The Widows’ Club. Amanda Brooke

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      April could remember how she had stretched out her arms when she awoke that morning. Her hand had touched something cold and even the memory made her recoil. She had no idea how long she had been lying next to Jason like that, but it would have been hours and there was no doubting he was dead. Her first reaction had been to scramble backwards off the bed, and she had landed hard on the floor. Unable, or unwilling to process what was happening, she had started to scream. Luckily they lived in a flat, and one of her neighbours had heard her.

      Staring into the distance, April was back on her bedroom floor. A part of her had never left.

      ‘It will get easier,’ Tara assured her. ‘The grief might stay with you for ever but the shock each time you remember your loss will become less intense, or else you’ll simply get used to that stabbing pain in the centre of your heart.’

      ‘It really is a physical pain, isn’t it?’

      ‘Oh, yes.’

      ‘How did you get through it?’

      ‘With a lot of help from a close network of family and friends. My daughter Molly was only two at the time, and Mike and I ran a business together, so there was no choice but to keep going.’

      ‘Gosh, that must have been hard. I don’t know how I’d cope if I had a baby to look after as well,’ April admitted, which only confused her emotions about the dreaded baby shower.

      ‘You seem to have a good group of friends around you too,’ Tara told her.

      ‘They must be sick and tired of walking around on eggshells. I don’t know how I feel from one minute to the next, and if I can’t predict how I’ll react, how can they? I know I’m being irrational half the time.’

      ‘Talking helps.’

      April shook her head. ‘I don’t have any siblings, and I can’t offload on my parents, or worse still, Jason’s. I keep telling myself I should open up to friends, but Jason and I had known each other since school and we worked for the same council. His mates were mine, and vice versa. I can’t talk to them. It’s too painful. It’s too complicated.’

      ‘If you’re interested, I run a support group called the Widows’ Club. We were a bit short-sighted when we came up with the name because quite a few of our members these days are men, but we were all widowed under the age of fifty. We meet once a month to share things that would probably sound crazy to anyone else. We cry, we vent, and occasionally we have a laugh too.’

      April bit her lip. ‘I don’t know,’ she said, edging away. ‘I should be getting back to work.’

      Tara chuckled to herself. ‘I know how this must look, but I promise, I’m not some recruiter for a weird cult. Here,’ she said, pulling a business card from her pocket. ‘My mobile number’s on the back, or you can look up the group online. Have a think about it and if you’re interested, come over to my shop and we’ll have a proper chat.’

      The embossed card with cursive script was for Tee’s Cakes and above Tara’s phone number was her address. ‘You’re in Hale Village? I live in Eastham.’

      ‘Then we’re practically neighbours,’ Tara said, dismissing the fact that the Mersey flowed between the two villages. ‘If you can get there, you’d be very welcome.’

      Meeting another young widow had felt fated and, despite April’s reservations, she had visited Tara’s shop the following week where she found herself being inducted into the group. Tara’s offer of friendship had proven difficult to resist and she didn’t look in the least bit surprised when her newest recruit arrived at the village hall for her first meeting.

      ‘I knew you’d come,’ she said, giving April’s arm a squeeze.

      ‘I didn’t,’ April replied, stunned that she had made it this far.

      There followed a blur of introductions that left April dizzy. After months of isolation, she was now one of many. Someone made her a coffee and another offered her a carefully crafted cupcake, presumably from Tee’s Cakes, but a combination of nerves and dread churned April’s insides. She was lucky to make it past the pleasantries without throwing up.

      When it was time and they all took their seats in the circle, April didn’t know if she would talk, or what she might say if she did find her voice. With dark, unspeakable thoughts swirling inside her head, she stared into the depths of her half-empty mug until she became aware of the room falling silent. She looked up, and it was Tara’s face she saw first. She was sitting opposite to keep April in her line of sight, while the group’s other administrator, Justine, sat on April’s right. She was the one who had greeted April outside the hall.

      Justine was around the same age as Tara, although her style was far more conservative. She wore a tailored dress and her sleek blonde ponytail swished as she bent down to take a clipboard from her tote bag. Tara had described her as the organised half of their partnership, and April was beginning to see why.

      ‘Shall we get started?’ Justine asked.

      ‘Sure,’ Tara replied. ‘Welcome back everyone. I’d like to start by introducing not one but two new members to the Widows’ Club. For those who haven’t had a chance to say hello yet, we have April sitting on Justine’s right, and on her left is Nick.’

      There was a ripple of greetings and nods directed at the newbies, but April latched on to Nick’s smile. Wearing a suit and clean-shaven, he was in his late thirties and had spoken with a soft Liverpool accent when they had been introduced earlier. She had been too dazed at the time to pick up that she wasn’t the only curiosity in the room, but now that she knew, she felt drawn to him. They all had stories, and like the rest of the group, she wanted to hear his.

      ‘On behalf of all of us,’ Tara said, ‘I’m so sorry that you find yourself needing this group, but we’re in this together. Please contribute as much or as little as makes you comfortable. No one is here to judge.’

      ‘No Faith tonight?’ asked one of the men.

      ‘She’s passed on her apologies, but I’m sure our new members will have the pleasure of her company at the next meeting,’ explained Tara. ‘Right then, who wants to contribute first?’

      As the conversation began to flow, April took time to familiarise herself with the faces that turned occasionally in her direction. The women outnumbered the men, but their ages were more evenly spread. There was at least one woman who looked younger than April, and a couple of members in their late forties, giving the group an age range that spanned more than a quarter of a century.

      April tried her best to memorise names and keep a mental note of their individual circumstances, but it was difficult to keep track when her thoughts kept tugging her back to why she was there and how much she should share. What she did manage to glean was that some members had endured watching their loved ones’ health decline whilst others had suffered the shock of losing their partners in the blink of an eye. Some had children, others did not. They were all different, and yet whenever someone raised a gripe about a world that didn’t understand them, there were nods of agreement around the room.

      ‘I told myself I should get out more,’ a woman was saying. She glanced over at April and Nick to catch their eye. ‘I’m Jodie, by the way. My husband went out to play five-a-side one night and never came home. Heart attack. He died right there on the pitch two and a half СКАЧАТЬ