‘What?’ he said, a frown creasing his forehead.
‘I just…’ I sighed. ‘I don’t know. I just think it’s important to have someone neutral to talk to, to process your feelings.’ I was a fine one to talk.
‘I did process them. What else is there to say?’
‘What about the baby stuff? Don’t you think it would have been good to talk about that, at least?’
He froze and I wondered whether I’d overstepped the mark. I mean, I didn’t really know this man very well. How would I feel if the situation was reversed and he was pushing me like this? I was about to apologise when I realised he was saying something. I leaned in closer to hear him.
‘I have dreams sometimes,’ he said. His voice cracked and he cleared his throat and looked up at the roof. ‘I wake up in a sweat in the middle of the night and realise I’ve been dreaming about a baby crying, and I couldn’t get to it, and I’d been shouting for Dawn to come and she wasn’t there.’ He swallowed, and looked down at his hands in his lap. ‘I’ll never stop feeling guilty for not realising that something was wrong with Dawn earlier, ratherthan being so sure the symptoms she was experiencing were because she was pregnant.’
I didn’t know what to say. Telling him it wasn’t his fault, that he isn’t a doctor, that he wasn’t supposed to know what the symptoms of ovarian cancer were, wouldn’t help, because I knew that he wouldn’t believe it. Why would he, when I didn’t believe people when they told me I shouldn’t feel guilty about Greg’s death? When I tortured myself that he fell from that tree because he was upset about what I’d said to him as he’d left that day, that he was distracted?
So instead I put my hand on the bench between us, and our fingers touched in a spark of electricity. ‘I’m sorry you couldn’t have a baby,’ I said, simply.
‘Me too,’ he whispered.
I had no idea know how long we talked for, but by the time we’d covered the fact that he’d been mildly bullied at school for playing the violin and that subtitled films were his favourite ‘but not for any pretentious reasons’, it was starting to get dark. I shivered, goosebumps prickling my skin.
‘So what’s next?’ he said, as I rummaged in my bag for my cardigan and tugged it over my arms.
‘Next?’ I said.
‘You said you don’t particularly like your job or your boss. So why stay?’
I considered his words before answering. ‘It’s just been easier, to stay,’ I said carefully. ‘And my boss isn’t that bad, just a bit mad sometimes.’ The truth was, the thought of trying to find another job while I was still in the depths of grief had felt like attempting to climb a mountain without a scrap of equipment.But now, I could see that Nick was probably right, and that a new job should probably be next on my to-do list.
‘I don’t know. I need to get the house sorted first. I mean, I’ve been there three months and there are still boxes that need unpacking in the smallest bedroom.’
He nodded. ‘Ah yes, I know that feeling,’ he said. ‘I put off clearing out Dawn’s things for a long time. But I got it done in the end and you will too, when you’re ready.’
‘Moving was harder than I thought it would be,’ I admitted. ‘Leaving the place that Greg and I had bought together and buying this house, it’s been a lot…’
He nodded. ‘Is it nearby, where you live now?’
I nodded. ‘Just down the road, on Cherry Tree Close.’
There was a moment’s silence and when I looked round Nick had a surprised expression on his face, his skin a little flushed.
‘You live on Cherry Tree Close?’
‘I do. Why?’
‘I live there too.’
I stared at him. The close was only small, about a dozen or so houses. And although I hadn’t met all the neighbours yet, it seemed strange that we hadn’t at least seen each other in passing in all that time.
‘How weird,’ I said.
‘It is.’
‘Perhaps we leave at completely different times every day.’
‘Maybe. I don’t remember anyone moving in recently though.’ His voice sounded tight. ‘Must be going mad. Which number are you?’
‘Number five.’
His face drained of colour and he scooted away, moving across the bench as far away from me as he could get.
