sure that there could never be a life without Roly, was now contemplating an entirely new one with someone else.
Would anyone believe that she would not be replacing Rolywith Judd? She would simply be living the only life she felt that it was possible to live. In the warm blackness of the pillow she was back for the millionth time in that other autumn morning, the rain beating against the bedroom window.
Roly was in the bathroom. He called to her, ‘If you don’t get out of that bed, lazybones, we’re going to be late and Simon will take a very dim view of that!’
Sara smiled a fulfilled smile into the bedclothes, happy at the love in her husband’s voice and because they were going to see their son Simon at school, whom, by half-term, she always missed terribly.
When they set out, they found the tarmac glistening and the traffic heaving. Once on the open road, Roly put his foot down.
‘The roads are awfully skiddy, Roly.’
‘Don’t worry, darling. Simon will be upset if we don’t arrive on time.’
She remembered the bend in the road and the dripping hedges. She would remember for ever the sickening, frightening slide as they negotiated it, which left them spinning like a top on the wrong side of the road. She remembered how huge, almost like the prow of a ship, the approaching hulk of the furniture removal van had looked. After that she would not allow herself to remember.
At the hospital they had avoided telling her the news for as long as possible. But because she knew, she did not press them. ‘In a day or two,’ they said, ‘when you’re stronger.’ She made no effort to get stronger to greet the husband she knewwould never come. When the doctor in the long white coat came finally to sit on the bed and take her hand she was able to spare him his embarrassing task. The only thing she hadn’t known was that Roly had died instantaneously. She was supposed to derive some comfort from the information.
The weeks immediately afterwards had not somehow been so bad. The sickening, engulfing grief, the grief that was impossible to live with, somehow slid past in an anaesthetising wave. It was a bad dream, and she had wakened one morning to find that reality was far, far worse.
For the children’s sake she had tried, but she found that without Roly she did not know how to live. There was no one even to quarrel with. Noisy, shouting quarrels whose course was satisfying and whose end was always certain.
She felt alone, as if she were standing on a high rock. Beneath her, kind arms waved to welcome her, but the arms she searched for were not there, so she remained alone on her rock and soon the arms stopped waving. The children made it possible – essential in fact – to carry on, but sooner or later children had to go to bed and she was left, wandering around the house, which brought back too many memories. She did not go out. She could not bring herself to make the effort.
There were problems. She found that Roly had left her enough money to live on and support the children, but she would have to cut down their standard of living. Should she stay on in the roomy old house, sell up and move into a small flat, or take the children and move in with her mother? There were problems she had to face.
On the evening when Judd had first called she was kneeling on the floor of the sitting room cutting out a dress for her daughter, Harriet, from a paper pattern. It was a task in which she was inexperienced and the concentrated effort had wearied her. Simon and Harriet, in pyjamas and barefooted, sat cross-legged before the fire eating their supper. Everywhere there were pins, material, books, games and vital pieces of her pattern.
The bell surprised them all. Nowadays no one ever visited them in the evenings. Sara got up and went to answer the bell, shutting the door behind her so that whoever had arrived would not see the mess.
A stranger stood on the doorstep, large, loose-limbed and blond. ‘I hope I’m
Would anyone believe that she would not be replacing Rolywith Judd? She would simply be living the only life she felt that it was possible to live. In the warm blackness of the pillow she was back for the millionth time in that other autumn morning, the rain beating against the bedroom window.
Roly was in the bathroom. He called to her, ‘If you don’t get out of that bed, lazybones, we’re going to be late and Simon will take a very dim view of that!’
Sara smiled a fulfilled smile into the bedclothes, happy at the love in her husband’s voice and because they were going to see their son Simon at school, whom, by half-term, she always missed terribly.
When they set out, they found the tarmac glistening and the traffic heaving. Once on the open road, Roly put his foot down.
‘The roads are awfully skiddy, Roly.’
‘Don’t worry, darling. Simon will be upset if we don’t arrive on time.’
She remembered the bend in the road and the dripping hedges. She would remember for ever the sickening, frightening slide as they negotiated it, which left them spinning like a top on the wrong side of the road. She remembered how huge, almost like the prow of a ship, the approaching hulk of the furniture removal van had looked. After that she would not allow herself to remember.
At the hospital they had avoided telling her the news for as long as possible. But because she knew, she did not press them. ‘In a day or two,’ they said, ‘when you’re stronger.’ She made no effort to get stronger to greet the husband she knewwould never come. When the doctor in the long white coat came finally to sit on the bed and take her hand she was able to spare him his embarrassing task. The only thing she hadn’t known was that Roly had died instantaneously. She was supposed to derive some comfort from the information.
The weeks immediately afterwards had not somehow been so bad. The sickening, engulfing grief, the grief that was impossible to live with, somehow slid past in an anaesthetising wave. It was a bad dream, and she had wakened one morning to find that reality was far, far worse.
For the children’s sake she had tried, but she found that without Roly she did not know how to live. There was no one even to quarrel with. Noisy, shouting quarrels whose course was satisfying and whose end was always certain.
She felt alone, as if she were standing on a high rock. Beneath her, kind arms waved to welcome her, but the arms she searched for were not there, so she remained alone on her rock and soon the arms stopped waving. The children made it possible – essential in fact – to carry on, but sooner or later children had to go to bed and she was left, wandering around the house, which brought back too many memories. She did not go out. She could not bring herself to make the effort.
There were problems. She found that Roly had left her enough money to live on and support the children, but she would have to cut down their standard of living. Should she stay on in the roomy old house, sell up and move into a small flat, or take the children and move in with her mother? There were problems she had to face.
On the evening when Judd had first called she was kneeling on the floor of the sitting room cutting out a dress for her daughter, Harriet, from a paper pattern. It was a task in which she was inexperienced and the concentrated effort had wearied her. Simon and Harriet, in pyjamas and barefooted, sat cross-legged before the fire eating their supper. Everywhere there were pins, material, books, games and vital pieces of her pattern.
The bell surprised them all. Nowadays no one ever visited them in the evenings. Sara got up and went to answer the bell, shutting the door behind her so that whoever had arrived would not see the mess.
A stranger stood on the doorstep, large, loose-limbed and blond. ‘I hope I’m
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