Opal smiled and laughed lightly. ‘Oh, Ivan, you are so easy to love, you know that?’ She walked on, not expecting an answer. Just as well, because Ivan wasn’t sure.
‘What are we doing?’ he asked for the tenth time since they had left the office. They stood directly across the road from the house and Ivan watched Opal viewing it.
‘Waiting,’ Opal replied calmly. ‘What time is it?’
Ivan checked his watch. ‘Elizabeth will be so mad at me,’ he sighed. ‘It’s just gone seven.’
Right on cue, the front door to the red-brick house opened. An old man leaned against the doorway, which appeared to act as a crutch. He stared outside and looked so far into the distance he appeared to be seeing the past.
‘Come with me,’ Opal said to Ivan, and she crossed the road and entered the house.
‘Opal,’ Ivan hissed, ‘I can’t just enter a stranger’s house.’ But Opal had already disappeared inside.
Ivan quickly skipped across the road and paused at the doorway, ‘Em, hello, I’m Ivan.’ He held out his hand.
The old man’s hands remained clinging to the doorway; his watery eyes stared straight ahead.
‘Right,’ Ivan said awkwardly, moving his hand away. ‘I’ll just slide past you so, to Opal.’ The man didn’t blink and Ivan stepped inside. The house smelled old. It smelled as if an old person lived there with old furniture, a wireless and a grandfather clock. The clock’s ticking was the loudest thing in the silent building. Time sounded and smelled to be the essence of the house, a long life lived listening to those ticks.
Ivan found Opal in the living room, looking around at all the framed photographs cluttering every surface of the room.
‘This is almost as bad as your office,’ he teased. ‘Come on then, tell me what’s going on.’
Opal turned to him and she smiled sadly. ‘I told you earlier that I understand how you feel.’
‘Yes.’
‘I told you I knew how it felt to fall in love.’
Ivan nodded.
Opal sighed and clasped her hands together once again, almost like she was bracing herself for the news. ‘Well, this is the home of the man I fell in love with.’
‘Oh,’ Ivan said softly.
‘I still come here every day,’ she explained, looking around the room.
‘The old man doesn’t mind us just barging in like this?’
Opal gave a small smile. ‘He is the man I fell in love with, Ivan.’
Ivan’s mouth dropped open. The front door closed. Footsteps slowly made their way towards them over creaking floorboards. ‘No way!’ Ivan hissed. ‘The old man? But he’s ancient – he must be at least eighty!’ he whispered in shock.
The old man wandered into the room. A hacking cough stopped him in his tracks and his small frame shuddered. He winced from the pain and slowly, leaning his hands on the arms of the chair, he lowered himself into the seat.
Ivan looked from the old man to Opal and back, with a disgusted look that he tried unsuccessfully to hide from his face.
‘He can’t hear you or see you. We are invisible to him,’ Opal said loudly. Her next sentence changed Ivan’s life for good. Nineteen simple words he heard her say everyday but never in that order. She cleared her throat and there was a slight tremor in her voice as she said against the ticking of the clock, ‘Remember, Ivan, forty years ago when he and I met, he wasn’t ancient. He was as I am now.’
Opal watched as Ivan’s face displayed many different emotions in a matter of seconds. He went from confusion, to shock, to disbelief, to pity, and then as soon as he had applied Opal’s words to his own situation, to despair. His face crumpled, he paled and Opal rushed towards him to steady his swaying body. He held on to her tightly.
‘That’s what I was trying to tell you, Ivan,’ she whispered. ‘You and Elizabeth can live together perfectly happy in your own cocoon without anyone knowing but what you forget is that she will have a birthday every year and you won’t.’
Ivan’s body began to shake and Opal held on to him tighter. ‘Oh, Ivan, I’m sorry,’ she said, ‘I’m so, so sorry.’
She rocked him as he cried. And cried.
‘I met him in very similar circumstances to how you met Elizabeth,’ Opal explained later that evening after his tears had subsided.
They both sat in armchairs in the living room of Opal’s love, Geoffrey. He continued to sit in his chair by the window in silence, looking around the room and occasionally breaking into horrendous coughs that made Opal rush to his side protectively.
She twisted a tissue around in her hands, her eyes and cheeks were wet as she told her story and her dreadlocks fell around her face.
‘I made every single mistake that you made,’ she sniffed, and forced herself to smile, ‘and I even made the one you were about to make tonight.’
Ivan swallowed hard.
‘He was forty when I met him, Ivan, and we stayed together for twenty years until it became too difficult.’
Ivan’s eyes widened and hope returned to his heart.
‘No, Ivan,’ Opal shook her head sadly and it was the weakness in her voice that convinced him. Had she spoken firmly he would have retaliated in the same manner but her voice displayed her pain. ‘It couldn’t work for you.’ She didn’t need to say any more.
‘He seems to have travelled a lot,’ Ivan remarked, looking around at the photos. Geoffrey in front of the Eiffel Tower, Geoffrey in front of the Leaning Tower of Pisa, Geoffrey lying on the golden sand on the shores of a faraway country, smiling and looking the picture of health, happiness at varying ages in every photo. ‘At least he could move on in some way and manage to do those things alone,’ he smiled encouragingly.
Opal looked at him in confusion. ‘But I was there with him, Ivan.’ Her forehead wrinkled.
‘Oh, that’s nice.’ He was surprised. ‘Did you take the photos?’
‘No.’ Her face fell. ‘I’m in the photographs too, can’t you see me?’
Ivan shook his head slowly.
‘Oh …’ She said studying them and seeing a different picture from Ivan.
‘Why can’t he see you any more?’ Ivan asked, watching Geoffrey take a handful of prescribed pills and wash them down with water.
‘Because I’m not who I once was, which is probably why you can’t see me in the photographs. He’s looking out for a different person; the connection we once had is gone,’ she replied.
Geoffrey stood up from his chair, this time grabbing his cane, and made his way to the front door. He opened it and stood at the doorway.
‘Come on, time to go,’ Opal said, standing up from her chair and moving out to the hallway.
Ivan looked at her quizzically
‘When we first started seeing each other I visited him from seven to nine every evening,’ she explained, ‘and seeing as I can’t open doors, he used to be there waiting for me. He’s been doing this every evening since we met. That’s why he wouldn’t sell the house. He thinks it’s the only way I’ll find him.’
Ivan watched his old frame wobbling on his feet as he stared out once again into the distance, perhaps thinking of that day when they had frolicked on the beach or the visit to the Eiffel Tower. Ivan didn’t want that to be Elizabeth.
‘Goodbye, my Opal,’ his gravelly voice spoke quietly.
‘Good night, my love.’ Opal kissed him on the cheek and he closed his eyes softly. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’
Chapter 32
So it was clear in my mind. I knew what I had to do next. I needed to do what I was sent here to do – make Elizabeth’s life as comfortable for her as possible. But now I had got so involved with her I would have to help heal old wounds and the new wounds that I’d foolishly caused. I was angry at myself for making a mess of everything, for getting caught up and taking my eye off the ball. My anger was overpowering the pain I felt and I was glad because, in order for me to help Elizabeth, I needed to ignore my own feelings and do what was best for her. Which was wha
t I should have done from the start. But that’s the thing about lessons: you always learn them when you don’t expect them or want them. I’d have plenty of time in my life to deal with the pain of losing her.
I’d walked all night, thinking about the past few weeks and about my life. I’d never done that before – thought about my life. It never seemed relevant to my aim but it should always have been. I found myself back at Fuchsia Lane the next morning, sitting on the garden wall where I had first met Luke over a month ago. The fuchsia door still smiled at me and I waved back. At least that wasn’t angry at me; I knew Elizabeth sure would be. She doesn’t like people being late for business meetings, never mind dinner dates. I’d stood her up. Not intentionally. Not out of any malice but out of love. Imagine not meeting someone because you loved them so much. Imagine hurting someone, making them feel lonely, angry and unloved because you think it’s the best for them. All these new rules – they were making me doubt my abilities as a best friend. They were beyond me, laws that I wasn’t comfortable with at all. How could I teach Elizabeth about hope, happiness, laughter and love when I didn’t know if I believed in any of those things any more? Oh, I knew they were possible, alright, but with possibility comes impossibility. A new word in my vocabulary.
At 6.00 a.m., the fuchsia door opened and I stood to attention as though a teacher had entered the classroom. Elizabeth stepped out, closed the door behind her, locked it and walked down the cobble-stoned drive. She was wearing her chocolate-brown tracksuit again, her only informal outfit in her wardrobe. Her hair was tied back messily, she had no make-up on and I don’t think I’d ever seen her look so beautiful in my life. A hand reached into my heart and twisted it momentarily. It hurt.
She looked up and saw me and stalled. Her face didn’t break into a smile like it usually did. The hand around my heart squeezed tighter. But at least she saw me and that was the main thing. Don’t ever take for granted when people look in your eyes – you’ve no idea how lucky you are. Actually, forget about luck, you’ve no idea how important it is to be acknowledged, even if it is with an angry glare. It’s when they ignore you, when they look right through you, that you should start worrying. Elizabeth usually ignores her problems; she usually looks right past them and never in the eye. But I was obviously a problem worth solving.
She walked towards me with her arms folded across her chest, her head held high, her eyes tired but determined.
‘Are you alright, Ivan?’
Her question threw me. I expected her to be angry, to shout at me and not listen or believe my side of the story, like they do in the movies, but she didn’t. She was calm, but with a temper bubbling beneath the surface, ready to erupt depending on my answer. She studied my face, searching for answers she would never believe.
I don’t think I’ve ever been asked that question before. I was thinking about that as she was studying my face. No, it was as clear as day to me that I did not feel alright. I felt brittle, tired, angry, hungry, and there was a pain – not a hunger pain, but an ache that started in my chest and worked its way through my body and head. I felt that my views and philosophies had been changed overnight. The philosophies that I had gladly carved in stone, recited and danced upon. I felt as though the magician of life had cruelly revealed his hidden cards and it wasn’t magic at all, just a mere trick of the mind. Or a lie.
‘Ivan?’ She looked concerned. Her face softened, her arms dropped from their folded position and she stepped forward and reached out to touch me.
I couldn’t answer.
‘Come on, walk with me.’ She linked arms with me and we walked out of Fuchsia Lane.
They walked in silence deep into the heart of the countryside. The birds sang loudly in the early morning, the crisp air filled their lungs, rabbits bounded daringly across their path and butterflies danced through the air, waving through them as they strode along the woodlands. The sun shone down through the leaves of the dominant oaks, sprinkling light on their faces like gold dust. The sound of water trickled alongside them while the scent of eucalyptus refreshed the air. Eventually they reached an opening, where the trees held their branches out, making a grand and proud presentation of the lake. They crossed a wooden bridge, sat on a hard, carved bench and sat in silence, watching as the salmon jumped to the surface of the water to catch the flies in the warming sun.
Elizabeth was the first to speak. ‘Ivan, in a complicated life, I try my best to make things as simple as possible. I know what to expect, I know what I’m going to do, where I’m going, who I’m going to meet every single day. In a life that is surrounded by complicated, unpredictable people, I need stability.’ She looked away from the lake and met Ivan’s eyes for the first time since they’d sat down. ‘You,’ she took a breath, ‘you take the simplicity out of my life. You shake things around and turn them upside down. And sometimes I like it, Ivan. You make me laugh, you make me dance around streets and beaches like a lunatic and make me feel like someone I’m not.’ Her smile faded. ‘But last night you made me feel like someone I don’t want to be. I need things to be simple, Ivan,’ she repeated.
There was a silence between them.
Eventually Ivan spoke. ‘I’m very sorry about last night, Elizabeth. You know me: it wasn’t done out of any malice.’ He stopped to try and figure out if and how he should explain the events of last night. He decided against it for now. ‘You know, the more you try to simplify things, Elizabeth, the more you complicate them. You create rules, build walls, push people away, lie to yourself, and ignore true feelings. That is not simplifying things.’
Elizabeth ran a hand through her hair. ‘I have a sister who is missing, a six-year-old nephew to mother, whom I know nothing about, a father that has not moved away from a window for weeks because he is waiting for his wife, who disappeared over twenty years ago, to return. I realised last night that I was just like him as I sat on the stairs staring out the window, waiting for a man with no surname who tells me he’s from a place called Ekam Eveileb, a place that has been Googled, and searched in the damn atlas at least once a day and that I now know doesn’t exist.’ She took a breath. ‘I care for you, Ivan, I really do, but one minute you’re kissing me and the next you’re standing me up. I don’t know what is going on with us. I have enough worries and I have enough pain as it is and I am not volunteering myself for any more.’ She rubbed her eyes tiredly.
They both watched the activities in the lake as the leaping salmon brought ripples to the surface, making soothing splashing sounds in the water. Across the lake a heron moved silently and skilfully on his stilt-like legs along the water’s edge. He was a fisherman at work, watching and waiting patiently for the right moment to break the glassy surface of the water with his beak.
Ivan couldn’t help but see the similarities in both their jobs at that moment.
When you drop a glass or a plate to the ground it makes a loud crashing sound. When a window shatters, a table leg breaks, or when a picture falls off the wall in makes a noise. But as for your heart, when that breaks, it’s completely silent. You would think as it’s so important it would make the loudest noise in the whole world, or even have some sort of ceremonious sound like the gong of a cymbal or the ringing of a bell. But it’s silent and you almost wish there was a noise to distract you from the pain.
If there is a noise, it’s internal. It screams and no one can hear it but you. It screams so loud your ears ring and your head aches. It thrashes around in your chest like a great white shark caught in the sea; it roars like a mother bear whose cub has been taken. That’s what it looks like and that’s what it sounds like, a thrashing, panicking, trapped great big beast, roaring like a prisoner to its own emotions. But that’s the thing about love – no one is untouchable. It’s as wild as that, as raw as an open flesh wound exposed to salty sea water, but when it actually breaks, it’s silent. You’re just screaming on the inside and no one can hear it.
But Elizabeth, she saw the heartbreak in me and I saw it in her, and
without having to talk about it we both knew. It was time to stop walking with our heads in the clouds, and instead, keep our feet on the harder soil of ground level we should always have been rooted to.
Chapter 33
‘We should get back to the house now,’ Elizabeth said, jumping up from the bench.
‘Why?’
‘Because it’s starting to rain.’ She looked at him as though he had ten heads, and flinched as another droplet of rain landed on her face.
‘What is it with you?’ Ivan laughed, settling down into the bench as a sign he wasn’t budging. ‘Why is it you’re always dashing in and out of cars and buildings when it rains?’
‘Because I don’t want to get wet. Come on!’ She looked to the safety of the trees longingly.
‘Why don’t you like getting wet? All it does is dries.’
‘Because.’ She grabbed him by the hand and attempted to pull him off the bench. She stamped her foot in frustration when she couldn’t move him, like a child who couldn’t get her way.
‘Because why?’
‘I don’t know.’ She swallowed hard. ‘I’ve just never liked rain. Do you have to know all the reasons for all my little problems?’ She held her hands over her head to stop the feeling of the rain falling on her.
‘There’s a reason for everything, Elizabeth,’ he said, holding out his hands and catching the raindrops in his palms.
‘Well, my reason is simple. In keeping with our earlier conversation, rain complicates things. It makes your clothes wet, is uncomfortable and ultimately gives you a cold.’
Ivan made a game-show noise signalling a wrong answer. ‘The rain doesn’t give you a cold. The cold gives you a cold. This is a sun shower and it’s warm.’ He held back his head, opened his mouth and allowed the raindrops to fall in. ‘Yep, warm and tasty. And you weren’t telling me the truth, by the way.’