by M. R. THOMAS
“‘Oh’ I said, ‘I didn’t recognise you’
‘That’s OK’ she said ‘a lot of people don’t since I changed the colour of my hair’
“Well I tell you” Rose continued, “it was orange, not red, bright tangerine orange, and someone had said ‘it suits you’ to her and she believed it!
I don’t know if you ever met her but she said she knew of you.”
Abbie shook her head. Her mum continued “‘she said ‘I just want to ask you how your daughter is, I heard about her recent upset’.
“So I said ‘she’s doing OK thank you it’s a difficult time, but we’re getting through’.
‘Yes’ she said ‘send her my best wishes, but we both know how difficult it can be, don’t we, having been through it’.
‘I will’ I said. ‘So you see love, people who don’t really know you are also concerned and send their best wishes”.
“Thanks mum”, Abbie said, “I appreciate it”.
Abbie smiled to herself as she wondered why women of a certain age all speak in dialogue as though they’re reading a script when they’re telling you things. God, would that happen to her in time? Why not just so and so sends their best wishes, and then it’s over quickly; why all the ‘I said, she said’ it’s just like a Les Dawson sketch, she thought. What were those two characters called in that programme, she wondered? And then she remembered - Cissy and Ada.
When Abbie arrived home from shopping she felt tired. In some ways, her body still wanted to run, but she refused the temptation. It was as though her body wanted to escape, to be free, and it seemed to demand it of her, but Abbie resisted as she knew she needed to rest, so her limbs could enjoy it more tomorrow, refreshed and relieved of the aches and pains she hoped.
Several letters had arrived in the post. One looked somehow important, so she sat in the kitchen and opened it; to her surprise, it was from Peter’s employer, requesting a meeting with her to deal with some important legal matters which concerned her, although the letter stated that they were not of a nature to cause worry or upset. The senior manager, a Mr Paul Stokes wanted to meet her personally and had suggested a date and time which, Abbie realised, was actually tomorrow as he was in town that day. He asked her to call his secretary to confirm if this was suitable for her, and ended the letter with condolences on her loss.
Abbie didn’t give it much more thought, other than to wonder if it was to return a few of Peter’s personal effects from his office. She quickly dialled the number and spoke to the secretary, explaining who she was and that Mr Stokes was welcome to visit. In cheery tones, the secretary told her that under such circumstances this was usual company practice and it was nothing to worry about.
So you have a lot of employees die? Abbie wanted to say to the cheery women on the end of the phone, but she didn’t.
It was agreed Mr Stokes and a colleague would visit her tomorrow at 1 p.m., with the cheery secretary informing her that the meeting would take 10 -15 minutes only.
At least it’ll be short and sweet! She thought.
Abbie’s immediate thought on putting the phone down was that she’d agreed to a meeting in the middle of the day, so when could she run, before or after?
Before and she would run the risk of being a bit spaced out, whereas after, she possibly might feel too upset. Bugger, decisions, decisions! Abbie’s mind was still not in the best place to cope with such things, she realised, and even simple demands seemed beyond her.
Eventually, after mulling it over for a long time, Abbie decided that she would run after the visit, as she might need to get out of the house after the discussion, depending on what they wanted to see her about, of course. But now her whole being and psyche ached to exercise; she desperately wanted to feel the adrenaline and that surge of energy that made her realise she was still alive, but she knew it would have to wait till tomorrow.
…………………………………………………………………
Later that evening Abbie powered up her PC, and it seemed an age before the machine came to life. She wasn’t sure what exactly she wanted to look up, so she entered ‘grief’ into the search engine but then realised that wasn’t it. ‘Out of body experience’ seemed more logical, after all that was what seemed to have happened to her.
To her surprise over a million sites came up. She selected some and began reading and, as the evening wore on, glimpsed an insight and some sort of understanding as to what had happened to her. Some sites offered information on ‘how to’; others were people’s testimonies of their experiences, whilst some scientific references indicated that out of body experiences – or O.B.E. - was directly due to a build-up of C02 in the brain. One particular piece seemed to imply that this in itself caused the sensation of movement and of the light.
Abbie read thoughtfully and eagerly, but didn’t allow herself to be gullible and taken in by mumbo jumbo. Ever-objective Abbie, she thought.
After an hour or so Abbie’s brain had had enough and her eyes were sore from staring intently at the screen. She felt too tired to take any more in, so she sat down on the sofa and flicked on the TV, but then realised she wasn’t interested in watching anything, it would take too much mental effort.
The phone rang, interrupting her thoughts: it was Kate. They chatted for a while, Abbie being given the latest gossip and information about the school, and she felt glad about being included. Kate agreed to visit her after the meeting with Peter’s employer; she had offered to be there for it if need be, but Abbie reassured her that she’d be fine.
Knowing she had to leave herself time to fit in her run after the meeting, Abbie invited Kate for tea, saying she’d put something together and promising not to poison her. They both laughed.
‘I’ll be the judge of that” was Kate’s reply.
Again, Abbie was restless that night and did not sleep too well, or maybe she did, in another way, in between wakeful. She was aware of nodding off and then stirring throughout the night, without understanding what exactly was keeping her awake.
In the morning Abbie went for a walk to the local shops, returning with a newspaper and some ground coffee and biscuits for her guests, along with fresh salad, vegetables and cooked meats for Kate.
The morning seemed to pass slowly. Abbie tried to read the paper and do the crossword, but it was hopeless, her mind seemed unable to rise to occasion to produce any sort of result, so she gave up after managing only one clue. This convinced Abbie that her mind was not yet operating as she wanted it to, and that her recovery from her grief was in fact a process that she couldn’t control. It was as if she were merely a passenger in an emotional journey, powerless and out of control.
Suddenly, Abbie realised she could do something positive, something that could change things for her. Quickly and without much thought she telephoned the school where she worked, and spoke with the secretary who seemed genuinely glad to hear from her. Abbie explained she hoped to return to work soon and made an appointment to see the head teacher about it during the next week.
When she put the phone down Abbie felt positive now that she was being…what was the word…proactive, that’s it. She knew being at home wasn’t conducive to her recovery; she needed her own life back again.
It had been several days since she had felt that wretched, that hopeless, and had had that overriding sense of uncontrollable emotion rising within her, so that’s may be progress she thought.
At just before 1pm, Abbie noticed a large dark blue car pull up outside and a smartly dressed silvery-haired man in a similar-coloured dark blue suit got out, followed by a very young-looking and smartly dressed young woman who appeared from the other side of the vehicle.
Abbie had dressed in comfortable smart clothes which she had chosen carefully: a patterned black and white shirt, slim black trousers and black kitten-heeled court shoes. She didn’t want to appear too dolled-up, but neither did she want to seem neglectful of her appearance. Despite this, she somehow felt uncomfortable an
d almost awkward in what she had chosen to wear, her limbs seeming to rebel inside the fabric tunnels of cloth that surrounded them.
Abbie waited a few moments before opening the door, rather than give the impression of having waited by the window and watching them arrive.
Paul Stokes introduced himself and his young female colleague, who turned out to be Lesley Whittle, the HR manager.
She looks too young, Abbie thought to herself.
Once inside they sat in the lounge while Abbie made coffee, serving it in matching mugs that she retrieved especially from the back of the cupboard. Lesley sat perched on the end of her seat looking uncomfortable, and Abbie wondered if it was her first time at a meeting such as this. Paul Stokes, on the other hand, looked relaxed, as though he’d done this sort of thing a hundred times before. He appeared to be in his early 50’s and, on face value, Abbie thought that he seemed nice, but also wondered what sort of boss he was.
Paul turned to Abbie and stated “the reason for this visit is to tie up some loose ends, and offer you our continued support”.
Before Abbie had chance to respond, Paul produced an envelope from his briefcase and handed it to her.
“Please” he said, “look inside and I’ll explain”.
Abbie sat looking at this small oblong envelope in her hands and then opened it quickly; she was completely taken aback to see a cheque payable to her for £99,000.00
“This” explained Paul Stokes “is a benefit for employees and their families. If someone passes away during their employment, their allocated person, and for Peter that was you, receives an immediate payment of three times their salary”.
Abbie felt the cheque tremble in her hands; she was genuinely lost for words. She felt choked with sudden emotion but also, somehow just looking at Paul Stokes, she knew that she didn’t have to say anything, that a nod was enough.
She put the cheque on the table and reached for her mug, her whole arm trembling under its weight as she lifted it to her mouth. She needed two hands to support it without spilling it.
Lesley Whittle then produced a small pack of papers and handed it to Abbie.
“Under the circumstances’” she began “you continue to have full entitlement to our private health plan and Employee Assistance service. You were already covered but it will continue for you till you reach your retirement age”.
“Thank you, I had no idea”. Abbie’s voice trembled slightly as she spoke.
“The Employee Assistance service is there for you if you need any support, advice or guidance on any matter at all. You call the number and give the policy number and they will put you in contact with appropriate professionals who can help - legal, financial advice, anything like that. Also, just so you are aware, there is a confidential counselling service you can use, initially telephone then face-to-face if necessary. Overall we find it’s a good, comprehensive benefit for employees and their families, and it’s totally free for you. If at any time you wish to talk, these people can help. Depending on where you are, NHS waiting times can be very long, so these people can help when you want it, just so you are aware”.
“Thanks”, said Abbie again, “I really appreciate all of this”.
The rest of the conversation was focused on Peter. He’d worked for the firm for 4 years, and would be missed, Paul said. Paul himself had met him only once previously, and Lesley not at all, as she was new to the company, based in their main office, and Peter had usually been located in the southern office. They spoke highly of him and his ability, he had been well-liked by everyone. They mentioned that several of his office colleagues had attended the funeral, and that everyone who had known him would miss him greatly.
For some reason, Abbie felt that these were just platitudes, pleasantries they felt they had to say but didn’t really mean.
Would he really be missed in 3 or 4 months, in years to come? No, forgotten, she thought, eventually people would say ‘Peter who?’ Only those very close ever remember.
After Paul and Lesley had left, both giving firm handshakes of reassurance, Abbie sat and stared at the cheque. She realised she was in a way getting rich from Peter’s death, and this thought made her feel very uncomfortable; however it was said, or described, it was completely true.
Although it had not come through yet, there would also be life insurance that would pay off the mortgage, and now this unexpected huge cash amount. She didn’t like it; although she was very grateful, it did feel somehow very wrong to her that, financially, he was worth more dead than alive.
Within a few minutes of her visitors’ departure, Abbie was changed and heading out for her run. The day was overcast, but quite humid again, the colours still changing as autumn continued its inexorable progress towards winter.
Once in the park Abbie quickened her pace and she felt to her surprise physically quite strong, her limbs seemed to be up to the job. Her breathing was regular and steady, so she tried to clear all her thoughts and erase the meeting from her mind, and especially all thoughts of financially benefiting from Peter’s death.
Benefiting, being better off, what stupid phrases she thought; being better off would be having Peter alive, she would be better off with him, never without him.
After her circuit of the park, Abbie felt the fatigue begin to take hold as she approached the entrance gate; her legs no longer felt fresh, but at least her breathing wasn’t too laboured. She decided she hadn’t finished so she headed off in the direction of the hill, but even the path’s lower slopes began to sap her strength. Abbie had to dig deep into her energy reserves as she pushed upwards, her legs feeling like lead, and her pace very quickly slowed although her blood raced around her system with each thunderous beat of her heart in her chest, trying to force oxygen to muscles that didn’t want to move.
When her pace had reduced to a mere walk, when just putting one foot in front of the other became difficult, Abbie knew that somehow she must drive herself on, upwards, and not stop.
Abbie was just past the half-way point up the hill when her movement slowed so much that she was no longer running, she was almost staggering; her lungs burned, and leg muscles felt totally solid. She put her hands on her hips and, raising her head, walked forward, gulping and gasping to get air into her oxygen-starved system. Although only walking, she was determined not to stop completely. She was aware of perspiration running down her back, her clothes damp and clinging to her skin.
Abbie turned and looked at the town below. She knew that today’s run was all but over, but one day she was determined to make it to the top in one go.
Her legs felt as though she had run a marathon, and she found getting moving again difficult. Although it was really relatively flat, the path seemed to be at an impossible incline. Abbie managed to get into a slow forward movement, but her legs muscles rebelled as her heart rate and breathing increased again, pushing her towards exhaustion.
She slowly forced herself on, feeling pain in her entire body, her pulse echoing in her brain with each heartbeat. Eventually she reached the top of the hill and, without pausing to recover; she immediately turned and headed down the path, carefully retracing her steps over the rocks and uneven ground.
By the time she was on the flat Abbie had somehow, to her amazement, recovered sufficiently to break into a slow jog again, and she found that getting home was easier than she had anticipated.
Another 30 or so minutes of hard exercise behind her, Abbie stood in the shower and allowed the water to refresh and revive her.
It occurred to her that today, as difficult and tiring as the running had been, there hadn’t been any dizziness or wobbly feelings, no strange sensations or odd occurrences, no floating out of her body, just a run that had been demanding and difficult. Abbie knew that she’d put in no less effort than on other days, in fact she’d run further up the hill than before.
She wondered why nothing odd had happened this time. She couldn’t understand it; she’d been at the limit of her ability, so why hadn’t
it happened? What had she done, if anything, that was different?
Or had those things been imagined after all? A cruel trick of her grieving heart and mind? Maybe she had just not had the control that she had now, so her imagination had played tricks on her when she was at her lowest ebb. Maybe, maybe…too many ‘maybes’, she thought, not enough certainty.
………………………………………………………….
Just on 6 pm Kate arrived, her usual cheerful self and, somehow, Abbie immediately felt she could do without someone being this cheery in her presence right now.
That’s unfair and unkind, she thought, Kate was just being her friend and trying to look after her. But still…
“You look well, been exercising?” queried Kate.
“Yes, several times, started running again, hard work, but good”.
“It must be, you do look well, its’ good to see you like this”. Kate hugged her again.
Over a simple meal of cold meat, fresh bread and salad, they chatted for a while about nothing in particular.
Abbie then announced suddenly that she was going into work to discuss returning.
Kate was unsure that this was a good idea and so soon, but Abbie insisted she was ready and able and - most of all - willing.
“I just want a diversion from everything that’s happened” Abbie explained. “I need some sort of routine again, a change from all this negative stuff that’s gone on for weeks now”.
“As long as you’re sure”, said Kate “in many ways it’s still early days for you. Just promise me, take it easy and don’t overdo it”
“OK, I promise”.
“Speaking of diversions, there was a substantial one today” Abbie began, “Peter’s boss”
“I was waiting for you to mention that, did it go OK? I didn’t want to pry.”
