December
The more he considered offering to be ‘Stevie’s man,’ the more often Chris thought of her until he knew he would do it, if for no other reason than to just see those blue eyes light up with pleasure.
But the moment to offer never seemed to come along. He didn’t know how to contact her and every time he cycled along the lake, even early in the morning hoping to catch her, he was the only person there, not even another swimmer unclipping their tow float from around their waist as he unclipped his feet from his pedals to stop and look for her on the lakeshore or out in the water.
It felt important to Chris to tell her himself, face to face. He chuckled because it reminded him of when he’d had to pluck up the courage to ask Gail out on their first date. He’d hung around where she worked on the off chance he’d catch her escaping the office to get a bite to eat at lunchtime, or later in the day happen to bump into her as she left at five p.m. In the end, it was her who asked him out and he’d been grateful. It saved him further awkwardness and made him feel wanted.
There he went, using that word: grateful. He shook his head in disappointment at himself for being such a spineless idiot for too long. He had been drawn by her quietness, her constant state of calm, and had chosen to ignore the flashes of irritation and unkind words that punctuated each month, then each week, until he came to expect at least one outburst each day.
It became easier to submit than to keep fighting to stay afloat in the sadness and hurt their marriage had become for him. The two bright sparks of hope in his life had always been his children: Tom and Clare.
But everything felt different now. In the same way that his late wife’s moods had deteriorated from rare to frequent, his self-confidence was increasing from zero to tangible. The emotional bruises were fading and he took pleasure from something new each day: the fit of his jeans, the bulge of his calf muscles as he stood up on his pedals, the taste of a homemade pasta sauce, and the teetering pile of books on the bedside table. Everything he did felt like the first time because he could choose exactly how he did it. Adding six garlic cloves to the pasta sauce was starting to feel normal now, not rebellious. The first time he got carried away while he was touching himself one afternoon and orgasmed messily onto the duvet cover, he felt like a warrior. Afterwards, he realised the window had been open and his elderly neighbours were sitting on their patio having forty winks after lunch. Flooded with embarrassment, he had to stop himself from stripping the cover off and racing to the washing machine before he got found out and told off.
On other days, he missed Gail – not the difficult and unforgiving woman she had become before her diagnosis, but the one who had grown more gentle and loving as she surrendered to the terrible disease and asked for his help. He had seen the fear in her eyes, the fear that he would refuse to care for her after all the unkind things she had said to him over the last few years. Short of asking for his forgiveness, she had allowed him some autonomy, even if it was just because she had no one else to turn to. It was a weird kind of love, but it made Chris feel far closer to her and more valued. He had, once more, been grateful.