How do you measure happiness? What do you compare it to? This was the happiest he had ever been in his life. That, he did know. She was a friend of his flatmate’s girlfriend. He had never actually asked her out. They were just together. They both knew it was right. After a few months, they moved into an apartment together. One Saturday morning, in bed, he asked her to marry him. When she said yes, he took her in his arms and vowed to love and protect her for the rest of their lives. ‘I believe you,’ she had assured him. At Christmas, she told him she was pregnant. A night of passion that had not stopped. They decided to bring the wedding day forward. He had never seen her so happy.
Friday, the 31st of January 1986. Usually, there were drinks with the lads after finishing work on a Friday evening. That day was different. She had been in England for the previous two days on a business trip. He drove out to the airport and picked her up at around ten o’clock. The plan was to drive her directly to her parents’ home. Her sister wanted to see her about something to do with the wedding. The bridesmaids’ dresses? He was leaving the detail to her. The radio news was full of the space shuttle disaster in America. He turned the dial to a music station. They were both messing. She had bought him a present in London
but she would not tell him what it was. He would have to wait until the next morning. Laughing, he reached out to tickle her with his left hand. Momentarily distracted, he saw just a flicker of movement out the corner of his eye. ‘Look Out!’ she shouted. He turned the steering wheel sharply and slammed on the breaks. A flash of white light – then darkness.
He woke up in hospital the following day. He had got off lightly. Two broken ribs and a dislocated shoulder. She had not been so lucky. She had gone straight through the front windscreen. They had found her on the roadside, yards from the car. She was alive but in a coma. The unborn baby had not survived. Nobody else had been involved in the accident. It had probably been a dog, or maybe a fox. He was allowed to see her after a couple more days. Her beautiful broken body being kept alive by tubes. ‘Do not blame yourself,’ her mother said, ‘we know it was not your fault’. Her eyes betrayed her words.
He visits on Wednesday afternoons. That way, he knows he can avoid her sister. The passing years have numbed the pain but it still hurts to see her like this. He brings a newspaper and reads the headlines aloud so she can hear his voice. There has never been a trace of recognition. Not even once. Yet, he keeps returning. To give up would be to stop believing.