Abby worked her way through the half dozen or so coat hangers but it felt a little creepy to be handling a dead woman’s clothes. They were beautifully made and she didn’t have to peep at any of the labels to know they were all from high street designers. What must Luke think of her jumble sale assortment compared to these gorgeous things?
She sighed and stepped away from the wardrobe. ‘I’m sorry but I don’t think I can wear any of those.’ She turned to face him. ‘Why do you keep them there? Why not put them in another cupboard, or pack them up in a box or something?’
Luke slid the door back across, his expression as closed as the door. ‘I haven’t had time.’
‘You’ve had five years, surely that’s long enough to—?’
‘I’ll get to it eventually.’
‘Like when you’re moving into a retirement home?’ Abby said. ‘It’s not healthy to keep that stuff for so long. It’ll hold you back from—’
‘I hardly think you’re the one who should be lecturing me on how to live my life.’
Abby recognised his shot over the bow for what it was. A defence mechanism. She backed down. ‘I’m sorry for prying, Luke. It’s none of my business why you’ve still got those clothes there. And you’re absolutely right. I have no right to be criticising you on how you live your life when mine is such a shambles.’
He drew in a breath and then let it out in a staggered stream. ‘I keep them there to remind me.’
‘Of…of her? Kimberley?’
He moved to the other side of the room to stare out of the window, his back turned towards her.
The silence was as intense as an unexpected music interval…the audience poised, waiting, waiting, waiting for the next note to be struck.
Abby wanted to prompt him, to encourage him to share whatever he was holding back, but she knew it would be better for him to be the one who broke the silence.
‘Kimberley died the night I ended my relationship with her.’
Abby’s heart gave a painful spasm and her breath caught on a thorn in her throat. ‘Oh, no… I’m so sorry…’
He turned to face her, his expression a picture of regret and self-recrimination. ‘I’ve thought about that night thousands of times, wondering if I’d said things differently, waited another day or two, a week even to call things off between us, if she would still be alive.’
Abby stared at him in shock. ‘You feel…responsible for her death? But—’
His gaze was suddenly direct. ‘Wouldn’t you?’
She would. She very definitely would. Didn’t she still blame herself for her mother’s death? She still blamed herself for not being able to unlock the front door of the flat in time for help to be summoned for her mother, despite only being a child. ‘Luke… I think it’s perfectly understandable you would feel that way. I’m so sorry you’ve been carrying that guilt for so long. It must be unbearable.’
There was a slight relaxation of the muscles on his face as if her sympathetic words had eased some of his inner tension. ‘It never goes away. The guilt of how I handled the breakup. How I handled the whole relationship, when it comes to that.’
‘Were you ever happy with her?’
‘Not particularly.’ He let out a rusty-sounding sigh. ‘We met when I was dealing with yet another one of my father’s spectacular marriage failures and she was rebounding from a long-term relationship. With hindsight, I can see neither of us was in a good place. But we got on okay and we drifted into a relationship that probably looked more stable from the outside than it actually was. But I guess I wanted everyone to think that. I didn’t want to be seen to be switching partners faster than I changed shirts.’
‘But you were together for three years. No one would’ve accused you of being fickle if you’d ended things at two years or even at a year,’ Abby said.
‘I know, but there never seemed to be a good time,’ he said. ‘I almost called an end a couple of times earlier but then Kimberley got news of her ex getting married and then of him becoming a father. It was a tough time for her.’
‘Oh, Luke, you sound like you were an amazing partner.’
‘That’s me.’ His voice was both self-deprecating and bitter. ‘A regular Mr Perfect.’
Abby decided it was time to share some of her own guilt, so he didn’t have to feel so alone and isolated. Nothing was more isolating than guilt. She should know—she had graduated with Honours from the Academy of Guilt. ‘I have a few regrets on how I handled things with my mother. I wish I’d been able to get help for her sooner but she died before I could.’