Ending a loving relationship, particularly for the second time, is more complicated than disconnecting a phone call. Over the previous thirty-plus years, memories of Gaynor had frequently popped into my mind. Something or somewhere - a smell, a sight, a song - triggered recollections. But now, this second time around, I couldn’t get through even one single day without thinking about her.

Maybe it was because it was all too fresh, that it had just happened. I tried recollecting whether it was like that in the early days after our first parting. I suppose I hurt back then but I couldn’t feel that pain, not like now. I was listless, didn’t have the energy or inclination to do anything. I went on to automatic pilot, drifting aimlessly and pointlessly through days and nights. Quite pathetic for a man of fifty-eight years.

Perhaps the torment was greater this time because I knew Gaynor was only a few miles distant, a phone call or text or e-mail away. I knew where she lived, where she sat and slept. But she eluded my fingertips and my eyes and ears. Physically, she had gone but, mentally, she was still very much inside me. Every day.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Christmas is a time for family and ours was only small. Neither Veronica nor I had surviving parents and we were the only offspring. So, our family “invaders” this year, were our twin daughters and their husbands. A gathering of six adults to enjoy the festive cheer.

Veronica was always in her element as a mother-hen and hostess and, by mid-December, everything had been planned down to the last walnut.

We decorated the house with gold, purple, red, green and silver trimmings. The tree was resplendent with baubles and lights and brightly-wrapped parcels surrounded its base. Happy families, indeed.

Our daughters arrived late morning on Christmas Eve and our eldest (by all of two minutes!) surprised Veronica and I with one of our best Yuletide gifts: the news that she was pregnant. Our first grandchild was on the way! That lifted my spirits and confirmed my place in the universe as a family man. Perhaps I’m not typical of the species, I thought, but, hey, I’m still here in the nest. 

In the build up to the season of love and goodwill, I had posted a Christmas card to Gaynor. Why not? And, on Christmas morning, I even sneaked into the seclusion of my office and sent a “Happy Christmas” text to her.

I didn’t get a response. A card I didn’t expect but I hoped, deep down, that she might respond with a text message. I was disappointed. Okay, I’d agreed not to be a stalker - but sending a card and text at Christmas… come on, where’s the harm?

On December 28, the girls and their husbands departed after lunch for their homes in the north. The date is burned in my memory because I also received a text that afternoon. It was from Gaynor and simply said:

Hi Richard, have sent e-mail x x

My old heart skipped a beat. Gaynor was in touch again. Weeks of silence had been broken and I was suddenly invigorated, bounding up the stairs and fairly racing into my office to boot up the computer.

Fortunately, Veronica was answering a call of nature in the bathroom and I didn’t need to explain my sudden burst of energy. When she emerged, she wouldn’t be surprised to discover that I was ensconced in my office.

My fingers tapped impatiently on the desk top, willing my home page to appear. When it did I clicked on my inbox and saw I had thirty-seven messages and Gaynor’s name was at the top of the menu. Putting on my spectacles, I opened it and read:

Subject: Us

Hi Richard (no, sod it) Dear Richard

You’ll probably be wondering why on earth I’m writing this after saying we should end all contact. Well, I must admit that I half-expected you would send a Christmas card. In fact, I would have been upset if you hadn’t sent one (yep, I know, silly, contrary cow!).

Anyway, thank you and you’ll see I’ve put an attachment here. It’s my attempt at a Christmas card. Late I know, but I wasn’t sure what was happening with you. I guessed you’d be with family, either here or with your daughters someplace. Shit, I’m rambling already. Nerves you know.

Right, to the reason for this message (reasons actually). First I want to clarify my need to call a halt to our meetings. I told you I didn’t want any more trauma and that, of course, referred to our past. I thought we’d put it behind us but, I’m sorry, I suppose I carry the scars and they’re very deep. Not your fault really. It’s just how I am.

Let me say I am glad we met again (after all, I started the ball rolling) and the things you said meant a lot to me. It goes without saying that I enjoyed the intimacy but I just felt that, if we carried on, we would cause a storm that we couldn’t control.

Truthfully Richard, I am too old to go through major upheavals and the possibility of wrecking your marriage and family life was too much. I decided it was better we stopped before someone got hurt. And that includes me. In fact, mostly me.

Which brings me to my next point. This Cold Turkey business is fucked up. The times I’ve gone to send you a text or e-mail, well you wouldn’t believe me. God knows how, but I resisted. Then I started thinking, where’s the harm in a few written messages or the odd phone call?

I’m not going to ask you what you think because I know how much you wanted to maintain some contact. It was my choice to sever all contact and, being honest here, as hard as it’s been, it might still be the best option. 

I’m not sure that any renewed contact could remain platonic and at a distance. Honestly, Richard, do you? Think about it before you carry on reading.

(I diverted my eyes from the screen and thought for a few seconds. I decided that some contact would be far better than this ball-aching nothingness. But would it stop there? Could I talk on the phone and not want to hold her, look into her eyes, make love to her, feel those petals parting for my tongue, my fingers and thick erection? To smell her fragrance, sit with her, walk by the river and… oh, bloody hell. I looked back to the screen and continued reading)

I’m guessing that your answer is that something’s better than nothing but, deep down inside, perhaps not even that deep, you know it wouldn’t be enough. You see, Richard, I’d thought about all that before I met you that last time. Hence, Cold Turkey. It’s worked, up to a point. But only to a point. I do miss you and instead of getting to feel better over this past month or so, I’ve got worse. I can’t eat, I’ve been vomiting on a regular basis and I look like a bag of shit. I feel like a bag of shit.

Okay, it got so bad, Charlie went behind my back (she does that, you know!) and arranged a doctor’s appointment. She even drove me to it (I don’t think I could have driven, I feel so rotten. It was the first time I’d been out of the house for ages).

Oh my, this is taking for ever to tell you, isn’t it? Well, the upshot is, the doc reckons I might have gall bladder problems. Next step is the hospital for tests and all that stuff. I have an appointment on January 4 at 10am. Charlie has said she will take me but, here’s the crunch bit, I’d prefer it if you would come with me. Charlie’s great, we’ve been best friends for ever and, of course, we’re both nurses (once a nurse, always a nurse. No such thing as an ex nurse).

Anyway, I know it’s asking a lot and I’ll understand if you decline (posh word for telling me to get lost). Oh, so why am I asking you? The reason is quite simple. I feel safe with you, protected and warm. I know you love me and I’ll need all the love I can get at the hospital. I am a scaredy cat and yours is the best hand I can hold. Okay?

So, I’ve made contact. Please don’t think it’s only because I want your help to the hospital. Charlie is quite capable of taking me and you would never have known, would you? Really, I suppose I’m reaching out to my soulmate one more time.

Either way, please let me know what you decide by this cyber space stuff or the phone.

Love,

Petal (okay, you win, no butterfly wings this time)

xxx

I removed my spectacles, rubbed my eyes (was that a tear trapped in the corner?) and reclined in my chair. I sighed heavily. I replaced my spectacles and reached for the keyboard. No! I looked at my phone laying on the desk next to the computer.

I rose from my chair, walked along the landing to the bathroom and had a pee. After washing and drying my hands, I went downstairs where Veronica was in the lounge watching a film on the television. She glanced at me as I walked into the room but quickly went back to the small-screen entertainment.

“I’m getting myself a coffee. Do you want anything?”

“Uh, uh, no thanks. I’ve got a glass of wine here,” she said and lifted the glass as if to show me she was telling the truth.

I left the lounge, firmly closed the door, made a mug of instant coffee in the kitchen and returned to my office. Door closed, I settled back in the chair, picked up my phone and scrolled to GR on my contacts.

After three beeps, I heard, “Hello, Richard, thanks for calling.”

“I thought it would be quicker than e-mail,” I said. “How are you?”

“Not good. I’m scared, my stomach’s all knotted and I’m living on liquids. Fruit juices and yoghourts and piss-weak tea. Can’t even drink coffee, I bring it straight back.”

“That sounds terrible. How long have you been like it?”

Gaynor yawned in my ear. “Oh, sorry about that. I’m also bloody tired all the time. I keep falling asleep, just nodding off for ten or fifteen minutes at a time. Then, at night, I can’t sleep at all. And my attention span’s up the spout. I can barely watch the TV, definitely can’t read a book and the only thing left is the radio or CDs for some background noise… Oh dear, I’ve forgotten, what did you ask me?”

“How long have you been ill?”

“Oh, yes,” she said and then sighed. “A long time, months. It started not long after we began meeting. I told you I wasn’t feeling too good and was off my food. Remember, I’d be hungry and then couldn’t each much.”

“I remember, yes.”

“Well, like I told you in my e-mail, instead of improving after our split, it’s got worse. At first, I thought it was because I was still all knotted up inside, not about our meetings any more but this time about breaking up. I mean, I was distraught about it, you know. Anyway, Charlie convinced me that there might be something physically wrong, not just nerves or worry.”

“Right, I see,” I said. “So the doctor thinks you’ve got gall bladder problems? Will that mean an operation?”

“I don’t know. Most likely. But that’s why I’m booked in at the hospital for tests and scans, whatever they want to do with me. Quite honestly, I hate hospitals.”

I couldn’t help laughing.

“It’s true, Richard,” she said, a little chuckle in her husky voice. “I suppose it’s knowing what goes on behind the scenes that does it. And we nurses are very critical, you know.” She paused briefly, then asked in a quiet tone, “Will you take me to the hospital, Richard?”

“Sure. You say your appointment is for ten. That means I’ll need to make an early start.”

“Oh shit,” said Gaynor. “I didn’t think. Will that be a problem? I mean, with Veronica.”

“Don’t worry about that, I’ll think of something. I’ll get to your house by nine. That should be okay, yes?”

“Mmm, fine,” she said. “Thanks Richard. I feel better already.”

“Wish it was that easy.”

“Yeah, well…. anyway,” her voice suddenly lifted, “what did you think of your Christmas card? I’ve never done anything like it before.”

I realised I hadn’t opened the attachment and I reached for the mouse. “Tell you the truth, Gaynor I haven’t looked yet. I read your message and then phoned straight away. But I’ll look now.”

“What? Are you phoning from home? I told you never to do that.”

“Whoa, slow down. It’s okay, Veronica’s out,” I lied and clicked to open the attachment. The picture was of a snowman with a robin perched on a shoulder. “That’s lovely, thank you,” I said.

“It’s an old picture I painted years ago.”

“You painted?”

“Yep, told you there was lots you didn’t know about me. Anyway, you’ve got it. I didn’t add any words in case someone else saw it. Can’t be too careful.”

“Okay,” I said and was aware of the lounge door opening. “I’d better go, I think Veronica’s just coming up the drive.”

“Okay, Richard. Thanks and I’ll see you on the fourth. Love you, byee.”

“Bye, Petal.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Golf and Mick came to my rescue again. The fourth was a Tuesday and, because of the shorter daylight hours in winter, we usually teed-off early. Veronica had no reason to suspect anything. If only the rest of the day had gone as smoothly.

At Gaynor’s house, I let myself in and found her sitting in a chair in the bay window. She wore black leggings, black knee-length skirt and a white long-sleeved blouse, buttoned up to the neck. A winter coat was draped over the arm of her chair, her tote bag and another valise-style case at her feet. At first glance, she didn’t appear ill at all.

She looked at me and smiled, dazzling white teeth lighting up the room. “Hi,” she said softly as I crossed the room.

“Hi,” I said and bent to kiss her lush lips. It was an appropriate greeting kiss, nothing amorous. “Why the case?”

“Ah, I didn’t mention I might be kept in. Sorry Richard. I was told to be prepared for an overnight stay. Hope not but…” she shrugged, raising her magnificent bosom.

“Right, I see. Are you ready?”

“In a minute, there’s something else.” She pointed to the vacant chair. “Sit down.”

I sat and she reached to hold my right hand in her left, squeezing lightly. “I wanted to tell you this face-to-face.” She looked into my eyes. “I didn’t tell you everything on the phone but… well, when I went to the doctor he gave me a thorough examination, pushing and poking and he came up with this gall bladder prognosis.” She paused. “Then I told him that I’ve got a lump in my left breast. Had it for some time. Well, he had a feel and that’s when he started talking about detailed tests and scans. To be quite honest, Richard, I tuned him out. I didn’t really listen because I have my ideas about what’s wrong with me.”

I was shocked, couldn’t speak. My mind couldn’t absorb the possible seriousness of what Gaynor had just related. Gall bladder removal is one thing but lumps in her breast? Cancer? In her beautiful, magnificent mounds? No, not possible. I shook my head slowly, hoping some bits of sense and understanding would fall into place.

“Don’t be alarmed, Richard,” she said. “We’ve got to wait and see what they find at the hospital. They’ll sort me out.”

I smiled; well, my lips twitched. “Yes, of course they will. But, lumps in your breast, that’s a shock, Gaynor.”

“Lump not lumps,” she said with a smile. “Come on, don’t worry. Let’s get going.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

It took an age to go through the hospital paperwork and I noted that Gaynor gave Charlie as her next of kin. When asked, she referred to me as her best friend and gave my phone number as an alternative should Charlie be unavailable. 

We waited for what seemed hours before Gaynor was called to the X-ray department. And then we waited some more, holding hands and talking about nothing in particular. To be honest, I felt lost. I just couldn’t understand what was happening.

By early afternoon, we’d been shuttled to various departments, Gaynor had spoken to and been examined by different white-coated staff while I sat in corridors or ante-rooms. Then came the dreaded words: oncologist team.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Gaynor had a myriad of tests, X-rays and scans on the second day. On the phone in the evening, I was patched through to Gaynor’s ward and someone at the nurses station told me that she was comfortable but tired. She was awaiting results and would be spending a further night in hospital. I asked them to tell her that I’d called.

Minutes later I received a text from Gaynor: 

Bloody exhausted. Charlie’s been and my head’s spinning now! Will text tomorrow. Love xx

Gaynor didn’t text. In mid-morning she phoned. “Just say it’s a wrong number if you can’t talk. Can you come at two this afternoon?”

Veronica was actually shopping at the supermarket. “It’s okay on both counts. Yes, I can talk and yes, I will come to you. How are you now?”

“Much the same.

Where’s Veronica?”

“It’s okay, don’t panic, she’s out shopping. When do you get the results of the tests?”

“Some time this morning. If you can get here for visiting time at two, I might be ready to go home. I hope you’ll be able to take me.”

“Sure, of course,” I said. 

“Thanks. I’d better go. My battery is low and I didn’t bring a phone charger. Okay, honey, see you later. Byee.”

“Bye Petal.”

~~~~~~~~

When I arrived at Gaynor’s ward, I was told I had to wait. She was, apparently, in discussion with the oncologist team. I could see into the ward and the curtains had been drawn around a bed. I assumed Gaynor was there.

From a vending machine, I bought a boiling coffee in a styrofoam cup. My fingers burned holding the cup and the taste, when the liquid had cooled enough not to singe my tongue, was foul.

A nurse, passing by, spotted me curling my lip after taking a sip. She smiled and said, “Awful isn’t it? Best just to have the cold water. And that’s free.”

“Thanks,” I said. “Think I’ll do that. I couldn’t possibly drink this muck.”

She carried on walking away as I left the unwanted coffee on a table. I got a cup of cold water and, swilling some around my mouth to get rid of the coffee taste, I saw three white-coats emerge from Gaynor’s curtained cubicle. I drained the cup as the trio approached the nurses station. One of them leaned across the counter and relayed information to a blue-dressed member of staff. She nodded, tapped something on a computer screen, and the oncologist team went on their way.

The lady in blue looked across at me and said, “You can see Miss Reid now. Bed four, along on the left.”

I nodded, said, “Thank you,” tossed the empty cup into a bin and headed for bed four. There was a small gap in the curtains and I entered. Gaynor was propped up on masses of pillows. Her nightie was a lavender colour but, what struck me first was the absence of gold hoops. From the day I bought them, I couldn’t remember seeing Gaynor without them dangling from her ears. Obviously, there was a ban on wearing such jewelry in hospital.

“Hi Richard, thanks for coming,” she said.

“Hi,” I said and kissed her lips before sitting in the plastic chair at the side of her bed.

“Your timing’s good. I’ve been waiting for the results all morning but they’ve only just been to see me.”

“Yes, I know. I’ve been here a little while and I saw them leave. So,” I clasped both my hands around her left hand, “what’s the verdict?”

We looked into each other’s eyes. Hers, not surprisingly, lacked the normal sparkle. “Not good, I’m afraid.”

“Oh.” I waited, fearing the worst.

“Seems these mounds of fat have let me down, Richard.”

“Oh no,” I blurted. 

She withdrew her hand from my clasp and placed it on my shoulder. “Yep, ’fraid so, it’s cancer.”

I was astounded that Gaynor could be so unbelievably cool in the face of this awful news. I certainly didn’t feel at all composed. “They can treat it right? Chemo or whatever?”

She shook her head. “It’s not going to happen, Richard.”

“What? Why not?”

“It’s not just my breasts.” She paused and licked her lips. I watched in stupefied silence as she reached for a beaker of water on the bedside cabinet and drank a little. “They’ve found another tumour in my liver and my oesophagus, my bowel… it’s everywhere, honey.”

I looked at her, my gaze roaming over her lovely face, down over the magnificent swell of her breasts and to her hands resting in her lap on top of the blankets. The red nail-varnish was unusually chipped. Everything’s gone to hell.

“Surely,” I said in desperation, “in this day and age, they can do something.”

“I’ve been over this with the oncologists, Richard. Yes, they can give me some treatment…”

“Oh, thank God for that,” I chimed in.

“No, listen, Richard.” She paused and placed her hand on the back of mine. “There’s no point. They can treat me, perhaps give me some extra months to live but they can’t cure me. Richard, understand me, I don’t want that debilitating treatment just to live for a few months more. What sort of life is that, anyway?”

I opened my mouth to answer but Gaynor applied pressure to my hand. “No, don’t say anything. I’ve seen a lot of cancer patients in my time, believe me. Many of them have been incredibly brave. But, I always said that unless I had a chance of surviving for a few years, I would rather let nature takes its course.”

I bowed my head and lifted her hand to my lips. I kissed the back of it, the knuckles one by one, and turned it over to kiss her palm. She then placed her palm on my cheek and said, “Thank you, Richard, you’re so sweet. I know I can rely on you to help me get through this to the end.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

So much and yet so little happened from that moment. In sequence it was something like this:

Gaynor was prescribed drugs, pain-killers I suppose, and was released from hospital. At home, she had daily nursing visits and it didn’t seem long before she became bed-ridden. She didn’t eat solids, surviving on liquid drinks and drips. Even then, she regularly vomited bile into a hand held cardboard spittoon.

A week after Gaynor left hospital, I told Veronica I had something important to tell her. I sat in my armchair in the lounge and faced Veronica, sitting on the couch, and told her that Gaynor, my old flame from way back, was dying of cancer. I didn’t go into details about the background of our reunion and subsequent split other than to say Gaynor had originally contacted me via Facebook months ago, that she had never married, lived quite locally, and worked part-time as a nurse.

When I mentioned that I had originally taken her into hospital, Veronica said, “Why did she ask you? She must have friends.”

“Yes, she has friends,” I agreed. “But she was very nervous about the hospital visit, and with great justification as it turns out. All she actually said was she would feel safer if I was there. Anyway, I took her.”

Veronica nodded and didn’t speak another word while I brought her up to date with Gaynor’s condition. “I hope you understand,” I concluded, “that I’ve told you all this because I intend to keep visiting her. I hope you don’t have any objections.”

Veronica stood from the couch and came over to sit in my lap, an arm around the nape of my neck. She kissed the top of my head and said, “I never met her, but the poor woman’s dying. I know you were lovers way back and I understand how you must be feeling. So, if you need it, you have my blessing Richard. And, if there’s anything you want me to do, just ask.”

I hugged Veronica’s waist and this wonderful, caring wife of mine rested her head on my shoulder.

So, I regularly drove to see Gaynor, sometimes bumping into Charlie and other visitors who were either nursing colleagues or from the photography and painting clubs. 

Gaynor slept a lot but, one day she was quite alert and asked me to lay on the bed and hug her. I did so, but gently, and she quietly said, “Who’d have thought it, all the love and romance comes down to this, eh Richard?”

On February fourth, two days before her birthday, Gaynor was transported by ambulance to the hospice where she used to work. I followed in my Volvo and spent time with her as she was settled into a private room. The effort of the move was extremely tiring for her. By now, she was losing weight rapidly. Her hands looked huge on the end of long, thin arms. Her feet and legs, too, were reducing to bone. Yet, her chest remained fleshy and large. How could that be?

For her birthday, I made a card on my computer. I used a copy of her painting of the snowman and robin on the front (ironically, it snowed that day) and wrote these words inside:

My dear Gaynor,

Recently, you poignantly said “All the love and romance comes down to this.” 

Sadly, yes it does. But, for what it’s worth, I want you to know that the love is still there and always will be, Come What May, as the song goes.

Finding a suitable card to mark your 55th birthday has been nigh impossible. It seems ridiculous and inane to wish “Happy birthday” etc but I do hope you make the best of it as you can - and the days that follow.

As we’ve said many times, the fates dealt us a strange hand and it’s rather ironic that this reunion of ours all started with my “thin and ill” Facebook picture. Devastating as your situation is, I must tell you that I’m pleased that we were brought together again.

Our too brief reunion provided me with many memories to add to all those from earlier years. For that - and for the day I first met you, my Petal - I shall always be grateful. 

My love for you will never die, Richard xx

I went every day to the hospice. Sometimes, Gaynor never woke at all and I just sat looking at her for an hour or so. Nurses popped in and fed me cups of coffee. She was one of their own and, I’m not suggesting she had favourable treatment but they were extremely attentive.

Towards the end, she was a sad sight, a shell of the real vibrant Gaynor I knew and loved. One day, she mumbled to me, “This is taking too long, Richard.”

It was another twelve days after that when Gaynor finally left us. I wasn’t there but when my phone trilled at 4:05 in the morning, I knew what had happened.

I sat up in bed to answer the phone. “She’s gone, hasn’t she, Charlie?” I said.

“Yes, Richard. She went peacefully in her sleep about six minutes ago. God bless her,” and I heard a loud sob as she abruptly disconnected the call.

Veronica turned over and looked up at me. “Bad news?”

I looked at the phone in my hands and then at Veronica. “In some way, but not really. Yes, she’s gone, but there’s no more pain now.”

My wife wriggled up into a sitting position and linked her arms around my neck and kissed my cheek before resting her brow on my shoulder. We said nothing for quite a few minutes. Finally, I said, “Thank you, sweetheart. I’m okay, let’s get back to sleep.”

Strangely, I hadn’t shed a single tear. If I felt anything, it was relief that all Gaynor’s suffering was over. Also, if the truth be known, I was totally numb.

~~~~~~~~~~

The funeral was a small affair. Veronica asked if I wanted her to accompany me but I declined. “Thanks, but no, it’s best I go alone,” I said and she nodded.

From Gaynor’s house, I went in the black limousine following the hearse. For company I had Charlie, the lady secretary of the camera club and an old nursing colleague. The gathering at the service numbered a little over twenty and I couldn’t take my eyes off the coffin where a framed picture of Gaynor, in nursing uniform, stood on top.

I sat with Charlie and we held hands, listening to the clergyman talking in quiet and respectful tones about my soulmate. I was composed right until it was announced that Gaynor had chosen one song for a particular good friend. “Richard is here with us today,” said the clergyman, “and this is for him.”

I steeled myself, waiting for Gladys Knight’s voice to resound in the tiny chapel. Instead, tinkling piano notes floated overhead, followed by “Just to look in your eyes again…” I gulped and felt Charlie squeeze my hand. Somehow, and I don’t know how, my eyes remained dry; not a single tear.

Charlie had organised snacks and drinks at her place and I stayed for just a brief time. Other than Charlie, and the occasional few minutes I’d spent with a few other visitors at the hospice, I didn’t really know anyone. I didn’t want to linger, listening to snippets of what Gaynor meant to other people. I knew what she meant to me and that’s all that mattered. 

When I’d said my polite goodbyes, Charlie came to my car with me and, as I was opening the door, she suddenly declared, “Oh shit, wait there, don’t go,” and raced back into the house. When she returned, she air-kissed both my cheeks and then handed me a small gift-wrapped parcel. “Stupid me, I nearly forget this. It’s for you from Gaynor. She said I’ve got to give it to you after the funeral. She wants you to open it in private.”

Charlie suddenly burst into tears. “I said wants,” she blubbered. “I mean wanted, she’s not here anymore, is she?” and she fell into my arms. Quite possibly, we had been Gaynor’s two best friends, and we hugged, sharing a mutual unspoken grief.

~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Veronica met me on the doorstep, stood aside to let me enter our house and asked, “How did it go?”

“Good,” I said. “A nice turnout.”

“And you?” she asked, putting her arms around my waist and looking up into my eyes. “How are you?”

I kissed her brow and then the point of her nose. “I’m okay, thanks. A little sad but, hey, that’s to be expected, isn’t it.”

Veronica squeezed me and then broke away. “Okay, Richard, but don’t be afraid to talk, you know. Don’t bottle things up. I know all about that.” She smiled, just a small lift in the corners of her mouth. “Anyway, I’m not standing here in the hall all day.”

“Okay,” I said. “I’ll change clothes and be down in a few minutes.”

Before I changed from my formal attire, I took Gaynor’s parcel out of my suit pocket and placed it on the bed. Now dressed in pants and sports shirt, I picked it up and decided to open it in my office. After all the hours I had spent in that room sending e-mails to Gaynor, it seemed the appropriate place.

The parcel was not large, the size of a CD case but a little deeper. I sat in my chair and carefully removed the wrapping, revealing a white cardboard box. My mind wandered to the time I opened another of Gaynor’s boxes, the one containing a butterfly keyring.

I removed the lid and a layer of cotton wool. Yes, a CD! And Gaynor’s smiling face beamed out from the cover of the case.The photograph had been taken in an old-fashioned photo-booth many, many years ago. I knew that because my grinning face was cheek to cheek with my frizzy-haired lover. I opened the case but there was no indication of what was on the disc. I booted up my computer and prepared to play the disc.

But there was a folded piece of paper in the box and I took it out and unfurled it. There, handwritten by Gaynor, I read:

My darling Richard,

By now I have gone. I have written this for two reasons.

1 - Please do not mourn me. Be happy with what we had, what we shared, the minutes, hours, days, weeks, months and years we spent together. Despite what you may think, I have no regrets other than those precious moments didn’t last long enough. But we had what many millions hunger for: the love of a soulmate. For that, I’m eternally grateful.

2 - My possessions and little bit of wealth, I have left to Charlie. All except for what is now in your hands. These may seem little things but they are my life’s treasures and I want you to have them. You’re the only one worthy of them. As you might expect, I have packed these items so that the most ‘valuable’ is last. Take them and keep them with all my love for ever.

She had signed the note, Gaynor, and drawn a succulent pair of red lips and three kisses alongside.

I removed the next layer of cotton wool and took out a black-and-white photograph of Gaynor in a nurses uniform. She sat at a desk, hands clasped together, and smiling just enough to reveal a glimpse of her brilliant white teeth. It was a smaller version of the picture that had been displayed on the top of her coffin.

Another layer of cotton wool awaited. I plucked it out and gasped at what remained in the bottom of the box. The most valuable item, as she said. I gaped, my hand trembled, my pulse rate accelerated and I blinked, trying to fight off the onset of tears. But it was futile and, for the first time that day, I let tears flow down my face. Through the watery haze, I tried to remain focused on the pair of gold hoops.

EPILOGUE

It’s now more than three years since Gaynor died. But hardly a day passes when I don’t think of her. How long that will last I have no idea. Maybe the fact that I have Nurse Reid’s photograph in a frame sitting on my desk makes sure I never forget.

Also, I have not yet been able to erase any of the messages in my GR folder. I dip into them frequently and can “hear” her voice talking to me. I just can’t let go.

And then, of course, there is the CD with its two recordings: ‘You’re the best thing that happened to me’ and ‘For You.’ I don’t play them too often, no more than twice a week.

I have two grandchildren, a girl (the eldest) and a boy who is barely three months old.

And, of course, I have Veronica. She has been the rock in my life, the steadying hand on the tiller, the homemaker. I don’t dwell on our sex life or that strange period when Helen confusingly crept into Veronica’s psyche. For me, Veronica is not only my wife but a true friend who I cherish deeply and I will do so to my last breath. She is a very kind and genuine lady. 

Finally, and it hardly needs recording, I will also forever be in love with Gaynor. She was an extraordinary, vibrant person and I miss her more than any of all these words can say.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In memory of Beverley, RIP Daisy.

It takes only a minute to get a crush on someone, an hour to like someone, and a day to love someone. But it takes a lifetime to forget someone.

I believe that the people you care about most in life are taken from you too soon ~ Anon