“John, thank you so much for welcoming me into your family,” Harry said to Dad with a handshake.
My Dad rejected it and plumped for a hug instead, which incited cheers from the rest of the guests. I was so transfixed on Harry that I didn’t even realise they were there. I took my place at the altar, and Harry grasped my hands firmly, still gazing deeply into my eyes. I’d looked into them before, of course, but that day, I could see everything: our past and the future we would eventually build together as man and wife. The celebrant was talking, but we were so enraptured by each other we didn’t hear the words. She tapped me on the shoulder comedically to get my attention, and the rest of the wedding guests burst out in laughter at our blunder.
And the laughter continued heartily.
The flawless day gave way to the perfect evening as the beer and wine flowed freely. Harry effortlessly moved around the room, mingling with the guests. He had this boyish charm that just took everyone he met by surprise. To look at him, you could be forgiven for thinking that Harry was a bit of a rascal, but he was the most loving, caring person I’d ever had the pleasure of knowing, and he was mine forever. Most brides may have been annoyed that their new husband was socializing with guests to this extent on their wedding day, but I was quite content simply admiring him from a distance. Harry caught me looking and shot a smile my way, followed by an awkward grimace aimed at the couple who were talking at him. He gestured over to me and made his escape.
“I’m shattered. They won’t leave me alone!” Harry laughed, slumping on the chair next to mine.
“Me too. Can’t we just ask them to leave? Or is that a bit too much?” I joked.
“I think your new mother-in-law might have something to say about that, Ames.”
“Harry, I’ve actually been counting how many glasses of wine she’s had. The amount she’s knocked back could easily kill a horse.”
“She’s had a lot of practice,” Harry chuckled.
“My feet are killing me,” I said, kicking off my heels, “is it bad I just want to go to bed?”
“Let’s get out of here, then.”
“What?”
“It’s our wedding. Screw it. We can do whatever we like. If you want to get out of here, let’s do it.”
“But the guests—”
“Sod the guests. I need to save my energy for what I have planned anyway,” Harry smirked.
“Oh? And what plans are those?”
“Well, it is customary, after the wedding, for the bride and groom to—” Harry ended his proposition with a suggestive whistle and insinuating wink.
I faked disgust, but truth be told, I could hardly wait either. We both fled out of the room giggling, much to the bewilderment of my new mother-in-law, Yvonne, who probably expected us to beg for her permission to leave. Strangely, or perhaps not, it was one of the most vivid memories I had of our wedding day, his mischievous face as he excitedly led me up the stairs to the honeymoon suite. I had never felt as connected to someone as I did that night. Our very souls had melted into each other, and the emotions of the day built into a crescendo that absolutely blew my mind and body.
I used to think that my wedding day would be the pinnacle of my love for Harry, but it wasn’t. Every day that passed, I felt myself feeling even stronger for him. Harry knew me better than I knew myself; he understood and saw me like nobody else did or anybody else would. It didn’t take much to lure him away from the sleepy seaside village of Filey to my home city of Manchester, much to the dismay of Yvonne. Without wasting time, we rented a small flat in the city centre whilst we searched for the home of our dreams. We quickly found it and moved into a semi-detached house just outside of the city. The house was amazing, and I was so happy. I could hardly conceal my overflowing joy. We loved big city living; just being able to find a shop open past 8 pm was enough for Harry to want to move from Filey. We didn’t even seriously entertain the idea of staying in there. We needed enough distance between us and Yvonne for a start.
Wedded bliss was all I ever wanted, and I’d found the perfect man to share it with. However, Harry wanted some little Harrys running around. Not that I was against the idea in principle, but I’d never planned on having kids. When he asked me if I wanted children in the future, I always responded with a ‘firm maybe.’ Yes, I know, pleasing your partner isn’t the best reason to have offspring, but for Harry, it was a deal breaker. I just hoped that the maternal instincts would kick in afterwards and I could become the mother of the children he had always wanted.
We decided to start trying about six months after we got married. It sounds rushed, I know, but I wasn’t getting any younger, and as ridiculous as that may sound, I could hear my biological clock ticking away. However, months and months of constantly trying to conceive ended in failure. Despite the fact that Harry remained positive, I still felt like I was broken inside. Once I realised it would be a lot more difficult to have a baby than we originally anticipated, my apathy turned to obsession, leaving me wanting to conceive more than anything, just to prove that my body was capable. I thought my constant breakdowns would end up perturbing Harry, but luckily, they didn’t. He was so seemingly understanding and supportive; it gave me the resolve to continue trying. If anything, the struggle made me feel even closer to him.
After weeks and months of me crying in the bathroom while gripping a negative pregnancy test, we finally made the decision to get outside help. We went the holistic route at first; we had a cupboard full of herbal remedies and disgusting teas made from God knows what, and most of our evenings consisted of Harry frantically searching for the latest fad to boost our chances of conception. Still, after sustained disappointment, he convinced me to go down the scientific route, and I agreed with him.
After two failed IVF attempts and thousands of pounds later, we were still left with no prospect of a child. We had a follow-up appointment at the IVF clinic to see if the third attempt had finally stuck, and I was pregnant at long last. The doctors had assured us that if there wasn’t a ‘positive outcome’ after three attempts, we would have to start looking at other options. I didn’t think Harry would accept that and he would want to continue trying. What option would we have if not? That appointment was out of the ordinary because Harry wasn’t going to be there with me. He had planned a trip back to Filey, and I would be following him up there the day after. He did offer to rearrange it a number of times, but I insisted he should go without me.
“Not having any breakfast, Ames?” Harry asked, shoving a fistful of toast into his mouth.
“I can’t. I feel sick,” I responded.
“Amelia, whatever happens, we will deal with it,” Harry started, “do you not want to try the old-fashioned way one more time before I leave?”
“Funny. No, I feel like I’m going to throw up.”
“I didn’t know I had that effect on you.”
“It’s just nerves about today.”
“Are you sure you don’t want me to cancel? We can always go up together tomorrow. I don’t mind waiting.”
“No, it’s fine. I can’t bear to see Yvonne’s face if I robbed her of an extra day with her precious son.”
“What’s this?” Harry asked, pointing to a small, insulated bag on the counter.
“Just a little survival kit in case you get hungry. A few drinks and snacks.”
“You really are the most amazing wife in the entire world, you know that?”
“I can’t have my man going hungry, can I? Or eating questionable service station sandwiches. When do you need to set off?”
“I thought I’d go now; the car is already packed. I’m going to try to avoid the morning rush. Is that okay?”
“Of course. I love you; I’ll see you tomorrow,” I smiled, leaning in for a kiss.
“I love you, Ames. Let me know how it goes.”
Harry grabbed his bags and made his way out of the front door to the car, and I followed him so I could see him off on his drive. He opened the car window and waved at me as he reversed down the drive. He liked to play this little game where he would pull a stupid face just before he peeled out onto the main road. Every time, I thought he would run out of faces and repeat one, but somehow, he managed to keep it fresh.
“Au revoir!” Harry shouted with his eyes crossed, lifting his top lip to expose his teeth. Unfortunately, the image of him pulling that stupid face is seared into my memory forever.
It was the last time I would ever see Harry alive.
I
DEATH
AMELIA
With each strike of the shovel, piercing the mountain of earth beside him, my unwillingness to accept his death grew inside me. Thud. The collected shovel full of dirt is cast into the void. I felt every wet-slapping noise the soil made when it fell on the coffin as if it were punching me in my stomach. Thud. Every blade of grass around the grave shuddered under the force of the shovel hitting the ground. I still hadn’t shed a single tear yet, not that I didn’t want to; I just wasn’t capable. I know how I should have felt; beside myself, hysterical. Still, I felt none of those emotions. Numb probably describes it most accurately. I felt as if I was having an out-of-body experience, watching myself through third-person eyes. ‘Why isn’t Amelia crying?’ I thought about myself. I became increasingly agitated when I could no longer hide the absence of facial expression and the lack of emotion I was experiencing. I kicked myself internally to try and get it together.
His mother, my mother-in-law, who was wailing like a banshee being dragged over hot coals, glared at me in between the dabbing of her eyes with a handkerchief. It’s worth noting that her excessive eye make-up was still intact; it must have been immune to the effects of crocodile tears. Just cry, I thought to myself, just one single tear, to show everyone how much he meant to you. I pushed myself to picture his cold and lifeless body in the coffin below to try and force some kind of emotional response, but I remained numb. I loved this man more than I’d ever loved anybody in my life, and he was gone, and yet I couldn’t bring myself to accept it. I was half expecting a trademark Harry-style prank, and he would spring from the loose earth and scare us to death. As much as I would have loved for that to happen, it never did.
The coffin was now completely obscured, covered by the dirt. The gravedigger carried on piling the dirt on top of it without relenting, and the rest of the cavity filled up quickly. In my left eye a tear finally started to form, but quickly retreated when I saw my mother-in-law shoot more daggers at me. She looked as if she was working up to say something scathing to me. ‘Not here, not now,’ I thought on repeat, but tact wasn’t a word she ever had in her vocabulary.
“You could at least try to look upset, Amelia,” She scolded, being held tightly by her latest husband, John.
“Look upset? I am upset, Yvonne,” I uttered in response, barely looking at her.
