, it has beautiful gardens in the summer
and roaring log fires in the winter, and the food is delicious.”

“Sounds lovely.”

“It is. Maybe if you put something less tatty on
I could take you there.”

I laughed. “Cheeky bugger.”

He laughed too, a genuine chuckle, like mine had
been. I touched my lips, feeling the air from my giggle, it had just bubbled
up, popped out. It had been wonderfully effortless and reminded me of a time
when laughs were ten a penny.

The bar began to fill, glamorous women, stylish
men, all enjoying a drink and nice music in chilled-out surroundings. I felt
relaxed, and I think Ruben did too. We chatted about the museum and Northampton.
He told me about his parents who lived nearby and were golf enthusiasts. He
also told me about his brother and his wife who lived in London and had twin
girls.

When the champagne bottle was empty, I excused
myself and went to the restroom. After slipping out of the cubicle and
freshening up, I looked at myself in the mirror.

A Katie I hadn’t seen in a long time looked back
at me. I was out, on a Saturday night, my chestnut-colored hair was tonged, I
wore makeup and my blouse was undone to reveal just a little bit of
chest—not that I had much cleavage these days.

Two girls, early twenties, burst into the
restroom. The sound of the piano increased for the few seconds the door was
open and was carried in on a wave of conversation.

“He’s gorgeous,” one said to the other, flicking
her hair over her shoulders. “I’m so glad you set me up with Ian, just my
type.”

Her friend grinned. “I knew you’d get on, you
have so much in common, and next week we’re going to Yarmouth. Come with us, it’ll
be a laugh.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

They took no notice of me and carried on with
chatter about their men. I watched as the one with the new fella brushed her
hair, added a spritz of perfume to her wrist and neck and then rolled up a
bright pink lipstick.

“Never thought I’d date a fireman,” she said. “I
owe you big time, Cheryl.”

“He’s as into you as you are him. I’ve known Ian
ages, I can tell when he likes what he sees.”

“Do you think so?”

“Yeah, absolutely. Come on, let’s get back out
there, you’ve got some serious flirting to do.”

They barged out in a tangle of giggles and
linked arms.

How wonderful to be so carefree, so optimistic
about the future, so enamored by a man you’d just met.

I thought of Ruben waiting for me, in the bar.
If this had been a date, would I be all excited and giggly? Counting my lucky
stars for having found someone so gorgeous?

Retrieving my lip-gloss from the bottom of my bag,
I applied a delicate swipe. Ruben was a great-looking bloke, there was no doubt
about that. I wondered why he didn’t have a girlfriend, or why he’d been free
on a Saturday night. It wasn’t like he was still sick. He had a new heart and
lungs, he was getting on with his life, he could return to the land of the
living and be strong as his name suggested.

Not that he’d told me anything about his illness
or operation all evening. I didn’t know if he was purposefully not mentioning
it, or if it just wasn’t a big deal for him anymore.

How could it not be?

I dropped my gloss away, smoothed my hair and
checked my teeth for crisp fragments. It was probably time to go home; it was
getting late and this would be my first night in my new flat.

Ruben smiled at me as I walked toward him.
“Would you like to go somewhere else or stay here and have another drink?” he
asked.

“I think I’ll go home if you don’t mind.”

“Whatever you want.” He stood, straightened his
shirt and checked the sofa to make sure we hadn’t left anything. But in this
hot weather, jackets were redundant, even in the evening.

We wound our way through the bar, and I spotted
the two girls who’d been in the restroom. They were sitting at a table with two
handsome men, all had smiles on their faces, all seemed oblivious to the room;
it was just them, out, having fun, they had their whole future ahead of them,
they had history to make.

A pang of jealousy hit me. I wanted that
carefree, self-absorbedness again, a life without that damn anvil weighing me
down.

Ruben slipped his hand to the small of my back,
steered me around a group of four men holding pints and chattering loudly. For
a moment that weight lifted, like he was holding some of the load for me.

Once outside he dropped his hand from me. I took
a deep breath and tried to keep that light feeling inside.

“It still smells hot,” I said, holding the
railing and walking down the four steps to the path.

“I love that smell,” he said, “tarmac and ice cream.”

“Sun lotion and grass,” I added.

“Yeah, definitely grass. I guess that’s the park
smell.” He gestured left then right. “Which way are you from here?”

“Down past Darren Street.”

“Okay, I’ll walk you.”

“I’ll be fine, really.”

He huffed and folded his arms. “What kind of man
do you think I am?”

I smiled. “I’m sensing stubborn.”

“Got it in one.”

We started walking.

“My father would tan my hide if I let a girl go
home on her own after we’d been out on a date,” he said

“A date?” The word caught in my mouth.

“Well, you know, a drink.”

“Have we been on a date?” I felt a little woozy
from the champagne, but not enough that I couldn’t think straight.

“I don’t know, I guess some people might think
so, but we can just call it a drink if you want.” He paused. “I’m sorry, have I
said something wrong?”