This is a Love Story (46 page)

Nick

It was half past ten on Friday night when we broke into Sienna’s flat. Her neighbour Jack and I. He told me he’d heard her

screaming, had knocked a few times but no one had answered.

‘I was supposed to be meeting her for dinner hours ago,’ I said to him as we stood in the dingy hallway. I was wearing the red and

white striped Florida shirt, my nicest pair of trousers and some posh shoes.

He looked extremely worried. I’d never met him before, although I’d heard of him. I knew he’d helped Sienna and her dad in the

past. He had thick, wiry white hair which poked out in tufts and whirls; the skin on his face was grey and wrinkled but there was a

warmth about his features. A kindness.

I’d found him hovering around in the hall when I came up to the flat. Pacing up and down. Sienna hadn’t answered my calls. I

was already concerned, but when I saw him, I knew I had good reason to be troubled.

‘I think we need to smash the door down,’ he said calmly.

‘But she might have just gone out,’ I protested, eager not to make a scene. I knew George was probably in there, sleeping quietly

with no idea we were outside. Maybe she’d been screaming with happiness about her job, got carried away with it all and forgotten

to meet me. Was it really necessary to smash the door down?

‘But Nick – it is Nick, isn’t it?’ I nodded. ‘I heard her, mate. She was shouting, she sounded really distressed.’ He reached out and

put his arm on my shoulder, trying to get some sense out of me.

My heart sank. He was right. This probably was bad.

‘She’s not the type to just not answer her phone, is she? Not turn up?’ he asked, his fists clenched in what I could only assume

was unexpressed tension.

‘No. No, she isn’t,’ I conceded, shaking my head.

‘Well come on, then, we’re going to have to bash this door down.’

I looked at it. It was big and strong and tall. Bigger and stronger and taller than me. I had no idea how two men like us were going

to open it.

‘Come on,’ he urged, taking a few steps back and pressing his body against the wall. He beckoned me to stand next to him. ‘And

go!’ he shouted, and we both ran towards the door, slamming our combined weight into it hard.

I was more of a literature and chess kind of chap than a strong man capable of knocking down mighty structures. It showed. My

arm started to throb immediately and my skin tingled as I pulled away. We had made no impression whatsoever.

Then, suddenly, this fire ignited in my soul. I had to get to her. A strength rose from inside. A force I hadn’t even known I had.

We ran towards it, again and again, until it was thrown open, launching us both into Sienna’s living room.

The door swung violently backwards; the sound of metal parts pinging away and hitting the walls greeted my ears. I could hear

wood tearing and cracking, and then it hung sadly from the bottom hinge. I was breathless. Nervous. It was dark. it took a while for

my eyes to adjust and then I saw her with her back to us, sitting on the sofa in the pitch black. She didn’t even turn around. Oh God.

I rushed over to her and threw myself next to her small frame, which was bent right over.

‘Sienna, sweetheart. What’s going on?’ I asked frantically, shaking so much now I could barely hold it together.

She just looked ahead, staring into nothingness. I touched her face gently. It was wet, and more tears were running from her eyes

like a tap had been left on in the back of her mind. I held her, so tight. I wrapped my arms around her body and squeezed. I could

feel her heart thumping in her chest. She started to shudder.

‘Sienna, listen to me.’ I grabbed hold of her face now, starting to feel desperate. Then her body became limp and I found myself

supporting her weight. ‘What’s happened?’ I begged. She didn’t say anything, didn’t even acknowledge my presence.

I felt a tap on my shoulder. It was Jack. ‘You need to come here,’ he said softly in my ear.

I peeled myself away from Sienna, who sank into the cushions, and followed him into the kitchen. A small amount of light was

coming from a lamp he’d switched on. There he was. George. Lying face down on the floor, his hands wrapped around the balloons

I’d ordered earlier. Oh no, no . . .

I ran back to Sienna and held her again. Grief overwhelmed me and I started to cry. I gently moved her face towards my chest and

stroked her hair. I had to protect her from this. Save her. But it was too late. She’d gone through this alone.

‘Nick, what are you doing?’ she asked, pulling herself up and pressing her nose against mine. Her face was expressionless and her

tone was flat.

I put both hands on her cheeks and kissed her nose. ‘Si, we need to call an ambulance and the police, OK? We need people to

come and help us,’ I whispered through my tears, again feeling just as clueless as I had all that time ago when George collapsed on

me. An ambulance, I thought, unsure of what you’re actually meant to do in situations like this.

‘No one needs to do anything with my dad. No, they don’t,’ she said, starting to sob.

I kissed her nose again, this time keeping my lips pressed against her face for longer. ‘Look, you just stay here, OK? Lie down.

I’m going to sort this out.’ I scratched my head and wondered what on earth to do next. She just shook her head and stayed still.

‘Please, Sienna – listen to me, OK? I’m going to look after you. I’m going to call the right people who can help us, and then you’re

coming back to my house with me, all right? I need you to be with me for your own good.’

Eventually she stopped shaking her head and lay down on the sofa, defeated and exhausted. Jack had already started to call the

emergency services; he paced around George’s body with the phone pressed to his ear, a troubled look across his face.

I rushed into Sienna’s room, searching for a bag. I eventually found one and threw as much of her clothing into it as possible. I

couldn’t even think straight. I managed to pick up her winter coat but swiftly stopped myself as I tried to stuff it in. It was summer,

for God’s sake. Toothbrush. Shampoo. Shower gel . . .

Soon the flat was filled with green overalls and the sound of ripping Velcro. Sienna eventually stood up from the sofa and

watched as they carried out various tests, pushing their fingers into his neck in search of the life that had fled his body. She watched

it all but said nothing. I wasn’t sure whether I should shield her from it. Cover her eyes. Protect her. Instead, I let her observe them,

but held her tight the whole time. I felt it was important that she knew he was in good hands. She said nothing.

When George had been transported from the flat, I took her home. Away from it all. Jack dealt with everything incredibly well. I

saved his number to my phone and told him I would call as soon as I could to let him know how Sienna was doing.

The journey was difficult. Driving was difficult. When she finally agreed to get into the car she started to shake again, but it

wasn’t because she was cold. It was shock. She stared out of the window for ages, not saying a word until we were about to pull

into my driveway.

‘He’s dead, isn’t he, Nick?’

I took a breath and turned off the engine. ‘Yes, Si. He is. I’m so sorry.’

She just nodded and opened the door. Something odd had swept over me. My tears had dried and the hysteria had vanished. I had

to be there for her and I couldn’t do that while I was falling to pieces. I had to be strong. So somehow I was.

That night she slept in my bed with me. She refused to eat and crawled into my bed fully clothed. She was too tired to put on her

pyjamas, so we just turned out the light and lay there. Her breathing was totally normal now as she soaked it all in. I didn’t want to

confuse her with words so I stayed quiet, pulling myself under her body and wrapping my arms around her again, holding on to her

tightly. Sorrow. Stillness. Frustration.

Eventually she fell asleep. I didn’t. I stayed wide awake, like an owl. There for her. I made a vow. I was going to be there for her

for the rest of our lives, if only she would let me.

Sienna

Grief. I don’t know how to describe it other than as a rollercoaster that drops you into the pit of hell with the rats and the demons,

and then lifts you up above the clouds to the place where heaven begins.

When I was down, I wondered if I would ever dig myself out; and when I was up, I waited by the gates, calling out my father’s

name in the vain hope he would answer me. I like to think of myself as a positive person, and I think it was this that got me through

it.

And Nick, of course. I spent a fortnight at his house, filling every room with the stench of my loss. I felt dirty no matter how much

I washed. I felt tired no matter how much I slept. And I slept a lot. The first night I slept beside him fully clothed, but after that I

stayed in his spare room, apart from during the day when Nick was out and I would creep into his room just so I could be close to

him in some way. While Nick worked I tangled myself in his sheets. The only comfort in this world was the smell of him all around

me. I pushed his pillow into my face and took in its warmth, and it was just like he was with me, holding me close. Because really,

that was the only time I ever felt calm, when I could imagine he had his body wrapped around mine.

My skin was pale and there were red streaks under my eyes as if someone had painted them on in some strange African ritual. My

hair hung limply from my head, greasy and straggly. Sometimes Nick got back from work and we didn’t even speak because I’d

gone back to the spare room and slept the whole way through the evening. He would come and check on me as I snoozed, and all I

could utter was a grunt before pulling the duvet over my head.

Sometimes I wanted to do weird things like play board games and watch Friends repeats until four in the morning because it was

the only way to lessen the pain. And it was pain. A pain I’d forgotten about, which brought all the memories of my mother’s

departure straight back to me. Now I had no parents at all. Pain like this physically ached. It was a different feeling, more poignant

and tangible than anything I’d ever experienced. In the course of fourteen days I felt angry, sad, confused, even hysterical at times.

But despite all the hurt, creeping in amongst it was a kind of happiness, like soft velvet. Strange happiness. Joy because I’d been

lucky enough to know my dad for all the time I had, twenty-five beautiful years. Sure, it had been hard – I’d cared for him for nearly

fifteen years of that time, but they’d all still been moments I would treasure for the rest of my life. Twenty-five years. Some people

don’t even get that long . . . Things had been hard – sometimes more than that – and at times I’d wondered how we would make it,

but somehow we did.

Even though he’d been so cruelly taken away from me, it was difficult to remember him without a smile. Without this warm

feeling that infiltrated the pain and pushed it away, even if it was just for a few minutes at a time.

Nick stayed off work for the first two days because he was frightened to leave me. I told him that he had to go back before my

misery infected him too. He called me all the time, though, and the phone calls, if answered, went a little like this:

‘Si, how are you doing?’

‘Fine, Nick.’

‘Look, you don’t sound fine – I’m going to come home, all right? Give me twenty minutes.’

‘No, please. Just stay at work. I promise I’ll be fine.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes.’

There were at least four of these exchanges a day.

Friends came to the door; sometimes I answered, sometimes I didn’t. On the first day, Elouise arrived alone. Nick let her in. I

hadn’t realised she was coming. I was barely paying attention as I sat in the kitchen trying to eat some toast. When I say trying to eat,

I really mean that. It was like attempting to swallow sandpaper with jam on it.

‘Si?’ she said, with tears in her eyes as she stood at the door. I didn’t have any tears left. She was wearing a white T-shirt with

some boy-fit jeans and a pair of ballet pumps. She looked lovely. I looked up from my toast and felt so glad she was there, but I was

too scared to speak. I didn’t know what would come out. She walked towards me slowly and I stood up almost on ceremony, unsure

about what to do with my arms. I didn’t know what to do, or what to say. She just cuddled me. Held on to me tight for what seemed

like an age. When she eventually pulled herself away and looked at me, black lines of mascara were smeared down her face like an

oil spill. Her eyes were red.

‘I’m sorry, Si, I shouldn’t be the one crying,’ she apologised, sniffing hard while pulling out a wooden chair for herself. Nick

stood in the doorway and watched for a while before making us tea and then slinking off upstairs. The steam rose from the mugs and

I wrapped my hands around mine, needing more warmth.

‘What am I going to do, El?’ I said, starting to feel my chin go again.

She grabbed hold of my hand across the table and held it tight. ‘You’re going to be OK, you know. I bloody love you, Sienna –

I’m like family, you know. I’ll always be here for you, and so will Nick.’

I felt the tears well again just when I thought they’d finally dried out. Surely it wasn’t humanly possible to cry this much? I looked

down at the knots in the wooden table and started to trace my finger around them. They felt smooth. My head was heavy and I

wanted to put my face against the cool surface, but that would have been a bit strange.