‘He seems to be quite excited about the games. I hope it’s okay, but I encouraged him to enter the talent contest with Chewie. He wasn’t going to enter at all; said he didn’t have any talents to speak of, but I assured him his dog-training skills are just the kind of thing people love to see. And it’s quite different to the usual singing and dancing you get.’ Reid said nothing, so she stupidly filled the silence: ‘I get the impression he feels a little misunderstood by his schoolmates and feels a little out on the periphery.’
Reid’s expression suddenly hardened; gone was the hope and pride, and in its place was a look of disdain as he turned to face her. ‘You make him sound like he’s got no friends or something. And you’re telling me you’ve convinced him to get up on a stage to dotricks? You think that’ll help, do you? You think his schoolmates will suddenly think he’scoolif he can make a dog roll over? You’ve met him a few times and, okay, you saved his dog’s life, but that doesn’t give you the right to interfere inanythingelse. I mean, honestly, how wouldyouknowanythingabout him,orus?’
Juliette’s cheeks flamed and she opened and closed her mouth, unsure how to respond to the vitriol. She hadn’t meant any offence.
Reid’s brow creased, and he paused as if he was waiting for an explanation. When none came, he said, ‘Don’t forget your job here is temporary, Juliette. You’re running a museum,nota mental health clinic. Not that my lad needs any such help. And if hedid,Iwould know. Okay?’ He stood to leave.
Affronted and confused at his attitude, Juliette stood too, straightened her spine and fixed him with a glare. ‘Actually, we’ve chatted at length, Evin and I. So, Iknowhe worries about you. I know he feels bad when you’re unhappy, which is quite frequently from what he tells me. I know he’s being bullied at school because he’s not one of thepopularkids, and that heisn’tsurrounded by friends, which makes him incredibly sad. All of which youshouldprobably know, but I’m guessing you don’t, seeing as you’re so wrapped up in yourself and your own negativity and self-pity.’ She stopped and clamped her mouth shut, very much aware she had overstepped a line in the sand between museum guardian and co-op chairperson. He could very well insist that she packed up and left immediately. She held her breath, awaiting the impending fall out.
Reid frowned and stared out at the water for a moment, seemingly absorbing her harsh words, and she was suddenly wracked with guilt. He was displaying so many of the symptoms connected to depression that she wanted to tell him he needed help. She wanted to offer help even, but she’d just burned that bridge.
She watched his expression closely and held her breath. But instead of anger, she recognised in him a sense of defeat. She’d felt that same defeat herself when she was on the slippery slope to darkness and wanted to kick herself for how she’d just spoken to him.
Without making eye contact, he cleared his throat. ‘Things have been…difficultlately. I’ve been dealing with a lot. But, believe me, I don’t feel a single ounce of self-pity. Yes, my wife betrayed me in the worst possible way – I’m sure you’ve heard all the gory details, and so, yes, I’ve been a little distracted. But IknowI’m totally to blame, Juliette. I’m under no illusions there.’ He paused, and she fought for the right words to make things better. She didn’t want this, but he spoke before she could. ‘Anyway, this has been very informative, thank you. I feel thoroughly reprimanded.’
He turned to walk away, and Juliette inwardly cursed herself. It had been totally out of character for her to speak to someone in that way and she regretted it immensely. And how could he think that his wife’s infidelity washisfault? He didn’t force her into the arms of another man.
A lump of emotion tightened her throat and she quickly reached out to touch his arm. ‘I’m so sorry, Reid. I’ve spoken completely out of turn.’
He stared down at where her hand rested, then raised his gaze to meet hers. His was heavy and clouded with deep sadness. ‘No, Juliette, perhaps you’re right. There are things I should know but don’t. I should pay more attention, so I don’t lose my son, too.’
Oh shit,the pain in his eyes. She’d truly hurt the man. Her stomach knotted, and she felt physically sick. ‘Reid, I really am incredibly sorry. There was no call for me to—’
‘Really, it’s fine. I should get going. I need to go and…’ A variety of emotions rapidly flashed across his face, as if he was trying to fabricate an excuse to vacate her presence. ‘I should… check in on the café.’ He almost physically shrank before her eyes. His shoulders hunched and his head bowed as he walked away.
For a split second, she considered dashing after him, trying to undo the damage, but she thought better of it, knowing she would possibly make things even worse. Instead, she flopped back down onto the bench and watched helplessly. The weight of her guilt pushed her down until she feared she may disappear into the cobbles beneath her feet.
She was the last person to dole out advice onanything, let alone raising children. What didsheknow? And after complaining so much about people offeringherunwanted help, she’d just done exactly that to a man who was, to all intents and purposes, a stranger.
After Laurie’s death, she had hit a downward spiral that had morphed from grief into a dark hole of depression and she feared she may never resurface. The inability to converse. The lack of motivation to get up. The feeling of utter helplessness. The need to remind herself to breathe in and out. The ache of regret for doing and saying, ornotdoing and saying things. There had been a point where she had almost completely given up, and if it hadn’t been for her family and Millie insisting she went to see her GP, she may have done just that. When she thought about it, there was no wonder they had wrapped her in cotton wool.
Getting the feeling that this was something Reid was possibly struggling with or on the verge of facing made her angry at herself for not spotting the signs sooner. His wife had left him, so he was grieving the loss of his marriage. It wasn’t a death, but it was still life-changing and traumatic. It was still a loss.
She could see it now. His brusque manner was a way of keeping people at a distance in order to protect himself. Or perhaps a method which helped him to deter people from taking the time to ask questions. And as soon as he realised he had let his guard down, even slightly, he did everything he could to build it up again, just as he had with her. She wondered if he had anyone to really talk to. Although, there was no doubt, she would be the last person he would speak to now. He seemed determined to suffer in silence, and alone; something she was aware many men tended to do. Perhaps they saw it as a weakness if they admitted they needed help? She suddenly wanted to shout from the rooftops that it didn’t matter your gender, your age, your sexual preference, your race, et cetera, it was okay to not be okay.
She thought back to her sessions with her therapist, Michael, a man in his late fifties who’d gone into counselling after his own experiences had taken him to the darkest of places and he too had been pushed to take action… Juliette had sat, curled up in a ball on a comfy beige couch, wearing tattered old jogging bottoms and a faded Cambridge hoodie that had belonged to Laurie. Her hair was scraped back into an unbrushed ponytail and she had seen just how pale and gaunt her face looked as she’d caught sight of her reflection on the way in.
Michael had sat opposite in an armchair. His grey hair and beard both neatly trimmed. His legs crossed and his attention fully focused on her. ‘So, tell me, Jules, what have you done this week? I know how much you love reading, have you read anything new?’
‘I can’t…’ She’d sighed. ‘I can’t seem to focus on anything. My attention span is just…’ She’d stared out of the window.
He’d left a long silence before asking, ‘And how are you sleeping?’
She’d turned her attention back to Michael, her brow crumpled, her voice almost monotone. ‘I doze mainly. I’m exhausted, but… it’s like my brain won’t switch off. I keep replaying things that Laurie and I did together. Replaying times when we were so in love. So happy. And then I remind myself that I’m probably never going to be that happy again.’ She’d gritted her teeth and clenched her fists in her lap. ‘That if I’dmadehim go and see his doctor sooner, if I’dinsistedhe got checked out… Then maybe I’d still have him. And then…’ Her chin had trembled. ‘And then I start thinking that there’s no point trying to sleep. That if I wasn’t alive any more, none of this would even matter.’
‘But you’re still here, Jules,’ Michael had said with a warm smile. ‘Youwantto be here. Why do you think that is? And I’m not being glib when I ask. I genuinely want to know what keeps you going on. What makes you fight this?’
She had lifted her chin and tears had spilled over onto her cheeks. ‘Because deep down I know I’m loved. I know I have people around me who care for me and I don’t want to hurt them.’
‘Okay, that’s good. But let’s just consider what you said before. You’re feeling as though Laurie’s death was somehow your fault, would that be right?’
Juliette had closed her eyes and nodded as a sob left her chest. It had only been a matter of months, but the pain was still as raw as if it happened a matter of hours before. She couldn’t form words. She couldn’t lift her chin. The guilt she was carrying weighed her down like lead resting on her shoulders. She wanted the ground to open and absorb her. She wanted to just fade into nothing.
But then, what about Mum… Dad… Dex… Millie…?
She heard Michael shuffle in his chair. When she’d opened her eyes, she found he was leaning forward, his elbows on his knees. ‘Jules, Laurie’s illness was not your fault. You know this deep down. Nothing you could’ve done would have made any difference. Whatdidmake a difference was how you loved him, how you looked after him, how happy you made him.Thoseare the things you did. What youdidn’tdo is cause his cancer. And you couldn’t have pushed him to see a doctor earlier because the symptoms weren’t there until the illness was at a critical stage. But youdidmake his life worth living. And you know he survived longer than the prognosis and that was down toyou. You gave him hope. You gave him something to fight for. And he did fight. But he knew he wouldn’t get well again. He knew it was only a matter of time. He told you he’d accepted that, didn’t he?’
‘Yes.’
