After You

Chapter Four - Bring Me to Life

"When you're blinded by grief, you can't see that others might be hurting, too."
- Jude

'How old are you?' I asked, as we rode the Northern line towards Kennington.

'Thirty-eight. You?' He looked good. I had a suspicion he'd only improve as he reached his mid-forties. Some men are like that; they're so serious that they take a while to grow into their faces.

'Just turned thirty-three.' He nodded wordlessly. We didn't really have much to say to each other. 'How long have you and your wife been divorced?' I asked, because I was a bit drunk, so I had no qualms about prying.

'We're not actually divorced yet, but we separated last June.'

'And why does a guy like you waste his time with wedding photography? It's clear you don't enjoy it.'

'But it pays the bills,' he said, lifting his black eyebrows at me. Then his face relaxed, and he explained, 'I've got to keep up with the mortgage and seeing the boys clothed and fed, but now I've got rent on my flat to pay as well. The wedding photography covers my rent. I never really used to work weekends, so it's easy to fit it in, especially seeing as I only have the boys stay with me once a fortnight.'

'And you and your wife,' I pressed, not caring that my line of questioning was inappropriate, 'do you get on, or was it an acrimonious split?' I suspected the latter, because when he'd spoken to me about every marriage ending in tears, he'd sounded bitter.

'We get on,' he said, evenly. 'You have to, when kids are involved.' He was right, of course, but what he said still irritated me. It made me feel jealous. He'd lost his wife, but he still had her children. He still had something binding them together, keeping her in his life. Death stole everything. No bonds lingered.

'How've your children taken it? The separation?' I asked.

'I'd rather not talk about my boys, Meredith,' Jude told me with a tight-lipped smile. I sucked my lips into my mouth and held them there in contemplation.

'Sorry,' I said.

'It's no problem. Did you want to stop by a takeaway or something? I'm not much of a cook. I can probably stretch to pasta or something, but that's the best I can offer, I'm afraid.'

'Oh,' I said, waving my hand dismissively, 'I'm not hungry. If you are, by all means, eat, but don't worry about me.' He gave me an irritated look but he didn't say anything. I think that was the difference between a man who's been married, and a man like Luke – who'd never co-habited with a girlfriend. The married man knew not to push a woman too far. The single man was naïve, and couldn't help but say the wrong thing.

We walked to his flat in silence. It wasn't too far. I was grateful for it. The air in Clapham felt far colder than it did in Soho, and I didn't want to be outside for any longer than necessary.

'Sorry it's a bit... Well,' Jude said, looking at his drab little flat as he unlocked the front door, 'it's not much.' And it wasn't, but the guy was paying a mortgage on top of his rent. All things considered, it was a pretty nice place, albeit small and simply furnished.

'It's fine,' I assured him. 'It's very tidy,' I mused, slipping off my coat and shoes. 'I didn't realise men could be this tidy.' I turned to him then and smiled. 'Or perhaps they can when they have to be; when there's no woman to clean up after them?' I teased.

'Probably,' he said, taking my coat and hanging it on the back of the door. 'But I like to be neat. I have to be, anyway. When the boys stay, they sleep in my room and I open up the sofa bed...' I'll admit, he lost some of his mystique in that moment; knowing that he gave up his own bed for two young boys on a regular basis. 'So, did you want a beer, or would you prefer red wine?' Jude asked, looking a little awkward. I glanced at his sofa. I didn't really want to sit down and watch yet more TV. It was all I seemed to do with my evenings. And talking... conversation between us was strained. Besides, I didn't think small talk would drag me out of my morbid funk. I needed something a little more drastic.