The musty smell of discarded takeaway and alcohol welcomed her as she pushed the front door open to her house. Three days and the place looked like a squat for the homeless.
Exhausted she made her way to the sofa and ungracefully slumped into the pile of discarded wrappers that had accumulated near the pillows. Her foot kicked away an empty bottle. She couldn't understand it, opening up to Henry had been a risk, she knew that, but something about him had made sense. That was until he had turned up on her doorstep, dripping wet from the storm outside.
"Henry – what are you doing here, look at you, you're saturated, come in before you catch your death" He had hesitated at her doorstep, looking back along the street, then stepped inside. Water trickled and pooled around his shoes. He seemed oblivious to his state, at which point she had assumed he had been drinking. She had been right, confirmed by a sudden lurch forward as he nearly fell.
"Sit down, let me get you a towel"
"No Jo", he had grabbed her hand "I have to talk to you now, whilst I have the nerve to do so"
"Henry you are sopping wet, just wait there, and take off your jacket". She had wandered off muttering to herself how this man never seemed to look after himself. Fossicking through her laundry she found towels and an old robe of Sean's. This had given her a moment of pause. Holding the robe memories of her husband had drifted back. It seemed ridiculous to not allow Henry to use it, yet somehow she had felt she was cheating on him to give it to another man. That she was able, after a few moments to wrap it around Henry's shoulders spoke more to her about the man before her, his place within her life than any words spoken.
Henry had fallen silent again, looking down he wrung his hands before him, out of exasperation she had placed hers hands over his. Kneeling she asked him again "what are you doing here?"
"Jo…I ..you need to know something, about …about me, my life"
It seemed to be a battle for the ridiculously articulate man to put two words together. She waited, holding his hands.
"I don't know how to tell you, but", lifting his eyes to meet hers "but I want you to know, I think I need you to know". Removing his hands from hers, he ran them through his hair. "I …. I can't"
"What Henry?" Every part of her body wanted to hold him. Every part of her body wanted to tell him that it would be ok, that somehow he had infiltrated her skin. "Its ok… I trust you, let me in"
"Jo…I can't die"
"What?"
"Jo", he spoke very clearly, looking directly at her "I can't die"
Jo sat back on her heels, removing her hands from his lap.
"I'm sorry, what?"
Braver now, alcohol drifting from his body, Henry leant forward. "It happened years ago, I wasn't sure I should tell you, but I feel now I can trust you, I can tell you" He reached up to stroke her face; his hand was slapped away with a violence that caused him to flinch.
"How dare you", whispering at first her voice had risen quickly "How dare you come to my home, drunk! and then lie to my face, not even a lie, a…a…I don't even know what this is"
"Jo its not a lie, its true, please let me explain"
"I have shared with you about Sean, the pain – oh my god! Did that mean nothing to you, this is just cruel Henry, I never thought you could be cruel"
"Jo, I'm sorry, it …this wasn't mean to be like this"
"Get out of my home! – just get out" He stood, the robe around his shoulders falling to the ground. Leaning down she snatched it from the floor, holding it tightly in front of her. The guilt she had felt handing it to Henry washed over her, tears formed and fell. She had been yelling, almost hysterical.
A knock at the door snapped her attention from the man before her. Persistent knocking, again and again, try as she may to ignore it the person on the other side wanted to come inside. Looking from Henry to the entrance, she stormed through the corridor, flinging open the door. Abe stood before her.
"Jo, I'm sorry I'm just wondering if you've seen Henry, he left over two hours ago, he wasn't well when he left"
Abe had looked her directly in her eyes – saw her confusion, her hurt, her white anger misting up through her body.
"He's had a lot to drink tonight"
"Get him out of here" she directed through gritted teeth "Get him out and don't bring him back ever!" Abe had moved inside, refraining from further comment. Henry had fallen back against the wall; shocked by Jo's response, though fully clothed he had never felt more exposed. He hadn't seen, couldn't see Abe. Hadn't felt him take him by the arm, move him towards the exit. The old man had struggled down her steps, half carrying him. Henry oblivious to his surroundings, head swimming, had tried to walk back up the stairs, and tried to explain. She had shut the door on both of them.
That night she had cried, for Sean, his memories that she had betrayed by feeling again about another. And for Henry for a future she had been teasing into existence, now shattered into shards, each tiny sliver cutting into her heart.
Curled tightly she noted a small piece of purple material poking out from under her pillow. Henry's scarf. She surmised he must of dropped it on the night he had fallen through her door. Pulling it out, her first response was to throw it in the bin. Sitting, running it through her fingers, she found she couldn't let it go.
For the first time in three days she finally found sleep, nestled into the sofa with a purple scarf wrapped about her hand.