Dream Valley (6 page)

Anguish of Loss

Garry was in the kitchen waiting for the jug kettle to boil for coffee. Emily was tidying up outside after the morning's work. It had gone very well. The work on the gallops was starting to get a little more serious
now, and the horses were really enjoying themselves. An air of optimism prevailed. It won't be long now, thought Garry. They're coming around nicely, eating well, looking well, and working well - a trainer's delight. He felt good
as he poured the coffee, lit a cigarette, and relaxed on the chair beside the old table.

The mobile in his pocket rang. "
Here we go again - always during my little break - you'd think they knew."
Still, he
liked to hear it ring. That little phone was a vital part of the business - he just couldn't manage without it.

'Hello ... Garry Wren speaking.'

'Hello, is that you, Garry?'

His mother always began like that - just to be sure.

'Yes Mam ... it's me ... have I changed my voice or what? How's everyone?'

'There fine ... how are you?'

'Oh, couldn't be better.'

There was a pause, an unusual silence from his mother's side
- he sensed something was wrong.

'Mam, are you still there?'

'You're going to be very sad, Garry, at what I'm going to tell you.'

'What is it Mam?' He held his breath.

'Sandra Greene is dead!'

There was now silence at Garry's end. Anguish and pain crashed through him. His legs weakened, his brain refused to comprehend the
shattering news; he was almost paralysed with shock.

'Sandra dead!' He exclaimed hysterically ... 'she couldn't be!'

'She is, Garry,' his mother said, as soft and soothingly as she could.

'But Mam ... how? ... when? ... were? ... what happened?'

'Well, you know she had twins?'

'Yeah, of course I did.'

'And she was expecting again?'

'Yeah, I knew that too ... sure you told me the last time I
was home.'

'She was seven months; and she wasn't well at all. They took her into hospital in Dublin where they discovered the cancer. It was gone all through her ... too late to do anything.'

'Oh God ... and what about the baby?'

'Thank God, they managed to save her ... a little girl ... premature, but healthy ... in an incubator. Poor Sandra, she didn't have much of a life.'

'That's for sure,' he sobbed, glad that his mother couldn't see the tears flowing down his face, dropping off his chin.

'When did she die? ... when is the funeral? ... I'll have to be there, Mam.'

'Of course you will, Son. She died at one o'clock this
morning in the hospital. They're taking her home to Kildare to wake her, and she's being buried here after Mass on Sunday. They say it was her wish to be brought back here. I suppose she wanted to rest among her family and friends.'

'That would be her alright, Mam ... she always loved home. I don't think she liked it up there in Kildare at all. What a shame ... what a waste ... God, it's awful, isn't it?'

'Sure, 'tis the will of God, Garry ... nothing we can do
about it ... she's gone now ... all we can do is say a prayer for her.'

'I'll be home Sunday morning for the funeral.'

'Can't you come on Saturday night. I'll have your dinner
ready for you. Sure you won't be that busy ... couldn't Emily feed the horses for you?'

'Yeah, maybe I'll do that ... thanks for ringing, Mam ... I'll talk to you on Saturday night.'

Emily was approaching the kitchen for her coffee. Garry took his down to the bedroom. He was in no condition to be seen by anyone.

'Your coffee's on the table, Emily ... biscuits in the jar,'
he tried to sound normal.

'Okay, thanks.'

She hadn't a clue. Garry's suffering was private - Emily wouldn't understand. The story was too long, too painful - he might tell her sometime.

He collapsed on the bed, lay on his back over the
bedclothes. Staring up at the old wood-panelled ceiling, as tears flowed on to the pillow, the memories came flooding back. It started when they were no more than twelve. Sandra rode her pony to school every day. He could still hear the
clip clop of the hooves and feel the loving sensation that used to well up in him as she trotted up the village street. He would be waiting at the front door of his parent's pub, complete with the bar of chocolate that magically slipped
from the shop shelf to his coat pocket. They would walk, talk and munch to where the one-street village ended and the country began. Then for some reason which he never fully understood, Sandra would send the pony into a trot again. It was still half a mile to the school, mostly uphill. He didn't mind, he trotted too. It was a labour of love - and he did really love her. The pony would then be stabled at her uncle's farm - he lived beside the school.

He was sure that old Sister Benedict knew of his fascination
with Sandra. Every time she caught him gazing across at her she would shout at him.

'Garry Wren! Are you day-dreaming again?'

He got used to her. He remembered thinking:
"What
would she know anyway? She's only a jealous old bags. Bet she'd love to have a boyfriend - God help him. She never will now - too old, too ugly, too contrary."

He still managed to keep one eye on Sandra - she was a
magnet, and so lovely. He couldn't wait for three o'clock to arrive and the joy of helping her saddle up the pony for the journey home - especially catching her leg and lifting her up. The other boys, particularly his brothers, would jeer him - he couldn't care less. The pleasure and emotion he felt was worth it
all.

The pony's trot was quicker on the way home. He would soon be out of breath, trotting beside her with the big school-bag on his back. T'was tough going but it didn't matter to him - he felt great. He often wished
that Sandra would reach down and give him a kiss when they got to the pub and were about to part. But no, never, just:

'Bye Garry ... see you to-morrow.'

He often wondered was it the chocolate that was the
attraction. Ah no, that wouldn't be fair - she really did love him - he knew it. She wouldn't show it, was like that - a bit shy. But she let it slip sometimes, couldn't hide it.

Like that day in the hay-shed. That's when he really knew.
That Saturday when she asked him over to see the new foal that had just been born. They spent hours admiring her, a lovely filly with four white socks and a white star in her forehead - a real beauty. When Sandra said that the mare
needed hay they both climbed up the bales in the big shed. It was great fun and suddenly she gave him a shove. It was a clever trick but he could play that game too. He grabbed her sweater, making sure they both tumbled down together,
ending up in the deep straw on the floor, with Sandra on her back and him on top of her.

She didn't panic, just looked up at him, smiling lovingly, and then he knew. It worked out just as she planned it - God, she was so
beautiful. Having chanced to give her a big kiss, she didn't mind at all - in fact she loved it. He knew because she tried to make it last longer. He knew she was getting ready to give him a big one back when her mother's squeaky voice rang out.

'Are you there, Sandra?'

She jumped up, scampered around the back of the shed, meandered into the yard as if nothing had happened. But her face was as red as a turkey cock's - and his was too.
Mothers - always the same - bloody
spoil-sports!.

Sandra's parents were wealthy. Three hundred acres of land; her father an Estate Agent, her mother a daughter of an English millionaire. An only child - she would have been rich some day - but as they were very
protective of her, Garry hardly saw her during her secondary school years. She was a boarder in the expensive Springhill Collage, while he attended the local vocational school. Each summer she was whisked off to Chester in England to her
rich grandparents. But she didn't forget him and when he got that letter inviting him to accompany her to her Graduation Dance, he was over the moon.

As he lay on his bed of sorrow, Garry tried to relive that
unforgettable night. She was small, but so beautiful - he never saw her so radiant, so happy, so loving. It was the first time he was ever in bed with a girl. Four o'clock in the morning when she ushered him on tiptoes up to her
room, as the dawn was breaking and the birds were singing outside the big farmhouse window. If her father or mother had found him it would have been a disaster - they didn't. It was magic, as vivid now as then. Beautiful Sandra, his love above everything else in the world locked in his arms. The passion and
emotion was indescribable - he wanted it to last forever - sadly it couldn't.

Sandra was soon heading for Dublin and Trinity Collage for
her third level education. Garry had enough of school. All he wanted was to be working with horses. His parents couldn't understand where the craze for horses came from - it wasn't in the family. He was delighted to get a start in a local stud farm, and though he loved it, it wasn't really what he had in mind. He
always wanted to be working with racehorses, to experience the excitement, the travel, the glamour and the unique atmosphere.

The chance came. His boss had connections in Newmarket and
got him into a big stable there. He jumped at the opportunity - couldn't wait to go. But his parents were very concerned - he was only seventeen - but Garry didn't care, he was going - nobody would stop him. He would work hard, learn
everything about the game, make a great career and be successful.

He dreamed of having a big racing stable himself someday, being rich and successful. Then he could have Sandra - he would be acceptable to her wealthy parents. She loved horses too. He could see the two of them
becoming a great team and life would be wonderful. That beautiful thought kept him going on many frosty winter mornings in Newmarket. The dream helped him endure the hardship, the bitter cold, the loneliness. He thought of Sandra
every day and longed to have her with him. He knew he couldn't - he would have to wait - but the wait would be worth it.

Then the bombshell. It was his mother that gave him the shock news: "Sandra was pregnant - expecting twins for a fellow student -
a wealthy farmer's son from Kildare - she had left college - was getting married."

It nearly killed him. The feelings of sadness, isolation, loneliness and despair racked him. The mental agony lasted for weeks.

On reflection, he didn't really blame Sandra. She was only eighteen - these things happen. It could have been him - he wished it had been him, but it wasn't - it was someone else.

The pain and heartache abated slowly. Gradually he recovered
but it has definitely affected him ever since. He kept his vow never to bother about another girl. There was only one Sandra - he would have to live his life without her.

Now she's dead - it's even worse - all that pain and
suffering is now back again. Oh God why? Why?
His mind was in turmoil, his heart ripped open.

'Will I oil the tack, or do you want me to do something else?' shouted Emily, having finished her coffee and heading out past the
bedroom door.

'Oh ... Yes Emily.' He jerked himself back to reality.

'Yeah, do a bit of oiling ... I'll be out in a minute.'

Looking in the mirror, his face was flushed, warped and
swollen. He wiped it with the towel. Needing some fresh air, he slipped out around the back to the little green fields that led down the valley. He started walking. The sun was bright and warm, the sky a clear rich blue, and the birds
were singing merrily. None of it meant anything to him. For Garry, this day was just Hell on Earth. All he could feel was the emptiness inside of him, the weight of anguish on his shoulders, the burning pain around his heart, the
spinning of his head, the blurred vision of his drowned eyes and the feverish trembling of his whole body. How long could he endure this? The thought of ending it all and rejoining Sandra in some better place flashed across his mind. It would be worth it if he could be certain of that joyous reunion.

'No ... No ... No. A voice within him was screaming "No" so emphatically that he had to listen, to see sense, to be a man. He wasn't the first to suffer like that - he wouldn't be the last. He
would endure it, and with Sandra's help from above, he would recover and be a better person for it. He stopped, turned, and went back.

* * *

Ken was a bit worried about Jenny when he rang her from the
Clinic on Friday evening. He knew it would be late when he'd get home. The Clinic was extra busy - two doctors were absent.

He had noticed as the week passed that she was becoming increasingly bored and irritable and he could understand why. The days were
long and lonely for her. Now, with him late home again to-night, away all day to-morrow at the golf tournament, and the golf dinner to-morrow night, he began to feel guilty. Would she re-act badly? She would be justified in protesting.
If she did, he would consider dropping the golf to be with her. After all, she was his wife, was still weak and recuperating, and needed all his love and attention.

To his pleasant surprise, it was an up-beat and cheerful Jenny that answered the phone. She was more concerned about him than herself.

'Ah poor Ken. Why does all the extra work always fall to you? It's not fair. You're forever standing in for someone - you must be jaded.'

'No, no, Darling,' he protested, 'it's you I'm worried about
... how was to-day?

'A great day! Never felt better ... I rang the office.'

'Yes?'

'Yes, and you know what, Ken? They invited me in next week.'

'Oh?'

'Yes, you know, just to be there; nothing strenuous. I'm really delighted Ken ... I can ease my way back to normality; just what I needed.'