If I Never Met You(40)
Laurie was coping, only in ways that made other people feel comfortable. It was a performance, going through the motions. She was as empty and as fragile as an Easter egg. The truth lay in moments like the Thursday evening where she found the box of photo albums under the bed in the spare room. She leafed through a packet of Snappy Snaps from 2005 and ended up crouching, sobbing, feeling as if she’d been stabbed.
She’d never grieved for anyone close to her, but she guessed this must be similar: times when the tide went out and she felt almost normal, and times when it came rushing in and she felt like she was drowning.
It dawned on Laurie – other than the pictures he had on his phone, Dan had taken nothing of sentimental value with him. Only a few short months ago, she’d have thought that spelled intention to return. Ha. Nope. The hard copy visual record of their near-two decades together, casually discarded.
She knew if she challenged Dan he’d weakly insist he had every intention of sorting through and asking for duplicates, but it wasn’t the time/didn’t want to upset her/couldn’t complicate the painful business of his going, by divvying up their mementoes. HAH. As if starting a family with another woman wasn’t the motherlode, no pun, of painful complications. What if wanting to take photos might’ve given Laurie some comfort that he still cared, and that might’ve mattered, and he should’ve taken them for that reason alone.
Don’t look don’t look don’t look, she instructed herself, as she took the lid off. She’d glance and look away, she told herself. She opened the envelope packet on top. An Ark of the Covenant for her emotions. Laurie was probably going to do the skin-melting screaming CGI skeleton thing, as unleashing the evil spirits of the past overcame her.
The first pack was pretty much the most poignant she could’ve encountered. Thanks, random chance, you bitch.
Their impromptu staycation at The Midland.
They’d been getting their kitchen done, and it had taken forever thanks to inadvertently hiring the greatest cowboys in the North West to fit it. Their story ended in the small claims court, because don’t fuck with two lawyers at once. Laurie had almost lost her mind after nineteen days with a room that resembled an ISIS stronghold, with bags of crisps for dinner and being fed a daily diet of lies.
While she curled foetal, Dan had gone off, made a call and surprised her by saying, ‘Pack a bag for two nights away,’ before bundling her into a taxi.
They’d pulled up minutes later outside the imposing entrance of Manchester’s fanciest, Grade II listed grand hotel. Laurie had always hankered after a night there.
Dan had explained the circumstances when booking, so they were upgraded to a suite, the floor space as large as a penthouse flat.
‘Can we afford this?’ Laurie said, bedazzled, as Dan handed her a glass from the complimentary bottle of cava.
‘Yeah, ish,’ Dan said, ‘Worth it for the look on your face alone.’
It was an amazing forty-eight hours, after the chaos and despair of ‘Sorry, love, we didn’t know that was a supporting wall because you didn’t warn us,’ and being coated in brick dust.
Sitting in a palatial king size-bed, eating room service chips and giggling like a pair of kids at a sleepover. It was Dan at his best: spontaneous, generous and caring.
Laurie held one of the floppy rectangles depicting the episode, Dan pointing to the toilet in their colossal hotel bathroom, pulling a ‘what the hell’ face. They took a series of photos like this of the lavish fixtures and fittings, in poses usually seen in local papers by people upset about pot holes, which seemed hilarious when half cut.
The last in the set was Dan and Laurie checking out, stood by the ball-of-lilies flower display in the lobby, Dan holding the camera above their heads, hugging Laurie to him tightly. A team. A duo. Best friends. Turning adversity into an adventure. Dan looked so pleased with himself and Laurie looked so happy.
She limped downstairs and lay on the sofa and let the sadness and desolation wash over her for the thousandth time.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her phone screen ripple with a message. More cascaded down, blip – blip – blip. It was a WhatsApp group she was in, titled ‘Claire’s Baby Shower’ for its original purpose, though that baby was now two.
Claire and Phil were successful Chorlton friends, along with Ed and Erica, and Tom and Preethi, the people they socialised with most as a couple. Laurie had expected more messages of condolences from them, she knew they knew as Dan had bumped into Tom, told him, and told Laurie he’d told him. And she’d had the creep DMs from Adrian: news travelled invisibly and fast.
She only got a text from Claire saying awful for her and was she OK and the usual things, and Laurie replied she was gutted but coping, thank you, and Claire didn’t reply to that one.
Laurie didn’t entirely mind, but registered it was slightly dismissive.
The messages carried on pinging at hectic speed and Laurie roused herself to pick her handset up. She lurched at the sight of her own name. It took a fraction of a second to tell it was being typed in a tone and manner that clearly wasn’t meant to be seen by her, the owner of the name.
Claire
It’s a funny one, at first I said to Phil I didn’t believe it as they seemed so solid but the more I think about it, the more I see it. Laurie’s so smart but her sense of humour can be quite cutting! Dan was always more laidback, somehow? Laurie’s sharp in a way that is good in court and maybe not so great in a marriage