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The Last Day of Winter - Shari Low


‘How is Yvonne?’ he’d asked, as they sat in the luxuriously upholstered rattan seats.
Pearl’s face had fallen, Bob stared at his moccasins, and the sudden chill wasn’t down to a drop in the evening temperature.
Pearl’s voice went from cheery to choked in an instant. ‘Och, she passed away a couple of years ago now. Early onset dementia. It was a heartbreak.’ She wiped away a solitary tear. ‘For goodness sake, what am I like. All this time has passed and I still fill up when I’m telling anyone for the first time.’
Seb knew that feeling all too well. He still struggled for words when anyone asked him anything about Juliet. How could he explain? What could he say? He took the coward’s way out every time, fudged over the truth, omitted the details, changed the subject.
‘I’m so sorry to hear that,’ he’d sympathised truthfully. She’d been great, Yvonne. A little unsure of herself sometimes, but so full of life, and always quick to giggle.
‘And what about you, then? Married? Kids?’ Pearl had asked, out of both curiosity and a desire to change the subject.
‘No children. Married,’ Seb had answered automatically, before correcting himself. ‘Was married.’
Pearl had nodded knowingly. ‘Nothing wrong with that. I’m a big believer that life’s too short and if you’re not happy, you should move on, find happiness elsewhere.’
Shit. Seb could feel this conversation going down a rabbit hole of misunderstanding, and while he couldn’t think of anything worse than correcting her, he realised he didn’t have any choice. If they became regulars here, they’d no doubt hear about it from the gossips anyway.
‘No, we didn’t divorce. We… She… died. Six months ago.’ He’d stopped, feeling the familiar blockage in his throat, praying that a couple of extra blinks would stem the excess moisture behind his eyes. Every bloody time. Why was saying it still so bloody difficult? Because he missed her, because he loved her – and because he knew that it was his fault that she was no longer here. He’d done this.
Pearl’s jaw had frozen, her mouth forming into a circle, before her shocked expression crumbled into a head tilt that Seb had become way too familiar with since the moment the paramedic, bent over his wife’s body, had raised his head, then slowly moved it from side to side. Nothing. No hope. She was gone. And as the police pulled him away, all he could do was howl with pain.
‘Oh God, I’m so sorry,’ Pearl had whispered, her shock undeniable.
‘Christ, that’s awful,’ Bob had added, with genuine feeling.
Seb could see that these two were just ordinary, decent people. It was the only thing that was stopping him from getting up, going to the bar and ordering a dose of anaesthetic in the form of a large brandy. At least in jail, he wouldn’t be getting this kind of sympathy. ‘I did it,’ he’d wanted to roar. ‘Don’t feel sorry for me. Hate me. Tell me how despicable I am.’ He should tell them, right then, what happened. Watch their faces curl into disgust, see them back away, change their opinions of him.
‘What was her name?’ Pearl had asked gently.
‘Juliet.’
‘Juliet,’ Pearl had said softly. ‘Well, I’m very sorry we never got to meet her.’
It was such a tender, lovely thing to say that Seb had almost lost it. Almost. He’d almost said how the pain of missing her was like a knife that was twisting in his gut, every second of every day. He’d almost said that he deserved every bit of this agony he was feeling and more, and that he would regret what he did to his dying day. He’d almost said that his utter devastation was stopping him from fulfilling a promise they’d made to each other the day they married.
Instead, in a well-practised act of subject changing diversion, he’d cleared his throat, forced a smile, and said, ‘I am too. Anyway, let’s not dwell on the sad stuff. Do you get home to Scotland much?’
Pearl had hesitated, and Seb could see she was briefly deliberating whether to offer more sympathy and consolation or to go along with his charade of resolve. He prayed she’d choose the latter. It was the kindness that killed him every time. He could be stoic and composed, and yet the minute he heard genuine words of compassion, or felt a warm hug of empathy, the threads of his strength would begin to unravel.
His shoulder muscles had dropped with relief when Pearl decided to go with his diversion and shifted the conversation back to cheery banalities. ‘We’re actually heading to Glasgow on Wednesday,’ she’d announced, with an unmistakable glimmer of excitement. ‘Our Caro, that’s Yvonne’s girl, is getting married on Friday. Our son Todd and his partner Jared are meeting us there, so the whole family will be together and…’ She’d paused, and Seb had seen a flash of embarrassment as she had a realisation. ‘Oh, listen to me rambling on about happy families and you suffering such a loss…’
Seb had immediately jumped in. ‘Please, don’t worry. I’m interested and, trust me, hearing about happy families is good for me right now. Reminds me of the stuff that life is worth living for. Where’s the wedding going to be held?’


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