The Manner of the Mourning

by Robert Ward

  At the post box she hesitated for a moment before slipping her letter in, and then thought, good, now it’s done. Richard would probably phone her the next day to find out when exactly she was coming. If he was at home of course, but she presumed that he would be. She bought a paper at the newsagent’s on her way home and when she arrived back she made herself some breakfast.

  She had French toast and coffee and listened to the radio as she sat in the kitchen and read her paper. She did the crossword, well actually only half of it, because she got bored if she couldn’t get the answers immediately and it seemed too pointless an exercise to rack her brains. She then went into the sitting room and switched on the television. Daytime television was so appalling that it was sometimes interesting to watch, and sometimes they showed an old film which the television company must have had the rights to for years, just to fill the time slot. In a few moments she felt herself closing her eyes and drifting off into the nether world of her half-consciousness that she seemed to inhabit for much of her life. She was then woken by her mobile ringing, but she knew it wouldn’t be Richard. They never rang each other on mobiles or texted each other and she went back to sleep.

  The next day Richard phoned her in the evening and it was agreed that Elizabeth would drive there the following day. Yes, Miranda was away, and no it didn’t matter how long she stayed for. He was just dying to see her and he was nervous and excited too. He told her the press would be waiting for her and that he was to act as her agent in negotiating a fee for her story about her politician friend. They laughed and after a little further talk ended their conversation. They wanted to save everything until they saw each other.

  Elizabeth packed a small case and then sat in the sitting room, studying the road atlas. She hated driving, and was appalling at navigation. If a road sign didn’t actually say the name of the place she was trying to get to it was of very little use to her. She could never remember the number of the road she was supposed to be on, and she always added another couple of hours to the journey time for a normal person, allowing for taking the wrong turnings and just generally getting lost. She wrote the route down on a sheet of notepaper and would keep it on top of the dashboard for easy reference. This was despite having a sat-nav, which after previous experiences, she didn’t trust, but wasn’t working anyway.

  She thought about having a drink and decided she could have one or two, or so, without feeling too awful in the morning for her journey, and she half filled a tumbler with scotch, which for a long time now she had preferred to bourbon, and drank it fairly quickly before taking a shower, and then had another.

  She sat watching the television, wearing her dressing gown and with her hair still damp. She watched the flickering images without listening to what was being said and listened instead to the rain as it beat against the windows which rattled in the wind. The little pool of water was beginning to form on the windowsill. She’d have it fixed one day.

  She sipped her drink and thought about how much she was looking forward to seeing Richard, but she was apprehensive as well. It had been so long and so much had happened, especially to him of course. Nothing much at all seemed to have happened to her. She’d feel rather embarrassed she thought, when they finally saw each other, because he’d done so much and achieved something, while she had done nothing at all really, and certainly not achieved anything. She wondered about fate and free will.

  She went to bed just before midnight and tried to blank her mind, with the horrible knowledge that whenever she needed to sleep she invariably couldn’t. She could knock herself out with pills or alcohol of course, but then she wouldn’t be able to get up in the morning. She could do it sometimes, when she was only going to work and didn’t have anything very important to do, but when she wanted to do something particular, something that was for pleasure especially, or anything that she had to be alert for, she hated the feeling and always regretted having done so. Eventually, without being able to remember the moment, she fell asleep.

  The alarm clock woke her at eight in the morning and she felt surprisingly refreshed. She must have had about six hours sleep she guessed, which was quite enough, and even though she had had no need to set the alarm for so early, she was glad now that she had.

  Richard had told her that it didn’t matter what time she arrived as he’d be in all day, but she had preferred to give him a specific time, explaining that if she was late it would be because she had got lost. It was a long drive, especially for her, who wasn’t used to driving more than a few miles at a time, and that was partly why she had chosen to set off quite early. She thought she might get to Richard’s in the mid-afternoon if she left at about ten o’clock.

  She dressed before having breakfast, putting on a mustard yellow blouse and a long dark grey plain skirt. She wore flat soled tan shoes for driving in. She would take her royal blue coat with her, as it was cold outside and she would no doubt need it at some time while she was away.

  She had toast and honey and tea for breakfast and ate it at the kitchen table as she listened to the radio. The weather forecast was for snow following a hard frost from the night before which had frozen the rain from the previous evening. She still had an hour to kill and thought about leaving earlier than planned but decided to stick to her schedule. To fill the time she checked the contents of her case to make sure she had everything and then put on a little make-up, thinking she might be able to disguise the ravages of time. She was, after all, twenty nine now, and the last time Richard had seen her she was still a teenager, just. She had visions of him fainting from shock when he saw her. She wondered how he looked now, and smiled thinking that in only a few hours she would know.

  At ten to ten she left the flat and climbed the steps up to the street. She put her case on the back seat of the car and settled herself into the driving seat. It was very cold and the windscreen was frosted but the water jet and the wipers cleared it enough for her to see. She should have got some warm water and a cloth to wipe it with, but couldn’t be bothered. She thought it would clear as she drove. If the car started at all, that was.

  The workings of the internal combustion engine were as mysterious to Elizabeth as the atmosphere on Pluto, but she did know where to point the antifreeze aerosol if necessary, which was kept in the boot in a little plastic zipper bag next to the spare tyre, together with a set of spanners and some jump leads. What the spanners and the leads were there for however, she had no idea. Fortunately, the engine caught at the first turning of the ignition key, and slowly and carefully she was on her way.

  There was something pleasurable about a journey with a definite destination, Elizabeth thought as at first she drove along familiar roads. Especially when the destination itself was where more pleasurable things might happen. Having had that thought it then made her wonder what she was really expecting when she arrived.

  Surely she and Rich would never feel awkward with each other and they would always have plenty to say, wouldn’t they? But it had been so long, and people do change. She knew it wouldn’t be the same of course, like when they were kids and she was the dominant one. That had certainly changed. Now it was his turn. Not only would she be his guest, but he had all the advantages of his success in life, and all she had was what she had only ever had, her self. That would be enough, she thought. He had always loved her, and she had always known.

  After an hour, Elizabeth was into unfamiliar territory on the roads and had to frequently refer to the list of road numbers on her notepaper. She thought she had got it more or less straight in her mind though, when she missed a junction and had a wasted journey of fifteen miles before she could get back to where she made the mistake. By the time she was back on the right road it had begun to snow.

  It was soft and infrequent to begin with and the flakes melted almost immediately as they hit the windscreen, but the further she drove the heavier it became, until she was forced to peer intently at the road ahead and the beat and scrape of the wipers only just made it vis
ible. She had turned on the radio and it was telling motorists to only make a journey if it was absolutely necessary. She thought for a moment that she had heard something like that before, but then it had been, is your journey really necessary? But she couldn’t remember what the context was, or the meaning of it. She seemed to remember that it had been on a poster, but maybe she had seen it in an old film, or on a poster in an old film.

  She stopped at some lights and her mind turned back to Richard and how she had always thought that she didn’t really need him. She had always needed him as a friend of course, as she had often admitted to herself, as someone who was always there no matter what happened, even though they hadn’t seen each other for a ridiculously long time. And their letters and telephone calls had kept them real to each other, and they knew basically what was going on in their lives. But she now thought that maybe she did need him in another way, and had needed him all this time. She could never remember being as happy as she was when with him. But maybe that was just her youth. Maybe it was her youth that she longed for again. Maybe. Maybe. She would never know now what might have been. An insistent beep from the driver behind made her realize the lights had changed.

  The snowfall had now eased a little as Elizabeth drove along on what she was convinced was the right road, but the temperature had dropped again and everything was becoming frosted and slippery cold.

  Jack Frost, Elizabeth thought as she made a correct turning onto the last road that had a number on her list, but there is no Billy Wind. Another hour, she estimated. It was a long road, with just one more turning before she would see Richard. It was quite a way along the road after the last main turning and then there was a lane that you turned into. She should have let him come for her she thought. That would have made it easier. But she was quite pleased with herself at having got this far on her own and she put her foot down on the accelerator just a little as she sped along the almost empty road.

  She expected to be on time, despite her little detour, perhaps a little early even, and she wondered if he would come out to greet her or wait until she knocked. He’d hear the car she supposed and come out. Though it depended where he was in the house. They’d look at each other for a moment first and then hug and kiss. She pictured it all in her mind.

  There were patches of ice and heaps of snow at the sides of the road but the surface itself was clear enough if rather wet. She could feel it getting colder though even with the heater on full, and the sky was low and leaden. The road was lined with big old bare wintry trees and she noticed that it began to rise and dip as the countryside became not exactly hilly, but undulating, with fields sweeping upwards on both sides.

  Winter had its own beauty she thought as she looked around at the white grey and black world as it flashed by. She liked distinct seasons. She liked summer to be hot and dry and sunny and winter to be cold and dark and white. It was rarely quite as it was supposed to be though, but for some of the time it was. She wondered if she and Richard would be snowed-in, half hoping that they would be. They could toast muffins over the log fire and drink whisky and rum punch. She presumed he’d have a log fire.

  She had the radio tuned to a classical channel but the piece they were playing at the moment was light and dull and she changed to a pop channel but didn’t like what was playing there either and switched it off. She knew that impatience was a fault of hers and that in a few moments they could well be playing something that she liked but now that it was off she decided she liked the quiet better.

  Other traffic on the road was very infrequent and for long distances the grey ribbon stretched ahead of her uninterrupted. Now that she was almost there, she found herself smiling inwardly, with the feeling of excitement and anxiety combined in a strange emotional cocktail rising inside her, and she could feel her palms getting moist and she began to fidget slightly in her seat. God, only a few more minutes, she thought.

  There was a last turning ahead onto a minor road and the signpost before it said the name of the village, Richard had told her. Then she was to turn down the first lane on the left, which was easy to miss and she was to keep an eye out for a sign that said, “Farm fresh eggs and well rotted muck,” on the other side of the lane above a barred gate that was usually open and led, of course, to a farmhouse. They had laughed about the well rotted muck and she had asked if she should bring wellingtons and a waxed jacket.

  She was getting more nervous by the minute as it couldn’t be far to the turning now, and she peered ahead looking for the road sign. The sky was darkening and a few flakes of snow had begun to fall again. It would stick, she thought, as it was very cold and the ground was already frosty. She liked deep clean crisp snow without a footprint in it. Maybe they could make the first, if they went for a walk in it. If it snowed enough. Maybe she should have brought wellingtons, though no doubt Richard would have a pair she could borrow. Probably Miranda’s.

  She looked at her watch and saw that she was still ahead of time. She hadn’t really thought about how long she was going to stay. Richard had said it was entirely up to her, but she thought two or three days, maybe. It depended on a lot of things of course. She couldn’t imagine them not having a good time together and not enjoying each other’s company. But it had been such a very long time. They would have to see.

  She wondered if he’d been serious about having a present for her from America and if she should have brought something for him. It was too late now. It wouldn’t matter though. She’d brought herself and that was quite enough of a present, she’d say. She couldn’t help wondering what it was he had got her though. That was if he had got anything at all. Where was this sign?

  She should have worked out mileages from the map, but that was far too tedious and she had only made a rough estimate for the whole journey. The snow was getting heavier now and the wipers were having trouble keeping up, even at full speed. The fat flakes splatted onto the glass in front of her eyes, so big some of them that she could see the patterns of the crystal formations. There were many or infinitely different patterns she remembered learning from somewhere and she wondered what it was that determined which became which.

  She was getting a little worried that because of the poor visibility she might have missed the sign for the turn-off, but she knew, really, that she hadn’t and was just getting paranoid. It had crossed her mind however that she might spend more time finding the place over the last few miles if she did miss the turning and then got lost trying to find it again, than she had for the whole of the rest of the journey. If that happened, God knows when she’d arrive.

  She slowed the car because she realized she was now driving through a full-blown blizzard, and strained her eyes to peer ahead and across at the left hand side of the road where the sign should be, leaning as far forward in her seat as she could. It had even occurred to her that she should pull over somewhere and wait, hoping that the snowfall might ease a little. She continued on though, thinking that she must be so close now, and that the snow mightn’t ease for hours.

  Suddenly, she saw the sign through a gap in the flurries of snow and she prepared herself to turn. She slowed the car yet again but then hit a patch of hard ice that had formed in a little dip at the crossroads and she skidded across it. A lorry, making the turning from the opposite direction at a dangerous speed, smashed into her.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  This can’t be it, surely? I haven’t had time to do anything. Can’t we go back to the beginning and start again? I hope my head doesn’t break open because there are lots of things in it and I want to keep them there. I won’t see Rich now. What a waste.

  I’m in shock and shuddery. I’ve been thudded. My insides are wobbling. I don’t know what to do really. I don’t think there’s anything I can do. I don’t think I’m going to survive. I’ll know in a moment, if there’s anything after. They say you see a blinding white light at the end of a tunnel and dead relatives come to meet you. Ludicrous. How can you see without eyes? How can there be light wit
hout the Sun? Some kind of spirit might survive, but not the personality, but I doubt it. Some kind of belonging to everything that exists? Fanciful. Oblivion, I think.

  What was it all for? It isn’t fair. I’m not old yet. I haven’t had time. There are lots of old people. The buggers refuse to die. Some of them collect pensions for longer than they paid for them. And they’re ugly. I’m beautiful. I like my body. I don’t want it to be mashed to a pulp.

  I don’t know if I want to survive, if I’m crippled or disfigured. But life is good. Or is it sweet? How do disabled people feel when people say that damaged foetuses should be aborted? Don’t let there be a fire. Or, let me be dead if there is. Burning is a terrible pain. Don’t let that happen to me, please.

  I wonder if I’ve screamed? I hope not. There would be no point anyway. A scream is a cry for help isn’t it? And there’s no one to hear me. Sometimes you scream to yourself though. I’ll never be any more. Your life is supposed to flash before you, isn’t it? If it did, it was too fast for me to notice. I’ll miss the lovely days and feeling good.

  I wish it would be over. I wish it hadn’t happened. I don’t suppose there’s a reason for it. It just is. We think our lives are so important, don’t we? Thousands, millions must die each day for as many different reasons. You hear of it all the time. Individuals, if they’re thought to be important or if they died in an interesting way, but masses as well, in disasters. I wonder if this is a disaster. It is to me.

  People will think I was older than I am because we’re into the year of my next birthday. It only works properly if you were born on the first of January. If you were born on the thirty first of December, your dates could make you seem almost a year older than you actually were, I think. I can’t really work it out properly at the moment.