Love Is a State of Mind: Nobody's Life is Perfect (22 page)

I can’t speak and now tears are flowing down my face.  He’s alive … and I have the ability to stop this.  Ben strokes him, pulling his ears and running his hands right down his back to his tail.

The vet explains the procedure to us, in a quiet, authoritative tone.  “He won’t feel a thing.  He’ll just go to sleep,” she says, repeating Ben’s words. 

How do we know what they feel?  Is it wishful thinking?

She gets him to lie on the floor and shaves some of his fur on his front leg.  “Right.  You hold his head, Mrs McCarthy.” My stomach is heaving, my legs quaking … I kneel on the floor next to him and cradle his head on my lap.  His lovely, honest, brown eyes look up at me with such trust. 
Why am I lying here?  What’s happening?

I whisper sweet words to him.  “You’re okay, old chap.  You’re fine.  I love you.”

I kiss his head and my salty tears make his head wet.

The vet looks at me and murmurs, “Okay?”  I nod. 

Ben kneels beside me.  He puts one hand on Gaz’ ribcage and one on my back.

“Goodbye, Gaz ol’ chap,” he whispers.  I can’t stop the loud sob that comes out of my mouth.

She puts a needle in his vein and begins to push the liquid down … down.  I see it in slow-motion – the fluid seems to hover in the tube.  She’s pushing death into him, with efficiency and calculation.  I want to scream and shout, to pull the needle out … to walk out of the building with Gaz beside me.  But I sit there motionless, waiting and watching.

It takes so much longer than I thought it would.  Slowly, his eyes close and I feel his head become heavy on my legs.  She withdraws the needle. 

His breathing is slow, very slow … his side is heaving up and down, up and down … up and down … and then life leaves his body … with a faint sigh.  I close my eyes.

Silence invades the room – all I can hear is the humming in my own head.  

I open my eyes, hoping that I’m, perhaps, dreaming.  I stare down at him … but he’s gone.

I’ve lost my best friend.  I have.  I bend over Gaz, breathing in his wonderful scent, one last time.  I touch his head, his silky ears and run my hand over his body.  I’m tipped forward over him; if I get up, I’ll leave him there on the ground, alone.  He’s still my Gaz – I can’t leave him there, alone, on the floor.

A feeling of panic comes over me, as a vision of David or the children, lying dead, flashes into my mind.

I try to stand, but I can’t; Ben helps me to my feet.  The vet has quietly left the room and I once again, fall against Ben.  He doesn’t say anything; he just holds me and hugs me and I cry.  At that moment, life is unbearable.

After a few minutes, the vet comes back in the room and says she will deal with everything. At the door, I take one last look at him, lying motionless on the floor. 

My gorgeous Gaz.

We walk along the pavements – Ben holding me up.  We don’t speak. To a passer-by, we must look simply like a couple, out for a walk. 

*

We go into the flat and I see his bed.  His spare lead is hanging by the door.  His food is on the side, in the kitchen.

I sit down on the sofa, watching as Ben collects his things together and quietly takes them outside.

He comes back in.  “What would you like me to do?  Do you want me to leave you alone or shall I stay?  I don’t mind …”

I can’t answer.  I have no idea what I want.  I just keep thinking about how to tell Holly … and Adam, of course.  David has to be told, too. 

I look up at Ben, this kind stranger, and I can’t speak.  Everything I’ve gone through in the last few months, lands on me, like a boulder.  I have no husband, no home and now even Gaz has gone.  It’s all just too much.

Ben comes over to me and wraps his arms around me, saying, “You’ll be okay … don’t cry …” – even through my anguish, I can tell he’s one of the good ones.  Not many men would sit with a crying woman they hardly know, and offer words of comfort.

“I’m sorry, Ben,” I manage to say, “I know he’s only a dog, but …”

“Look,” he says, “there’s no such thing as ‘only a dog’.  A dog is part of the family – Gaz was part of your life …”

“It’s just everything … I feel as if I’ve lost everything right now … I hate David.  How am I going to tell the children?”

“You’ll find a way …”

“The flat’s going to be so empty without him … I can’t bear it,” I say, looking round and seeing the place where his bed used to be.  “This is probably the last thing you want to be doing, I’m so sorry … leave me, I’ll be okay.”

“I don’t want to leave you like this, Anna, I really don’t.  I’m happy just to stay here, cook us something to eat …”

“Are you sure?”

“Course I am.  I didn’t know him as well as you did, but I can imagine what you’re going through.  I’m going to miss him too.  I’ll stay.  Why don’t you go and have a shower or something and I’ll look in the cupboards and see what there is to cook?”

He stands up and pulls me up with both hands, off the sofa.  He kisses my lips gently as my face comes level with his.  “Go on, you go.  You’ll feel a lot better afterwards.”

I feel like a child being told what to do, but I go off, undress mechanically and run the shower.  As I stand under the warm water, I try to imagine all my problems washing away down the plughole, trying to visualise a cleansing of both mind and body.

Afterwards, I remember Ben’s bombshell.  With all this going on, I haven’t even asked him what it is and feel so selfish.  I’m sure he understands, but …

I enter the kitchen; Ben is stirring some pasta and making a tomato sauce.  The smell is heavenly, but I have no desire to eat.  I pretend I do. 

“Ben, thanks for this.  I feel better now and that all looks very impressive,” I say, still towel-drying my hair, my voice flat.

“I’ve had to get good at cooking since Grace left … some basic staples: spag bol, shepherd’s pie, omelette … even a roast, sometimes.”

“Ben, I’m so sorry, I haven’t even asked you about your ‘bombshell’ – I’ve been so wrapped up in my own misery …”

“Don’t worry … it’s … it’s that Grace is moving to Manchester with her new man.  He’s got a ‘really well-paid job’ there, according to her, and blow the fact that it’s going to be near impossible for me to see Daisy.  God, why’s life so difficult?”  He’s standing at the cooker with a wooden spoon in his hand, my blue and white striped butcher’s apron on, and the agony of losing his child to distance, oozes from his voice.  I go over to him and put my arms around him.  “I’m so sorry, Ben, that must be awful for you.  Is there nothing you can do?”

“Dads don’t have many rights, do we?  If she wants to go off to the North of England and take my daughter, who am I to stop her?  She says I can still see Daisy whenever I want, but how can I?”

“Could you move there too?”

It’s an idea that pops into my head on the spur of the moment, but I’d hate it if he went.

“How can I?  My business is here, all my contacts … I couldn’t just start again up there.”  He turns back to the tomato sauce; the droop of his shoulders exudes the misery he’s feeling.

“When are they going?” I ask, hoping there are some months he can enjoy, before she goes.

“Well … it turns out they’ve known for ages, but kept it from me … they’ve even got somewhere to live up there.  So, it’s at the end of March.”

“Oh God.  That soon?”

“Yes, and there’s absolutely
nothing
I can do about it.”

I sit down at the table and watch him, as he busies himself in the kitchen.  My head hurts from all the crying and my legs feel weak.  I say, “We’re a sorry pair, aren’t we?”

He turns round and smiles at me – his eyes full kindness.  “Come and sit down and we’ll eat.  Shall we drown our sorrows with some wine?  I’ll pop out and …”

I go and look in the fridge and I find a bottle of Pinot Grigio.  “No need,” I say.  I get out two glasses and lay the table.

We sit opposite each other.  The absence of Gaz is palpable; I keep thinking I can hear his claws, clicking on the lino, or his faint snoring.  My stomach lurches, but I force myself to eat the food Ben’s made.  We drink a toast to Gaz, touching glasses and smiling at each other, each remembering him in our own way.  I gaze at a picture I have of him on the side – it’s a close-up of his head; his hazel eyes shine out of the picture at me.

After the meal I say, “Do you mind if I leave you for a few minutes?  There’s something I’ve got to do.”

“No problem.”

I take my mobile and go into the bedroom and ring Holly’s number.  My tummy churns with each ring.  “Hello, Mum, this is a nice surprise.”

The phone call goes by in a blur of tears and comforting words.  Holly is devastated, as I knew she would be.  But, as always, she thinks of me, not herself, and says things like, “Oh Mum, it must have been awful for you.” And “Are you okay, Mum?  I hate to think of you of your own.”

I don’t tell her Ben is with me.  It seems wrong somehow, as if I’ve been able to ‘move on’ from both her father and Gaz, and I don’t want to upset her more than she already is.

“It’s not long till Australia, Mum.  You’ve got a lot to look forward to …” she says, at the end of the call.

“You’re right, Holly.  I must message your brother.”

“He loved Gaz, even if he didn’t always show it.”

“I know.”

“I’m going to so miss him, Mum.  I can’t believe it.”

“I’m sorry … I love you, Holly.”

“Me too …”

I go back into the kitchen, pleased that I’ve told her, but drained.  Ben doesn’t ask what I’ve been doing, but just simply comes up to me and hugs me. 

And that’s how we start kissing properly.  We both need that human touch … and comfort.  He takes my hand and leads me to the bed and the night that follows is one of making love, of finding someone to hold … and sleeping peacefully is his arms.

When we wake, it’s as if we’ve done this forever.  I feel joy when I open my eyes and see his tousled head on the pillow.  For two wonderful seconds, I forget how we’ve got here … and I think I can hear Gaz whining to be let out.  Then, the memory of his loss hits me in the guts and I roll over to stifle the tears.

“Anna, Anna, it’s okay, I’m here.  I’ll always be here for you.” 

Ben knows exactly what I’m thinking.  He knows I’m not crying about being in bed with him. He knows I’ve just remembered Gaz, as if he’s in virtual reality, full 3D … and woken to his total lack of presence.

He draws me to him and I lie against his chest, cradled in his arms.

Chapter Eighteen

“I thought you ought to know.”

“Thank you … but I wish you’d rung me, before you put him down.”

“Look David, I had to make a quick decision.  Anyway, I think you’ve lost the right to complain about anything I do.”

“But he was my dog too …”

“You haven’t taken any interest in him for months, David.  Anyway, I don’t want to argue with you … I just wanted to let you know.”

It was the first time I’d spoken to him, since I moved to Bath.  I felt honour-bound to tell him, but now I wish I hadn’t bothered.

My message to Adam was hard to write.  Even though he’s thousands of miles away, I knew this would hit him hard.  I got his reply this morning.

Hi Mum – I just can’t believe the news.  Gaz was part of my childhood and I’m so sad that he’s gone.  They plod around your house with their funny little ways and their awful smell and they become part of you.  Do you remember the day we chose him?  I was SO excited – all the puppies looked exactly the same, but it was him who kept coming up to us on the owner’s lawn. 

I bet you feel lost without him.  Now I’m away, I realise how you must miss our family life and now, even Gaz is gone.  I’m so sorry Mum.  I love you xxx

Adam has never been one for expressing his emotions, but I can feel his sadness through the computer and it makes me sad, too.

*

I certainly remember the day we chose him – do you remember, David?   We had talked about getting a dog for ages and we saw an advertisement in the local newsagents and it felt the right time.  We said we’d go and ‘just look’, knowing full well that we’d never be able to leave without one.  We took the children with us and of course, they wanted
all
the puppies.  There were six jet black ones and the only way the owner could tell them apart was to put coloured wool round their necks.  ‘Greenie’ was the one who kept coming up to us on that daisy-filled lawn.  We’d said we wanted a female, but Gaz managed to wheedle his way into our hearts.   We said we’d go away and think about it.  The price was quite high, as he had a champion gun dog in his ancestry, but his mum was a lovely character, soft and gentle, and we knew the price didn’t really matter.  As we left to walk across the lawn back to the car, Greenie/Gaz ran away from the others, towards us and … we knew.  They say puppies choose you, not the other way around, and they were right, weren’t they, David?

*

The weeks after Gaz’ death have gone by in a bit of a haze.  I’ve missed him more than I ever thought possible.  The flat echoes with emptiness; I’m still finding the odd black hair when I tidy up – I pick them up and look closely at them, remembering.