Duffy sat there in silence.
She had lost two of the three most important men in her life. Firstly she had lost Max. He had meant, still meant, a lot to her, whether she knew it at the time or not. Though the affair had been brief, in fact she herself had described it as " just a physical thing" but it wasn't. Anyway it didn't matter anymore he was with Amanda now and they were just two people who worked together who had "a past."
And now she had lost Andrew.
Sure they hadn't always been happy, she knew there were many times when she had questioned her reasons for marring him, but you forget that when some one has died when your reminiscing, you look back "through rose tinted glasses."
Forgetting the bad times, highlighting the good. And there were a lot of good times. Fun that she would never have again: not with him. The safety and security he provided, knowing he would always be there. Well, she thought he would always be there.
She remembered that Andrew had meant so much to her, that he had been a wonderful husband, supported her through the bad times, made the good times even better. That he was a wonderful father and now he was gone, she was all alone...
The only person she had left was Charlie, he was her best friend but she couldn't rely on him for every thing. He was having a having a hard time himself what with the divorce coming through, the fact his only child was on the other side of the world and that he didn't have a home to call his own. No he didn't need Duffy piling all her problems on him as well.
She was going to have to cope with this alone, all alone with three children to support. She watched the coffin go down into the ground and she felt to tiny hands inside her own, she saw Charlie by the car holding a screaming baby, her screaming baby, she couldn't use the word our any more. It was all her responsibility.
As she sat there she held back the tears knowing it upset the children to see "mummy" crying.
Yes, she had to be strong for her children if no one else. She saw two sets of parents standing behind her, looking at her like she was about to break, like you watch a small child with a china doll. That's what she felt like, china Doll, waiting to be dropped. Waiting to crack and fall apart. And even if you put a china doll back together, use the strongest glue you can find you can always see the cracks. Always see where it broke.
If only she could go back to work but she was still on maternity leave.
She wanted to work be with people who didn't know and people who wouldn't ask how she was. They always ask, every time they see her and they always except it when she tells them 'fine'. A small smile of relief floods their faces, knowing that they'd done their bit. She wanted to work: even if it meant people checking up on her at every opportunity. She wanted any thing to take her mind of how much she had lost. And what she had left to deal with.