Murrow Turning Over

Peta/Sam

Act 3, Chapter 2

Murrow Turning Over

He stood there, the rain pouring down, his trench coat a grey waterfall in the field of marble headstones.

Other mourners were already walking away, umbrellas held aloft, mostly in black, but some small tokens of her favourite colour, purple, stood out amongst the darkness of the quiet November morning.

Sam's father in law patted him on his shoulder, and passed him an umbrella gently, as he turned to walk with his wife, and sons, to the gate. In Nez's arms, lay Adam, their son, and Sam turned to watch them leave through the gate.

The pitter patter of the rain fell all around him, and as he turned back to the tombstone, Sam felt the lump rise in his throat, almost choking him, as he looked at the carved letters of her name.

"Darling," he said, tears welling up, "Darling, I have to go now. They are expecting me back at home to help with everything."

He knew there'd be no response, but all the same, he spoke to her.

"This was not meant to be where we parted," he said, placing his hand gently on the marble. "You were meant to be with me, all our days. Grow old, and watch Adam grow into the young, brilliant man he is going to be. You did everything right: you were just...the best..."

He hung his head, in shame. "I had so much I wanted to tell you, experience with you, to live with you...they say the brightest stars shine half as long, but what they don't tell you is that the biggest, brightest stars shines half as long as that."

Sam looked to the skies. How was he here? Where had the time gone?

"I spent so many years chasing the wrong women." He sighed. "Yes, I will be honest...the wrong woman. You're right, you are always right..."

The silence of the grave nodded back to him as the white noise of the rain fell all around.

"I don't know how we are going to do this without you. I know that, we will, because we have to, because Adam needs me to do this without you, but it doesn't make it any easier, any less painful, knowing that tomorrow morning I will wake up in our bed and you won't be there with me."

The tears were really falling now, and Sam sobbed into his left hand, his right hand still grasping the corner of the marble.

"Where did the time go? How did we get here? It's like the worst nightmare that I just can't wake from."

He looked at the carved letters forming her name: Elhaida Al-Saadi-Murrow.

"Inshallah, it will be okay," he said, finally.

***

Four years earlier

The conference had been, if he was being honest, dreadful. It had been nearly a year on from his second, awkward, heartbreaking proposal and declaration of love to Peta. Sam was now getting "slapped in the balls" about once a week at the mention of the Austrian ex. Motty and Al made sure of that.

They had also made sure that he attended his date from the app they'd enrolled him on. He'd protested, of course, having given up on dating apps after years of various particularly bad dates.

There was the vegan, who he'd taken to a steak restaurant. That information was not on her profile. Sam liked his steak blue. Or as he put it to Kristen, as they entered the restaurant, "mooing."

That date had subsequently lasted about five minutes.

Then there was the skydiver, Katie, who was afraid of heights. That was also not on her profile, but the sky diving was. He'd therefore taken her to a bouldering centre. She'd managed to get about four feet off the ground before howling in terror and clinging to the side of the climbing wall.

That date had lasted about five minutes too.

There was the redhead, Amy: who was cute, educated and well dressed, but in the most elegant restaurant - Olivers - she'd sworn like a sailor at the bill they'd been presented. Before swearing all the way back to the tube as well.

Perhaps the most memorable of the dates was the three hit wonder who was named Emma, who had got increasingly more clingy and lovey doves on each subsequent date before breaking it off abruptly and then moved to Nepal to become a yoga instructor.

He didn't quite understand how that had unfolded but he suspected, probably rightly, that her own yoga instructor, the six foot three blonde leviathan that even Sam had felt a little hot under the collar for, was probably at the heart of it.

Given it was his yoga retreat she had moved to.

So Sam could be forgiven for not really wanting to go through the whole rigmarole of yet another first date, yet another failure, yet another humiliating conversation at the Slug and Lettuce in Canary Wharf with his colleagues.

Yet here he was, walking into the Fox and Pheasant, just down the road from the hospital his latest date worked at. He was tired from being out at the conference all day, then the train ride home. He'd managed to change into a new, crisp, white shirt and thrown on his usual smart jacket before high tailing it up on the train into Charing Cross and walking.

Sam looked across the pub. There were flags out for the Rugby World Cup, hanging all around. Under a saltire of Scotland, he saw her, and he waved as he walked across the floor. She smiled as he approached.

Her flowery dress stood out amongst the wood panelled walls and the dark suits and coats of the Brits drinking around them. Her bronde hair (a dark honey colour) was as curly as his own dark locks.

Big, round, brown eyes glinted in the light above her luscious lips. The smile was genuine and Sam, for the first time, felt at ease at the start of a date.

"Hi, you must be El-hi-da," Sam said, offering his hand. She took it, grinning.

"Not bad pronunciation for a first time. You looked it up on YouTube and practiced for days?" Elhaida replied.

"I will admit to nothing," Sam said, laughing. He totally had looked her name up, and he had also totally practiced it. She was a surgeon, out of his league, and seemed pleasant in the messages they'd shared. She was worth trying for.

A few drinks in the pub turned to dinner at the local pizzeria. She was fun, she was funny, and she was flirty. She was also outrageously clever. Sam felt like the date was a giant game of chess at times. Never in a way where he felt condescended, or sought to condescend to her.

On the contrary, he enjoyed learning from her. About her culture, her family, friends and her ambitions.

The dinner date had to end, and they stood at the top of the steps to Westminster underground station, pausing to look at each other one last time.

"I really enjoyed this evening, Sam," Elhaida said, before Sam made the boldest move possible. He swept in, and kissed her. She kissed him back. He watched as she went down the escalator towards the central line, turning to smile and wave at him as she disappeared from sight.

It was the fourteenth of February, 2020.

***

Six months later.

"Have you got the TV on?" Sam asked, waving at his phone screen.

"All set up Whose audio are we using?"

"Mine, it's louder and I am approaching deafness," Sam said, as they huddled in their separate beds. It was lockdown, and Sam was in his childhood bedroom with his parents and sister, having opted to move back in with them for the duration of lockdown.

Elhaida, unfortunately, did not have family nearby in London and was on her own in her flat in Ealing. They were dating over WhatsApp, not a day going by without a phone call, message, or photo to each other. It was really sweet, and Sam knew that she appreciated his company, even if it was over the internet.

"So this film is just terrible. But you wanted a terrible film to watch with me, so it here goes." Sam clicked his remote. The opening titles of the film were in black and white, very old timey, reading the legend The Duchess Approves.

"So we have Sturly Stembleburgiss as the Duchess...and the late Grampton St. Rumpterfrabble as the irascible coxswain Saunterblugget Hampterfuppinshire." Sam imitated a movie announcer with particular emphasis placed on the "cox" in "coxwain".

"Wait what?" Elhaida said, confused. "Is this a real film?"

"So yes, and no. The basis for this film is a four lines of dialogue in an old children's show," Sam said. "But someone on YouTube decided they wanted to actually go ahead and make the film real. So they put together a team and physically made it."

"That's nuts."

"Fandoms are nuts." Sam said with a shrug, "but hey, it's in black and white, they have terrible names, the dialogue is ghastly, but it's quite sweet romantic story. They meet just before the Second World War, and they are parted, but keep talking to each other through letters for the duration."

"Aw," Elhaida said, smiling. "Like us?"

"Yeah!" Sam said, realising the similarity.

"...You didn't clock?" Elhaida said, shaking her head from her side of Sam's phone's screen. "Mr Murrow, I am disappointed in you."

"Maillard..." Sam said, then he hesitated. "I don't know which I want to use, to be honest." Sam had always been "Maillard", which was his father's surname, but with a genuine potential for divorce on the cards for his folks under lockdown, he was considering changing it to his much preferred "Murrow".

"You do know, you just want me to make the decision for you," Elhaida said, shaking her head. "You like Murrow, be Murrow."

"Yeah, but it's a lot of work, paperwork, and such," Sam said, turning back to the screen. "Oh, this is a good bit, shush, shush!"

Elhaida rolled her eyes as the large bosomed actress blurted out her declaration of love to the moustachioed lothario.

"Honestly Sam...what a choice. This is truly abysmal," she said, and they did air quotes with their hands, laughing.

"You know El...there might be an opportunity to do something if you like in a few weeks."

"Hmmmm?"

"So they keep talking about these bubble things. I was thinking...if I isolated myself from my family now for a week, I could drive up to you in a week and stay with you over that week when we re-set the bubbles?"

Elhaida's jaw dropped. "Oh my god, yes! Yes, yes, yes. I am so up for that. I am fed up of being on my own. Any company would be amazing!"

"Okay...make it feel a bit more special though," Sam said, peeved.

"Sorry, but...yes, I think this would be amazing. Might even be good for us...?" She said, longing in her eyes. Sam gazed back at her, his face a reflection of her own in feeling. "For sure."

"Well, that's decided then..." Elhaida said, smiling. "Thursday okay?"

"For sure. Work's been really good at letting me work from home."

"Lucky boy. I don't have that luxury at the hospital."

They paused, realising the big issue between them.

"If you come here...there's no going back to your family for a long time," Elhaida said carefully. "There's also a much increased risk of getting the virtue when you live with someone exposed to places which have it daily."

Sam looked at her with a frown. "I'm prepared to take the risk. I think it would be good to give my parents a bit more space anyway. They're struggling with all of us back in the house anyway. How are your folks?"

"Doing badly. There's not enough medical supplies getting in via Ashdod at the moment." Elhaida teared up. "As soon as I can get some money together, I am finding a way to get them out of there. They won't want to leave, but I have to try."

Sam nodded. The film, forgot, carried on behind him.

"Elhaida...I..." Sam struggled to find words, "You've been so brave, being on your own for thirteen weeks. I don't know how you do it."

"You and my family help, enormously, by phone and text. I think I would have gone mad without our daily video calls."

They smiled at each other.

"I'll put together some clothes...let me know if there's any groceries we can sort and I can bring for you...only a week, then, my love..." Sam said, the words dropping out before he realised he'd said them.

"Aw..." Elhaida said, laughing. "Thirteen weeks away from me and you're already saying the "L" word!"

"It just sort of...slipped out..." Sam said, embarrassed.

"Aw...handsome. Come on. You know I feel the same way, right?"

They gazed back to each other. Sam smiled. "I do," he said.

***

Six months later

Duck a l'orange, in a Cointreau and orange sauce, cooked by way of grill then oven for forty minutes to crisp up and also become tender, served with goose fat cooked roast potatoes, steamed vegetables and a chilled glass of Cremant to go down with it.

That had been the plan.

The reality was the Duck was cooked, a little burned, but cooked nonetheless. Sam had not been able to get Cointreau, so ditched it, and the orange sauce was an improvised, sticky mess of orange marmalade, water and sugar. The roast potatoes could bounce, he thought, as he gloomily retrieved them from the oven. The oven simply wasn't hot enough, it was on its way out.

At least the steam vegetables would be okay? Wrong. The microwave had destroyed the crispness of them. The resulting mush was just awful.

The dessert would have been Sam's interpretation of the Eton Mess, including some lime zest and candied mango together with a nice port or whiskey sour concoction to finish the evening. Except he had no candied mango, and the lime zest looked like moss.

Still, the Cremant had arrived. That at least was chilled and in the fridge.

He prepared the living room and lit the candles. He'd carefully covered up the treadmill with a white bed sheet, and covered it with petals, to make the room a bit more romantic in the candlelight.

Lockdown was tough for everyone. Everyone was making do with what they had. For their part, they were lucky to have access to the treadmill and a small garden to sit in during the day, rather than getting het up in the house. Getting the shopping had been made easier by the online ordering systems many of the big shopping companies had set up.

Sam still managed to get out, masked, rubber gloves, alcohol gel in turn, and shopped locally, trying to support the local business community that was really struggling.

He sighed, putting the plates down. This was not how he wanted it to go. He just had no time left.

"El? You can come down now." He called up the stairs.

Elhaida came down the stairs, peeking over the bannisters towards the doorway of the living room. "Oooooh. What's this?" She entered the living room, marvelling at the roses in pots, lit candles all around, and the meals ready for them.

"What's all this?"

Sam stood in the corner of the room, white shirt on, bow tie, overly tight skinny jeans too. He looked nervous, almost at the point of throwing up.

"Sam?"

He walked over to her, and gently took her hand. "You changed my mind on everything. One year ago today. Our first anniversary together, since that date in the Fox and Pheasant."

Elhaida gasped, mockingly. "No way? An entire year of putting up with me?" She teased, pulling him close. Sam nodded, not laughing. "Oh you want me to be serious. Okay." She put on the most insincere solemn face possible. Sam sighed, exasperated, and got down onto one knee.

"Elhaida, I..."

"YES".

"What?"

"Yes!"

"I haven't asked it yet!" Sam said indignantly.

"Okay, sorry. Sorry." Elhaida returned to being solemn.

Sam grimaced, and then tried again. "Elhaida, I love you. I have known for some time..."

"YES! Whoops, sorry, okay, I will be quiet now," She said, excited, laughing, as Sam finally gave in to the humour and laughed with her. He held her hands and looked into her eyes.

"Elhaida, will you..."

"YES! Sorry".

"Marry me?"

"YES." Sam stood up, and kissed her, long and hard. Smiling as he led her to the table, Elhaida held up her hand and pointed to her ring finger.

"I'm not forgetting this, by the way."

"All the ring shops are closed," Sam protested, "we will go and sort it once lockdown is over. I have the cash, just not the freedom to go and do it yet."

"Okay," Elhaida said, returning to look at the meal. "That carrot is an interesting consistency."

"That's a potato."

"Oh."

***

Six months later

"It's a gastro-intestinal tumour."

"Come again?"

"It's a GIST tumour. It's aggressive, and we will need to operate straight away."

They stared at the doctor, gripping each other's hands. Everyone in the room was masked up, and the Doctor sat behind a glass panel, installed on her desk. It all felt so very surreal.

"Is that why I've been feeling so under the weather for so long? It's just been sat there, on my stomach, pressing down on it?" Elhaida asked.

"It's worse than that." The Doctor got up and pointed to the photographs on the screen behind her. "The tumour is on the corner of your stomach. It has created a leak in the stomach, which is seeping out blood slowly, every day. The clot here is preventing stomach acid from getting into the rest of your body. So on the one hand, good news, we know what it is. The bad news, is that we need to operate immediately."

"Hang on," Sam said, alarmed, "We can't operate yet. We need her parents to get here. Can we wait a week?"

"We can wait a week," the Doctor confirmed, "and, actually, that would be preferable, as we are struggling to find a location to do this in, and any staff that could carry this out in any event. Almost everyone, like yourself Dr Al-Saadi."

"Due to Covid?"

"Yes."

"What about going private?" Sam asked.

"That would probably be quicker," the Doctor confirmed.

"El, what do you think?"

"Whatever is quickest so we can get back to wedding planning," Elhaida said firmly. "What's the recovery time from something like this?"

"About six months for a full recovery, but you will be up and walking from around three months."

They exchanged worried glances.

"You'll be okay for the registry," Sam said firmly. "I'll do everything I can to support you."

"Thanks Sam," Elhaida said, squeezing his hand.

The day of the operation came quickly. The whole thing had been a blur. Elhaida's parents had been given passes to leave the West Bank, and flew in the day before. They all had to wait outside the hospital when Elhaida went in for her operation, her parents could not even hug her, only speak to her from two metres away, with masks on.

Sam sat with them in the park opposite the hospital, waiting for any news. It was excruciating. He tried speaking to them, with a little of the Arabic he'd learned from her, and they spoke back to him in fluent, well educated English. It was pretty humiliating at first, but her father put him at ease by explaining that English was the "great leveller."

Finally, the call came through, five hours later. They'd managed to remove the tumour, and stitch her stomach back up. It had originally been planned to be by laparoscopic surgery, but the reality was that the tumour was too big to do this way. So Elhaida had been opened up, with a cut from her belly button down to her hips. It was the worst kind of invasive surgery.

The call came through at home, after Sam had dropped his future in laws to the hotel they were staying in.

"Hey handsome..." Elhaida looked a mess. Yet still unbelievably beautiful, and smiling through the pain.

"Hey El. How are you feeling?"

"Alive. Are my parents okay? Baba, is he back in the hotel now?"

"Yes, they're okay. I took them there. I made sure they got in."

"Thanks Sam..." Elhaida looked sleepy. "I think I need to sleep again."

"Okay, you sleep and we will talk in the morning."

"I love you."

"Love you too El."

***

Three months later

It was a small registry ceremony in the centre of London. The beautiful Holland Park venue was a modest orangery, near the Japanese gardens.