The Moon Is Watching

by Adam Cloake

  He is still beautiful, still young.

  They step to each other, and they embrace. She can feel him, but it is like a heart-feel. The place where he stands is still in night-time, but she can sense the warmth of him. It is the same warmth as in her memories.

  They take each other by the hand, and they walk. Slowly, they make their way along the shore, towards the cove. The sand’s embrace is soft beneath their feet.

  At the cove, the woman sits near the waves, her hands stretched flat on either side of her. The man lies down beside her, and his fingers gently touch her. They have time, but it is a short time. Soon, the man must return to the sea. It is the sea which claims him now.

  She talks about the days that have passed, her days of being alone. She tells him of her thoughts. She shows him her feelings. They hold each other. They look at the moon as they lie with each other. Their voices mix with the music of the waves. Here, they are a part of everything around them. It is their world.

  But, all too quickly, their time ends. He must again depart from her, until they are allowed another night.

  He stands up to say goodbye. She too stands, her eyes moist. Their fingers part. He moves away to the edge of the water, where it caresses the sand. Once there, he stays a moment, looks back at her, smiles. He gives her a final wave, which she returns. Then, their farewells done, he turns to face the sea. Stepping forward, he again becomes the water. Again, he is gone from her.

  With his image still in her eye, the woman tells herself that the parting will be brief. For years, she has said this same thing. But she knows she will again have her man, despite the selfishness of Death.

  She walks back in her own tracks to the place where, earlier, her man had appeared before her. Then she turns, to look back towards the cove, to the place of love. The moon is still out, still lucent. The sand is brighter than before.

  She sees, between the rock and the cove, two sets of footprints side by side. One set is wider and deeper than the other.

  Soon, the tide will come and wash the prints away, back into the sand, back into the shore.

  And Watch The Living

  Laura held out her glass, accepting the fresh splash of wine her father poured for her.

  “Isn’t that a line from some old film?” she asked.

  “It’s from Rebecca,” Daniel replied. “Hitchcock! I thought you would have recognised it straight away.” He had raised his daughter to appreciate the classics, especially old black-and-white films, and she had always, quite naturally, fallen for the same things he did.

  “Ah!” said Laura. “Of course! Rebecca! I’ve got it now!”

  “You two are making me feel humble. I don't know anything about the oldies,” said Greg, the third and final member of the group.

  “Oldies?” said Daniel. “What a terrible word!” He looked at the younger man from under his eyebrows, causing Greg’s handsome face to flush red. This was a look that Laura had spotted before, each time she had taken Greg to visit her father. Although he seemed quite playful about it, Laura judged that Daniel was still assessing Greg, who had been seeing his daughter for only a few months.

  Of the three evenings they had all spent together in the old farmhouse, which had been Laura's home for most of her life – until her recent move up to Dublin – this was the first time they had sat up so late. They were sharing a Saturday evening in November. Tonight, the house seemed perfectly remote, perfectly free from the rest of the world. The winter darkness outside had convinced them that the right thing to do would be to open a second bottle of wine after dinner. They were now beginning their third, a deliciously warm rioja, each of them thankful for the weekend. Laura felt that they all seemed to work such long hours that nights like this were a wonderful respite. She herself would be spending most of the following week in Galway. She worked as a Recruitment Consultant, and was going to help set up a new western branch of the White Moon agency on Dominick Street. Although looking forward to the challenge, she hated the idea that, just over thirty hours from now, she would have to drive across the country, and spend perhaps four full days in a city she barely knew. It had been suggested by one colleague that she could have burned a well-earned hole in the company expense account by bringing Greg along with her. Naturally, she had decided against this. She wanted to be focussed and professional on this project. Besides, she knew that he was busy conquering his own worlds.

  “Oh yes!" she thought, “We are quite the hot couple these days – the fearless recruitment exec and the dashing young accountant."

  Daniel took his eyes from Greg’s face, then broke into a smile. “God, I haven’t seen Rebecca in years,” he said. “And, for the benefit of those young people in the room who don't know anything about the good old films…” He raised his glass towards Greg. “…that question I just asked is also asked by the housekeeper in the film.”

  “Mrs. Danvers!” added Laura, with a mock chill in her voice. “Scary, scary woman!”

  “Utterly terrifying!” said Daniel. Both he and Laura feigned a shiver at the same time. It was almost like a ritual, and it started them both laughing. Even Greg, who had to guess what they were talking about, joined in.

  Laura continued, turning to her boyfriend. “Mrs. Danvers is speaking to the young woman who has just become Laurence Olivier's second wife. She's this poor, frightened little thing."

  “Rebecca – who is dead, by the way – was Olivier's first wife in the film,” Daniel said, “and Mrs. Danvers – who obviously admired her a lot – is trying to frighten the wits out of the second wife.”

  “Which isn’t a hard thing to do,” Laura said, laughing.

  “So, she asks her that question.” Daniel picked up his glass, and took a sip of the rioja.

  This conversation had started a few minutes earlier when Greg had raised the subject of a man who had recently been convicted of murdering one of his neighbours. The killer’s principal defence had been that he was carrying out the wishes of his late brother, who had insisted, just hours before his death, that the man had to commit the crime – as an act of family vengeance. The killer had tried to convince the court that he had had no choice but to commit the murder because of his own terror of his brother’s lingering spirit.

  “But do you believe it, though?” Greg asked Daniel. “I mean, how would you have answered the question?”

  “Do I believe the dead come back to watch the living? Well, now...” As he thought about this, Daniel pursed his lips, as if holding back any extraneous comment until he was ready to speak fluently. Laura had seen him wear this expression many times during her life. Her father's face was still handsome for a man of 53, and these moments of contemplation made him seem even more so.

  Greg, still getting to know the older man, and still clearly tense in his presence, seemed unnerved by the thoughtful silence, and chose not to speak just yet. Laura reached across the sofa and took his hand. She always referred to Greg as her “boyfriend”, although he wasn’t the only man she was seeing. She had occasional liaisons with two other men in Dublin – Ian and Roger – and she knew that Greg was seeing another woman as well. Neither of them ever discussed their lovers though, having mutually agreed to keep the details of their liaisons to themselves. However, Laura’s relationship with Greg was the most important, the most rewarding, of all, and he had assured her that he felt the same way about her.

  Daniel tipped his head forward, glancing first at the couple’s linked fingers on the sofa cushion, then up at Greg.

  “Well, the last time I thought about it,” he concluded, “the dead were dead, and they always will be. So, no, I don't suppose they do come back. To watch the living, or to do much of anything else."

  “You’re a spoilsport, Dad," Laura said to him. “I was hoping you’d surprise us with some fascinating theory on reincarnation."

  “I don’t think your Dad’s the type, somehow," said Greg, with a slight laugh. He seemed to be the drunkest of the three of them, even though he had dr
unk the same amount of wine.

  “At my age, coming up with new theories on anything often seems like a waste of time," Daniel said.

  “At your age?” Laura laughed. “Come on, Dad! You're totally still young. And I know you have plenty of theories on every subject." Saying this, she naturally glanced towards the closed door of the den. Although he spent his days managing the farm, with some help from a few local lads, Daniel passed his evenings with his robust collection of books on Politics, History and Art.

  “Anyway, I believe there may be a rational answer to the question," said Greg, slurring a little.

  “Do you?” said Daniel, glancing mischievously at Laura, then back at Greg. “Tell me more!”

  “Well, I mean…” Greg sat forward awkwardly. “I don’t mean the dead come back as ghosts. Nothing like that. And I also don’t mean it in any religious sense. I mean… Well, we’re all made up of energy, aren’t we? Energy isn’t created, right? And it can’t be destroyed. There’s a law about that.”

  “Yes, I know there is,” said Daniel, a slight tone of arrogance in his voice.

  “So, if the energy inside us doesn’t just disappear after we die, where does it go? Something must happen to it."

  “Good question!" said Laura, squeezing Greg’s fingers. They sat like this for a few moments, as Daniel contemplated his response. He tilted his head back, his eyes half-closed, looking up at the light shade above him, then across at the dark window, where the same light was reflected.

  “All right!" he said, finally. “The truth is that I agree with you, Greg. Just not in the way that you mean. Even though you say you’re not talking about ghosts, that's exactly what it sounds like, with all that energy sticking around, and everything. I prefer to look at it as a memory that keeps the dead person alive inside our minds. That’s what the question was anyway, wasn’t it? ‘Do the dead come back and watch the living?’ Well, maybe it’s just us allowing their memory to watch over us, keeping us on the straight and narrow.”

  This was followed by a few seconds of silence. Laura had been conscious throughout the conversation that they were moving close to a particularly uncomfortable aspect of the subject, so she was not surprised by her father’s next words to her.

  “I believe that, everywhere I go, your mother is with me. And I believe she’s with you too. She’s here now, in this room." He said this as he glanced around three of the living room’s walls, his arms spread to either side of him. Then he brought his hands together again, and lowered his head, to stare into the wine glass. Tilting it back towards himself in both hands, he continued, “But not as a ghost. No. Or as a spirit. She's a warm presence who’ll always stay with both of us.” Then he looked up and smiled at her.

  From there, the conversation naturally moved on to a set of nostalgic stories about Laura’s mother, Rose. After sixteen months, it had become easier to talk about her. She and Daniel had so many anecdotes, it took more than an hour to share them all. Greg, who had become still looser as the evening progressed, followed up with a few amusing stories about his own family. The subject of death and ghosts eventually receded from the conversation.

  They continued chatting until almost 1am. A fourth, and final, bottle had been emptied by then. Eventually, it was Daniel who was the first to stand up and stretch.

  “When are you back from Galway?” he asked his daughter. “Was it Wednesday or Thursday you said?”

  “It's going to be a big job. I'm pretty sure I won’t be finished until Thursday.”

  “I'm sure you're devastated to hear that, Greg,” Daniel joked.

  “Of course I am.” Then he grinned widely as he added, “But it'll be mighty when she gets back!” He suddenly stopped himself and flushed, realising what he had just implied.

  “Yes, I can imagine,” Daniel replied, wryly.

  He turned to Laura. “Anyway, your old room is ready for you.” His next words were: “Greg, I hope you don’t mind sleeping in the box room at the back. It's easy to heat up at short notice, and I changed the sheets today.”

  Laura was surprised at this. She would never have asked her father to allow Greg to sleep in her bed, but a part of her had expected him to at least offer. She had never taken him for a prudish man. She decided, however, not to press the point.

  And so, the three of them set off to their beds, each going to a different room. Naturally, a brief glance of regret passed between the young couple as they mounted the stairs, but they knew that there would be other nights. Neither of them would be leaving bed tonight to go to the other.

  On the upper landing, Laura watched as Daniel opened the door to the box room. He had chosen not to offer the young man the larger spare room; this was where he still kept Rose’s things her clothes and her jewellery. He was showing Greg where to find the extra blankets and pillows and, for a few moments, Laura watched the two men she adored. Between them, her father and her boyfriend brought perfect happiness into her life. She knew that she would do anything for them.

  Finally, she said her goodnights, and the men answered with theirs. The wine, and the lateness of the hour, were evident in all three voices.

  Laura was tired, so she only had time to brush her teeth before climbing into bed. It was a queen-size, made from choice mahogany, a smaller version of the one her parents had bought for themselves on the same day. As an only child, Laura could so easily have been spoiled, but her parents had both been adepts at raising her to disdain such attitudes.

  She snuggled in under the duvet. Although she adored Greg as a boyfriend, Laura’s tiredness convinced her that, for tonight, she was glad to be sleeping on her own.

  Before closing her eyes to end the day, she stole one last glance at the picture of her parents on the dresser, taken just before the cancer had invaded their home. Her mother’s hair had retained its dark colour until the end, whereas Daniel's had given way to a grey perimeter around the back and sides. In her last few months, Rose had worn a wig, thankfully of the same curly style and dark colour as her own hair had been.

  Most nights over the past few years, Rose’s eyes had looked out from the picture towards an empty pillow, but tonight her daughter was here.

  Laura began to doze off. The last sounds she heard floating around inside her head were the whispered voices of her mother and father. Off in some recess of her fading consciousness, she heard them laugh softly together. From within her sleep, they seemed as real as if they were still together in the room next door.

  Laura left Dublin at 8am on the Monday morning, bound for her temporary role in Galway. By the time she arrived at the new branch of White Moon Recruitment, she was full of energy, and ready to make some big decisions. She and her colleagues spent the first afternoon planning the space, sorting furniture, and deciding, from online catalogues and local suppliers, what they would need to complete the job. Everything moved along quickly, with very few problems, so she was able to allocate more time than expected to making phone calls to prospective clients in the region.

  She arranged a series of meetings with many of these, which she stretched across Tuesday and Wednesday. Although she had full confidence in her negotiating skills, she was still pleasantly surprised by how successfully these meetings went. She was certain that she had generated a significant amount of new business for the company. She had an extra bounce in her stride each time she returned to the new office, which was itself quickly taking shape.

  By the time 1.30 arrived on Wednesday afternoon, the physical work had been almost completed. In addition, one of her biggest prospects, following a series of productive phone conversations, had decided to travel to Dublin the following week for a broader consultation, rather than meet her in Galway. This would mean extra business from them.

  It also meant that Laura would be finished a day earlier than expected.

  She decided it would be more practical to return to Dublin that evening, rather than spend the extra night. There were things in the capital which demanded her attention mo
re than anything here. If she could complete the other project she was working on at the Dublin head office by Friday afternoon, she could boast of two major successes in one week, in two different cities.

  She spent an hour finessing the job she had come to do, then offered to take her new colleagues out to a late lunch. They were surprised at her early departure. There had been some talk of going out for drinks that night. Nevertheless, her mind was made up. She promised them all a big weekend in the city at some point in the next few months.

  She had already spoken to Greg earlier that morning, while they were both on their way to work. When she changed her plans, she became too busy to call him back. Besides, he would surely be tied up himself. She decided instead that she would use the car phone to call him from the restaurant car park. She didn’t expect an answer and, of course, she received none. She left a simple voice message instead. There was no point in contacting him again until after office hours, by which time she would be back in Dublin.

  Anxious to begin her journey, Laura called the office in Dublin to rearrange things with her colleagues for later in the week. She wanted to inform them that she would be arriving before 6.30, and that she had about an hour of work to do that evening. The rest she would bring home and look over later. She spoke to two of her colleagues and a manger, all of whom seemed impressed – more so even than usual – by the amount she was getting done. Having completed all her calls, she set off for the capital at around 4.00, a satisfied smile brightening her face.

  Everything went well for the first half of the journey. Laura spent the closing half-hour of daylight enjoying the crispness of the November afternoon, its cloudless sky and bright natural beauty serving to heighten her own positive mood.

  But this didn’t last.

  She was just passing Athlone when she ran into problems.

  The car, which had performed so smoothly up until that point, suddenly began to stall. This had never happened before, so it caused Laura some alarm.