Autumn

mouthful of wine, this one emptying the glass. He grabbed hold of the bottle and helped himself to a refill before continuing.
    ‘Sarah and me used to walk down to the local in the afternoon,’ he began, his eyes moistening with tears. ‘We were part of a crowd. There was always someone in there we knew. We’d start drinking around three or four o’clock and then leave just before closing. There were always kids Gemma’s age there. They had a play area and she had her friends and they used to...’
    When the pain became too much to bear he stopped and drank more wine.
    ‘Sorry,’ Emma mumbled instinctively. ‘I shouldn’t have said anything. I wasn’t thinking.’
    Carl didn’t respond.
    ‘Why shouldn’t you have said anything?’ Michael asked.
    ‘What?’
    ‘Why are you apologising? And why don’t you want to talk about it, Carl?’
    Carl looked up and glared at the other man with tears of pain streaked down his face.
    ‘I don’t want to talk because it fucking well hurts too much,’ he spat, almost having to force the words out. ‘You don’t know how it feels.’
    ‘I’ve lost people too...’
    ‘You didn’t lose a child. You don’t know how that feels. You couldn’t.’
    Michael knew he was right. He wasn’t sure whether it was sensible or stupid, but he desperately felt that he should force this conversation to continue. He had decided that they wouldn’t be able to move on and make something of the rest of their lives until they’d managed to sweep away the remains of the past.
    Carl was staring into space again.
    ‘I’d give anything to be back in lectures again,’ Emma sighed. ‘Stupid isn’t it? Before I used to do anything I could to avoid them, now I just want to...’
    ‘You just can’t imagine what this feels like,’ Carl said under his breath, interrupting her. ‘This is killing me.’
    ‘What is?’ Michael pressed gently.
    ‘Every morning I wake up and I wish that it was over and I was dead,’ he explained. ‘Every single day the pain is worse than the last. I still can’t accept that they’ve gone and I just...’
    ‘It hurts now but it will get easier,’ the other man said, beginning to regret his earlier words. ‘It must get easier over time, it must...’
    ‘Will it? Know that for a fact do you?’
    ‘No, but I...’
    ‘Just shut your mouth then,’ Carl said, his voice suddenly surprisingly calm and level. ‘If you don’t know what you’re talking about, don’t say anything. Don’t waste your fucking time trying to make me feel better because you can’t. There’s nothing you can say or do that will make any of this any easier.’
    With that he got up and walked away from the table without saying another word. For a few long seconds the only sounds to be heard in the house were heavy, lethargic footsteps as Carl dragged himself upstairs and shut himself away in isolation in his room.
    A short while later Michael opened another bottle of wine. He didn’t ask, he just poured Emma another glass. She didn’t resist.
    ‘Really fucked up there, didn’t I?’ he said quietly.
    She nodded.
    ‘We both did. It’s obvious he’s struggling. I should never have asked him about his little girl.’
    Michael immediately became defensive again.
    ‘Maybe not, but I still think he’s got to talk,’ he explained. ‘Jesus, we can’t move on until we’ve dealt with everything that’s happened. We can’t start to build anything up until we’ve sorted out everything that...’
    ‘Have you dealt with everything then?’ she asked, cutting across him.
    He paused for a moment and then shook his head.
    ‘No,’ he admitted. ‘Have you?’
    ‘I haven’t even started. To be honest I don’t even know where to start.’
    ‘I think we should all start with what hurts the most. With Carl it’s his daughter. What about you?’
    She drank more wine and considered his question.
    ‘Don’t know really. Everything hurts.’
    ‘Okay, so when does it get to you the most?’
    Again she couldn’t answer.
    ‘Don’t know. I was thinking about my sister’s kids yesterday and that really bothered me. I didn’t see them that often, but the thought that I might not see them again...’
    ‘Where did they live?’
    ‘Overseas. Jackie’s husband got moved to Kuwait with his job for a couple of years. They were due to come back next summer.’
    ‘They still might.’
    ‘How do you reckon that then?’
    He shrugged his shoulders.
    ‘We still don’t know