After All - Part Forty Seven

Chapter Forty Seven 

Mattie kicked sand as she walked in the surf, it was hot, and the location was perfect. Everything she could have imagined a Thai beach resort to be. Except she was alone. When she’d been in Bangkok the hustle and bustle, the lights, the sounds, the people crammed onto pavements, the trips on tuktuks and the fellow travellers meant that she rarely had time to think about what had happened, why she was there. But now, here, in this idyllic place, designed for romance and couples if not honeymooners, she was alone, and it was never more apparent than at any time in the last five years.

She’d spent most of the last six years trying not to miss Dylan, to convince herself that the decisions she made were right, that everything was his fault. Since he’d been back she’d wanted to tell him everything, wanted to share the past with him, she knew it would be hard, for her AND him, but it was important, as was being realistic. That was something that he had never been good at. Dylan wafted through life on such a simplistic level, taking everything at face value, never truly looking any distance into the future. It was his biggest downfall, and seemed that that hadn’t changed in the years since they’d divorced.

And the pain that avoidance caused was huge. The paradise she was staying in was designed for lovers, and she was alone, she hated the way eyes looked at her with sympathy, and in the end, she’d had taken to dining in her room. Avoiding being the only solo person, like Billy-no-mates in the dining room. Fortunately she hadn’t travelled to Koh Samui or some other idyllic resort that was both beautiful AND isolated; at least here there were streets that she could wander, places where she could lose herself. But the relative serenity as she did that, there meant that there was nowhere to hide, and little else to occupy her conscious level...other than Dylan...and how it had all gone so drastically wrong.

Dropping down to sit on the sand, she thought about the emails she’d received earlier, half a dozen requests to meet to discuss a variety of jobs she’d shown interest in. She had to decide what she wanted to do, at the moment the thought of returning to London, to work, to no home, no life was less than appealing. She was seriously tempted to walk into town and get a job in a bar. The thought of just living, enjoying...for the first time in years she had no one excepting of her, no demands, no job, no commitments. She was free. Dylan knew that she wasn’t coming back, she’d made that blatantly clear, and for years she longed for this moment, this freedom. But now, the reality of being free of all responsibilities, being alone was the last thing she wanted. She wanted Dylan there with her, despite the way he’d spoken to her, despite his anger, his lack of trust...she’d thrust all her eggs in his basket ten years earlier. She’d not stopped loving him after all that happened almost six years ago, there was little chance that his behaviour now would change how she felt. She was doomed!

                “So are you going to give her a glowing reference?”

Dylan looked up from his desk at Brandy, “well I can’t say no, can I?”

She shrugged, “you can if you don’t give a shit.”

                “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Brandy gave a half shrug, “you have let her go Dylan, I’m just surprised that’s all.”

He stood up and marched towards her, “really? What does that mean?!”

Brandy’s knowing grin was enough to wind him into a fury, “at last! Jesus Dylan, this woman is the love of your life, you’ve screwed up and rather than sort it out, you’re sitting here feeling sorry for yourself. She is going to get a new job, she’s going to move on and you’ll never see her again. I just don’t think that’s what you want.”

“You don’t KNOW what I want!”

Laughing she gave her head a shrug, “really? You are like a bear with a sore head, do you want my advice?” When he didn’t answer merely scowled, she laughed again, “well you’ll get it regardless, find her, and break a habit of a lifetime...LISTEN to her, talk to her, and understand her. Because you are the worst person in the world when it comes to sharing yourself.” She tapped his chest over his heart, “open that to her or you WILL lose her forever. Because she deserves better than she’s had. YOU know that.”

                “And I deserve less? Is that it?”

Brandy shook her head, “she’s perfect for you, if you work hard, you’ll get her...and that’s exactly what you deserve!”

He made a noise that sounded like an animalistic grunt, then stormed out of the office leaving Brandy grinning in his wake.

He hadn’t been back to his London apartment since leaving Matilda there two weeks earlier, but now that he’d stormed out of the hotel he had nowhere else to go. He hated that he felt dread going back there, this was a place that would always remind him of that amazing time they’d had the very same weekend he’d stormed off and left her.

As he entered the apartment he was stunned to see six large boxes and bags stacked near the door, a note attached to them was adorned with Matilda’s familiar scrawly handwriting.

                “I’m having these boxes stored, just waiting to find out where I’ll be. Hope you don’t mind them cluttering your hallway for a week or two?”

Mind? He sighed with sadness, that was all that she had to show for her twenty eight years of life, a few boxes. She was always someone who’d filled their home with cushions and posters and that bloody ridiculous jug that she’d found in some antique shop that she had cleaned then painted and filled with flowers every week. A huge thing that took over their tiny dining table. There was no sign of that, or her patchwork bedspreads, or the wicker baskets that she’d filled with toiletries. It had all gone, reduced to essential things only. That was his fault; he was starting to see that, she’d lost the walls around her due to his debt. She’d always worked hard, always been so reliable. But it still didn’t mean she had to terminate his baby, their baby...or not tell him about him.

He lifted the lid on the top box, books, shoes and a few handbags...the other boxes contained immaculately stored clothes - her business suits, dresses...in the last box were a few pairs of jeans, some running gear, and then he saw it, the small box, no bigger than a shoe box, but it was the way it was decorated that stood out. It was covered in paper that he recognised; wall paper from their bedroom in the flat they bought when they got married...the home she’d lost. A chintzy number, pale with flowers, a real girly room, and he’d been happy to let her have her way to decorate there as she had everywhere else...in fact he’d come to appreciate the feminine boudoir they shared, and that paper immediately whizzed him back to that home, that time. 

He could almost see Matilda, lying on the huge antique bedstead, peeping over the top of the duvet as he came home from work a wicked and suggestive grin enticing him into the bed. She had the ability to turn him on even in dream and memory form.

Shaking his head he managed to clear the images, but not the box that had somehow appeared in his hands.  Placing it on the sofa, he took off the lid, knowing that he was prying, but impelled to do this.  He gasped as he looked inside. He’d recognise that album anywhere, hemp covered and adorned with dozens of tiny mirrored discs, it was unique, and something he brought back from a weekend in Morocco. Holding it in his hands he groaned, he knew what would be inside, but something inside him made him want to drop it and run away, but he couldn’t. Instead he opened it, and felt his heart break all over again, the first page was Matilda in the beautiful simple yet elegant dress she’d worn on their wedding dress, her father proud to her right, her late mother there beaming to her left. |Then there was a photo of him, in his morning suit, his father had been there, it had been a year before he died, Hank Wallace was a strong jawed Texan, and he dwarfed Dylan in that picture. Each page brought back more raw memories of the last time he was truly, truly happy.

As well as the album, the box contained framed photos, their marriage certificate, holiday snaps, every piece of jewellery he’d ever bought her - costume and real, and then in the furthest corner was the small velvet box, and inside were her wedding ring, her engagement ring, and the diamond pendant she’d worn on her wedding day.

The way these items were stored, lovingly, protectively suddenly gave him an insight into how devastating the break up had been for her. He’d been so proud, so eager to hide his pain when the divorce papers arrived. He’d ignored them for a few days, then signed them angrily...

And if you hadn’t? If you’d put YOUR dream aside to think of the woman you’d left behind? If you’d come home then and sorted it would things be different? He hated the voice that questioned everything he did, but he knew in this case that he’d blamed Matilda for everything. If had HAD come home, if he hadn’t been so childish, so un prepared to face up to the truth, then he’d have come home, made up with her - whatever it took, and maybe even saved her from having to decide about the baby.

He’d blamed her, so vitriolic in his belief, holding himself so free and blameless from all that went wrong, but as he looked at the lovingly stored memories of his marriage, he knew that the person who’d collected them had been devastated, was hanging on to memoirs that were precious. Matilda hadn’t WANTED to lose him, suddenly that was very clear. He’d abandoned her; he’d left her to deal with their marriage failing alone, to watch their marital home be snapped up by debt collectors, to make what was the only possible decision about their baby. He could see that now, so clearly, so clearly that it hurt.

                “Shit Matilda, how the hell did I get this all so wrong?”