Watch Over You (3 page)

She  trudged through the rain, each step heavy and leaden, burdened not just by the rain falling from
the sky, but also the rain in her life. The storm felt never-ending. Fitting, she supposed, as Eric had been her sunshine. He had left and taken that with him.

Her life was so insignificant in many ways, Tara thought to herself. What did she have to show? What was she going to do? The answer was nothing. There were no dreams, no goals. They had all ended three years ago.

She ambled along the street and didn’t care how wet she was getting from the rain. What was the worst that could happen? She’d get sick? That was no big deal. She wasn’t lucky enough to die from it. She had wished so many times that she could just die from the pain in her heart. Sometimes she thought that she might.

She walked through the main town centre until it came out to the start of houses. There was a stream that ran across, which coincidently divided the city centre and the living areas. This would be her last time in the city. The city was Eric’s place; somewhere his memory would stay. As she left it behind her, she tried to imagine what it was like for him trawling the streets at night, looking
for people to help. Had Devan been one of them too? Was that how they knew one another? She wished so much that she could find him to ask. Maybe he could give her a piece of Eric she didn’t know about. Maybe he knew something that could just warm the cold inside. Something that could, even for a second, delude her into feeling he was alive.

She stood atop the bridge, overlooking the water below. The rain hit the surface and created a blanket of splashes. Discarded crisp packets, pop bottles, and other bits of trash people had thrown in there, bounced around at the edges as the water stirred it all up.

The wall of the bridge had a decorative design carved into it. It would have been more beautiful if it was by hand, but it was as generic as the next one. Still, Tara lifted herself up by balancing herself on her toes on an edge that protruded out. She gripped the concrete top and leant over.

“Just jump and it’ll all be over.” She closed her eyes and tried to visualise that. She saw herself climbing up and sitting on the top of the wall. She felt the
roughness of it under her hands and imagined sliding herself off. She imagined the cold water seeping into her clothes, filling her mouth and drowning her. Would it hurt? Would she die right away as Eric had? Would they be reunited in death? If that was the case, she wouldn’t care if it hurt or not. If ending her life meant she could be with Eric once again, she would.

“You want to be careful doing that.” Tara gasped in fright and jumped down, stumbling as she did. Devan was standing behind her, hands thrust into his pockets. He looked the same. Same tatty clothes. Same hat. Same strand of hair that stuck out the side and showed just a hint of the colour.

He watched her and she stared.

Chapter Three

He’d stolen her words away from her. Every thought in her head had crashed full force and she couldn’t think. Her mind was foggy and numb and inside, electricity surged through her body, making her tremble from the force of it.

“There’s much better views than that one,” he said casually. “Some not as dangerous either. You could have fallen in.”

“Well, maybe I wouldn’t if others didn’t sneak up on me,” she said, but she kept her voice light, afraid she might chase him away.

“Maybe people are concerned for the welfare of others and that maybe someone is going to fall and hurl themselves to their death in a pit of icy water and refuse.”

“I was just looking,” she lied. She probably wouldn’t have jumped. She’d thought about doing
something like that so many times already. If she was serious, or brave, she’d have done it by now. She brushed her hands down her jacket to smooth it out. She looked down as she did it to give herself some kind of focus. She couldn’t believe that he was here. She so desperately wanted to look back up, but what if he was a dream and wasn’t there? She made herself, though. Slowly she raised her eyes, taking in his boots with his jeans tucked in still. She raised her sights all the way up to his face and then his eyes. She had waited weeks to see him again, but she had never known why, or even what, she would say to him when she saw him. Hey
, do you know my dead husband?
seemed lame and weird even to her.  “I’ve not seen you at Taylor’s for a few weeks,” she said instead, grasping at anything to say to him and keep him there. The look on his face, though, made her think that maybe it was the wrong thing to say. Maybe it was too close to crazy stalker talk.

“I don’t go in there all the time,” he said. “Those coffees are there for everyone, not just me. It would hardly seem fair of me to go in weekly and take one, only to deprive another.”

“But you’re entitled to, right? There’s no limit to the amount?”

He shrugged, lifted one hand up and pulled off his hat and with the other he scratched through his hair. She noticed then that his hand was damaged. It was wrapped in a bandage, but the bandage was dirty and had threads hanging from it. “Stupid accident,” he said to her when he noticed her watching. “No. There’s no limit. I mean, there is kind of… it’s too weird to explain, but it works.”

“You’ve not had one today? A coffee I mean?”

“I don’t need one,” he shrugged. From what Tara could tell, he was similar to her in age, maybe a little older, but he was in his thirties at least. He didn’t look like what she expected of a homeless person. Apart from the dirt and the grime, there was no sign that he was one of those ‘sit on the corner and drink’ types. He looked… normal.

“How about I buy you a coffee?” she blurted out and shocked even herself. She didn’t really want a coffee. She had just had one – she had had many actually - but she sure as hell wasn’t going to pass up this opportunity. “It’s my treat,” she added, afraid he might decline.

“You could buy someone else a coffee - someone who needs it?”

“But I want to buy you one,” she found herself saying. She glanced from Devan to the wall and then back again. “Think of it as a thank you for saving my life.” He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Please. I’ll feel so terrible if you don’t,” she added, fearing he was going to reject her offer again. “Besides,” she indicated to her clothes by pulling at the hem. “We’re both sopping wet. Maybe it’ll be nice to get somewhere warm and maybe dry off a little.”

His eyes searched her face, but he didn’t speak. She didn’t even feel uncomfortable under his gaze, and she wasn’t one for being stared at. But with him, it was different. With him there, somehow, the entire world ceased to exist. A strange sense of hope filled her heart while at the same time, tiny slivers of trepidation and
twinges of guilt stabbed through her. This wasn’t something she could just dismiss, though. She’d been dead inside for what felt like forever. Nothing seemed to raise a tear or a laugh. Nothing seemed to raise joy or wonder. She just was – existing in limbo. Her hopes began to dwindle. She was sure he was going to say no. But then, he smiled. “Sure,” he said, and she couldn’t keep the smile from her own face.

They walked back to town together, side by side. They didn’t talk although Tara tried. She tried a few times, and he turned his head, waiting. Then she shook her head and dismissed it as nothing. She felt like a giggling school girl with the boy she’d been staring at for the last year finally spending time with her. It was completely stupid and she knew it.

Tara thought they would go back to Taylor’s, but when they went into the precinct, instead of going right, as she thought he would, he went straight on to the escalator. Tara followed.

They walked past a calendar stall, which had hundreds of different calendars. Everything from 80’s
pop bands to current television programmes, to celebrities and today’s popular boy bands. Tara didn’t recognise any of the current stuff. She didn’t watch television or really keep up with the latest music. Mostly, the television was on at night because she was alone. It felt like having another voice inside the house – something to keep her company, even if it wasn’t real. Next to that, there was a stall for eyebrow threading. It looked painful, Tara thought to herself. One woman leant over her client with string. She slid it back and forth as if she was flossing the woman’s forehead. It was a bizarre sight. None of them paid any attention to her or Devan. They were an unlikely duo too - him in his tatty clothes, and her with her Regatta jacket, slim-fit jeans and dolly shoes. Even though they were the same age, they looked miles apart.

There was a coffee shop just ahead of them, nestled in a corner. It had outside seating, although it wasn’t really outdoors as the entire thing was inside the shopping centre. Next to that was a homemade cookie stall, tucked neatly away. She hadn’t had one of those cookies since Eric was alive. He had loved them. She
remembered the taste and it made her mouth water now. “Wait,” she said to Devan.

He stopped and turned. “Changed your mind? It’s okay if…”

“No,” she said. “Detour. Come with me.” She grabbed his arm without thinking and pulled him along to the stall.  Whether it was her who gasped or him, she didn’t know. She glanced down at her hand around his wrist. “I’m sorry,” she stammered. “I didn’t mean to…” The world around them vanished, closing them in a bubble together. She didn’t want to let go. She was holding onto home.

Reluctantly, she uncurled her fingers and let go of his wrist. He rubbed at it as if it hurt, but it was the expression on his face that unsettled her. She couldn’t quite decipher it, but it made her feel terribly guilty. Disconcerted, she murmured another apology.

“It’s okay,” he said. He peered down into the glass counter. There were so many different cookies. Tara watched him looking. She couldn’t help it. She wanted to reach out and touch the side of his face and she feared that, at any moment, she would. She balled her hand into a tight fist and shoved it into her pocket. She tried to focus on the cookies. Some had cinnamon. Some had fruit, raspberries or strawberries. Some had jam in the centre of them. “Who puts fruit in cookies?” he asked as he stared.

She relaxed a little and laughed. “You don’t like fruit in cookies?”

“No. It’s sacrilege. If you’re going to eat something that’s bad for you, do it properly. Cookies should be chocolate or those little coloured sprinkled things. Where’s the fun in adding fruit and making it healthy?”

“You sound like my husband. He…” She caught herself, mentally cursing her slip. “Chocolate ones then? Double or normal?” She didn’t wait for him to answer. She ordered a bag of five mixed instead. They could have one each. She only wanted to taste them again. Devan could have the rest of them. She had no doubt he would
probably give them away, but as long as someone enjoyed them, she didn’t mind.

They chose a table outside the coffee shop. This one was different to Taylor’s. It was still a franchise but owned by a different company. She had seen them around but never tried one. She wasn’t a fan of new things, not unless she thought about it first, but even then, she went back to what she knew.

When the waitress came to take their order, she ordered a regular coffee. The thought of another latte made her feel she would happily throw up. Devan went to order regular too, but she insisted that he order something he liked. She offered him something to eat but he refused. She insisted, though, and the waitress began to look impatient. He finally chose the cheapest sandwich he could find.

“Does your husband know that you pick up the dregs of society from the street?” he asked her as they waited on their order. If she had been drinking something, she would have spluttered it everywhere.
Instead, she tried not to choke on her shock at his question.

“He won’t mind,” she said. She shuffled back into the seat, trying to get comfortable and sit properly all at the same time, but it didn’t seem to matter. With Devan there, she was ill at ease, afraid she’d say the wrong thing and make him leave.

“He must be very understanding then. You’ve been married a long time?”

“Just a couple of years,” she said, not offering any more information. Saying ’My husband is dead’
would make her cry. Devan was a stranger. She didn’t want him to wonder or ask why she wasn’t over her husband yet when someone else would be by now. She was a failure, believing everyone considered her weird or pathetic. She didn’t bother with her friends for that reason. She didn’t want to see their pitying faces or hear their words.
He’s in a better place. He’d want you to move on and be happy.
In truth, that was all a lie and she knew it. He wasn’t in a better place. A better place was with her. And would he really want her to move on? She wouldn’t if it were the other way around. Not that she’d want him sad, but to move on to another person? No. She felt like a fool half the time so she stayed away from everyone, and they stayed away from her. They wouldn’t understand anyway. His death was her fault. No one would ever want to be near her if they knew the truth. She did want to ask Devan about Eric, though, and the work he had done with him. She had no idea how to go about it, though. “You help the homeless?” she began.

He nodded and it was his turn to shift uncomfortably in his seat. “I got into it a few years ago, and now it just seems like the right thing to do.”