The things he left behind

It was blank.

Come ON! You have GOT to be kidding.

Miriam threw it across the room, narrowly missing the mirror, and immediately cursed her stupidity.

But blank? BLANK. It just didn’t make any sense.

And Ben said it would. Those were his exact words. “It will make sense when you open it.”

Well, it didn’t. She was so angry she was close to tears. And she thought she was all cried out.

She should have just opened it when Ben gave it to her. But he had asked her to wait until she needed it.

“How will I know that,” she’d asked.

“You’ll know,” he said.

Well, she was none the bloody wiser! Why would he give her something that was blank when he had to have known she needed answers.

It wasn’t just about the money. Though it was a lot of money. More than she’d saved in 10 years of working. More than her first advance. And Ben had left it in a shoebox. A shoebox! What if she had binned it?

It had taken her six months to summon the strength to go through his things. Ben’s sister had offered to help but she couldn’t bear to part with any piece of him. Instead she spent afternoons lying on the bed clutching clothes that still faintly smelled of him.

The shoebox was indistinguishable from all the others stacked on his side of the walk-in (he was a bit of a neat freak). She’d assumed it would contain yet another pair of the trainers he collected.

But the note inside was definitely for her. It looked like he’d taken more care with his handwriting to avoid the “spider shit” scrawl that made it hard for her to make out his shopping lists.

“Dearest M,” he wrote, “If you’re reading this, you’re in luck. Well, that’s probably not the right word, given it means I'm not here. But this should help. It was meant to go towards our house deposit. I was going to surprise you on our anniversary. Do what you want with it. Put that deposit down. Go to Thailand first class. But what I really think you should do is take leave from work and get on with that book! You need to get back to doing what you love. And don’t worry about the money. I can’t tell you where it came from; it’s not my story to tell. But talk to Jimmy. I know you two haven’t always been the best of friends but he can explain. I love you, to infinity and beyond. Your B.”

She had sat on the bed and stared at the contents before tipping them onto the duvet. Miriam was terrible with money and had to count it several times. Her shaking hands didn't help. So many $100 notes. Who even has cash anymore? Let alone $20,000! Why wouldn’t he put money he’d saved in the bank? She felt like a criminal.

And “Jimmy can explain”? Well, no, Ben, he can’t. Cause she hadn’t seen him since the funeral. Her texts had gone unanswered and his phone just went to voice message. When she eventually went around to his flat, that creep Adam who lived across the hall told her that Jimmy was so upset about losing his best mate he’d gone backpacking in Asia. Indefinitely. Without calling her? I mean, Ben was right, they’d never been super close but that really hurt.

She started texting him again after she found the money, desperate to find out what he knew. But not a word. Maybe he was in a jungle living off the grid. Maybe he just didn't want anything to do with her now Ben was gone.

Jimmy was never that reliable. Most of their fights had been about him. Miriam couldn’t see why Ben put up with someone who was always letting him down. Never pulling his weight on big deals. Making an idiot of himself at work functions. Ben was always making excuses. “You don’t know how tough he’s had it Mim.”

She certainly gave him points for loyalty. Shame the same couldn’t be said for Jimmy. She thought he’d make an effort after Ben had gone; they were the two people Ben loved most in the world. But no, not a word after that awkward hug and muttered “sorry Mim” as he left Ben's wake.

The note was another stab in her heart. Why would Jimmy know about a bunch of cash stowed in their cupboard and not her? Two months on, she still hadn't spent a cent of it. She didn't feel like she could when she didn't know anything about where it came from, though she thought about it every time a bill landed in her inbox.

Miriam missed Ben. So much. His dark eyes. His lopsided grin. His hugs. He really was the best hugger. His bad jokes. Weirdly, she even missed his smelly feet.

But right now she was just mad at him for such a strange parting gift. She sat on the bed, staring at the offending object in the corner of the room. “What’s the point of that, Ben,” she yelled.

In that last hideous week, he’d asked her to reach into the bottom drawer of the bedside table and get something for him. By then, he didn’t have the strength to lift more than his hand. They both knew he was near the end, though Miriam refused to talk about it. “I got it ages ago, Mim,” he said, when she lifted out a brown paper package tied up with string (the line from that Sound of Music song immediately popped into her head). “But don’t open it now. Put it away for when you need it.”

It felt like a book, something Miriam imagined he’d bought to help her through the “after”. But she couldn’t even bear to think about that, so she tried to wheedle some more information out of him before giving up, putting it by the bed, and snuggling up next to him.

Lost in a fog of grief, she forgot all about it later. Until she found the money. Maybe that’s what he meant? She’d need to open the parcel when she found the money? Though why wouldn’t you just put it with the money? Or tell her about the bloody money to begin with? So many questions. She’d turned the bedside drawer inside out to no avail.

It wasn’t until yesterday, when Miriam pulled their bed (she still couldn’t think of it as just hers) out from the wall in search of an earring, that she saw it. She must have kicked it under there. She wiped off the dust and cat fu, reminding herself to clean properly, but couldn’t bring herself to unwrap it. What if the contents dragged her back under again? She was only just starting to feel vaguely human.

But today felt right. Today was their anniversary.

Miriam remembers almost everything about that day. The Laminex table she was sitting at, the smell of beans roasting, the faint hum of other patrons. Noise-cancelling headphones in place, she was so engrossed in her writing she didn’t hear him approach.

“Excuse me,” he said. “Is this seat free?”

Miriam looked up, trying not to show her irritation. She always worked better in the café. Carl kept her supplied with coffee, and the occasional muffin, and she loved him for it. Maybe she’d dedicate her next book to the burly Norwegian. Maybe not. Caitlyn teased her enough about him already.

“Oh, sure,” she said, looking around. Miriam would rather not have someone in such close proximity but the place was packed.

“Don’t worry,” the man said, as if sensing her misgivings. “I won’t disturb you. I just need to get away from the shit at work for a while.”

He sat down next to her and smiled. And that’s when she really saw him. Holy, freaking moley. That smile. Those eyes. She was suddenly flustered.

“Sorry to hear that,” she said, taking off her headphones. “Are you OK?”

“I’m fine,” he replied. “Just know when I get pissed off it’s better to get out of there before I say something I might really regret.” He gave a rueful laugh. “But, hey, you look busy so don’t let me interrupt with my sob story.”

Miriam was smitten. She didn’t care how boring his story was, she wanted him to keep talking. “That’s OK, I need a break anyway.”

Two hours flew by. She hadn’t even let the fact he worked “in finance” phase her. Miriam had always thought those guys were full of themselves but Ben was so laidback. He didn’t want to talk about work or how much money he made. Instead he told her about growing up in the country and his pet pig Sally, who was subsequently dished up for dinner. (“Like Babe,” she said. “Oh, that movie is very triggering for me,” he replied, with a grin.)

She told him she was working on her third novel. The first one had gone pretty well but the second wasn’t such a success. Miriam was determined not to be a one-hit wonder. Well, hit might be a stretch but her first effort had enabled her to go part-time at the paper.

“Would I have read them?” he asked. She laughed. “I doubt it – they’re rom-coms,” she replied. “How very sexist of you,” he teased. She called up the Amazon links to show him and they poked fun at some of the nastier reviews.

“Says the author is a journalist. She should stick to facts cause she’s so bad at fiction.” That one had stung at the time but Ben made it seem ridiculous.

Over the years she came to see this as Ben's special power. He had a knack for making people forget about what was troubling them, or to at least see the funny side.

Even when he got sick, he was always joking. When he’d been moved back home at his request, Ben would tease visitors who asked how he was doing. “Never felt better. Always wanted to lie about in bed all day doing nothing,” he’d say. Some laughed nervously, others cried, most did both.

Miriam had remained stoic throughout. She’d overheard a work colleague at the funeral telling a friend that “you would never have known what she was going through at home – she was so strong”. Somehow it sounded like an insult.

“Strong,” she thought now. “You don’t know the half of it, you stupid cow.”

Miriam had wanted to tell her that she had been hanging on by a thread for a year. No, two. Since the day of Ben’s diagnosis. That smarmy specialist delivering his diagnosis with barely a hint of emotion. She wanted to scream at everyone and everything. Every single day.

But what good would that do Ben? He had supported her when her third novel went the way of her second. Encouraged her to revisit an early manuscript and turn to crime (figuratively, of course). And then travelled with her when that book opened doors to all kinds of wonderful places.

It was her turn to be there for him. And that meant keeping her shit together.

“You’ve got this Mim,” he’d say when she was struggling with her writing. She could hear him now. So clearly. Almost as if he was in the room.

She leapt off the bed, retrieved the notebook and went into the study. Pushing the laptop to one side, Miriam ran her fingers across the book’s smooth surface and opened it. She reached for the ballpoint Ben had given her for their second anniversary and began to write:

Jimmy’s phone went straight to voice mail. Again. Where the hell was he? And why wasn’t he returning her calls? She needed answers. And he was the only one who could give them.