10

It was hard to believe that two weeks had passed since her husband’s suicide. She still expected to see the hump of his body in bed, and found it difficult to fall asleep without hearing him snoring beside her. Although she used to find the noise irritating, the unfamiliar silence disturbed her. In spite of her shock, somehow the funeral had kept her going. With so much to do, she had barely had time to stop and think. Her stepson had done his best to assist her in making the arrangements, and the funeral director had been very helpful. Now everything was in the hands of the lawyers, and there was nothing for her to do but wait for them to sort out the probate. Her solicitor had assured her that it was a straightforward case, Mark having left everything to her in his will. Even so it seemed that his affairs were going to take a while to settle. Eddy had offered to lend her some cash in the meantime, but Charlotte knew he didn’t have much money and whatever he could afford to lend her would be insignificant.

Now that several days had passed since they had buried her husband, the reality of her situation was beginning to sink in. She tried not to think about what had happened. Dwelling on it only upset her. She couldn’t talk to Eddy, who had his own grief to deal with. The truth was, Mark’s death hadn’t made it easy for either of them. When she thought about him now, her overriding emotion was not sadness, but anger. She knew she ought not to blame her husband, but if he had been unhappy, he had also been dreadfully selfish.

‘I don’t understand. How could it happen? How did things end up like this?’ she asked her doctor. It was a relief to be able to admit her feelings freely. ‘I’m so angry with him. And when I’m not feeling angry, I can’t stop crying. Why did this have to happen? What have I done? What have I done?’

The GP prescribed her some pills to get her through the next couple of weeks but she resisted taking them, even though Eddy advised her to follow the doctor’s advice. The pills came with a list of alarming potential side effects. Eddy assured her the pharmaceutical companies issued similar warnings for every medicine on the market, to cover themselves against any possible complaint.

‘It says you shouldn’t drive if they make you feel sleepy,’ Charlotte objected. ‘That doesn’t sound very safe. They can’t be good for you. How am I supposed to do anything if these pills are going to knock me out?’

She turned down her son’s offer to drive her to Sainsbury’s. It was kind of him, but now she was on her own, she had to get used to managing without help from other people. Besides, if he took her shopping, she would end up paying for his purchases as well as her own. During the day she managed to occupy herself, cleaning the house and watching a lot of television. Nights were the worst. Her guilt and loneliness grew so sharp it was like a physical pain in her chest. Meanwhile the police had concluded their investigation and were satisfied that Mark had committed suicide. As far as they were concerned, that was the end of the matter. But Charlotte knew that she was responsible for what had happened. She should have stopped it.

Determined to pull herself together, on Sunday evening she went to the supermarket and tried to pretend, for a short time at least, that her life had returned to normal. It was easier when she was out of the house where everything reminded her of Mark. The traffic was relatively light. She wasn’t unhappy that she had to drive around the car park looking for a space, or that it took her a while to make her way along the busy aisles. She was in no hurry to return to her empty house. It felt strange, shopping for one. For the first time in her adult life she didn’t have to take anyone else’s preferences into consideration. The freedom was baffling. It had taken her a while to adjust to shopping only for herself and Mark when Eddy had left home. Now a couple of times she had to return items to the shelves because, without thinking, she had picked up things for Mark. Returning the toothpaste he liked, she walked slowly along the shelves of hair products and selected a new shampoo and conditioner. Pausing by the dyes she studied the different shades, wondering which might suit her if she decided to change her hair. She didn’t mind the wasted time. Eddy had just finished decorating the hall, but she still experienced a strange cold feeling on stepping through the front door. It was her front door now. The whole house was hers. She should have been pleased. Instead she was beginning to hate the house because, wherever she went, Mark’s presence seemed to linger, malevolent and accusing. She spent a long time making very few purchases but eventually she had to go home.

As she drove, she noticed a black van following her from the supermarket all the way along Wigginton Road, past the hospital, and out to Clifton where it turned behind her into her own side street. When she reached her house the black van drove straight past. It must have been guilt that was making her paranoid, but she felt uneasy. Dismissing her anxiety as foolish, she unpacked her shopping and put the kettle on. She would feel better after a cup of tea and something to eat. She felt unexpectedly tired after going to the supermarket, even though she had only bought a small proportion of her usual trolley load. Taking her cup of tea into the front room she sat down, glanced out of the window and paused, tea in hand. A black van was parked across the road. She couldn’t be sure, but she thought she recognised it as the one that had followed her home earlier. She leaped up and closed the curtains. Her hands were shaking as she picked up her cup again. Sinking back into an armchair, she put her tea down, covered her face with her hands, and began to cry. Without Mark the world seemed hostile.

She had hardly slept for weeks and her head was aching. Not feeling hungry, she went upstairs. Buying a new bed was one of the first things she was going to do as soon as she got her hands on the money Mark had left. After what had happened, it sickened her to think she was sleeping in the bed she had shared with him for over thirty years. As she was cleaning her teeth, she saw that her eyes were swollen from crying. Anyone seeing her would think she had been crying from grief for her dead husband, but her feelings were more complex than that. More than anything, her fury and disappointment were becoming hard to control. Somehow she had to get a grip on herself. Returning to the bedroom, she peered outside through a gap in the curtains and drew back in alarm. The black van was still parked across the road. She was almost certain it was the van she had seen following her home from the supermarket. Hurriedly she closed the curtains. A new emotion had taken over from her anger: fear.