Douglas Kennedy - A Special Relationship

Having received the medical all-clear and organized child care, I found myself two days later on a Virgin flight to Boston. When I got to the airport, I received something of a surprise - as it turned out that Tony had booked me into their better class of seat called Premium Economy. As soon as I checked in, I rang him at the office and said, 'Are you insane... and I mean that in the nicest possible way?'

'Aren't you pleased?'

'Of course, I'm pleased. I'm just desperately worried about the cost'.

'It wasn't too bad, really. Just three hundred more than the usual economy fare'.

'But that's still a lot of money'.

'You're still recovering from a tough business... and you need to be in reasonable shape to deal with the next few days. Sandy is going to need a lot of support'.

'I'm so grateful', I said.

'Don't be. It's the least I...'

I couldn't tell if he'd been pulled away from the phone, or had suddenly gone quiet on me.

'Tony, you still there?' I asked.

'Sorry, sorry, got...'

Another odd pause. My mobile phone was obviously playing up again.

'Listen, I've got to go', he said.

'You okay?'

'Fine, fine... just being hauled into conference, that's all'.

'Look after our great guy' I said.

'Have no fear. Travel well. Call me tonight when you land'.

'I will'.

'Love you', he said.

Some hours later, halfway over the Atlantic, it struck me that that was the first time Tony had told me he loved me since...

Well, I couldn't really remember the last time he said that.

The next three days were a nightmare. My sister was a wreck. My three nephews were in various stages of incomprehension and grief. The funeral turned into a territorial exercise, with Sandy, the children and myself on one side of the church, and Dean's family sitting on the opposite side with Jeannie (his new love), her people, and a lot of tanned, muscular types who looked like they were members of the Sierra Club (the flag of this organization covering Dean's casket). Though Dean's parents spent a little time after the funeral with their three grandchildren, everyone studiously avoided Sandy and her younger sister with the glassy jet-lagged/anti-depressant-fuelled eyes. The entire day was an ordeal - made around five times worse by the fact that, courtesy of my anti-depressants, I was forbidden to touch even the most minimal mouthful of alcohol. And God, this was one of those times when I really could have used a drink. I could not get over the internecine pettiness into which families descend... even after something as traumatic as an accidental death. Surely, Dean's demise pointed up the most salient fact of temporal existence: that everything is so desperately momentary. Yet we spend so much of our time here in endless conflict with others that we lose sight of the ephemeralness of life. Or is it because we so recognize the evanescent, fugitive nature of all endeavour that we try to give it meaning through conflict? Are we that fatuous, that preposterous?

When we got back to Sandy's house that evening, the children were so drained and exhausted that they fell into their beds and straight to sleep. At which point Sandy sat down on the sofa next to me and fell apart. I held her as she sobbed into my shoulder. She cried for nearly a quarter-hour without interruption. When she finally subsided, she dried her eyes and said, 'That asshole broke my heart'.

We sat up late that night, talking, talking. She'd received a call the day before from Dean's lawyer, informing her that everything in his estate (which wasn't much - bar a life insurance policy worth around $250,000) had been left to his girlfriend. Which, in turn, meant that Sandy's already sizeable financial problems were even more severe - as Dean's small $750 per month child support contribution was an important component of the household budget. I didn't know what to say, except that I wished I myself was well-heeled enough to give her a monthly cheque for that amount.

'You've got enough crap on your plate', she said.

At which point - as if on cue - Tony rang from London. I glanced at my watch. Seven pm in Boston, midnight in London. Much to my immense relief, all he wanted to do was see how I was doing, and to report that all was well with Jack. We'd spoken the previous nights - and on each occasion, Tony expressed genuine concern about Sandy's welfare, and also quizzed me on my own mental state. This time, he also gave me an update on Cha ('She's handling everything just fine - even if she never smiles'), and wanted to know everything about the funeral. His tone was easy, receptive. As he took down the details of my return flight ('I'll have a car pick you up at Heathrow'), he mentioned that he was doing a fast day-trip to Paris tomorrow morning. Some G7 foreign ministers thing. But not to worry - Cha had been briefed, he'd be back on the last Eurostar train tomorrow night, ready to greet me when I walked in the next morning.

When the call ended, Sandy said, 'You guys seem to be in a good place'.

'Yes - it's amazing the effect anti-depressants can have on a rocky marriage'.

'It's not just the drugs that pulled you through all this. You should also give yourself a little credit'.

'For what? Coming completely unstuck, and ending up in a psychiatric unit?'

'You had an illness...'

'So they keep telling me'.

'And you're through the worst of it now'.

'So they keep telling me'.

'And Tony's behaving himself'.

'I think we've established a kind of armistice between us'.

'Sounds better than a lot of marriages I know'.

'Like you and Dean?'

'We were doing fine... or, at least, that's what I thought. Until he heeded the call of the wild'.

'Maybe he...'

'What? Hated the fact that I'd gotten fat and dumpy?'

'Stop that'.

'But it's the truth'.

'No, the truth here is that Dean probably just needed a bit of drama in his life'.

She looked at me quizzically.

'Drama? I don't follow'.

'He might have been perfectly content with you and the boys. But then this woman came along and...'

'Yeah?'

'Maybe he saw an opportunity for drama, that's all. A new life out in the woods. Very romantic - until you realize that leading groups of tourists up and down the same mountain also gets boring. And "boring" is the one thing in life we most fear... more so than death, I think. Because it accentuates the uselessness of everything. Which is why you should never underestimate the human need for drama - it makes us believe we're all starring in this wide-screen epic of our own making, rather than getting bogged down in the usual day-to-day stuff'.

Sandy looked at me carefully.

'What was the name of those anti-depressants you're on?'

I certainly popped the specified two capsules when I woke the next morning. Then I called home. No answer in London - making me speculate that Cha must have taken Jack out for a walk in his buggy. So I called Tony on his mobile, just to say a quick hello, but received his voice mail.

'Know you're in Paris', I said, 'but I simply wanted to say a quick Bonjour and tell you that I am so looking forward to getting home, and seeing you guys'.

I spent the afternoon in a shopping mall with Sandy buying, a few baby clothes and even splurging on a Banana Republic leather jacket for Tony. I popped two more anti-depressants at lunchtime, and dropped the final two tablets right after saying goodbye to my sister at Logan Airport - in which she became teary about yet again dispatching her sister to alien terrain.

'You'll pull through this', I told her. 'Because you have to'.

Before I boarded the flight, I went to a phone and called the house in London, hoping to touch base with Cha before she went to sleep (or, for that matter, if she was still up, walking the floors with Jack). But there was no answer. I glanced at my watch: 7.15 in Boston, just after midnight in London. She was evidently having an easy night of it with the boy, and had already gone to sleep.