I glance at Merwyn who lifts one ear up when he hears the ‘d’ word. ‘We already did – we were shocked and delighted in equal measure.’
‘So how about this wreath – are you up for dropping it off? It’s only a couple of hundred yards down the lane there.’
If he’d asked me before I might have hated the idea. But now we’re here, and I’ve got the vine circle in my hand, it doesn’t feel hard, it just feels right. And as it hits me how close I am to where the crash was my eyes are full of tears, and I’m swallowing, but it’s more about how kind and thoughtful he’s being than about any of the rest. And I’m nodding before I realise I’m doing it.
Bill’s completely right. It’s barely any distance away. And then we’re out on the verge, by a hedge full of holly, the wind whipping across our faces and blowing so hard Merwyn’s ears are flattened. And the most there is to show of the crash is a splintered fence post in amongst the tangled stems of the hedge.
‘So this is the tree?’ I let out a breath and look down at a bunch of white roses in cellophane propped by the base of the trunk. ‘It’s so strange, just one random tree on a roadside, one moment in time. Michael and I will always be always bound together by that second, but I’m here, and he isn’t.’ I’m swallowing down my tears, but it’s not working. ‘Him dying always felt so random. I mean, why him and not me?’
Bill shrugs. ‘There’s never a reason, it’s just how things happen.’
‘If only we hadn’t set off, if only I’d thought …’ It’s what I always think.
‘But it changed you. If you’d been as you are now, it wouldn’t have happened. That has to be some comfort?’ He’s holding onto my fingers, and he squeezes my hand tightly. ‘But you’re the one who came out of it, you owe it to him to live life for both of you – no holding back.’ He’s fumbling in another bag and reaching up the trunk. ‘I brought a hammer and a nail, tell me where you think.’
I’m laughing and crying at the same time. ‘For a guy who worked in the city you’re very practical.’
He laughs too. ‘Years of battling with an unruly castle, I have to be.’
‘That’s perfect.’ He taps in the nail, then I reach up and hang up the wreath.
‘There’s a label in there too, in case you’d like to write anything.’ He passes me a pen, and a piece of card.
So squatting by the roadside, on a blustery day before Christmas, in the fading light of a December afternoon I write my goodbye note to someone I barely knew but will never forget.
Michael,
I will always look for you when the stars shine, and I promise to live life for both of us,
all my love, Ivy xx.
Bill smiles at me as he reads it, then I tie the string to the circle with fumbling fingers. And as I step back, Bill passes me a tissue and I blow my nose. Then his arm slides around me, and as I lean into him all I can feel is his warmth and strength and his goodness.
‘I’d like to come back every year and do this.’
‘That’s a good idea, we’ll make sure we do.’ He pulls me closer and squeezes away my shiver. ‘There’s a tea shop in the village, let’s warm up with a hot chocolate before we set off again.’
And just for a moment, there’s a sureness and a certainty in his voice that’s nothing to do with arrogance. It’s simply a deep and calm reassurance. And the thought that he’ll still be here to come with me again next year is like a blanket being wrapped around me. As we get back into the car, it does feel like a new beginning. But it’s not about what I’m leaving behind, it’s more that there’s someone who wants to be here for me. To support me. And it’s as if by being here, he’s passing on his strength, making me stronger. It’s not anything spoken, it’s just a feeling deep inside. Whatever doubts I was having, IknowI can rely on him, just as he can rely on me.
It’s not anything we mention or talk about, it’s like an unspoken understanding. As we sit by the teashop fire and munch on deep slices of sticky ginger cake and drink our hot chocolate we’re quiet. Together, but reflecting. It’s been a day of big emotions, sometimes it’s betternotto talk.
By the time we set off again it’s dark, and the lights on the Christmas trees in the cottage windows around the village are shining out into the night, and the festive CD is playing quietly in the darkness, breaking the journey into tune sized fragments.
Bill’s musing in the dark. ‘Not long to Christmas now, Pom Pom.’
As I count on my fingers I let out a heartfelt sigh for how few days there are left. ‘That’s the trouble with holidays, you look forward to them forever, then they’re over so fast.’
He clears his throat, and I watch the shadow of his Adams apple as he swallows. ‘So do you ever think about Chamonix?’
There’s no hope of answering that one and keeping my dignity intact so I send this back to him: ‘It was a really significant holiday for you, wasn’t that where you got to know Gemma properly?’
There’s a few beats of silence. ‘I’ve been meaning to tell you what happened with Gemma.’
‘Really?’ I can’t imagine why.
‘When she went back to London last January it was with the marketing manager who’d been working on the gin account.’
I raise my eyebrows. ‘So that explains your patchy promotion.’
