Helga couldn't sleep.
She tossed and turned for hours, growing steadily more agitated as she shifted against the unfamiliar sheets.
She was tired, exhausted even. Her eyes burned, her head throbbed… but she still couldn't sleep. The last few days had been a whirlwind of activity. Depressing, heart-breaking activity, and it was all whirling around in her head.
That Sunday night, when they had finally arrived back at the flat, they had thrown clothes into bags, booked over-priced plane tickets online (thanks to Bob's credit card… she was going to hear about that one when the bill came in), and got Brent to drop them off at the airport.
Since then, she'd somehow fallen into playing Sunset Arms hostess. She accepted offerings of food from neighbours, she tried to find room in the massive house for the influx of out-of-town funeral-goers who needed somewhere to sleep. She made untold cups of tea and did runs to the supermarket for milk and biscuits. She was knackered… but weirdly, content. It felt good to be useful, to take a little bit of the load from Gertie and Arnold.
And it wasn't like they didn't have enough to do. Helga fretted over Arnold as the dark circles grew under his eyes. He planned everything, called everyone. Her heart ached as she watched him take on tasks a 19 year old kid shouldn't have to shoulder… but he was doing well, she was proud of him.
He'd almost broken her heart at the funeral today, with his poignant, funny eulogy. He'd looked so handsome, so old-beyond-his-years standing up there in the brightest of Phil's old bowling shirts (because no one was allowed to wear black, on Gertie's orders). And at the house, later, he'd indulged every single person who wanted to tell him a story about Phil… he'd just been so… dignified.
But she knew he was hurting. He'd spent most of the last two nights awake, staring at the sky through his glass ceiling… she knew because she had watched him, curled onto her side on the mattress next to him, wanting to reach out to him, but having no idea what to say.
She hoped just being there was enough. She obviously thought at first that she'd stay at her parents house, but on that first night, when they stumbled out of the taxi at 2am, he'd just grasped her hand and asked her to stay with him… so she had. And the night after that, the house had been too full for her to sleep in another room… it wasn't until some of the guests had left that afternoon, after the service, that she'd relocated down to a spare bedroom… and now she was regretting it, worried he was lying there awake by himself, worried she should have just swallowed that slight feeling of inappropriate and slept in his bed again.
Dammit… she was never going to get to sleep.
She checked her phone, it was past 1am. Scowling, she flicked on the little bedside lamp and twisted herself out from under the tangled sheets. There was no use in trying to sleep, she'd go make herself a cup of tea and come back to bed to read.
She pulled on a pair of light pyjama pants and cracked the door open to tip-toe down the stairs.
But she wasn't the only one awake. Light spilled from the living-room doorway, and she could hear the rustling of pages. She peeked her head around the doorframe to see Gertie perched on the sofa, a photo album across her lap.
"Eleanor!" the little lady beamed as she looked up, her eyes puffy and bloodshot. "What are you doing up at this hour?"
Helga shrugged, stepping into the room. "Couldn't sleep. I was going to make a cup of tea, would you like one?"
"Make a pot, dear, and bring it through. I can't sleep tonight either."
The poor woman. Helga blinked tears away as she put the kettle on the stove top to boil. She moved around the kitchen on auto-pilot, pulling out cups and saucers from cupboards, and grabbing the tea tray from where it hung in the pantry.
How devastated must Gertie be right now? She and Phil had been together forever, their marriage had lasted over sixty years… she must feel… hollow. Helga couldn't even imagine what it must feel like to love someone like that… well, she could, but what must it feel like to have those feelings reciprocated? Then to lose that person? To be alone after being together so long? She shuddered… it would be like losing half of yourself… so lonely…
"Thanks, dear." Gertie smiled up at her when she put the tray down on the coffee table. The old lady patted the cushions next to her and turned the album slightly as Helga settled down beside her. "See that little girl there? That was me."
Helga giggled, leaning over to see the faded photograph better. Gertie was pigtailed, smiling sweetly into the camera, surrounded by other classmates. "Is that…" she trailed off, pointing to a boy on the other side of the group.
"Phil." The other woman sighed. "He was such a cute little thing." She smiled, her eyes tearing up again. "I used to call him chin boy."
Helga snickered. "Well, you can see why."
Gertie flipped the page. "That's Phil in his uniform… they all looked so dashing back then."
She was right… gangly, awkward looking Phil looked a million bucks in his smart army portrait, even his goofy smile came across as endearing under his cap. "Did you get married before the war?" She asked quietly, not sure what questions to ask.
"Oh heavens no." Gertie was grinning, touching her fingertips to the photograph. "Phil spent the war chasing skirt around the countryside..." She chuckled. "It took years for him to come to his senses and ask me to marry him."
"How did…" Helga felt awkward asking questions, felt like she was prying… but Gertie seemed to want to talk, to reminisce. "How did it all work out, after the war?"
"Oh, Phil took months to come back. After the Germans surrendered, he volunteered to help with the concentration camps… he was a different man when he finally came home…" Gertie carried on, explaining how things had changed in town, how so many of their boys came home injured, or depressed, if they came back at all… how the women were forced back into the kitchens when the returned soldiers took over their war-time jobs.
She showed Helga the photographs, told her how Phil had started calling on her, after they ran into each other in the factory where Gertie was working. She made Helga laugh when she recounted how she refused to stop wearing pants, and go back to wearing skirts…
"My mother's face, when I left for my first date with Phil in a pair of my brother's best britches…" she shook her head, smiling at Helga's chuckles.
"You telling her about how you wear the pants, Grandma?" Helga looked up, startled, at Arnold standing in the doorway, looking like shit. His hair was all over the place, his skin pale, the dark circles under his eyes almost green. Her heart ached… but at least he was smiling.
"Kimba!" Gertie grinned. "I'm just telling Eleanor here about your Grandpa…"
Helga shifted, making a gap between her and Arnold's Grandma. "C'mon Football Head… take a load off." She smiled. "You wanna cuppa?"
He picked his way around the coffee table and collapsed between them, leaning heavily against Helga's arm. "No thanks." He yawned. "Last thing I need is caffeine."
"Can't sleep either, huh?" She asked softly.
"Nah." He shrugged, and craned his neck to see the photos. "That's before you got married, right?" He asked, pointing at a picture of his grandparents, bathing-suit clad in front of a lake, grinning from ear to ear.
"Just before." Gertie affirmed, then went on, showing them photos of their wedding, their brief honeymoon, Phil standing proud, beaming next to a heavily pregnant Gertie… and photos of their little boy.
Helga recognised Miles from the pictures in the hallway, and the one next to Arnold's bed. He was a good looking guy, less goofy than his father, more classically handsome than his son… but you could see them both in his face.
There was a long silence as they all looked at the photos. A double page spread of Miles at various ages, grinning into the camera in all of them.
"He would have been proud of you, sweetheart." Gertie stretched a hand out to pat Arnold on the knee. "I know Phil was."
Helga glanced up. Arnold's gaze was trained on the photographs, his eyes all moist. He shrugged. Gertie smile kindly. "He was, Kimba. You've always been such a good boy. Smart, too… and he approved of your girlfriend." She raised a wizened old eyebrow at Helga, her smile growing cheeky.
Geeze. Helga didn't know what to say.
Arnold baulked at that. "Oh, no, Grandma… me and Helga, we aren't… we aren't like that…"
But Gertie just waved a hand at him. "My foot you're not. You're just like them, you father and Phil… they liked a woman with hutzpah."
Helga felt her cheeks warming up. That was… really flattering. She felt like she should be more embarrassed, but she was just… flattered.
"No… really… Grandma…" Arnold looked aghast, he sat up a bit, breaking the contact between their arms. Well… you don't have to be quite so disgusted at the idea. Helga frowned. "We're not dating… or anything… we're not!"
Gertie just chuckled, and patted him on the knee again. "Alright Kimba." She shook her head, obviously still not believing him. Patronising old duck. Helga couldn't help but smile. "I think I might be able to sleep now." She shut the album and slid it over onto the coffee table. "Goodnight Kimba, Eleanor." She struggled up from the low sofa, using her hands to brace herself before she shuffled out of the room… suddenly looking her age.
When she was gone, Arnold turned to face Helga, his cheeks bright red, his hand rubbing at the back of his neck. "I'm real sorry about that…" He stammered, staring at her.
She just shrugged. "I don't care… let her think it. What harm could it do?"
He blinked. "You don't mind?"
She shook her head, meeting his gaze. "Everyone else already thinks we are… I had to get used to that idea ages ago. But… fuck em… they can think what they want. It doesn't change the truth, does it?" She sounded calm… far more calm than she felt. Truth was, the fact that the gang thought her and Arnold were banging really, really bothered her… but there was nothing she could do about it, so she pretended not to care.
"What?" Arnold frowned. "Who thinks we're… uh…"
"Everyone. Everyone but Phoebe, as far as I can tell." And she wasn't even sure Phoebe believed her.
"Wow… that's…"
"Fucked up?"
"Uh… yeah." He was blushing harder, his eyes focussing somewhere behind her shoulder. She tried not to feel resentful… but for some reason his reactions to the mere idea of bedding her was making her prickle.
He cleared his throat. "You know I wouldn't… um…" He glanced up at her, but she just raised an eyebrow, wondering what an earth he was going to say next. "If I did, uh, anything with one of the gang… it'd be, well… I wouldn't do it lightly… you know?"
She smirked. Typical white knight. "Yeah, I know."
"I mean… if I did do something with one of you guys… it'd have to be pretty serious, you know?"
She snorted at that. "Yeah, Arnold, I know. Jesus man, you don't have to defend yourself to me. It's not like you've done anything wrong."
He nodded. "Yeah. I suppose."
She sighed, feeling bad for snarking at him. Poor dude was probably half delirious with grief and exhaustion. "You look shattered… have you slept at all since we got here?"
He shook his head. "Not really…"
She sighed, shaking her head. "C'mon Dozy, lets get you to bed." She led him upstairs, making a mental note to clean up the teapot and stuff in the morning. "Nite, Shorty." She smiled as he put a foot onto the first of the attic stairs.
"You wanna come up with me?" He asked, hushed, his eyelids heavy.
"For christ's sake Arnold… do you really wonder why people think we're fucking?" She raised an eyebrow. Surely he could see how weird this was.
He shrugged, then surprised her by grinning. "You said yourself, fuck 'em… we know the truth."
Argh. She sneered, hating herself for giving in so easily when she threw her hands up. "Fine… fine. I dunno why you even want me up there, but fine." She huffed. "Lead the way."
God she hated him and his self satisfied smirk. If he wasn't in mourning she would have whacked him one… although she didn't quite know why she felt so slighted…
They climbed beneath his sheets, him flat on his back, his arms behind his head, her curled onto her side, facing him, seething.
They lay in silence, a weird tension in the air, until he sighed. "I just kinda feel like company", knocking all the righteous air out of her sails. His whispered confession tugged at her heartstrings, but she didn't reply, just reached out to quickly squeeze his elbow before drawing her hand back under the covers.
He must have really been exhausted, because he was asleep five minutes later, and she quickly followed suit.