In The Bar

‘He’s dead.’

This is all I say. I offer no explanation. She knows why and I feel no need to remind her. The pub is dark. The music is loud and the beat threatening. 

‘He’s dead?’ A voice says over the intrusive music.

I turn from the bar. And whisper, ‘Yes.’ My face crumples and suddenly I’m crying.

‘When? When did he die?!’

I wipe my face with my jumper sleeve. My skin is warm and damp.

‘Answer me! When did he die?’

I try to answer. I swallow. The words come out small and quiet, they stick in my throat. I sip my water and try again.

‘Last night.’

She sighs loudly and then says quietly, ‘I really don’t believe this is happening. When is the funeral?’

I sniff then say, ‘Friday’

She pulls at the zip on her bag and rummages through the contents before pulling out a cigarette and a lighter.

‘God you look a mess, want one?’ She says all this while scrutinising my image. As usual Sarah looks perfect. She smoothly removes her black, tailored, suit jacket and places it neatly round the bar stool.

‘No I don’t smoke.’

She stops glancing around the room when I say this and glares at me.

‘What? Since when?’

This question throws me a little and images of drips and breathing apparatus go through my mind.

‘Since he was diagnosed.’ I run my hand through my hair. My fingers get stuck in a knot at the back of my head and I struggle to free them.

‘You not smoking isn’t going to bring him back from the dead is it? Jesus!’ She sighs again and the barman approaches her.

‘Vodka and tonic. Slimline. Ice. And don’t forget the lemon.’ He nods and wanders off to fetch the drink.

‘What you drinking?’ Her hand wanders to a chain on her neck. It’s silver with a red stone. It’s the necklace you gave her on her twenty first. She tugs at it as she waits for my response.

‘Water’

She lifts her glass from the bar and takes a mouthful of the clear fizzy liquid. ‘God, no wonder you look a mess! Want me to get you a drink?’

I shake my head while she glances at her mobile. Even now she’s preoccupied.

‘You going to the funeral?’ Sarah takes large sunglasses out of her bag and places them on the bar. It is overcast and raining outside.

‘Yes’ I reply.

Sarah abruptly stops fidgeting and stares intently at me.

‘Really? You think that’s appropriate?’

I know what she is thinking.

‘I’m going’ I take another sip of my water.

‘Fine by me. I don’t care. Have you talked to Michael?’ She glances around the room as if I am no longer of interest. She seems tired of the conversation.

‘He was here earlier. He knows. I think he blames me. He seemed angry.’

‘You know Michael. He’s all in his head. Can’t show emotion. It’s going to be hard for him. He only ever really opened up to, well you know and he can’t do that anymore. Does anybody else know?’

She stubs her cigarette out in the ashtray and lights a second. She inhales deeply.

I take a deep breath. And sigh. The air in the bar is stale. The light cloudy due to the smoke being produced by Sarah. The place seems stuffier and smaller than before. I realise that Sarah is waiting for my response. I shake my head and take a small sip of iced water. My teeth sting at the coldness of the liquid.

‘I called a few people earlier. They already knew. I think she must have told them.’ Sarah is fidgeting. This time with a cocktail stick. She twiddles it in her fingers and drops it.

‘I didn’t think she would have. Doesn’t normally speak to any of us or involves us, in case we pollute her perfect life, stain her charming children.’

The music stops abruptly and silence seems to float in from all around. The barman rummages for keys and then wanders off to put on a different C.D.

‘Sarah, I think that’s harsh. Her husband is dead. You shouldn’t judge her. You don’t know her.’

‘Huh! Like you do! Think it’s a bit late to get all concerned about the wife don’t you?’

I put my head down on the bar. The wood is cool against my warm skin.

‘This is really difficult. I miss him Sarah and I don’t need you judging me.’ My breathing becomes erratic as I say the last part of the sentence and I feel more tears approaching.

‘We all loved him you know.’ Her voice has warmth unusual for Sarah.

‘I know. I just can’t imagine life without him. The last few years have been crazy, despite all the lies and betrayal. I loved every second of being with him.’

I can’t look at her. But I feel her gaze.

‘I know you think you’re different from us. But we’re all going through the same thing. I’ve known him forever. We just deal with things differently I guess.’

I realise at this point that she really doesn’t understand. She doesn’t get any of this. She doesn’t understand me and I’m starting to think that she never truly understood you.

‘He’s dead, Sarah. Dead. To everyone out there I just lost a childhood friend. How awful for me, how awful for us. But really, truly, I lost my partner, my lover and my husband. To me, I am his widow. And do I get to grieve as his widow? No. We all loved him. But I have to deny my grief. I have to deny who I am.’

I breathe deeply and look at Sarah to see her reaction. She is gazing at the floor. She looks thoughtful and I wonder what effect my speech had on her, if any. Her nails are perfect. A deep crimson red. Light seems to shine from them. The colour contrasts beautifully with the creamy white of her hands. I glance at my own stubby finger nails.

Sarah sits straight up in her chair and takes a swig of her drink. She places the glass down on the bar and runs her fingers through her hair. She repositions her hands on her knee and stares me right in the eye.

‘I love you. I loved him. God you know how much I loved him. But you both caused this situation. To sit there and feel sorry for yourself! How dare you? You cheated on his wife with him. You made a charade of his marriage, of his family. And you want to be treated as his widow?’

There is an interval in the music and it feels as if the whole world has paused to hear my answer. I fiddle with the ring on my index finger. It’s the one you gave me the night we first kissed.

I remember the cold night air and how it snowed the next morning. I remember you placing your jacket around my shoulders to stop me from shivering and when that failed how you wrapped your arms around me instead. I remember the sand sticking between my toes and the song of the gulls above us as we stood on Elie beach. I remember the shock of your lips kissing my lips. The surprise of your hand embracing my hand. I remember your smile as I stumbled away. I remember your laugh as you caught me in your arms. I remember your voice telling me I was different, that I was special. I remember you.

Sarah thinks we’re a sham. She thinks our love is tawdry. She thinks I’m cheap. That I’m your bit on the side. She thinks I seduced you. She thinks I robbed you of all your morals and all the time she knows if she had the chance she would have done exactly the same. She doesn’t realise that I was, am the love of your life. That our love is pure. That the biggest mistake you ever made was not marrying me. Sarah doesn’t want to know any of these things. She’s happier believing that our love is wrong, that I am wrong.

I exhale heavily and rub my forehead with my fingers. The barman lifts my empty glass and asks me if I’d like another glass of water. I ask for a large glass of white wine and hand over a five pound note.

‘Think what you will Sarah. You never understand. Let’s just drop it.’

I take a sip of my wine. It’s dryer than I’d like, but I drink it regardless.

‘Okay. You have an outfit for the funeral?’ Sarah checks her lipstick once more and re-adjusts her black skirt.

‘I haven’t even thought about it. I’ll probably just wear my black dress.’

She screws up her face at this suggestion.

‘Why don’t you buy yourself something new? Shopping might cheer you up.’

I realise that Sarah will never understand.

- THE END -