“Everything. Everything’s a mess. My life is a badly-scripted pantomime. I hate most of it,” she whispered.
She sounded so utterly miserable.
Time for some drastic action, then.
“Would you like a chocolate?”
“What?” she sniffed.
“A chocolate. I’ve got a bag of them for emergencies, like for example when I desperately need a chocolate. You can have one, if you’d like. It won’t fix anything but it will taste nice. Got to take the positives in life, I find.”
“That’s… very kind of you.”
I rummaged in my bag and dug out the plastic packet of bite-sized Twix bars. I tore one open and offered the bar to her.
She hesitated, then took it.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“For what?” I said, as I opened one for myself so she wouldn’t feel like she was on the spot.
“For… stopping. For being so… unexpected. So kind.”
She sounded a tiny step short of breaking.
“You don’t need to thank me for that,” I gently answered her. “You needed somebody. I’m glad I could be here for you.”
I ate my chocolate and stared out into the mist, listening to the little sounds of the world around us and the the slow drip of water from the trees, trying not to feel too deeply the little jagged breaths she took on the bench beside me as she fought to regain herself.
“This is a good place to come walking. And thinking,” I murmured. “I always come this way on the way to work. It’s a good place to be. It’s calm. Sometimes the deer come through; I like watching them. See some rabbits here too, sometimes. Silly little things. It’s a good space when you need to be able to let go of things…”
“I don’t know if I’ll come back.”
“You should. Even if… Flora… doesn’t come home to you, you’ve still got the memories. Memories are important. Look,” I added, as I gently brushed droplets from the metal plate that was screwed to the bench – a woman’s name with two dates and a brief but poignant message from her loved ones. “Memories make us who we are.”
She made a soft, little girl noise, and I somehow found myself hesitantly taking her hand.
Hers clenched tightly on mine; I listened to her gulping as she tried not to cry any more.
We sat in silence for a moment. Then she sighed.
“I should go,” she sniffed. “Got to go and get started with the day. Put the old mask on again. Be what I’m supposed to be. Ever the dutiful wife.”
“Can I at least walk you to your car?”
“That’s… sweet of you. But you’ll be late…”
“Nah, I’ve got plenty of time. I usually just dawdle down by the pond, quacking at the ducks. Come on. Lets get you home so you can dry off.”
So I helped her up and looked away while she dragged her sleeve over her eyes again and walked close beside her for the couple of hundred yards to the car park.
She unlocked an old silver Range Rover.
Then she spun to me and wrapped her arms around me and gave me a tight, fierce hug – tucking herself right in against me, cheek to mine, face buried in my damp and likely unwholesome hair.
For a precious little moment I felt like I’d entered a state of grace.
She let me go, stepped back, sniffed.
I let out the breath I’d been holding; her soft, wonderfully feminine scent had taken me off guard and my brain was still trying to recover.
“Thanks again for stopping,” she mumbled as she scrubbed at her eyes again. “And listening.”
She turned and clambered into her car, heedless of the water and mud she left streaked on the dark leather interior. She sat for a moment, then shook her head.
“You be gentle with yourself, yeah?” I managed, heart still hammering away like mad.
She glanced up at me and managed a bitter little smile.
“I’m here most days this time, rain or shine,” I added. “I’ll keep an eye out for you.”
“I’ll… see you, I guess,” she said. “Maybe.”
“Maybe see you later then,” I said, as I managed a warm little answering smile just for her.
I closed her door for her and stepped back. The Range Rover coughed into life and rattled a bit. I watched her as she wiped her eyes once more.
The vehicle shuddered into reverse.
She gave me a little goodbye wave before she drove off.
I sighed, and stared up at the clouds above me.
What a gentle, precious, fragile creature she was.
And my good God, she’d felt so good against me.
I hoped she’d be okay.
I desperately hoped she’d come back.
I was almost ashamed of how desperately I wanted to be hugged by her again.
.:.
It was a week or more before I saw her again.
She was walking slowly, hands in her jacket pockets and head down.
I saw her before she saw me, taking note of the way she’d stop every so often and just stare downwards at her feet or off at the horizon.
I saw her wipe her face once.
She was mostly in black today – mourning clothes, I suddenly realised.
I felt a immediate lump in my throat as sympathy welled up in me.
I sped up to intercept her.
“Hey Sam,” I gently greeted her as I got within talking distance.
She glanced up furtively, then seemed to relax as she recognised me.
“Hey… Willa.”
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.
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