The Weekend - Completed

Chapter 40

The next few weeks followed much the same routine, I avoided my brothers as much as possible; with the majority of my time spend helping my gran and her gang of geriatrics with odd jobs around their houses and running errands for them.

I had weeded my Gran's borders that first day I had decided to cut myself off from the others, apparently I had done such a good job my grandmother decided to pimp me out to her posse of pensioners and so my week had been filled repeating the mind numbing task of pulling up anything that wasn't a flower but had dared take root in the obsessively pristine perimeters of their gardens. At first the weeding had been a good excuse for my solitude, with Adam gone I couldn't be bothered making an effort to converse with anyone. It was becoming a stretched exchanging salutations each morning, but I would smile as brightly as I could and listen to what my Gran's friends needed me to do. After these initial hellos and pleasantries for the rest of the day I was pretty much left to my own devices. I quickly discovered tidying up the local's shrubbery didn't require me to engage my brain so my mind was left to wander.

Primarily it meandered around my memories of Daniel and me, eventually drifting into images of him and Tina preparing for the baby. I no longer bothered fighting to keep the thoughts of Daniel out of my mind; the searing pain which had incapacitated me that first night had now been replaced with a familiar numbness, engulfing me like a blanket protecting me from the outside world. The reassuring emptiness had an inexplicable sense of safety to it, I guess whilst I was smothered in its detached, impassive embrace I knew I would survive and I was certain I'd eventually move on, passed experience had taught me that much at least.

Once the boarders had been taken care of my Gran had found me a new community chore to do. My next tedious task was to paint what felt like every fence in the district. The picket fences which adorned the homes of Gran's and everyone of her friend's, were to be painted a very predictable white. I wondered if they had chipped in and bought a job lot of cheap white paint or because it helped give them a sense of home, a sense of being English. Their patriotic foibles evident in the English tea they poured from a cosied pot and one variety or another of the day old British tabloid each would read from cover to cover every morning, helping to keep them abreast and up to date, well within 24 hours anyway, of what was going on back home. I didn't rush the painting as I knew she would either find me another job or send me back to expel the unwelcome weeds which would inevitably start poking their head through the black soil sooner or later.

I didn't mind the mundane tasks as they gave me the excuse I needed to avoid all the drama and noise my brothers and the other English kids generated. No I was happy to be alone, to process what had happened focus on how I was going to deal with it.

By the third week my Gran had hit upon what she considered to be a master stroke. I had driven almost every pensioner in Southern Spain to and from various appointments and supermarkets so often I was on first name terms with Maria the receptionist at the doctor's surgery and as I way to fill the time whilst I waiting for the Grannies I now chauffeured to get their weekly groceries I had started teaching the eleven year old grandson of the owner of the supermarket English. He was pretty good too, I mostly helped him with his pronunciation and phrasing, throwing in the odd cheeky word he would never learn from his teachers, funny how 'bloody hell' and 'damn you' suddenly became his favourite phrases, his face beaming mischievously whenever he managed to squeeze them into one of our conversations. The expression on his face and his wide eyed look had me laughing every time. By way of payment his grandfather would bring us both a bottle of soda and a Danish pastry each which we would gobble down in seconds. The hours I spend with this child were by far the most enjoyable part of my day, his enthusiasm and vitality for life was infectious, and as is always the way this time passed fleetingly whilst the rest of my waking hours seeEmed to drag. The solitude had allowed me to fall into a rut so even when Adam returned I could not be persuaded to rejoin the old gang of friends on the beach.

As August pressed on I felt my impending return home weighing down on me like a cumbersome mill stone. Whilst I'd been able to hide away in sunny Spain, under the close watchful eye of my beloved Grandmother, I felt protected and segregated from the sympathetic smiles and obligatory, concerned questions from my friends back home, 'are you okay?' or 'How you feeling?' you know the sort. We've all done it, made inane, faux concern enquiries when it is transparently obvious the answer to our asinine questions are that our friend and/or loved one isn't okay, they feel themselves falling apart, unravelling internally. But of course no matter how desolate you feel the directory of appropriate responses is limited to 'I'm fine"'or 'I'm doing okay'. Then as etiquette dictates you add an unconvincing half smile, that never reaches your eyes, and the ordeal of the conversation is over.

My 'real' life back home was calling me to return, with the same allure as a jailer rattling his keys to the inmates, alerting them that it's time for them to return to their cells, their twenty minutes in the exercise yard was over. During my long hours of gardening and painting I had resolved to work harder this year at my studies, I had always been a good, if not excellent student but Daniel had side tracked me way too easily and my grades had slipped. With the distraction of my life with him now gone, my education was again my main focus and just the diversion I needed to keep my mind occupied and away from daydreaming about Daniel, Tina and their impending new arrival.

Since I'd spoken to James on that night, the night when Daniel had phoned me and told me of his imminent fatherhood, I had purposely avoided talking to Katie and the new friends I'd made in Wrexham. Even worse than their initial awkwardness towards me would be how quickly they would forget my life had just fell apart, and they would move onto the next morsel of gossip and chatted callously about another friends disintegrating life.

I knew going home I wouldn't be able to swerve their attempts at communication as easily. If fact evading Katie would be impossible, I smiled as I thought of my poor beleaguered dad having to handle her persistent telephone calls which after a couple of weeks of brush off would inevitably lead to personal, incessant door enquiries. Perhaps it was time I went back and started getting on with the rest of my life.

"Erm Gran" I said tentatively one night during dinner, "I think it's time I went home." I looked at her waiting for a reply as I nervously played with Daniel's rings I had taken to wearing on a necklace.

"I agree love; I think it's time you went back too." She gave me a reassuring smile as she handed me a huge bowl of strawberries and ice-cream.

"Just one thing love" as I looked up from my dessert I could see the concern and love etched across her features.

"What is it Gran?" I knew my expression mirrored hers.

"I think it's time you took that off" she said pointing at the ring I'd been pulling up and down the chain I was wearing, "You need to give it back, I'm sorry love but it doesn't belong to you anymore." She scrunched her nose and gave me a sad smile. I knew she was right I'd been thinking more and more about it recently, I didn't say anything I merely nodded.

After dinner I went to my room and started packing whilst my Gran made the flight arrangements. For the rest of the evening I busied myself with sorting, folding and then inevitably squashing my clothes back into the cases they'd erupted from weeks ago. As I packed I thought about the ring, how I had felt the day he had given it to me, how I'd envisioned it as the symbol of our love and our promise to each other for the future. But that was the past, now my reality was in knowing with complete certainty that I would have to give it back and with painful veracity I knew its next owner would be Tina.

I glided the ring off the chain and onto my finger; I watched where it caught the light and cast rainbow flecks on the walls of my bedroom before sighing heavily. Then taking one last, long look, trying to commit the shape of the brilliant diamond set in the centre and the exact shade of the gold band, I finally slipped it off and into my purse where it would stay until I could return it to its rightful owner.