Song for the day: Missing - Everything but the Girl
The orphans have been screaming my dears. It's been a few weeks since I came back and a few days ago I realised I hadn't cried, not once, since I was in England. Belle has been struggling. Dappy is not the word. One half of my brain full of the lack of Shazzer in my life, the other half of my brain concentrating mainly on pleasure-seeking to fill the void and cancel out the pain. Skiing. SbH. Drinking. More drinking.
Consequently I have, in the last 3 weeks, crashed a minibus into a chalet, lost my work phone, arrived late to take someone to the airport, forgotten to do countless chores, broken about a thousand glasses and just generally been distracted, useless and dippy.
On top of that, L went home for a bit because her skin was basically peeling from her body thanks to all the chemicals in the cleaning products. H got to the end of her tether and nearly left too, because F-the-Chef went home with Septicemia. Well. It's been a depressing few weeks.
But the orphans stopped screaming today. A good cry over the cafetiere, some hugs from F-the-Chef (who is now back from home), a boil in the jacuzzi in Marks & Sparks' chalet and a ski in the sun set me to rights.
Loss is a funny thing. It bites you in the arse when you're least expecting it. There have been so many jokes and escapades we would have laughed about together in the last few weeks. That sense of emptiness when you snigger to yourself about something only she would appreciate and reach for the phone, only to recollect there's no one at the other end - that sense never goes away.
And the thing is I've lost the two most pivotal women in my life now.
One of our clients wears Safari perfume. That is what my mother used to wear. Yesterday I spritzed a little on my wrist and was transported back to a moment in time. It's a fragrant summer day and my Mum is drying her hair in front of her dressing table mirror, makeup spread out on the glass surface, the window open a little, the curtain floating in the breeze. The shape of her hands, the tilt of her head. Her eyes rise up to mine in the mirror as I enter the room in a towel and her voice chimes a greeting. I want to borrow some jewelery - that little brooch she has with the bird on it and the ruby eye. Safari perfume hangs faintly in the air in the room.
We have to content ourselves with these moments now. They are locked away in little boxes in our minds. And we only stumble across the keys to them at random. But when one is opened, it's a treat to bask in the sun of a little memory, until it fades again, and the loved one is gone, like sand through our fingers.