But in any event, I was given some paperwork and some gentle advice, and now I’m going back to my mother’s house, where I have lived for almost ten years. Now I’ll be living there without her, all alone on the nights El spends with Tim. Almost everything in that house is hers. She will be everywhere, and she will be nowhere, and walking inside is going to hurt so much.
“I’m taking tomorrow off,” Tim murmurs to me as he pulls up outside the house.
“No,” I reply, shaking my head. He literally just started his job at the University of Foxton’s IT department last week. He can’t take time out now. It’s too soon. He’ll get into trouble.
“Yes,” he says back, his tone firm. “You need me. They’ll just have to understand.” And with that, he gets out of the car and walks quickly around to open my door. I didn’t have a chance to argue, and to be honest, I don’t have it in me to do so anyway. He’s crouching next to me, just waiting, letting me act in my own time without hurrying me. He’s doing everything right.
He’s being exactly what I need.
I hold out my hand, and he takes it without hesitating as I get out of the car. I hand him my keys, and he takes them, opening the front door, and then just waiting for me. “Take your time,” he whispers.
I reach for his hand again, letting his warmth seep into my skin to give me strength and courage. I may have tears pouring down my face, but that doesn’t mean I’m not brave or capable. He squeezes, and I squeeze back. My legs start moving, and I’m over the threshold.
Those are Mum’s keys in the key bowl.
That’s the shelf unit she painted herself nailed to the wall, covered in the Toni Raymond pottery she loved so much.
There’s the photo of her hugging Eleanor at her third birthday party, her smile so huge because she loved her granddaughter so, so much…
And this is just the hallway.
I crumple for what feels like the millionth time in the past three hours, and once again Tim catches me, pulling me into his arms and holding me tightly. “I’m here,” he whispers. “You’ve got me. And I’m not going anywhere.”
I bury my face in his chest, inhaling the wonderful clean smell of him, and let it lull me into a peaceful plateau where I can just breathe and exist for a few sweet moments. His arms feel like a safe harbour while the sea of my life crashes around me. I may be cold, wet, and tired, but the rock I’m holding onto is solid and stable, and keeping me alive.
My hands run down his back, and I feel a gentle shiver run through him. He’s holding his breath, or at least it feels like he is. And the heartbeat beneath my ear skips and jumps unevenly. My own joins in, speeding up a little at the implications of his body language. And the way it bleeds into my own.
He clears his throat softly, and I lift my head, my cheek moving slowly up the cotton of his shirt, until we’re looking each other in the eye. There’s a storm in his blue eyes, just barely leashed, and a muscle in his jaw is jumping.
I want him.
Ineedhim.
He’s the person I love, and there is no sense and no use in continuing to pretend otherwise.
His mouth is so close and looks so soft, and I can’t imagine anything more wonderful than feeling it under mine again, and don’t I deserve that? Don’t I fuckingdeservesomething beautiful in the shitshow of grief and sadness? Some measure of escape?
My lips get closer to his by millimetres, and then…
Mum’s clock chimes in the front room, a few feet away. She inherited it from her grandmother, and now I’ve inherited it from her.
Mum.
Oh my god. What’s wrong with me?
I take a few steps back, slipping out of his arms, and he lets me go. “I’m so sorry,” I croak, my chest feeling tight. “Oh, Christ…how could I…”
He throws his arms around me again. “It’s OK.”
“No,” I sob. “How can I be… When my mother just…” If anything, this has broken me more than anything else so far. How could I be so callous as to feel horny, to entertain the idea of kissing him and making love, when my mother isn’t even cold yet? What does that make me?
Tim cups my face, his eyes full of sympathy and understanding, and not even a hint of resentment at being teased with a possibility that was then snatched away. “Don’t think about that now,” he orders me, kissing my forehead. “It’s not important right now. I’m going to put you to bed, and I’m going to stay with you all night, and I’m going to be on top of the covers. And if you need anything at any time during the night, all you need to do is open your mouth and ask me. OK?”
I have no idea what I did to deserve him.
And I don’t know how we can move past my admission.
But stability is needed now more than ever, and this time, not just for Eleanor.
