I stared out of my study window, the sky bruised as the clouds dispersed and the torrential rain began to pour, the wind lashing it against the glass that separated me from the outside world. The autumnal orangey brown leaves blew from the surrounding trees and lay in a washed up bed, sticking to the gravel of my driveway. These leaves were like my life right now, tired and giving up on living. They have been destroyed as has my mind. I numbed at the first sign of anything tough, anything that required fighting. The battle within me is losing to my conscience as my world crashes to the ground like the leaves from those trees. I wished to block myself off from every feeling possible, the failing of being a good and able mother as well as a doctor, a leader. I desired to feel free from the overwhelming guilt that seared through me over the crash, the devastation it's led to for my team. It was my fault. It should have been me.
I turned my back on the window, wandering over to my desk to search through the days mail to distract myself. I could see the crisp cream envelope sticking out with its US airmail stamp and I nimbly traced my fingers along the letters of my name and address. If I closed my eyes I could see him, standing before me looking dapper in his suit and tie, his eyes searching mine, that wistful look on his face but I don't smile at this fondness, I cry. The tears slip away from me all too willingly as the sadness darkens my mind with its clouds and I descend into this inconsolable, emotional mess. I am the wind and the rain that ruins that beautiful day.
I don't open his letter, I just stare at it. I fear its contents, as I do every time he writes. Since he moved to New York, he's written to Grace and I in order for him to feel just that little bit British in an old fashioned way. I used to imagine this is how it felt for lovers who lived apart in my parent's generation or even farther back to wartimes. I smelt the New York air on his stationery and clutched the envelope to my chest as my heart continued to break for him even more painfully than usual as I wondered what I might be like if he were here, by my side. It just didn't bear thinking about.
I wiped away my tears as more pooled in my eyes and carried the dead weight of my body up the stairs to my bedroom. I undressed myself slowly and put my bathrobe on while I ran myself a bath in the en-suite. I tried to strike a match several times, the energy dwindling away from me until I managed to light the candles. The room mixed with a heady smell of smoke, freesia and orange blossom essences. They're supposed to, "lift your spirits" combined. I sat on the edge of the bath as the hot water still ran and placed my hand in the pocket of my robe, pulling out the letter I was still to face opening. I looked at it, turned it around and attempted to open it but my fingers froze, lingering over the back. I put it back in my pocket. Out of sight, out of mind.
I turned the hot water tap off and twisted the cold water one on, waving my hand through the water to get it to the right temperature. I undone my robe and let it fall to the floor as I stepped into the bath. I winced slightly at the heat, submerging myself into the sea of bubbles until my body adapted to the temperature. I closed my eyes and lay back, the jasmine notes from the bubble bath added to the blended floral bouquet aroma instilling calmness within me, the only noise that of the bubbles dissolving against the water. I felt free just for a moment. Behind hooded lids I could see his smiling face that haunted me every time I closed my eyes. I screamed and cried just the same as I did every night since it had happened. The steam and flashbacks blurred together through my tears. My hands cupped my face as my frame jerked with each silent sob that left me. I longed for this pain to be relieved from me, for someone to mend the broken pieces of me back together again and all I could think about was the only person who could ever mend my soul.
Dipping my head beneath the water, I could see the flicker of orange ambience to the blackened room, the whirring images of my mind. I could hear the fast, thudding heartbeat in my chest and ears. I could feel nothing but self-indignation. My anger screamed silently in waves until I could no longer hold my breath, my head rising to the surface, gasping for air. Tears wracked my shaking body, suddenly cold and shivering despite the heat. I leant over the bath and dried my hands on my towel in order to rifle through my bathrobe, peeling the sealed envelope from it. My hands trembled from the cold, my finger finding it hard to tear its way through the envelope. Finally I freed the letter. I lay on my side, still hovering over the bath, not wanting to ruin his handwritten words to me.
"Dearest Connie,
I hope that by the time you read this letter I will already have touched down on homeland and be on my way to see you. Why you might ask? Because I'm worried about you. I heard about the crash and I can't believe you didn't think to mention this over the phone or Skype. Did you not think I would find out sooner or later? Since I've found out, everything seems to have clicked into place. You've been distant, evasive and I know you remember? I want to be there for you, whether you need me or not. Despite our distance and the fact we are no longer together, I will always be there no matter what. A promise I made to you so many years ago when you brought our beautiful daughter into this world.
Before I go, I also have some news I would like to share with you. However, I feel I cannot etch the words upon this letter and I wish for you to hear them in person. It would only be right.
I arrive in Heathrow on the 4th of November around 6pm and I've hired a car to get me to Holby. I can't wait to see you both.
All my love,
Always,
Sam
XxxxX"
A sudden sense of relief washes through my body as I slip the letter back into its envelope, returning it to the pocket of my bathrobe. I search for my phone and check the date, my mind lost with what day of the week it is. The 4th of November, 8.15pm. He would be here within the hour. I panicked, quickly washing my hair and body. I drained the bath and dried myself off, wrapping my body up in my bathrobe and towel dried my hair. I wiped away the steam from the mirror and took a look at my sunken face, the veins at the side of my head risen from the heat of the bath and the dark bags beneath my eyes from sleepless nights ruining my complexion. I sighed and blew out my candles, closing the door behind me. I walked into my wardrobe, my eyes having to adjust to the bright lights. As I flick through my clothes the doorbell rings. Impeccable timing. I tighten the ties of my bathrobe and run down the stairs as the doorbell sounds again.
As I open the door, I see him casually leaning against the wall clutching a bouquet of the most beautiful lilies I have ever seen. For the first time in my life I am speechless, frozen to the spot. "May I come in? You'll catch a chill if we stand here all night." I looked away from his questioning eyes, nodding and stepping out of his way. He makes his way into the living room picking up a vase, heading through to the kitchen to fill it with water, arranging the lilies just as I liked them. He placed them back in the living room on the bay windowsill, still knowing his way around my home. I stood leaning against the door frame and as he turned around, his eyes met mine again. "Thank you for the flowers. They're beautiful." I held back the tears as my voice wavered slightly. He walked over to me and opened his arms, wrapping them around me and I just crumbled. My head was buried in his chest as the hot tears spilled from my eyes and into his jumper. His hands stroked my hair comfortingly, resting at the nape of my neck as he whispered, "Everything will be alright. I'm here now." I hugged him tighter, not ever wanting to let him go. He kissed my head and I embraced his scent. I had missed him so much, I couldn't put it into words just tears.
"I'm sorry," I whispered as I eventually prised myself away from him. "I'm so sorry." My head hung as I wiped away the remaining tears from my face. I felt his finger beneath my chin, tilting my head up so my eyes could meet his. "You don't have to apologise for anything. I came here for you Con." I pulled away from him again as the never ending flow of tears escaped again. "I can't do this Sam." I cupped my hands over my face so I couldn't see him. "You don't have to do anything. Come on." He took my hand, switched the lights off, locked the front door and guided my upstairs to my bedroom.
I allowed him to settle me in my dresser chair and he dried my hair, massaging my scalp with his free hand like my mother used to when I was a child or when I was in my teens and I felt ill, it was my comfort. I applied cream to my pale face and rubbed some together on my hands, trailing along the scar against my right wrist. I willed myself not to close my eyes, to see the flashing of images, reliving the moments. My breath became ragged, like someone was choking me. Sam turned the hair dryer off and tied my hair in a bobble and looked at me through the mirror as my breathing steadied itself. "Thank you for your kindness." I got up from my seat and wrapped my arms around him and kissed him gently upon his cheek. "It's the least I can do." I shook my head. "You don't owe me anything Sam, not even kindness." He stroked the side of my face and kissed the tiny scar upon my head. I was lucky. "I think you should get a goodnights rest. We can talk tomorrow." I nodded in agreement with him. "I um, I only read your letter while I was in the bath so I haven't had a chance to make up the spare bed." I fiddled with my hands, pretending to rub excess cream into them. "I'll sleep on the sofa, it's fine." He turned his back and I closed my eyes. "You can sleep in beside me, only if you want to. You've had a long day I'm sure and to be honest, the company would be lovely." I opened my drawer searching for my pyjamas, distracting myself from him. "I guess I could handle your snoring for the evening. I might be that jet lagged that I may not even notice it." For the first time in weeks, perhaps months, I laughed and threw the nearest cushion at him. "Still as cheeky as ever. I'm going to get changed. Don't snore before me." He threw the cushion back at me as I closed the door behind me to the en-suite.
I emerged from the bathroom and switched the lights out, climbing into the open duvet next to his warm body. I allowed his arm to wrap itself around my neck and I lay my head against his bare chest, thankful for his embrace. His chest rose and fell in unison with mine and I could feel myself drifting off. As I closed my eyes, I couldn't see those horribly vivid images. I didn't break into a cold sweat and start gasping for air, screaming myself awake. For the first time in weeks, I fell into a warm, relaxing and peaceful slumber. I always functioned better when his soul was beside mine.