How To Mend A Broken Heart

Fletch nodded as he picked up the remote and flicked on the big sleek screen to the channel that played nonstop 1980s television shows. ‘There you go, just starting,’ he said as the game-show music rang out.

‘Tess.’ Jean bounced like a little girl on Christmas morning. ‘Do you want to watch it with me?’

Fletch watched the play of emotions mirrored in Tess’s eyes. She was obviously shocked by the many faces of Jean. ‘Actually, we’re going to go out on to the deck and have a chat,’ he said.

But his mother wasn’t listening, engrossed in the show, her invitation to Tess already forgotten. He inclined his head at Tess, indicating they move away, and she eagerly complied, following him to the kitchen.

‘Would you like something a little stronger?’ he asked as he removed the mug she’d brought with her and placed it in the sink.

Following a period after she’d moved to the UK when she’d drunk a little too often, Tessa didn’t drink much these days. But if ever she needed alcohol, it was now. Being with Jean was heartbreaking. And being with Fletch, seeing those pictures, was … disturbing.

‘Yes, please.’

Fletch pulled a bottle of chilled white wine out of the fridge and held it up. ‘All right?’

Tessa nodded. ‘Sure. Thanks.’

He poured them both a glass and handed her hers. Normally he’d clink glasses with someone in this situation but nothing was normal about right now so he took a mouthful then led the way to the deck.

Fletch, conscious of her behind him, put his arms on the railing and inhaled the late-afternoon river breeze. He took another sip of his wine then turned to face her.

‘Thank you,’ he said.

‘I’m so sorry, Fletch,’ she murmured. ‘It’s … it’s so unfair.’

Fletch’s lips twisted into a bitter smile as his mobile phone rang. ‘Since when has life ever been fair?’ he asked as he located his phone and answered it.

Tess nodded. Truer words had never been spoken.

She moved to the far side of the railing to give Fletch some privacy. She had absolutely no desire to eavesdrop on the conversation but it was hard not to when he was standing two metres from her.

It was Trish and Tess gathered Fletch’s little sister was asking after Jean. Then she heard Fletch tell her that he’d been to the cemetery and reassured her three times that he was fine. Like Jean, Trish had been a tremendous support for them after losing Ryan. She’d worried about them, about her brother particularly, like a little mother hen. Tess knew that if Trish had been able to turn back time for them, she would have.

Her name was mentioned and Tess wondered how Trish was taking the news that she was here. They’d been close once, like real sisters, but Trish was loyal to a fault and while she’d been supportive for that horrible year, she’d been angry with Tess over her desertion of Fletch.

It had hurt at the time but blood was thicker than water and it was only right that she should stand by her brother.

Fletch hung up. ‘Sorry, that was Trish.’

‘So I gathered,’ she murmured, swishing the wine in her glass absently. ‘How’s she and Doug doing these days?’

‘Great. Doug started his own computer repair business five years ago. It’s thriving. Trish gave up the child-care centre a few years ago to work full time taking care of the books side of things and managing the job schedule. They have Christopher, he’s almost two. And she’s seven months pregnant with number two.’

Tess stilled, the swirl of the wine coming to a halt. She glanced at Fletch. Trish had a child? A little boy. A little boy only a few months older than Ryan had been when he’d died?

And another on the way?

She and Fletch had been trying for another baby just prior to Ryan’s accident.

The ache that was never far from her heart intensified. In a split second she both envied and despised her ex-sister-in-law with shocking intensity.

Fletch watched Tess’s face as a string of emotions chased across the taut face, which seemed suddenly paler. ‘She always wanted babies, Tess,’ he said gently.

Tess breathed in raggedly. She nodded her head vigorously. ‘Of course.’ Trish had absolutely doted on Ryan. ‘That’s great,’ she said, forcing words past the husky lump lodged in her larynx. ‘So, you’re an uncle, huh?’

Fletch nodded. ‘Yes.’

Of sorts. He hadn’t had a lot to do with his nephew given how often he was out of the country. But he was a dear little boy who adored him. And if it was hard at times to hold his wriggly little body and not think of Ryan, not see the similarities between the two cousins, then he erected another layer around his heart and sucked it up.

Tess heard the grimness in his response and knew that it couldn’t have been easy for him. She hesitated for a moment, went to take a step towards him until a shout of ‘Buy a vowel!’ coming from the lounge area halted the reflex before her foot had even moved.

She smiled at him as the sound of Jean’s excited clapping drifted out. ‘How’s Jean with him?’

Fletch felt his answering smile die. ‘She doesn’t remember him most days. It’s hard for Trish. Especially as Mum’s been living with them since just before Christopher was born.’

Tess frowned. ‘How come she’s living with you now? I don’t mean to tell you how to manage Jean’s condition but I don’t think changing her living arrangements at this stage in her disease is such a good thing, Fletch.’

‘Trish had problems with her first pregnancy. She went into early labour at twenty-four weeks. They managed to stop it and get the pregnancy through to thirty-four weeks. A month ago she went into early labour again with this one. Which they also managed to stop. But given her history and her age, her obstetrician ordered bed rest and no stress for the remainder of the pregnancy.’

‘Ah,’ Tess murmured. ‘Not very easy when you’re looking after a toddler and your high-needs mother.’

Fletch grimaced. ‘No.’ He rubbed the back of his neck. ‘Trish tried day respite but the unfamiliar setting distressed Mum, made her anxious, which flowed on into the nights. Mum stopped sleeping and she started to wander. She had a couple of falls.’

‘Oh, no,’ Tess gasped.

Fletch shrugged. ‘Lucky she has bones made of concrete.’

Tess laughed, remembering the time that Jean had slipped and fallen down a flight of stairs with not even a bruise to show for it. Fletch smiled at her laugh. It was as familiar to him as his own and yet not something he’d heard for a very long time.

Another thing he’d missed with surprising ferocity.

‘We got a day nurse in but the same thing happened. An unfamiliar face just aggravated the situation. So … I took a leave of absence from Calgary and came home to step in and do my bit. Look after Mum until after the baby’s born.’

Tess understood the conundrum he and Trish faced. The familiar was important to dementia patients, who clung to their repertoire of the familiar even as it shrank at an alarming rate around them. But, still, uprooting yourself from the other side of the world was a big ask.

Although she guessed not for Fletch. He’d always been very family orientated, always taken care of his responsibilities.

‘It’s a good thing you’re doing,’ she said softly.

He looked at her. ‘It’s family, Tess. Family sticks together.’

Tess shied from the intensity of his silver-green eyes. Was there an accusation there? Sure, she’d asked for the divorce but he hadn’t exactly put up a fight. In fact, he’d been pretty relieved as far as she could recall. Did he really blame her for wanting to get as far away from it all as possible?

She took a deep breath. She wasn’t going to go there. She was finishing her drink. She was going back to her hotel room.

Tomorrow she was getting on a plane.

‘So you’re not working, then?’