Regret

By Allie Cooper

When Trish's son Dan takes his life her own life begins to crumble as she looks for answers in the bottom of a wine bottle. Finding none she summons up the strength to do things differently. She reconnects with Dan's dad and forms a new relationship with him. But can past love offer a future love?   The book follows Trish's process of grief and delves in the other family members and friends lives and how Dan's suicide has affected them. Their stories build up a picture of Dan, the reasons behind his choice and the profound affect it has on his family.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wings ePress, Inc.
• Release date: Jul 19, 2023
• ISBN: 9781613091340

Book preview

Make it a rule in life never to regret and never to look back. Regret is an appalling waste of energy; you can’t build on it; it’s only for wallowing in.

—Katherine Mansfield

Part One

One

Trish

Front row. Best seat in the house. If Trish closes her eyes, she can imagine that in her state of confusion she had bought tickets to a rap concert.

The beats and raps of Scribe assault her. Anger stay away for now, she sighs. Trish feels a hand on her shoulder and looks up. Tom. Their eyes drill what their mouths can’t speak. Can I join you?

Of course. It’s your right.

Dad. Mandy gets up and falls into his arms, inhaling smells of childhood comfort.

How’re you going, my Millie Mollie?

Trish is transported back to a rundown cottage, a huge claw-foot bath, the four of them splashing and laughing—tight knit—country fair-isle with hope and wholemeal bread in equal portions. How did it come unravelled? Don’t answer that question now.

First time we’ve all been together in a while. What would Dan think? Is he here or just his shell?

Where’s faith when you need it? Mum would have it sorted, faith that is, not reason. Thank God she’s not here. But right now, I could do with a mum.

The music stops. Time for the words. Today we are here to remember Daniel and to celebrate his life.

Trish wants to reach out for Mandy’s hand, but Tom has laid claim to both of them. So it’s just me. The words stand and mock, tell and smile.

"Daniel wanted this read out. ‘Cheers for turning up. Good to see all my bros in one spot. Thought there’d be more of you. Guess I can see who my real friends are. And guess you’ll be wondering if I really can. You’ll have to join me to find out. Have a drink for me today. I feel so scared writing this. My stomach’s a cricket ball and my head is a ball of wool. I wish I could have given the wool to my nana. She might have made sense of it; got her needles out and made a colourful scarf. I am so sorry, Mum, Dad, Mandy. You guys are awesome... Don’t forget to look after Rusty, Mum, and give him a hug from me.

Dan..."

Trish isn’t sure if it’s her tears she can taste and smell or whether the whole room is infused with the vapour of grief. Behind her she senses the pain of mateship. The mates who only last month celebrated Dan’s twenty-first. Beautiful, bright, privileged, Tequila shots, an enviable bar tab at the right place. They all said it was a great night... Just finished their exams and celebration mixed with alcohol ensured a party to remember.

The words move on, the friends speak, the friends cry. They do angst so well these days, Trish muses. Do they have to wear their pain on their sleeve? Where’s their pride? And me, what about me? I’m his Mum, holding it together. He’d be proud—or would he? You know what, I don’t know. I guess I didn’t really know my boy. Why didn’t he talk to me? Tell me about his problems— the gambling, the drinking, skipping lectures. We could have sorted it out. The money didn’t matter. She remembers last week. Friday night and mates about to arrive for drinks. Dan said, Glass of wine, Ma?

Yeah, pour me one. Be there in a minute. Just got to make a few calls—sort out my open homes for tomorrow. He’d vanished when she returned. Life was busy. Putting two kids through university wasn’t cheap and the mortgage. I work my arse off and this, this is my reward. She can’t bear to contemplate the thought of how she might have averted this tragedy.

The music again. Mum, it’s time to go. Mandy’s in her ear. A deep breath fills her lungs with strength. Trish stands, the room a blur. The skeleton family of three take their place alongside Trish’s brother and two best mates... A handle each. A heavy weight. Trish holds her head high. Tom’s a blubbering mess. The journey begins. One step at a time. A bleak tunnel. The rain is stopping as they move to the hearse.

You can let go now, Mum. Mandy again.

It’s like her hand is glued, ensnared by the handle, impossible to extricate. But no, I can do this. Her fingers won’t obey... Trish. Tom’s hand on her shoulder.

It was always easy for you to walk away, she spits at Tom.

Not now, Trish.

Then when? When did you last see him?

Last week, actually. He called. We had a coffee.

The body of people seethe out, tentative circling. The brave fronting up with hugs, sparse words. Splintering into groups, murmuring, laughing. Laughing? Drinks for Dan. she hears. Mandy join them and Tom is surrounded by work mates. Abandoned again. She walks over to Mandy, shoves a credit card at her. Here, buy the drinks, it’s only money. It’s all you fucking care about anyway.

Trish turns and walks. Walking the walk. What did Mum used to say? You won’t find the answer in the bottom of a bottle, Trish.

I don’t think I’ll find it in the tea leaves either, Mum.

Lonely doesn’t describe it. Isolated, abandoned, forlorn, desperate... Wait, there’s another word hammering her head... suicidal. Who would care? Trish surveys the scene from her car. Tom and Mandy cozy in conversation. Tom surely wouldn’t care. Trish casts her mind back fifteen years. She remembers the ignorant happiness of the time. The kids tumbling home from school bestowing eau de lunch-box, sweaty shoes, cuddles... The Saturday morning bedroom tumbles before and after the kids piled in. Dan always came in first, into Trish’s side. Trish stops the tape. It’s more than she can bear. The tears pour down her face in sheets of agony. It’s like she has a monsoon inside. Her sobs are unleashed but contained in that airtight car space. Does grief have an odour? It’s on the windows; condensation’s grey curtains provide privacy.

Trish jumps as a car door bangs someplace near. Shit, I’d better get out of here. She scrambles in her bag for tissues. Blows, wipes, starts the car, air con blasting on the windscreen. Where to from here? I need a drink, I mean like never before. She looks in the rearview mirror. Christ. I can’t be seen like this. Puts the car in reverse, uses the mirror and sees Mandy... Mum, are you okay?

Okay? Of course I am. Just let me get out of here.

She can see Tom moving close to Mandy. Let her go. She’ll get over it. She always does.

Maybe this time you’re in for a surprise, thinks Trish as she pulls away.

The road slides away. She has no plan, just driving, driving. Her car has found its way home. Once a haven, now what? Trish walks in and she can smell Dan. I can’t do this anymore. Where’s all that tenacity when I need it? Marriage break-up, Dad’s death, Mum’s illness and death. Good old tenacity. But this, this is too much.

Anger engulfs her. Tom. It’s okay for him. He hurt me so much, but I got over it. Didn’t I? she startles herself with a revelation... Did I? Self awareness the counselor had talked about, but I didn’t get it. Now raw, undressed anger wedges her mind open. All that counseling bullshit didn’t help ease the pain of rejection and now the pain is revisiting, slapping her like she slapped Tom when she first found out. It was just sex, he’d said. It was just once, he said. I was drunk, he said. Her stupidity stabs her and beats her up some more. Trish finally confided in her mum, dug some courage from her country garden that she had tended so well over the years and left for the city. She put on the brittle bitter coat that suited the world of real estate and walked on in. The coat served her well and she occasionally unbuttoned it for her kids. But it had been a long time since she had undone the buttons. Now one by one her fingers stumble. She doesn’t need it where she is going.

What a wasted life mine has been. She says in front of the wine rack. Cloudy Bay. That’ll do for a ‘successful’ Kiwi woman. A bit warm. Shove it in the freezer while I get ready. Next stop the bathroom for the sleeping pills. Zopiclone. Do not take with alcohol. Into the study to Google the dose. And what about a note? There’s a dilemma. Who to write one for? There’s only Mandy. Trish sits at the computer. Never short of words, now her head is full of so much wool her mother could knit a scarf with it. Oh, Mum, what should I do? she whispers. Her heart weeps. Why didn’t I spend more time with Dan?

Maybe he would have talked to me and I could have stopped him, fixed things up for him... Now there’s no one to fix things for me.

Google supplies the answers and she hits the print.

Back to the freezer for the wine and a glass from the cupboard. Trish thinks, that’s where I’ll go. That way at least Mandy won’t have to find me. Rusty barks his way into her conscience and she remembers.

Dan’s request. I’m so sorry, boy. I can’t do what Dan asked. But hey, Mandy will take care of you. She hugs him and fills his bowl as he looks at her puzzled... Stop it, she says. You’re not talking me out of it.

Trish gathers her supplies and walks to the car. She sighs as she puts the car in reverse... Looks up at her house that once gave her a jolt of misguided pride. How could I have placed such importance on material things? She backs out the driveway without hesitation. Her car, her other source of misguided pride, responds to her angry acceleration as she leaves the neighbourhood. Anger wanes and resignation takes hold as the lights turn red and green, green and red. Waiting at the crossing, a young woman catches her eye. It takes her back into the lift at the hospital. Her mum had just died and it hit her that the people she stood next to had no idea of her turmoil. No sign on her forehead ‘recently bereft.’

What would the sign say now? ‘Intent on suicide.’

Trish smirks as she imagines it. As she pulls away, she knows that young woman saw something... How can it be that communication transcends words?

The North Western motorway spreads out and her car picks up the pace. Speed is irrelevant, risk is immaterial, life is extraneous. Trish throws back her head hard on the back rest; her arms straighten on the wheel and she drives, just drives. She turns on Dave Dobbyn, skips to her favourite Beside you and the tears flood again. She wonders how there can be such a ready supply of liquid. The road blurs, she wipes her eyes and nose on her sleeve. How many times did she tell the kids off for that? Time and miles flow together and the beach is there. The majesty of the West Coast never fails to move her. She drives to the end of the car park. Lucky not many people around.

Trish gets out of the car and breathes. The salt vapour smacks her sanity. The waves roar their timeless wisdom. Trish listens carefully. She goes back to her car and gets the wine and pills. Her cell phone is demanding her attention but she only hears the waves as she walks onto the sand. She walks a while until she finds a comfortable spot in the dunes. Sits, breathes, opens the wine. God, that is so good! You know what, Mum? This time the answer really is in the bottom of this bottle.

One glass gone in a gulp. Got all that fluid to replace. Second glass tasting even better, she gets the pills out of her pocket. A cricket ball whacks her in the gut and in a flash she knows both how terrified she is and how Dan must have felt. Ambivalence barges in like an uninvited guest. What happened to that unwavering decision? Am I that gutless, she thinks?

Her cell phone announces a text message:

Mum, where are you? I’m worried. Please, please ring me.

Trish stares at it. And stares at it. Mandy.

Two

Mandy

Mandy watches as her mum’s car bites the car park gravel. Oh shit! Where’s she going? Probably a bar. Drowning her sorrows. How many times had she heard that? Or celebrating success, relaxing on Friday night, and Thursday and Wednesday and Tuesday. Monday was Pilates. She can’t talk to her mum about her drinking, no matter how she broaches it. Rather she can talk, but Trish gets angry. Come back inside, Mandy... She’ll be back, her dad predicts, although Mandy’s not convinced. Your grandad wants to catch up. Mandy hasn’t seen Tom’s dad in years. Catch up. How long has he got? She glances over to where he’s waiting and is shocked by the age robber. An old man. He was always fit, sharp, straight, not this fading façade. He grabs hold of her, strength still in his arms. She smells decay on his breath as he mutters his apologies. Mandy ever polite. It’s good you could come, Grandad.

I regret I didn’t make it to Auckland more often...

I guess it would have been good for you to meet Dan all grown up...

Well, I’ve made up my mind to get to know the grown up Mandy. You’ve turned into a beautiful young woman and your dad tells me you’ve landed yourself a great job at a big law firm.

Mmm. My ambitious plans all seem a bit hollow and confusing today.

Well, I suppose that makes you your mother’s daughter."

Do you mean the ambition or the confusion? Mandy queries.

Now I’m confused, he says, backing into an elder position. Come on. Let’s have a cup of tea.

Actually, Grandad, I promised I’d catch up with Dan’s mates. How long are you staying? I could come around tomorrow if you’re not busy. She glances at her dad and he’s nodding. That would be great Millie, Mollie.

Mandy sidles over to the energy and angst of the peer group. Hugs and tears. Max comes over. If only I’d known before. Why didn’t he talk to me? I’m his best mate. He’s distraught. Mandy takes him aside and they hold each other, questions unanswered, raw exposed pain shuddering through their bodies. She knows how it feels to question why Dan didn’t say anything, how she didn’t sense his pain, but she can’t comprehend how it must have been for Max to go into Dan’s bedroom and find him hanging, dead.

Mandy is shaking away those thoughts as she feels a touch on her shoulder. It’s her uncle—Mum’s brother Pete I was looking for your mum, he says. Do you know where she’s got to?

Mandy stops. No. But I saw her drive away. Has she not come back? First born responsibility perches on her shoulder and her gut does a flip. I’m not sure she’s coping.

I guess that’s not a surprise. Do you think she would have gone home?

You know, Uncle Pete, I just don’t know where she may have gone, but I’m sure she’ll be trying to find herself in a bottle of wine or two.

Easy on. She’s just lost her son.

Yeah, and I’ve lost my little brother.

I’m sorry, Mandy. It’s just that I’m worried about her.

I know. Me too.

I’ll tell you what... I’ll go round and she if she’s at home.

That would be great, Pete. she gives him a hug and watches as he searches for his car keys. I’ll call you.

Thanks.

Those two were always close, Tom comments as he comes alongside Mandy.

Yeah. He’s worried and, to tell the truth, Dad, so am I.

She’ll be fine. Your mother is a strong woman... Much stronger than me. His eyes well with tears and her first born status digs deep to offer the comfort she craves for herself. You’re so like her, you know... I think that’s why I love you so much.

Then what happened, Dad? How come you broke up?

I was stupid and she couldn’t forgive me. But I’ve never stopped loving her.

Mandy’s shocked as she thinks of the picture her dad and his new wife paint. Bikinis and cocktails in Bali. Christmases with her family.

You have a funny way of showing it.

Your brother’s death has made me face up to a lot of stuff.

Mandy’s processing the ‘what ifs’ as her dad starts his pity party meandering through the turns he took and the mistakes he made as Max comes over. His self-flagellations are interrupted. There’s a manly acknowledgement before Max turns to Mandy. We’re heading off now. Thought we could go to Gracie’s bar for a bit to start with. I could give you a lift if you like.

Dad, is it okay if we head off? It seems most people are leaving.

Sure. See you tomorrow? What time?

It won’t be early, Dad. I think I’ll be taking a bit of Mum’s medicine tonight.

He gives her a hug. Play safe.

God, that was getting heavy! She remembers the arguments and tears before her parents split up. Her mum’s fury, her dad’s begging... I wonder what Mum would make of that conversation, but she already suspects her mum knows what her dad has confessed.

Max is driving. Tony’s riding shotgun. Four across the back seat. Legs laced, arms angled, hearts heavy. Destination oblivion. First round’s on Mum. Mandy reaches for her mum’s credit card, feeling uneasy. She still hasn’t heard from Pete about where her mum has got to. Another group straggles in and Mandy makes the offer to them as the barman starts pouring and mixing. Anything you want, guys.

The first drinks are gone fast and Mandy figures another round on her mum would only be right. She settles into her next glass of wine as her cell phone goes. Pete.

Mandy, I don’t know where she is. I even tried a few bars around the place, but no one has seen her.

Fuck, what am I supposed to do, she thinks, looking around at the party starting. Torn between loyalties.

Did you try calling her?

Yeah, but she’s not answering.

I’ll give her a try. Mandy excuses herself and decides on the text option. She remembers how it was always Dan who could calm her mother down, especially after their dad left. Camping with her mum and Dan. Good times with Dan being the little man. Cutting firewood, lighting the campfire, chasing possums from the food supply. Calmly remembering how to put the tent up when her and her mum were hopelessly female about it. And the night they slept outside wishing on shooting stars. She got her wish to become a lawyer... What did Dan wish for?

She remembers him once saying he wanted to be an astronaut up there with the stars, but if he couldn’t do that, maybe he’d like to be a pilot. Mandy remembers now how he applied for the air force last year but had been rejected.

Max appears. You look worried.

Yeah. It’s Mum. She’s disappeared...

He sees the fear in her eyes.

Do you want me to come and help look for her? he offers.

Finish your drink and give it a while to see if she texts back. Mandy’s hoping. She looks around at the group, booze the rising agent as cake ingredients begin to mingle. Mostly uni-friends, but others arriving to add flavour. The noise accelerates but Mandy knows tonight she’ll not be part of the mix. In fact, she wonders if she’ll ever feel like belonging again.

Three

Pete

Bloody Trish. Always demanding. He remembers her asking him to be Dan’s male role model when Tom left. He wonders what kind of model he was. Good time boy. Let’s go fishing, Dan. No fish. Hey, let’s call into the pub. A few beers. Well, a Coke for you, buddy. Yeah just a sip... Who do you reckon will win the first race at Trentham? Here, check out the odds... We’ll share the winnings. Don’t tell your mum where you got the money. Tell her I paid you to cut the grass. Guilt floods over him. Was it me that got him started? He remembers his youth and it shocks him to realise how his twenties sped by in a blur of booze and horses and the odd woman. But the women soon realised they didn’t want to run second or maybe even third. Thirties more of the same, and here he is at forty-six treading the same fetid water. The only reason he has a place called home is courtesy of his folks. Mates? Well, he had Dan.

His sobs fill the old Holden. He looks over to the passenger seat and can almost smell Dan. Mate. Why?

The empty seat offers no response. Shit, buddy. Can I come and join you? Start the car, drive to the beach, miss the corner, a tragic accident. His head works it out but his stomach rebels. Too much of a coward, he decides. You had guts, mate. Wipes his face on his sleeve and remembers Trish. Shit, I wonder if that’s what she’s thinking. Strong big sis. Always a success... Made Mum and Dad proud. Not like me. Surely not. She wouldn’t do that to Mandy. He tries Trish’s cell phone again. No luck... Is that all life is about? Luck. He remembers Dan’s best mate Max speaking at the funeral, saying how lucky Dan had been to have an uncle who was like a friend and saying that while he had the official mantle of ‘Best Mate,’ he sometimes felt jealous of the relationship Dan had with Pete. Now we’ve both lost our best mate. The sobs return.

His phone jars him back to reality. Mandy?

Any news?

Sorry, still no luck. Pete responds. I thought it might be your mum. I’ve left heaps of messages.

Me too, Mandy says. I feel sick with worry. Where do you think she might be?

No idea. Sorry.

Max has offered to help me look. We’ll try home again first.

Okay. Let me know what I can do.

Pete can’t bear the thought of losing Trish as well. Times like this. He gets out of his car. Slides down the side to his knees. God, please help us find Trish.

Four

Max

He puts his arm around Mandy, wishing the car were a further walk away giving him a longer excuse to touch her. He’s always fancied Dan’s big sis. When they were teenagers, she seemed so much older than the two years, but now it seems irrelevant. Pain is the glue and when they arrive at the car they cling. He soaks in her aroma, feels the warm wet of her crying before his tears join hers and block his sense of smell. Sorry, she says as she scrambles in her bag for tissues. I’ve made your jacket all wet. And these aren’t much good. She holds out the sodden ball.

Hang on, he says, reaching into the glove box for a roll of toilet paper. Boy Scout motto, you know. Her mouth twitches into a smile as she gratefully accepts it and reels some off for Max. Looks like you can do with some too...

Max starts the car and they head to