Teach Me Dirty(105)

I wrapped my arms around his neck and I cried. Cried for his grief and his pain, and the beauty in the new life he wanted, for us. For me.



It took all night. We moved from room to room, slowly and steadily until the sun came up and the crows outside greeted us to a brand new Boxing Day.

I asked him about every single item, every single memory, and I listened as he lived them one last time before they were packed away.

I heard about first dates, and holidays, and little quirks, and Anna’s dreams and her ambitions and her pet hates.

And her loves. I heard all about those.

I heard about their arguments and their reconciliations. How Anna would fly off the handle, erupt like a little firework, only to still again at the touch of his hand. I heard how he learned how to love her, how to hold her, how to make it all better again.

And it all choked me up. His pain choked me up.

It choked him up, too.

And some memories broke him. It wasn’t the big ones, that he’d relived over and over again. It wasn’t his wedding day, or their first kiss, or the time he got down on one knee. The pain was in the small memories, the lost memories, the memories that sprung from the back of cupboards to bludgeon him and cut him and make it all real.

I cried openly for his loss, and for the woman whose life I was coming to know. I cried for the woman who’d loved the man in my arms, and loved him well enough to leave him broken in her wake. I cried for his broken heart, and the years he’d lived alone and lonely.

And I cried with guilt, for feeling so good about being here instead of her.

***

It was a strange moment when the entirety of Anna’s belongings were packed away.

The house seemed bigger, and the morning sun made it bright again.

Mark was ragged and tired and puffy-eyed. His shoulders were heavy, and his hair was wild. And he was perfect, and broken, and mine.

I hoped I’d never see him like this again, but even in his pain he was beautiful. And I felt close to him, close enough that I could feel his heartbeat in mine.

He piled up the last of the boxes, ready for storage, and he sat himself down on the sofa and lit up a cigarette.

I approached slowly, and he pressed his forehead to my tummy and wrapped his arms around me, and just breathed while I held him, and while I stroked his hair and told him how good things were going to be.

How we were going to love enough to fill a hundred houses with trinkets and silly memories. How we were going to wear novelty socks, and watch the tide come in together, and make love on the sand.

Mark Roberts cried for me that night, in a way I hope I never see anyone cry again. Purging sobs that racked his soul and broke his heart.

But then, in the new day, he came back to me.

His eyes cleared, and his smile widened, and he held me like I was his everything.

And that’s when I knew beyond all doubt that I’d been right the whole time. Knew beyond all doubt that my heart had known what my mind didn’t yet understand.

He was meant for me, and I was meant for him.

And he’d known it, too.

“I meant we’re cut from similar cloth… it’s not just the artistic eye, it’s the way of viewing the world. You could cut through the differences, the personality traits, the life history, even the age gap, and what you’d have left is the same creative current running through us both. That’s what I meant… That’s how I see it…”

And that’s how I saw it, too.

I loved Mark Roberts and he loved me.

And it would be forever.

***





Helen



Back to cold, hard reality, only I wasn’t ready.

My legs felt like jelly and my feet felt like concrete lumps, and my uniform felt stiff as a board and way too small for me. I hated it.

I hated what it meant.

Two weeks of bliss had flown by, and I’d been spat out of Heaven, landing straight back in my school shoes like nothing had changed. But everything had changed.

I’d changed.

I waited by the alleyway and checked my phone again but there was nothing from Lizzie. I’d been trying to reach her for a week, dropping her instant messages and calls and texts, but she’d reply with nothing more than a at Nan’s, speak soon. The thought made my stomach churn worse than it was already.

And then, just when things were shit and awkward enough, there was Dad’s casual announcement over breakfast.

“I’m covering Frank’s leave these next few weeks. Long shifts, Helen. You’ll have to pull your weight around here, look after your sister with your mum working as well.”

“But, Dad! can’t someone else cover? I mean, I’m busy now…”

“We’re all bloody busy, Helen. Holiday time’s over. Lover boy will have to wait.”

Frank worked evenings and weekends, covering the city runs to Hereford and back. Which meant, for all intents and purposes, I was grounded.

No Mark.

And no Lizzie either, seemingly.

I trudged my way into school, craving a couple of drags on one of her cigarettes, just like old times, and almost fainted when I spotted her in the distance, walking along with none other than Rachel Panter, the girl who’d been snogging Scottie’s face off at the winter ball.

Just what the f*ck?

I followed them, trailing behind until they disappeared into the sixth form common room, which we generally avoided at all costs, not least because it was bitch bag central and full of mean girls and nastiness. Seemingly not today, not enough to keep Lizzie out of there.