My Brother's Widow

I'll never forget that day as long as I live. I'm a middle ranking civil servant at the Department of Health in Whitehall, and I was in a policy meeting with several high-ups and a junior minister when my mobile phone rang. Withering under the glares of everyone else in the room I mumbled an apology and scuttled into the corridor. Dragging the phone from my pocket I snapped "What?"

There was nothing but static at the other end of the line. I was just about to tell the stupid bugger who'd fucked up my day what to do with their phone when a strangled female voice said "Dan? It's Steve – he's had an accident."

I barely recognised my sister-in-law's strained tones. Momentarily confused I said, "Cathy? Is that you? What sort of accident? Is he okay?"

She barely whispered, "No, he isn't. Sorry, I've got to go, there's a nurse saying I've got to switch off my mobile."

Starting to feel a sense of dread I snapped, "Fuck her. Where are you?"

Cathy just had time to say "The Royal Surrey" then the line went dead. I stared dumbly at my phone, feeling the blood drain from my face. At that moment my boss Barry, a no-nonsense Glaswegian, emerged from the conference room and stalked towards me. "Danny, for Christ's sake..." He stopped when he saw the look on my face.

Feeling as if I was hearing someone else speaking, I said, "My brother's in hospital. It sounds bad. I've got to go."

Barry can be a hard bastard to work for but I've never known him not to come through for his people. He nodded. "Aye, course you have son. I hope everything's okay."

As my taxi splashed its way through the wet London streets I thought about Stevie. My big brother – eight years older than me. He and Cathy had been childhood sweethearts, married at 21, and now with a six-year old son called Josh. At 27 I was still footloose and fancy free, more or less. Steve and I looked a lot alike – a fraction over six feet tall, a mop of brown hair, angular faces with high cheekbones. I'm slimmer than him these days; I used to wind him up about the onset of middle-age spread, like it was some sort of degenerative illness. I felt the acid burn of tears in my eyes as I wondered if I'd ever do that again. What a prat, I thought angrily – the sill sod's probably just broken his arm or something.

When I got to the hospital it took me ten minutes to find Accident and Emergency. The moment Cathy saw me she flew into my arms and buried her head in my chest, sobbing. She was too upset to tell me what had happened. After a few minutes I gently sat her down and an exhausted looking young doctor took me to one side. "Mr Preston's had a fall and he's unconscious. He's got multiple fractures and internal haemorrhaging. It's his head injury that worries us most though. His skull's severely fractured and there's little sign of brain activity. Of course, it's early days but I'm afraid Mrs Preston may need to steel herself for the outcome."

The doctor didn't know the full details of the accident, but just then Steve's colleague Charlie Wheeler showed up with two plastic cups of grey coloured tea for himself and Cathy, and he explained to me what had happened. They work in a paper mill, and Steve had gone head over heels down a steep metal staircase outside his office, which is suspended on the wall of the building like a swallow's nest. He'd landed on the narrow walkway below the steps, suspended from the rafters, but had somehow slipped under the guard rails and had smacked into the concrete floor 30 feet below. I felt physically sick just thinking about it. The works had closed down for the day, and two women who'd been near Steve when he landed had been treated for shock.

When Charlie and I rejoined Cathy she'd recovered some of her composure. She hadn't been able to bring herself to call my parents, so I broke the news to them. They were with us within a half-hour. For the next six hours we sat there, none of us talking, Dad and Charlie going outside for a smoke occasionally, till a nurse told us that there was unlikely to be any immediate change to Steve's condition. We were all dog tired and emotional, and Dad drove each of us home, then took Mum to pack a bag so she could stay with Cathy for a while. For the next three days there were no developments. I was like a zombie at work but Barry, bless him, watched my back for me. On the fourth day my phone rang before five in the morning. I was immediately awake, instinctively knowing it couldn't be good news.

"He's gone, love." Mum's voice sounded faraway and dreamy - I wondered if she'd taken some sort of medication. "The hospital just phoned. Stevie passed away about half an hour ago. A heart attack apparently. There was nothing they could do." Then the tears started. It was too early for public transport so I rushed down to Streatham High Road and took a cab. When I got to Cathy's home Mum greeted me at the door and the three of us just sat and hugged and cried for a while. The next couple of weeks were hard. Dad and I sorted out the funeral arrangements and Cathy's death benefits from Steve's pension, and I talked to a compensation lawyer for Cathy. At the same time I had three big projects at work all coming to a head. Every night I got home shattered yet unable to sleep properly.

One day, a few weeks after Steve's death, I took Josh out to Chessington World of Adventures for the day, to give Cathy a break. My nephew and I have always been close: I was the naughty uncle who bought him presents he shouldn't have and told him off-colour jokes. Cathy said he had been very withdrawn since it happened, and hadn't said a word about his dad. He loves zoos, and he had a great time on the rides too, screaming with laughter on the rollercoaster. In the café I nipped to the loo, and when I came back Josh was miserably rubbing tears out of his eyes. The lady who'd said she'd watch him for me looked at me helplessly. I ruffled his hair and asked, "Hey, what's up, tiger?"

He looked up at me and half-whispered, "I shouldn't be happy when Daddy's dead."

I felt myself choking up, but forced a smile as I gave him a hug. "Course you should Josh. Do you think your dad would want you moping round all miserable for evermore? He knew how much you loved him, and he wouldn't want you to go on feeling sad. You're the man of the house now, and you've got to keep your chin up so your mum doesn't worry about you. She'll be unhappy if you are, and you don't want that."

He thought about it, sniffed, then nodded. I nearly lost it when he bravely said, "Okay, I'll be happy for Mum."

I'd arranged to meet my girlfriend later that evening. It wasn't the greatest idea, but she was an air hostess – flight attendant you're supposed to say now – and was about to go onto a shift pattern that meant we wouldn't see each other for a while. She was a pretty, petite blonde, and we'd been seeing each other since a few weeks before Steve's accident. I was distracted and moody right through dinner, I could see I was upsetting Sandy but I couldn't help myself. She drove me home, but we'd already agreed she wouldn't come in as she had to be up early. As I started to get out of her little sportscar she stopped me and buried her head in my lap. She was always good at blow jobs, but that night it felt as if I was somehow disengaged, watching from the side. I stroked her hair as she licked and sucked my pole, and I came strongly enough, but I felt no real emotion, or even pleasure, from it.

Sandy took a sip of bottled water to clean out her mouth then started to kiss me. When I didn't respond she sat back and, sounding a bit irritated, said, "What is it sweetheart?"

I shrugged, then shook my head. "Sorry, this just isn't working." She looked perplexed, so I went on, "Us, I mean. It's not you, it's me. I mean, I like you, but that's all."

Sandy looked furious. "And it's taken you all this time to decide it's not working, has it? Jesus Christ Dan, you've been like this ever since your sodding brother died. I'm sorry, but it's him they buried, not you."

Even though I knew I was being unfair to her, I felt a cold anger. Opening the passenger door I said, "I just don't want to see you again, okay?" I closed the door behind me, quietly, and before I was even through the front door to my block of flats her tyres squealed as she sped off and accelerated round the corner. The next morning I lay in bed wondering whether I should send a bunch of flowers and a grovelling apology to the Chicago hotel I knew she'd be in that night; but in my heart of hearts I knew that, even though I could have handled it a fuck sight better, I'd made the right decision.

A few days later, as it was the school half-term, I'd arranged as a special treat to take Josh to a mid-week evening match at Stamford Bridge, between Chelsea and Middlesbrough. When I arrived at Cathy's home I vaguely noticed a flash looking Audi sitting outside. Cathy greeted me at the door looking amazing. She's a tall, willowy girl, 35 – the same age as Steve had been – with shoulder length reddish-brown hair, green eyes that seem to smoulder when she's excited, and a wide mouth with an easy smile. That time though, her smile looked distinctly uneasy. She was made up to perfection and wearing a backless black dress which moulded itself to her slim but shapely figure. As I leaned in to kiss her cheek I caught a whiff of a subtle fruity fragrance. I joked, "Blimey Cath, you look like a million dollars. Maybe I should send Josh to the match on his own and stay in with you instead." Her smile looked even more nervous then.

A moment later I discovered the reason. Sitting on the couch in the lounge was a smarmy looking bloke of about 40, clearly the Audi's owner, in an expensively tailored suit. He was unsuccessfully trying to engage Josh in conversation, while my nephew sat next to him concentrating furiously on his Playstation. The guy nodded and gave me a grin, white teeth gleaming in his over-tanned face, then turned to Cathy and purred, "Are you ready, darling?"

I was totally thrown by the situation. Suddenly feeling like a spare prick at a wedding I called to Josh, "We off then, tiger?" He leapt to his feet as if he couldn't get out of there quick enough.

On the way to the match I casually asked Josh who the bloke was. He said, "His name's Mark. He's a dentist. He's Mum's new friend. They're going somewhere called Romano's." That was an Italian restaurant in Sutton, notorious for its low-lit, intimate little booths – the perfect place for a romantic tête-a-tête. I was so busy thinking about that I almost missed Josh's next comment. "Mum's making lots of new friends at the moment. D'you think Ashley Cole'll be fit tonight?"

He was, and he played a part in two of Chelsea's goals, but I couldn't really concentrate on the match. Okay, Steve had been dead over six weeks, Cathy couldn't grieve for ever. That didn't mean she had to start parading a series of men past my nephew though. I felt somehow insulted on my brother's behalf. When I delivered an exhausted Josh home, Mark's car had gone. Cathy was alone, and dressed in a big fluffy towelling dressing gown. She gave me a tired smile and invited me in for a coffee but, unable to meet her eyes, I handed the kid over with barely a word and scuttled off. Cathy called my name, but I didn't turn round.

I didn't see Cathy for a couple of weeks after that. Sandy called my mobile a couple of times, but I didn't respond. I did speak to Cathy by phone, twice. Each time I wanted to ask her about Mark, but I couldn't pluck up the nerve. I found it hard to keep a trace of bitterness out of my voice though, and both conversations were awkward and strained, with as much silence as talk. Then one midweek evening I phoned her landline to ask about taking Josh out at the weekend. I got her answerphone, tried her mobile with the same result, and tried a couple more times later on. I started to get worried that she might have got depressed and done something foolish. After all, Josh was back at school, so Cathy must be in. I knew it was stupid even as I started out, but I still went over about nine o'clock to see if she was okay.

There were no lights on in the house and my rings on the bell brought no response. I was about to put a note through the letter box when the lady next door poked her head out and said Cathy was out with 'her feller'. Josh was sleeping upstairs in the lady's home. I was furious at her dumping him on a neighbour like that. Obviously Cathy had a right to her own life, but not at the expense of my nephew, my late brother's son. I went through the side gate of her garden and sat on the stone bench there to wait for her. I began to drowse, and was woken by the kitchen light snapping on just before eleven. I decided it was time to have a word with Mark.

Only it wasn't Mark. When Cathy opened the door, smartly dressed and breathing whisky fumes on me, she looked furtive and I stormed straight past her into the lounge. Sprawled on the sofa, shoes kicked off and shovel-sized hand wrapped round a can of beer, was a huge bloke in his 30s with a shaved skull, a tattooed dagger on his neck and a muscled body that would have made He-Man green with envy. Cathy followed me into the lounge and, in an icy voice, asked, "Is there something I can do for you Dan?"

Not wanting to discuss family business in front of the Incredible Hulk I snapped, "I'd like a word with you, please. In private." Her friend showed no sign of moving, but he began to scowl at me.

Cathy's eyes narrowed and she put her hands on her hips. "As you can see, Daniel" – she hadn't called me that since I was six – "I have a guest, so it isn't convenient tonight. You can phone me – in a couple of days."

I rounded on her, ready to have it out there and then, but Grizzly Adams clambered to his feet and, in a Liverpool accent, growled, "You heard the lady, pal. She wants you to leave – now."

I was clearly heading for a pummelling if I argued with him, so I backed towards the door. Then I said the first thing that came into my head. "Okay mate, it's your choice. I s'pose she has told you about her condition?" The bloke stared from me to Cathy and back again uncertainly. Not knowing what I was going to say from one second to the next, I blundered on. "Well, it's not actually confirmed yet, so you might be all right, but I mean, an HIV test, it's not something you want to mess about with, is it?" In the background I heard my sister-in-law gasp in outraged astonishment. Cathy was too gobsmacked at the crap I was talking to find her voice to interrupt me, so I threw in one last turn of the screw. "I thought you were going to stop escorting till the results came through Cath, but I suppose you've got a living to make." I grinned suggestively at the guy.

That was when Cathy recovered, kind of. She closed the gap between us with a speed I didn't know she had, and by the time I realised she'd punched me on the jaw I was already sprawled back on the couch. Literally snarling with anger, she snapped, "Graham, he's talking complete bollocks. He's fucking insane." Graham took one look at the wild-eyed, foaming-at-the-mouth woman, in front of him, glanced at me massaging my chin on the couch, and suddenly remembered he had to be up early in the morning. Muttering an apology he raced for the front door. Cathy ran after him but I heard the door slam shut.

I didn't mean to but, much as my mouth hurt, I began to chuckle at the situation. Moments later Cathy walked slowly back into the room, her head bowed. She looked up and stared wordlessly at me, her eyes shining with a mixture of brimming tears and sheer incandescent fury. When I saw the look on her face I stopped laughing and considered what a turd I'd just been. Feeling ashamed of myself, I pulled myself to my feet and started to say, "Cath, I'm sorry, I..." I got no further, Like a flash of lightning the pointed toe of Cathy's knee-length boot lashed hard into my shin. I doubled over in pain and she brought her knee up to meet my chin, making me bite my tongue and sending me toppling backwards onto the floor. Before I could react she kicked me in the belly, hard. I curled into a ball, genuinely scared that she was going to give me a real kicking.

After a few seconds of nothing I looked up, warily, and saw Cathy had slouched onto the couch, big tears rolling down her cheeks. I tried to start my apology again, but her voice cut across mine like a butcher's knife at my throat. "How dare you?" Her volume rose with every syllable. "How...fucking...DARE YOU? Shut up, I don't want to hear it. Get out of my house, you piece of shit, and don't you ever – EVER – come near me or my son again." The thought briefly crossed my mind that she couldn't ban me from contact with my nephew, but that wasn't the moment to argue the point. Edging carefully round her I crawled to the doorway then scuttled to the front door and out.

All the way home I felt sick, and not just from the blood I could taste in my mouth and the ache in my guts where Cathy had kicked me. Her violence had stunned me. Not that I hadn't richly deserved it, but when someone you've always thought of as a kind, sweet friend reacts like that it's somehow far more shocking than it would have been if Graham had half-killed me. Whatever I thought of Steve's widow seeing other men, and her choice of men, what I had done to her was vile. I'd never have done it if I'd had a moment to think, but I let my mouth run away with me. I went straight to bed when I got home, and spent most of the night crying out of pure self-disgust.

I left it a day then phoned Cathy. The moment she heard my voice she hung up without a word. I tried several more times but just got the engaged tone. I left it a few more days then tried again. When she answered, my first words were, "Cath, please don't hang up, I need to say something." I waited, expecting a sharp click, but all I heard was ragged, angry breathing. I continued. "Cath, I am the world's biggest shithead, and I know it. I can't say I hate myself as much as you hate me, because I know how deeply I must have hurt you, but I want to say I'm so, so very sorry." I could feel myself beginning to choke up, but I pressed on. "I've got no business trying to interfere in your life, or making judgements on you. If you really never want to see me again I'll understand, but I love you like you were my sister, and I'm begging you not to shut me out. I want to be there for you, and for Josh."

She was silent for so long that I thought she may have broken the connection, but as I started to say her name she muttered, "I'm here." The silence went on and on, maybe for two minutes, then she said, "I don't think I've ever been so humiliated, Dan. I thought you really cared about me, and I couldn't believe you could say things like that about me, whatever your motive. Maybe you thought it was funny, but it was just nasty." Another long pause; I wanted to tell her of course I cared about her, but I sensed it would be wrong to speak at that moment.

She finally continued, her voice quavering with emotion. "It's so hard for me. I haven't got any close friends anymore, all our friends were Stevie's. I know you and Jim and Sally (my parents) have done your best, but when I do see you you're all over Josh, and it's almost like I'm in the way. I'm sorry if that sounds selfish, but it's how I feel. I find myself sitting here night after night, putting Josh to bed, drowning myself in alcohol and listening to the hall clock tick my life away. And I think, is this really it? I'm still young Danny, I don't deserve this! There are times when I get so bloody angry at Steve for leaving me alone. Sometimes it feels like I died with him. I like eating out, I like the theatre, I like dancing, Steve and I didn't do it much, but enough to keep me happy. I started feeling like I'd never do it again. I can't just switch my entire existence off, for my own sanity I have to get out of here, and meet people, if only to prove to myself that I'm not lying in the ground next to Steve."