Please Release Me (23 page)

It was a quiet funeral. Peter stood with his family gathered around him. There were a few family friends, people who barely knew Sally, but were close enough to show sympathy for Peter’s widowing. He had told Sally’s work and one man had turned up. A little way apart, trying to keep in the background was Glenda, in her blue coat. Grace stood next to her, also keeping apart from his family group.

As the coffin was lowered, Peter looked up at the two women. Glenda was sobbing. Grace had put an arm around her, but looked uncomfortable doing so. Apart from him, they were the only people who really knew Sally. But, in the end, who really knew Sally? He wondered if even Sally knew herself.

Looking around at the carefully sombre faces around him, he realised he didn’t feel anything. He had been grieving the loss of his Sally for so long, that now she had actually died, it didn’t feel any different. He had dreaded feeling relief, but that hadn’t materialised either. He wondered if he was in shock and there was some emotion waiting to mug him when the whole funeral business was over. Probably. He dutifully scattered some earth over the coffin.

After a few moments he was surrounded by people, touching him gently on the shoulder and saying how sorry they were. He accepted their condolences without saying much. His mother stood beside him, deflecting questions. Dear Mum. She had let him get on with funeral arrangements, for which he was grateful, but she’d reminded him of what needed doing. And, as always, she’d brought food.

His sister came up to give Peter a hug. ‘Hey,’ she said, gently. ‘Are you okay?’

‘I’m sorry I’ve been a crap brother.’

‘Don’t worry about it.’ Val smiled.

He smiled back, suddenly feeling warmth seeping back into his life. ‘Thanks.’

‘In the meantime, if there’s anything I can do… if you fancy a break, there’s nothing like playing with kids to take your mind off things.’ His sister clearly didn’t miss Sally in any way. Being Val, she didn’t bother to hide the fact. ‘I’ll see you back at the house. I’m just going to phone the babysitter and check the kids aren’t giving her a hard time.’ She placed a light kiss on his cheek and marched off.

Turning, Peter spotted Glenda. He made his way over to her.

When she saw him she burst into tears afresh. He could smell the alcohol on her before he reached her. He held out his hand and she grabbed it. ‘Oh Peter. My Sally. My beautiful little girl.’

It occurred to Peter that Glenda hadn’t seen Sally since the wedding. It was probably kindest that way. The funeral directors had done their best to restore Sally to her former glow, which had helped disguise how much she’d faded in the year since the accident. He hoped it was a comfort for Glenda to think of Sally as a glowing and beautiful woman.

‘Thank you for letting me know, Peter. It was very kind of you.’

He had put an ad in the Times, just as he’d promised her. It had simply read ‘the death is announced of Sally Wesley nee Cummings’, followed by the funeral details.

‘The world won’t be the same without her!’ Glenda wailed.

People were looking at him. His mother came to stand next to him. ‘Mum, this is Glenda. She was … er … someone Sally knew very well. Glenda this is my mother Diane.’

Glenda blew her nose on a hanky and held her other hand out to shake. Diane looked slightly horrified, but shook hands gingerly.

‘We’re … er … going back to my house for the wake,’ said Peter. Glenda didn’t look like she needed any more to drink.

‘Actually, Glenda and I can’t come.’ Grace appeared, seemingly from nowhere. ‘Give me a minute to speak to Peter, Glenda, and I’ll be right with you.’ She stepped neatly in between them and leaned forward to give Peter a stiff and formal hug. ‘I’ll take her home,’ she whispered in his ear.

‘Is Sally here?’ he whispered back.

‘No.’ Okay. So that meant Sally wasn’t around haunting the place. For the first time something like relief fluttered.

Grace drew back. ‘She did love you, you know. In her own way,’ she said softly. She pressed something into his hand. ‘Glenda and I should get going now. My deepest condolences, again.’

Before he could respond, she was marching Glenda off efficiently. He watched her receding back and wished he could talk to her. Right now, the only person who understood was Grace.

‘What was all that about?’ said his mother. ‘Was that Grace?’

‘Yes, that was Grace.’ He looked at the thin parcel in his hand. It was packet of forget-me-not seeds.

‘What’s that?’ His mother was frowning.

‘That,’ said Peter, as he slipped the packet into his pocket. ‘Is … was Sally’s favourite flower.’

‘Now you make sure you call if you need anything,’ Diane said for the fourth time as Peter ushered her out of the door.

‘Mum. Relax. I’m okay. I just need to get on with the new normal.’ He kissed her on the cheek.

‘What are you going to do first?’ She paused on the doorstep, still frowning with worry.

That was easy. He’d had time to think about it. ‘I’m putting the house up for sale.’

‘What?’ At this, even his father, who was standing by the car, jiggling his keys, looked up.

‘It’s full of memories of Sally. We bought this place together. I can’t carry on living here.’ He didn’t mention that every time he felt the slightest bit cold, he wondered if Sally was back. He couldn’t relax. And it was true. The house was more Sally’s than his. The only mark he’d left on it was crumpled bedlinen in the spare room and a single set of crockery on the draining board.

‘Oh darling. It’s a major upheaval, moving house. You don’t need more stress in your life.’

Peter gave her a bleak smile. ‘Right now, upheaval is probably just what I need. I have to work out what I’m going to do without Sally. Start afresh.’

‘He’s got a point,’ his father conceded.

‘But …’

‘Give the boy some space, Diane. Now come on. We’re going to be late.’

Diane rolled her eyes. ‘Be careful darling.’ She touched Peter’s chest lightly before she turned away.

Peter watched them drive out and felt relief. He was tired of playing the dutiful bereaved husband. He knew he should be sad or relieved, but all he felt was disappointment. All that he’d been through, surely there was some sort of emotional comeback. He shut the door and wandered back into the house. Without his mother fluttering around, it felt tranquil and empty. He walked from room to room, exploring.

The last time he’d had a tour of the house like this, Sally had been there. There were rooms he hadn’t been into since before the wedding. There was the dining room, where everything was neatly put away in the dresser that Sally had chosen. A whole dinner service that was never used. The living room which he’d only used when he needed a drink. The house even had a conservatory. He walked into the empty glass room. Sally had wanted to put a sofa in there, but they hadn’t got around to it. So now it was an empty rectangle. Peter sat down on the dusty floor and looked up at the sky. Clouds scurried across the clear roof, suggesting there would be rain soon. He lay down and watched them.

He felt guilty for his lack of grief. He should be torn like he had been after the accident. The memory of that pain was there, but at a distance, like a photo of an event he knew he’d been to, but couldn’t really remember. All he could think of was that he was glad to be out of it.

If he felt anything, it was anger. Sally had lied to him. She had cheated and manipulated him. She had never loved him. Everything their time together had been built upon was a lie. Even, he thought wryly, her being in a coma. She had been listening to him all along. Listening and plotting.

He watched the white beams of the conservatory glow orange in the evening sun. Should he be grieving for his Sally? The Sally he had once loved had disappeared long ago.

Was she really gone? Really? He thought of Grace’s words at the cemetery. If Grace could no longer see Sally, perhaps she really had gone. He hoped so.

The thought of Grace made him smile. She had no idea how gorgeous she was, that woman. And she was so
nice
. She was about as unlike Sally as you could get. He thought of all the things that had attracted him to Sally – her brightness, the whirlwind rush of being around her, her delicate, almost unreal, beauty.

Grace, on the other hand, was exactly who she said she was. She wasn’t mad and vivacious, but she was interesting and warm. When he was with her he felt … grounded. Which wasn’t what he’d thought love was all about.

Above him clouds darkened. A few drops of rain splatted against the roof. He winced the first couple of times, then relaxed as the droplets ran off without touching him. He watched the traces of water, like tear tracks, for a moment. Grace had cried when Sally died. He had watched her and wondered why. At some point she had explained that Sally was a friend. Yet Sally had tried to hurt Grace. Some friend.

He ought to miss Sally, but the person he really missed was Grace. He should go and see her. He would. Definitely. Just a few more minutes lying here. And then he’d go.

Peter woke up in the dark. His back was stiff and there was an insistent pattering noise. It took him a minute to remember that he was in the conservatory. He must have fallen asleep. He sat up and stretched. Falling asleep on the floor was really not a great idea. He felt dusty and gritty. He would need to have a shower before he went to see Grace.

Less than an hour later, he pulled up outside Grace’s house. The place was in darkness. Puzzled, he got out of the car and ran up to the door to ring the doorbell. Nothing. Maybe she was out. He pulled out his phone and called Grace. It went straight to answerphone.

Where was she? Was she okay? Was he somehow too late? Too late for what?

He went back to the car and was part way home before he remembered. She’d mentioned she was going away for a few weeks. She’d mentioned a holiday. His frown cleared. Of course. He would just have to wait until she came back. That wouldn’t be so hard. Would it?

Peter strode up to the reception desk of the hospice. The security guard wasn’t there, so he waited. It was odd being here as a visitor, rather than ‘family’. The place felt different somehow. Peter noticed things he’d not spotted before. The plaque on the wall. The plants by the main doors. Had those always been there? How come he’d never noticed them when he’d been coming there every day?

The sound of the lift distracted him. A carer rushed outside. A few minutes passed and the carer returned holding the hand of an elderly lady, with the security guard tagging along behind. The guard spotted Peter and came over to the desk.

‘Evening, sir. Can I help?’ He gave Peter a smile that said he recognised his face, but couldn’t place him. How strange. In just a few short weeks, people at the hospice were already forgetting about him. He no longer belonged there.

‘I’m here to see Margaret … er … I don’t know her last name. She’s on the fourth floor. Grace Gunaratne used to visit her regularly. Grace is away, so I thought I’d pop by instead.’ He gestured at his bag containing an audiobook.

The guard stared at him for a few seconds. ‘Mr Wesley, isn’t it?’ he said. A broad grin. ‘Nice to see you back visiting. You’re looking for room 417.’

‘Thanks.’

Once upstairs, the nurse buzzed him in without comment. As he approached room 417, he felt a rising sense of nervousness. Margaret was the closest thing Grace had to a living relative. It was like going to meet a girl’s parents for the first time. He smiled to himself. He hadn’t needed to do that for Sally because she’d pretended she had none.

When he knocked on the door, the old lady in the bed’s eyes flew open. She was old. Older than he’d imagined. She looked small and limp, but the eyes that examined him as he entered were sharp.

‘Hello, young man. Are you a new doctor?’

The nervousness got worse. Peter cleared his throat, ‘I’m Peter Wesley …’ he began.

Margaret’s level of alertness seemed to go up. Despite not moving, she seemed to come to attention. ‘Peter. With the ghost wife? That Peter?’

‘Yes. I … er …’ Now that he was here, he realised how ridiculous his mission was. ‘I was hoping you could tell me about Grace and her holiday. She
is
away on holiday, isn’t she? She’s not at home.’

‘Sit down.’ It was a command. Not to be disobeyed.

Peter sat down.

‘Why do you want to know where she is? What are you planning to do with that information?’

He marshalled his thoughts. Margaret watched him, sharp eyes boring into him. She must have been terrifying in her heyday. He decided to start with the bare truth. ‘I think I’m in love with her.’

‘You think? That’s not good enough young man. Do you not know?’

Bloody hell, she was tough. He’d thought his sister was blunt, but Val wasn’t a patch on this lady. ‘Okay, I
know
.’ He leaned forward. ‘I can’t get her out of my head. It’s been a weird and confusing time and I know it’s too soon, but I miss her. I can feel her absence like it’s something solid.’ He touched his chest. ‘It’s like, when she’s there, everything is right in the world. And nothing is right without her.’

There was a short pause before Margaret said, ‘That’s better.’ She smiled, with only half her face, but a smile nonetheless. ‘I’ve heard a lot about you Peter Wesley.’

‘And I’ve heard a lot about you.’ He smiled back, his nerves ebbing a little bit. Remembering, he said ‘Grace said you liked audiobooks.’ He held out the book he’d got for her. ‘The woman in the shop said it was very good.’

If possible, Margaret’s smile widened. ‘That’s very good.’ She laid the book on her lap. ‘So, Peter, why don’t you tell me a bit about yourself? Grace means a lot to me and it sounds like she means a lot to you too. I think we should get to know each other a bit better, don’t you?’

Grace loaded the clothes from her holiday into the washing machine and looked out of the window. It was grey again. After six weeks in the heat and colour of Sri Lanka, England seemed dreadfully monochrome. On the other hand, it was nice to be back. It was funny how much she’d missed the little things, like the comfort of using her own shower and tea that tasted just right.

Grabbing her latest mug of just right tea, she headed upstairs and stepped into her parents’ room. One of the resolutions she’d made whilst on holiday was that she’d stop sleeping in her old room and move into the main bedroom. This was her home, not a mausoleum to her parents. They would have wanted her to have her own life.

She sat on the bed and looked around the room with an assessing eye. Despite all her faults, Sally had been very good with helping her redecorate the house. Her suggestions had definitely improved the look of the place. Grace had got rid of a lot of the old mementoes from the walls. Some of the old photographs were now lovingly framed. On one wall, her father was still skinny and her mother still wore flares. The rest of the walls were bare. They had moved over to make way for her.

There were still things to be done to stamp her own personality on the walls, but it was a start. It no longer felt like she was treading on her mother’s belongings.

Sally had suggested that the bed be moved to the other side of the room and the old chest of drawers be replaced by something sleeker to make the most of the light. Unable to think of someone to ask to help move the heavy furniture, Grace had left it. Now, with her newfound clarity, she realised that there were any number of people at work who would be happy to do her a favour. She had worked late and taken care of their experiments often enough, she was owed a few favours. There was also Peter.

She had thought of him often while she was away, analysing her feelings for him, wondering if he had genuinely liked her at all. There had been days where she only thought of him now and again and days where she missed him so much that it was a physical ache. She hadn’t told him when she would be back. She wondered if she should. It was nearly two months since he’d been widowed. Was it still too soon?

So much for her theory that a bit of distance would help her get over him. She sighed and flopped backwards onto the bed.

She wondered whether she should make a start with the new life by simply sleeping in that room that night. Start as she meant to go on. Except all she craved was her own bed. Even if it was narrow and in a small room.

As she rolled off the bed and onto her feet, the doorbell rang. Who could that be? She’d already spoken to Margaret. No one else knew she was back. Frowning, she clattered down the stairs to open the door.

Peter could make out Grace’s silhouette as she neared the door. Thank goodness, she was in. He’d been looking forward to seeing her again so much. As the door opened, he felt a moment of panic. The weeks of separation had only made him more certain of his feelings towards her, but what if they’d had the opposite effect on her? What if she’d met someone else on holiday?

He gripped the bunch of tulips in front of him. It was ridiculous to feel this nervous. He was just going to welcome her back and if she wanted to be left alone, he would go away again. No expectations. Just a friendly visit.

The moment she opened the door, his heart rose a notch.

‘Peter.’ She seemed surprised to see him, but not annoyed. That was good. Her gaze dropped to the flowers and her expression turned to puzzlement.

‘Welcome back.’ He held them out and hoped his voice sounded normal.

‘Thanks.’ She took the bouquet and moved aside to let him in. ‘How did you know I was back?’

‘Margaret told me.’

‘You went to see Margaret?’

‘I did.’ He smiled. ‘She’s quite scary.’

Grace laughed. ‘She is.’ The awkwardness broke. Indicating that he should follow her, she took the flowers in to the kitchen. Laying them carefully in the sink, she started hunting for a vase.

‘How was your holiday?’ said Peter, watching her as she opened and shut cupboards. She looked amazing. The sun had tanned her skin to a Mediterranean brown. The aura of sadness that he’d got used to seeing was gone; everything about her seemed lighter, happier. ‘You look like it suited you.’

‘It was good, thanks. Aha.’ She pulled out a glass vase and filled it with water. ‘How are you keeping?’ She looked him in the eye for the first time since he’d got there. ‘It’s hard, after the funeral.’

‘I’m good.’ Except he wasn’t really. He was shattered all the time. When he finally dropped into bed, all her could think about was Grace and that kept him awake. ‘Tired, but good.’

Grace nodded. ‘Have you fallen ill yet? That’s the first thing that happened to me when Mum died. I suddenly realised I had all this time to do whatever I wanted with and then bam, I got the flu and about three colds in a row.’

Peter grinned. ‘Been there, done that.’

‘Apparently, it’s the body’s response to the release from stress.’

‘It’s coming to something when falling ill is a luxury you can’t afford, isn’t it.’

She put the full vase in the middle of the table, next to a pile of post. ‘There. That looks lovely. Thank you. You didn’t need to bring me flowers.’ She fussed with the foliage, tweaking it.

‘I wanted to. I never got to thank you for … everything.’

Grace waved it away, still looking at the flowers. ‘What are friends for?’

Friends. He didn’t want to be just friends. During the long absence, he’d worried whether his feelings for her were just a side effect of his stress and isolation, but the minute he’d seen her again, he’d felt like a weak at the knees teenager again. No. Not just friends.

‘I missed you,’ he said.

She still wasn’t looking at him. ‘I missed you too,’ she said, softly.

‘Grace,’ said Peter. ‘I was wondering …’

She looked up, but said nothing.

‘Would you, like to go out to dinner … one night.’

‘You mean, like a date?’

‘Yes. Like a date.’

For a moment there was silence. Peter felt his whole body tense in anticipation. If she said no, what would he do?

Grace put her hands on the table and nodded. ‘I’d like that.’ Finally, she looked up at him and smiled. ‘I’d like that very much.’

It was as though he’d grown wings. The world shifted focus and suddenly everything was brighter. He knew he was grinning like a maniac. ‘That’s great. Thank you. When would be a good day for you?’

Her smile lit up her face, and went straight to his heart. ‘I’m not busy,’ she said. ‘Whenever.’

Peter stood up and took her hands in his. ‘Tomorrow? Or do you need a couple of days to—’

‘Tomorrow is fine.’

They stared at each other. There was so much he’d wanted to tell her – about how much he’d missed her, how he’d fallen in love with her, how sorry he was for being such a dick – but none of it seemed to matter anymore. She was here, smiling at him, her hands clasping his. There was nothing more that needed to be said.

Grace turned his hands over in hers and looked down at them. Her thumb touched the line of pale skin where his wedding ring had once been.

‘I took it off,’ he said. ‘I’m not married anymore.’

She looked into his eyes and he saw his happiness reflected in hers. He pulled her to him, gently and kissed her. It was a small kiss, one that said ‘we have all the time in the world. We’ll get it right this time.’ When she squeezed his hand and kissed him back, he knew she’d understood. Perfectly.