The Aftermath Of You

Chapter Forty Three

Valentine's Day was warm and sunny. Birds hurried about their business, or nested happily. I'd snuck out of work early stopping on my way home to steal an armful of red roses from my next door neighbour's rosebush. Arriving home with a box of chocolates that I'd found in Granny Smith's cupboard, I swung in through our front door, laughing gently to myself in excitement, imagining what Jack's face would look like when he saw the roses. He'd been sad for at least two weeks, probably longer. We'd started to do more and more things apart. Coming home late at night, I would find the residue of his dinner on a kitchen counter and I'd begun to wonder how much longer it could go on.

And then that morning Jack had sat up and smiled at me. "I love you." He kissed me gently on the lips. "You are such a wonderful woman, Ms. Handcock. I've been so blessed to have you in my life."

Warm feelings that I hadn't felt in a long time washed over me, leaving me giddy with delight. Jack was the only man for me for the rest of my life, and I had to make him realise that. I didn't want to move in with the lunch-providing next door neighbour – I only wanted Jack, me and our baby in this spooky old house.

As I left the house that morning I called out, "Shouldn't you be heading to work, honey? You might be late!"

"Late start today," he called after my receding back. No wonder he'd been looking secretive – he was obviously planning something wonderful for me for Valentine's.

Now, as I mounted the stairs, I was scattering roses when suddenly I heard a loud bang from the upstairs room - the sound of our bedroom door slamming.

I would have called his name out aloud to get his attention, but my instincts made me stay quiet. Something made my feet rush up those stairs, taking two or even three steps at a time. Reaching our bedroom I opened the door. Clothes were strewn everywhere; the bedclothes were rumpled and unmade, and the door to our wardrobe was slightly ajar. The window was open and a draught was toying with the wardrobe door, perhaps the same draught which had made the bedroom door slam. Something smelt like ... well, I couldn't put my finger on it. Stepping forward, I tugged the wardrobe door open. That's when I saw it.

Or maybe or should say, when I saw him. Jack.

My Jack hanging from his neck; icy blue, not a trace of breath left in his entire body.

At first I fell to the floor like a sack of potatoes. My knees turned to jelly; my heart had momentarily stopped. And then I began screaming and screaming and tugging at the rope to free him ...

After that everything became a blur. Policemen. Ambulance. People storming around, crushing my scattered roses into the carpet, shooting questions, demands - but it all seemed silly. After all, no one could bring my love back. I switched into autopilot, and sat where people wanted me to sit, and dumbly answered any questions they asked of me. In my mind all I could hear was Jack's voice that morning when he woke me up. I tried to decode everything he'd said, tried to understand how I'd missed the message.

I lay down on the bed and I wouldn't get up again. Not even the wardrobe lurking ferociously in the corner could scare me away; guilt descended onto me like a dark cloud ... the horrible, horrible guilt. Jack had killed himself because of me, because I hadn't been a good partner, because I hadn't told him just how much I loved and needed him.

I lay like a dead thing too, under the sheets, only emerging for the day of the funeral. Frog-marched in with his parents and their respective partners, all of us dazed and confused. We couldn't believe that he'd done this to us, that he'd hurt us this way. As we walked into the funeral home a few of the mourners looked at us in sympathy, but a few had looked away awkwardly, not wanting to catch eye contact. They all knew that I'd seen him, and they probably knew that I'd chased him to it. I felt like throwing up the whole way through the service, and the only thing that kept me sane was Jack's step mother howling in my ear.