An Unexpected Response
Sophie couldnt stand Stan. Not for all seven years of her marriage to his best mate, Max.
Everything about Stan grated on her nerves: his braying laugh, that ridiculous old leather jacket, and that infuriating habit of clapping Max on the back and shouting, Oi, mate! Let me guessshes in another one of those moods? It made Sophie want to hurl the nearest teacup at his head.
Max would just laugh it off: Hes a bit of an oddball, but hes golden at heart. Which, frankly, only made Sophie more annoyed. She didnt care how allegedly golden his heart was; it didnt give him the right to ruin her evenings.
When Max diedslipped and fell, of all thingsStan stood awkwardly at the funeral in that naff jacket, looking as if hed wandered in by mistake. He hovered at the back, gazing over everyones heads, as if he could see something none of the rest of them could.
Sophie thought, Well, thats that. At least now hell finally leave me alone. Thank heavens.
But, naturally, he didnt. A week later, he knocked on the door of her too-quiet, far-too-empty flat.
Soph, he muttered, eyes shuffling about, dyou want me to do a bit of peeling some spuds or, I dunno… whatever?
No need, she replied through the just-barely-opened door, her voice as flat and grey as the sky above Croydon.
There is, he insisted, wedging himself in like an east wind in February.
And thats how it started.
Stan somehow always found something to fix. At one point, Sophie was convinced the appliances were staging a mutiny purely for his benefit.
Hed lug in groceries in bags heavy enough to cripple a pony, as if preparing Sophie and her son Tom for the Siege of London.
Hed take Tom to the park, where the boy would return pink-cheeked and chatteringmuch to Sophies distress, as hed always been so quiet and serious with Max.
Grief hung about Sophie like a stubborn drizzle. Sharp and raw when she stumbled upon an old sock of Maxs. Dull and heavy as she brewed tea for two, but only drank one. And strange, almost prickly, whenever Stan set the table, always putting the plates in the wrong places.
He was a lopsided reflection of Maxan irritating, unwelcome echo. But as time slipped by, Sophie realised she dreaded the thought of him vanishing. For what would be left if he wasnt there? Just emptiness.
Her friends gossiped in voices thick with implication: Soph, hes been smitten with you for ages! Carpe diem, girl! Her mother, ever practical, chimed in: Good bloke, Sophie. Dont let him slip away. Sophie, meanwhile, fumed. It felt like Stan was pinching her sorrow and replacing it with relentless, fussy care.
One day, when Stan arrived clutching yet another sack of potatoes (Knocked down at the Tesco!), Sophie lost her temper:
Stan, enough! Were managing just fine. I get ityoure hanging about, doting over me
But Im not ready. And I wont ever be. You were Maxs mate. Just… stay that way.
She braced for an argument, for wounded protests. But Stan merely flushed beetroot-red and studied his shoes.
All right. Fair enough.
And then he lefthis absence somehow louder than hed ever been.
Tom asked, Wheres Uncle Stan gone? Why doesnt he come round anymore? Sophie, hugging her son, thought bitterly, Because Ive got no sense at all. Ive chased off the one person who wasnt here to take, but to give.
Two weeks later, Stan was back, knocking at her door late one miserable evening. He smelt of autumn rain and something distinctly sharperwhisky, perhaps. His eyes were cloudy, but determined.
May I? he croaked. Just for a minute. Need to say something, then Ill disappear.
Sophie let him in.
Stan perched on the edge of a stool in the hallway, never removing his sopping jacket.
I shouldnt be here, he began, voice ragged. But I cant keep this to myself. You were right. I have behaved like a prize idiot. But I… I made him a promise.
Sophie froze, her back against the wall.
A promise? she breathed.
Stan looked up, agony written across his face.
He knew, Sophie. Not for certain, but… he suspected. There was something wrong in his heada dodgy blood vessel or something. The doctors said it could go at any moment. Gave him a year, maybe two. He didnt tell youdidnt want to panic you. But he told me. A month before it happened.
The world lurched under Sophies feet. She slowly slid to the floor, heart thudding up in her throat.
What did he say? she whispered.
He said, Stan, youre the only one I trust, really. If anything happenslook after my lot for me. Toms still little, and Sophies stubborn on the outside, but inside… she could break. Dont let her snap, Stan! And I told him, Stop it, Max, youll outlive us all. But he just looked at me, calm as you like, and said, Try to make her fall for you, if you can. She shouldnt be alone. Youve always treated her well. Itd be the right thing.
Stan fell silent.
Is that all? Sophie barely managed to ask.
He also said, Stan added, rubbing something from his cheek, that youd probably hate me at first. Because Id remind you of him. Told me to hang in there. Said youd get used to me. And then… well, whatever happens, happens.
He heaved himself up from the stool.
Thats it. I tried. Did what I could. Hoped, you know, maybe… But the way you looked at meI got the message. Itll never happen. Ill always be just Stan, my husbands old mate. Sorry, Max, I let you down. Didnt keep my promise.
He reached for the door handle.
And then, at last, Sophie accepted itthe brutal, unbearable truth. She accepted Maxs fierce, impossible love, thinking of her even as he faced the end. She accepted Stans daft, stubborn chivalrytwo whole years, never asking for anything but a thank you, endlessly carrying out his hopeless quest.
Stan, she called softly.
He turned, no trace of hope leftjust weariness.
You fixed that leaky tap Max had been promising to sort since the Stone Age.
Yeah.
You took Tom to visit my gran up in Yorkshire the same day I sat sobbing in the bath.
I suppose…
You even remembered my mums birthday when I completely forgot.
He nodded.
And all thatjust because he asked?
Stan sighed.
At first, yeah. But then… well, it needed doing. And by then, I couldnt not do it.
Sophie stood, walked over, and took in that silly leather jacket and Stans tired, older face. For the first time in two years, she didnt see a shadow of Maxjust Stan. The bloke whod once been her husbands mate and now had somehow taken on the weight of loving Maxs family.
Stay, she said, her voice certain and strong. Have a cuppa. You look half frozen.
He gawked at her, not quite trusting his ears.
As a friend, Sophie added, her words tinged with something newsomething warm. Maxs best mate. At least until youve had enough of us.
Stan grinnedthe same old lopsided smirk that used to make her grind her teeth.
Tea? he said. Any chance of a cheeky pint?
Sophie laughed. Really laughed. And knew, truly knew: she wouldnt push away the hand that reached out to helpeven if it was wrapped in a catastrophically daft leather glove.
