After You

Chapter Five - Lover I Don't have to Love

"The second time was no accident. That doesn't necessarily mean it wasn't a mistake."

- Jude

I kept my night with Jude a secret. I knew our friends and family wouldn't understand. They would have been hurt, thinking that I'd moved on too soon, or been worried, citing casual sex as a symptom of my "going off the rails". I was surprised to find that I felt no guilt when I woke up in Jude's bed the following morning. We'd exchanged numbers so that I could "Give him a call whenever I needed a distraction", but I wasn't so blasé about what had happened between us to intend to make a habit of it. You might think badly of me – what I did was wholly inappropriate – but I didn't sit about our flat feeling like a cheat. I didn't regret having an evening of respite from loneliness and depression. I could even think back on the whole experience with a certain satisfaction, because sleeping with Jude had felt good, and did make me feel a little less bereft. I was only concerned about what other people would think; about being judged by everyone, by you. Would you all think that I was a bad widow? That I couldn't possibly have loved you, after falling into bed with another man so soon? And your family; God forbid if they ever found out what I'd got up to that Friday night.

"WHATEVER GETS YOU THROUGH THE DAY, MERRY. SCREW WHAT EVERYONE ELSE THINKS. ONLY YOU KNOW WHAT IT FEELS LIKE TO BE MY WIDOW. WHO ARE THEY TO JUDGE?"
But what about you? Do you judge me?
"NO. EVERYONE NEEDS A NIGHT OFF ONCE IN A WHILE."
Exactly! I tell you, nodding in triumphant agreement. I knew you'd understand.

Still, as I had no intention of my liaison with Jude ever becoming common knowledge, I shrugged away my concerns about widows and casual sex, and tried to plough on with my life. Work kept me busy by day, and Tabby and Luke kept me busy by night, popping round for shoddy microwave meals or over-boiled pasta. Sometimes they dragged me out to bars in order to "get me out of the house". It was just a shame that Luke always monitored how much I drank, managing to tell me – without fail – that he thought I'd had enough after two glasses of wine.

'I'm a big girl, Luke,' I told him, suppressing an irritated scowl; I knew he was just trying to look out for me. 'I can hold my drink, and besides, I know my own limits.'

'But you've barely eaten,' he reasoned.

"PERHAPS HE HAS A POINT, BABE? YOU'RE LOOKING A BIT... GAUNT."
I ignore you. I'm well aware of what I look like, but right now, I don't care. I focus on the condensation on my glass of chilled white wine.

'Why bring me to a bar if you don't think I should be drinking?' I challenged, trying not to question the wisdom of my drinking on nothing but fruit salad and a rice cake.

'It's not that you shouldn't be drinking,' Tabby explained gently, in an attempt to placate me. 'Just that you shouldn't be drinking too much.'

'I'm not a drunk,' I told her. I wasn't. I didn't drink at home. I hadn't been out since my night with Jude, and that was almost a fortnight ago. 'This is my third glass. I've not had a drop since Rhian's exhibition opened.'

'I still don't know why you went alone,' Luke grumbled. 'I'd have come with you if you'd asked.'

'I know you would have,' I nodded. 'But I wanted to go alone.' There would've been no chance of my going home with Jude, had Luke and Tabby been in attendance. There would have been no reprieve from grief.