Moving On

When you deliver to the same houses on a regular basis you get to know people. You could tell if they've had a long week at work and just can't be bothered to cook or they're having friends round for a night of laughs, wine and pizza. You see those that are recently single, fending for themselves, the loneliness momentarily paused as you chat at the door. There are also those who never go out; hiding away from the world for a myriad of reasons, their only human contact the ones who bring food, parcels, essentials directly to their door. Then, there are those with a secret. Something they desperately want to share but can't. You can see it in their eyes; the often haunted look, the furtive glances along the street. They either look at you like they're trying to telepathically communicate or avoid your eye altogether. That's how I knew something had happened at 13 Limebeck Avenue. The usual cheery smile, the casual chatty flirting was replaced with secrets and fear, the only thing that was the same was the pizza order. I knew I had to help Ben, with his big brown eyes pleading with me to not make waves, while a shadow hovered in the background wanting to hear every word and ensure Ben didn't say anything he shouldn't. Delivering pizzas was easy. Understanding what went on in other people’s homes was not.

The first time I noticed a change was the week they didn’t order anything. The first Friday of every month was pizza night at number 13 and the good looking customers always stuck in my mind. He was always friendly, always full of banter. His wife not so much, but then she wasn’t really my type. She rarely answered the door, like it was a rule with them. I didn’t mind, he was lush. I didn’t even deliver full time anymore. My Dad owned the pizza shop so I just helped out now and again, but I had regulars and quite enjoyed the extra cash Dad threw at me at the end of the weekend shifts. It was the first Friday in May, but it wasn’t until the end of the night, as I was packing up the last few boxes and helping Dad with the shutters that I realised I hadn’t been to their house. Maybe they were on holiday. I shrugged it off and went home.

A couple of weeks later, I arrived late to the shop and Dad thrust a list in my hand and the warming bag full of food as soon as I walked in the door. I gave him a sheepish grin, kissed his cheek and dashed back out to my battered VW polo. The third and last delivery in the bag was for 13 Limebeck Avenue. It was dark, a faint glow from a lamp in the living room valiantly trying to break through the gaps in the drawn curtains. He answered the door looking downcast, dark circles under his deep brown eyes and a noticeable beard erupting on his usually smooth chin.

“Hi!” I said as cheerily as I could. His reply was a small smile that didn’t reach any other part of his face. I passed the pizza across the threshold as the light in the living room dimmed suddenly then surged brighter, his wife playing with the dimmer switch perhaps, impatient for her dinner.

“Thanks.” The door closed before I could say anything else. I stood for a split second, staring at the dark blue door, a stainless steel 13 glinting in the dying rays of the sun. I shrugged and made my way back to the car, shaking off the strange feeling as I returned to my Dad and the next set of deliveries.

A few days later,I called in to visit Dad on my way home. I pulled into the car park at the back of the nearby supermarket and made my way through the alleyway to the row of shops on main street. The street lamp suddenly flickered and I looked up just as Ben from number 13 appeared around the corner. A smile automatically burst across my face, but he kept his head down and walked straight past me, his supermarket carrier gently nudging my leg as he passed. The street light flashed again and went out but not before I saw the dark bruise that had bloomed around his left eye. That hadn’t been there last time I saw him.I turned and watched him walk back to the car park, his head low, keys jangling in his hand, before heading towards Dad’s shop.

The next time I saw him I knew I had to help. He looked so forlorn when he answered the door. The light in the living room flickering this time, candles perhaps. I would normally have joked about a romantic night in, but his expression made the words die in my mouth. I wanted to hug him.

“Are you ok?” I asked, barely a whisper.

“Fine. Thanks.” He took the pizza, just one this week and started to close the door. I put my hand up to stop it closing completely.

“If I can do anything.” I said, so quietly I wasn’t sure he’d heard at first. “I know what’s happening and you have to deal with it. If there’s anything I can do….”

“No, there’s nothing you can do.” The door closed.

My next few visits involved urgent whisperings and clandestine passing of notes, such as a leaflet for a local domestic abuse charity and pamphlet I’d found in the library about marriage counselling. Not once did his wife make an appearance, but every time she would be in the living room playing with that damn dimmer switch. Ben’s appearance seemed to worsen. The chin scruffle became a full on beard and he looked like he hadn’t slept properly in weeks. I tried again with the leaflets from the library, everything from couples therapy to a local priest. I didn’t know their religious affiliations, but I had to get through to him somehow. One of the leaflets had a list of all the groups the library held, the toddler and Mum’s reading group, the crochet ladies, the bereavement support group, the crafting club, the single’s book club, which my Dad had mentioned to me several times and of course the citizen’s advice session; I’d hoped he might make use of that one. I even highlighted it, for maximum effect. I tucked the leaflets under the pizza box along with his receipt and passed them all to him when he opened the door. I smiled and brought my hand up to cover his as he realised the leaflets were there, my eyes trying to convey my thoughts. His eyes flicked towards the living room, where the lights were doing their usual dance. I took my last chance before the door closed.

“I know it’s hard,” I whispered, “but you have to move forward. You can’t live like this. I can help, if you’ll let me” He opened his mouth to speak, but I carried on. “Just look at the leaflets, promise me.”

He nodded and closed the door. The light in the living room brightened as I walked away.

A few weeks later, I called in to the local coffee shop, a few doors down from Dad’s pizza place, in need of some sustenance. It was one of those autumnal days when the leaves were ablaze with colour, winter was on it’s way and hot chocolate was the only cure. There he sat, calm as you like at the table by the window, looking as handsome as I’d ever seen him, just a hint now of the dark shadows under his eyes. He raised his head when the door tinkled closed and his brain caught up with him a second later as he finally recognised me. A face he knew in a place he didn’t expect. His smile warmed me more than the hot chocolate ever could.

“Hello you.” I said, as I carefully negotiated my way around a pushchair, toward him.

“Casey?” He asked, my heart fluttering that he remembered. “It seems strange to see you not at my front door.” He chuckled and I thought I might melt to the floor.

“It’s good to see you out and about.” I replied, “on your own?” I glanced nervously around, furtively straightening the back of my hair.

“Yes, well, I know the owner, she used to be my neighbour.” We looked over to the smiling woman behind the counter, who suddenly pretends she wasn’t watching us and goes back to checking the freshness of some display scones, a light blush slowly creeping up her neck.

“And… how are things?” I asked tentatively. This probably isn’t the right place to ask if he’s left his manipulative wife.

“Good.” He replied and this time I believed him. He nodded and looked up me still standing there, gazing hopelessly at his lovely face. “Why don’t you join me?” He asked suddenly, but then gasped and checked his watch. “Oh, I’m sorry, I have to go actually, I have an appointment shortly with an estate agent.”

“Oh, well maybe another time?” I asked hopefully as he stood up to shrug his coat back on.

“Definitely.” He said, but I felt my shoulders droop with the understanding of someone being fobbed off. “It’s pizza Friday this week,” he said with a grin, “so if you give me your number when you bring my order I can give you a call sometime.” I looked up into his open, smiling face and felt myself grin back.

“I will.” I replied, “see you Friday, then!” He reached out and touched my sleeve.

"I just wanted to say thanks. For the leaflets. You were right, it was time to move on. See you soon.” and with that he was out of the door, calling a cheery “bye Ruth” to the lady behind the counter.

I approached, suddenly remembering I was there to actually order something and as I went to ask for my cocoa, Ruth surprised me by speaking first.

“It’s so nice to see him smiling again.” She said, giving me a knowing look.

“I don’t know him very well,” I began, “yet.”

“After everything the poor love has been through.” She added, as she took my order and rang up the till.

“Yes,” I agreed, thinking she must know some of the problems he’d had.

“I still can’t believe it really.” She continued, obviously thinking I knew too. “She was such a lovely woman, his wife.” She looked up at me, but I didn’t know what to say. “It must have been so hard for him, after she’d died like that.”

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. Instead, I blinked.

“It must be five months ago now, already. I don’t know where the time goes.” I was still doing my best goldfish impression when she handed me my hot chocolate. I blinked slowly, so slowly she must have thought I was nodding off. “Are you alright dear?” She asked.

“Yes, yes, sorry. I was just… I didn’t know she’d died.”

“He found her at the bottom of the stairs when he came home from work. She was already dead. He’s beaten himself up about it, but hopefully he’s ready to start moving on now. Think he blamed himself for not being there, not being able to save her. It was ruled an accident of course. Such a tragedy.” I stood motionless, until her voice penetrated again. “Sorry, dear, can I just serve this lady?” and I realised I was holding up a short queue.

“Sorry, yes. Thank you.”

I walked outside into the late afternoon sunshine, a shiver rippling the length of my spine. It’s true what they say - you never really know what goes on behind closed doors.