Faultless

Faultless

My sincere thanks to Content_in_the_mind and Puchez for helping me to shape and edit some of this story.

I've tried to put a story together that looks at how people are perceived vs the reality, the walls they put up and eventually, how a connection can change all of that. Hopefully I've done a good job and you enjoy it. These characters are flawed, especially the main one, so remember that as you read this.

V

***

"Hello?" The voice was suspicious on the other side of the line. "Who's calling?" He only answered because calls from a strange number were a common part of his job.

I paused a moment, grinning. "Ike."

He paused too, initially confused and then his brain caught up. "Fuck off, on a UK number? Are you back?"

"Missed you too Dave," I laughed, enjoying his shock.

Dave was one of my childhood friends and the first person I'd call if I was in trouble. When I was in the same country at least.

"Holy crap, what's happened?"

"Nothing," I said, expecting the question and had the statement already prepared. "Just felt ready to come back, you know?"

"So, if nothing's happened, I'm guessing you're here for the funeral?" Dave asked.

My blood ran cold. I took a deep, steadying breath, training kicked in. "Funeral?" My confusion was clear.

"Ah shit, you haven't seen then?" Dave's reply was awkward, uncomfortable.

"Who?" I asked simply.

Dave took a beat. It's not easy announcing someone else's bad news a minute into a call with someone you'd barely spoken to in the last couple of years, and I appreciated that enough to hold my impatience back.

"Lily's Gran."

"Catherine?" I said sharply in response.

Age-wise, she was probably a likely candidate, but she had such vitality that she wasn't in the top tier of suspects. My own gran was more likely, truth be told.

"Yeah," Dave replied gently. "I saw it on Lily's Facebook, she was thanking people for their commiserations and posted details of the funeral."

That would make sense, Catherine was extremely popular. She was welcoming, friendly, kind and everything else that summarised a 'Good Gran'. Lily had learned from Catherine at a young age - she could speak to anyone at any time and make them feel welcome. In a way, Catherine was the reason Lily and I met. Were it not for her, Lily would never have had the desire to speak to a stranger who was covered in acne and still hadn't made a proper friend a week into university. But she had and over time we'd connected in a way her other friends couldn't understand, once I started being invited out with them over the next couple of years. We bonded over a shared love of technology and all things geeky, she loved my dry humour and I loved that I was 'in' with a popular group of friends.

Over time, those friends started to become jealous of the way Lily changed when she was with me. They'd question my motives, but I just never saw her like that. We came from different worlds, particularly socially, but when we hung out, it was as though we were well-trained AI (yep, I said it and I'm sticking with it) - finding the same things funny, the same stories interesting and the same news exciting.

"Shit," I said eventually, pulled back into the present. "Can you send me the details? I don't have any social media."

"Course" Dave replied, no doubt grateful he hadn't made a screw-up.

We spoke about the last couple of years, and I was deliberately evasive about what I'd been up to. Spurred on by this, Dave seemed all too happy to share detail about his own life, as though doing so would fill my gaps. I let him talk through his blossoming career in Law (the main reason he'd be my first call), while I thought of Lily. I walked over to the kitchen counter and grabbed a bottle opener, pressing the phone to my ear with my shoulder so I could use my hand to crack open a beer. The whole living space was empty, just me, a few flat-pack boxes and the beer.

"Where are you now?" Dave eventually asked.

"London, the company helped with a place," I answered, immediately regretting it.

Dave was straight on it. I rarely spoke about work so this was an 'in' he wouldn't miss.

"Yeah?" He said excitedly. "Why's that?"

I inwardly sighed and went with the truth. "Because I quit, and I got some money as part of the agreement."

"The agreement? The fuck did you see over there?"

I chuckled. "You know it's not like that, Dave, damn. I wasn't a contractor, I did a tour, then I did an Engineering degree online and I stayed out there. I made the oil company a bit of money and wanted out, so they thanked me for it."

Dave wasn't the only one that fell into a false belief about my job in the Middle East. My family were the same, as were my scattering of other acquaintances. Being off-grid for a couple of weeks at a time sure sounded fishy but it was just the nature of my job. That I was surrounded by phone signal in Dubai, more often than not, was irrelevant.

In truth, I wanted to be a soldier because I was hoping to contribute more with my life, beyond the stagnancy it had fallen into. But I was out as soon as I could, reality doing away with my naïve aspirations. Being a contractor of any kind and staying in that environment would have been a nightmare. The Tour could have been a lot worse and once or twice, it almost was. So, I got out when I did but didn't have the desire to go back home at the time, so I didn't.

I turned the conversation back to Dave eventually, which I'd long learned to be the most appropriate way of conversing with him. He was a good lawyer who knew how to get to the bottom of things but take him out of that headspace and he'd talk at you for days.

One of the things I was very good at, was understanding people. If I had one skill, it was that. I noticed the subtleties of tone; the subtleties of behaviour and it allowed me to better interact with people. It worked better with some people than others - and for some, for those I connected with, I didn't really need that skill at all.

"So, when are we gonna double date?" Dave asked eventually, pulling me from my stupor.

I rolled my eyes. "Are you both sick of me 3rd wheeling after all this time off?"

I eventually made plans with him & Richard for the following week and dialled off. That was the easy call Mike, I thought to myself. I had to call my family next. Should have bought more beers, idiot.

***

I spent the next few days settling in, seeing my family and sorting out my sparse apartment. Mothers, as they are inclined to do when sons have been away, are impossible to quiet for the first hour or so. First the screams of joy, then the constant questions and then the silence where they're just happy to see you. My mum was a single parent with only me and my sister for company. The sudden doubling of her dependants brought out that predictable response. I had been keeping in touch but being back was different.

"Have you reconnected with everyone?" My Mum asked over dessert, the first Wednesday I was there.

I took it to mean, have you avoided anyone?

"Almost," I said, looking over at her. "I'm assuming you heard about Catherine?"

My Mum nodded over to my sister, "Megan saw it on Facebook; it was such sad news. Are you going to go on Friday?"

I nodded back. "Yeah, I haven't got a black suit, so it'll be some last-minute shopping tomorrow," I admitted.

"Oh, I'll come if you can wait until I finish work?" Megan said at once. I happily agreed, it would be nice to spend time with my baby sister.

I spent the following afternoon at the care home, visiting my own gran, whose Alzheimer's had progressed significantly. It was a draining and frankly, horrible couple of hours, getting used to it. I'd video called her via Megan or my Mum a fair bit over the last 18 months she'd been there but not recently enough and not with the attention nor thought that I should have. Catherine's death made me painfully aware of that.

When I left, she was snoozing, and I introduced myself to one of the staff members. She brought me up to speed on medication, answered some tough questions on how long she might have (I was pretty good at pinning people down to answers too) and who had been visiting her.

"She gets a good few visitors, more than some," Patricia said, with a slight hint of a Caribbean accent. "She has your Mum, your sister, her brother's been down once or twice these last few months and this girl comes in every so often, pretty thing, all the old boys 'be talking about her for days after."

"Lily?" I said at once, immeasurably surprised.

Our grans had been close at one point before I left, and a combination of physical distance and my gran's declining health kept them from seeing more of each other.

Patricia stared at me blankly. "I've got no idea, the reception does all the checking, I just do the care."

She waited around awkwardly, having answered my questions. I thanked her warmly and left, deep in thought.

The unforeseen downside to waiting until the evening before the funeral to buy a suit was that I was stuck with whatever was in stock in the shops at the time. In my case, between my muscly thighs and bulky biceps, a good size was hard to come by. I spent far more time looking in mirrors across those couple of hours than I had in the last year. My tan would fade but I liked my stubble and generally, how much healthier my face looked without the stark acne scars. In the end, reasoned to decision by Megan, I purchased trousers that were a little too loose and a blazer that was a little too tight and would be unlikely to button well over my chest.

We had dinner together and caught up with life, in particular hers. My baby sister was sure growing up, with a great job in recruitment and a serious relationship. It was sweet to feel how excited she was to be hanging out with her big brother. Her nervousness and over-assurance about telling me of her new boyfriend was good fun and I enjoyed the incessant teasing - you'd never have guessed she was only 3 years younger than me at 26. But that had always been the nature of our relationship, I filled part of a hole she'd lost by not having her dad around. I gave her a hard time about Mr Marriage, as I was now calling Mathew, until she started to become worried that I was sceptical of him and I spent far longer than I should have, assuring her that he seemed great.

I waited until we got to dessert (a coffee and cake for me, a brownie for Megan), until I brought up what had been troubling me.

"Why didn't you tell me Nanna had got so bad?" I asked gently. Despite my tone, I saw Megan flinch. "It's okay, you can be honest," I added.

Megan focused her eyes on what was left of the brownie and hammered it with the edge of the spoon, cutting a chunk away. "You weren't around," she said simply.

I was stung but not altogether surprised by the bluntness of her reply. "But I was only a phone call or videocall away Megs, it's not fair to say I wasn't around."

Meg looked at me this time and it was with a fierceness that showed me she had grown up in my absence. I recognised some of myself in her, especially in our shared nose and eyes. She hated her nose, it was the one thing she always complained about. But her eyes were warm, and I hoped mine were still that warm. She'd grown up into a pretty and accomplished woman, which was no surprise given her personality, but this was a side I hadn't experienced before, even when I had said I was going to leave all those years ago and expected to see it then.

"How were you a phone call away when there were weeks when we couldn't get ahold of you? I'm not complaining Mike, I'm just telling you as it is. It was hardly the right environment to give you that kind of update but for what it's worth, Mum & I were getting to that point," she finished strongly and then it was like a balloon had its air removed and she fell back into more of a neutral, almost guilty expression at the brief rant.

I shared her guilt. "I am sorry Megs, I am. Are you mad at me?"

"No," she said firmly, and there was that fierceness again in her brown eyes. "I knew life wasn't heading the way you wanted it to go, I knew how much you hated your life, and I was relieved you wanted to do something about it, even if it was drastic. So, no, I wasn't mad then and I'm not now, although I'm really glad you're back."

I took my glass of white and tapped the red one in her hand, touched that she understood the spiral I was in.

***

I don't know how I felt, the next morning. It was good to be back and reconnecting with people as well as to be making plans for my own future, even if they were quite loose, but the funeral was a cloud hanging over me. It wasn't just the funeral itself which would be a difficult affair, it was also because I'd see Lily too and I didn't know where we were, given what happened in the past. Most of all, it was because I now knew I'd be in her situation soon enough with my own gran and I was scared for what that was going to look like, on that day.

I hadn't initially intended to keep my appearance at the funeral a surprise from Lily but as the hours went on, I decided it was the best approach. There were many reasons for doing so - some I preferred not to dwell on - but chief among them was my wish that her days leading up to the funeral were not distracted by my presence.

I knew the funeral procession was setting off from Catherine's house and while it was an area I knew like the back of my hand over the years, I decided against going there, opting instead to go directly to the Church.

It was a grand, majestic structure made of old stone and stained-glass windows, imposing itself on the nearby office blocks and terraced houses that had popped up over the previous decades. Walking in, I picked a row towards the back of the hall, close enough to the aisle but not quite on the edge. The turn-out was huge and almost enough to fill every row. By the time the procession arrived, and people took their seats, I had been sitting alone for a while. Rows filled somewhat behind me, but I sat alone. Those that might have recognised me never saw me as they were seated right at the front.

Then it was time to walk the coffin in. Catherine's family led the procession - mostly family members I didn't know, all except Lily, who held the coffin at the rear and happened to catch my eye as I briefly cast my eyes up beyond my bowed head.

Her reaction was one of shock, no doubt enhanced by the emotion of the moment, and I saw some colour fill her tanned cheeks, which were pale only moments ago. Our shared look was brief, lengthened only by a small nod from me that I intended to be encouraging but one she was unable to return despite trying.

My mind glazed over the prayers and the speeches. I wasn't and never have been the type for that. Perhaps I was biased, but Lily's speech was beautiful and poignant, as I knew it would be for someone that spoke as eloquently as her. Her voice travelled well to the back of the hall until it was quietened by her own tears and only the occasional snippet travelled far enough. At one point I heard 'with the angels', but that was mostly all. I wasn't religious and to be frank, I found the ceremonial aspects of funerals outdated and unnecessarily mournful. People die, let's laugh at what they did when they lived, not cry in relief that they're no longer suffering. As you might imagine, I kept that thought to myself.

I kept my place at the back of the crowd during the burial nearby and skirted the edges while people wept and spoke in groups. A few people I knew saw me, but they didn't recognise me, and I reflected on how unlikely it was that Lily had. I'd bulked up, added a layer of tan, had sun-bleached brown hair and generally carried myself differently. I attributed much of that to the healing of my acne; the leftover scars hidden by facial hair.

Outside, as people started to move to cars and head to drinks at Catherine's local pub, I found myself shepherded in the direction of the grieving family as other mourners gave their commiserations. I made my way towards Lily who was shaking hands and thanking people for coming. There was a quiet strength to her even though I knew that inside, she'd have to be feeling broken. Her Mum stood beside her, some inches shorter, not helped by Lily's, slim frame seemingly towering above her.

I got to Sharon first. The last few years had aged her considerably. The lines on her face were now pronounced and her light brunette hair had strands of grey in it as though she was losing the fight to keep it dyed. She'd pinned her hair up into a bun and was wearing a lot of makeup but nevertheless, her age was clear to see.

"I'm so sorry for your loss," I said genuinely.

Sharon nodded, thanked me politely and then moved me on, keen to get this impromptu queue of mourners over with.

I moved to Lily and studied her as close family spoke to her and praised the speech she gave. She was naturally tanned, part-Italian from her dad's side she'd said once, complimented with beautiful features. Her dark hair flowed straight and almost down to her elbows which were crossed to fight off a chill that her jacket and the warm spring air couldn't dampen. I recognised the signs of her adrenaline crash and made a note to keep our exchange brief.

Her cousins moved on and then she looked around. Her eyelashes were prominent in a way that made her green eyes really pop. The joke had been for years that any man who looked into them would fall in love with her and for that to be true, I guess I must not have truly looked in them until a few months before I left.

I still hated that the switch had flicked all those years ago. Often, I thought about it and cursed my brain chemistry for not waiting just another couple of months when I'd be gone. We might have stayed in touch; I might have had letters with her undeniable humour and geeky anecdotes to enjoy in my dark moments. Instead, I had alcohol and sex, where I could get it. I knew I was still in love for a long time after I left, right until I stopped wishing for the letters and pined for the alcohol instead.

For some unexplainable reason (therapy would link it, I'm sure), after we graduated and around the same time I had come to realise my life was drifting in a meaningless direction, I started to see how beautiful Lily was. It was gradual, often just an admiring glance that I'd immediately curse myself over. But over a matter of weeks, my attraction to her deepened even as I signed the papers and joined the Army. There were many reasons, I contemplated in hindsight. Our friendship was deep and solid, a prerequisite I'd always had when committing to a relationship back then. More than that, she felt like my anchor to what could and should have been a very stable life. I could almost picture the marriage and kids, the stable job. My life was lacking purpose and part of me felt she was the one that could give me that. It was a stupid, immature thought to give anyone that responsibility but myself. I was better off leaving and growing, though that was only something I came to terms with eventually.

Before I left, we went for drinks, just her and I. She still didn't understand it but had given up on convincing me to stay. She'd dressed up for me, or at least I told myself she had. Her being at work earlier that day didn't cross my mind. It felt like a date, or at least I told myself it did. I walked her home, and we stopped on the walk so she could show me something on her phone.

When she looked up, I kissed her, just like that. For a couple of glorious seconds, she returned the kiss and then she pulled back, looking up at me sadly.

"Michael, this isn't what I want, I'm sorry," she said gently.

"Don't be sorry," I said at once, meaning it. "I'm sorry, you shouldn't be sorry," I said quickly, horror enveloping me. What had I just done?