Lessons From Ducks (18 page)

Chapter twenty three

Buddy was restless. Now the size of a large kitten he’d grown bored with the limits of his domain and had started hiding behind furniture so that when Anna opened the door he could make a mad dash for freedom. This usually resulted in him either tripping over his own feet in excitement or splattering beak first against the door as Anna shut it swiftly in his face.

‘QUACK’

Even his voice had deepened, and Anna guessed from his mood swings that he was going through the human equivalent of puberty. He would stagger back on his feet like a drunk at pub closing and cast her wounded looks through the glass.

“I’m sorry,” Anna would mouth back at him. “But you’re just not big enough yet.”

The truth was she had no idea how to go about introducing him to the outside world, and even if she did she wasn’t ready. In her eyes he was still the vulnerable little duckling she’d help break out of the shell, despite the fact that now when he joined her in the bath she had to squash up with her knees under her chin so he had enough room to swim his laps. As far as she was concerned the outside world loomed large with potential predators. At some point she’d have to face it, and probably sooner rather than later, but she would put it off for as long as she could.

She went to visit Mr Hedley. He looked bored and uncomfortable on his couch, unaccustomed to sitting still in one place for long periods of time.

“Doctors orders,” he told Anna sadly. “But I’m hoping to get out for a game of golf before too long.”

“You’ll do no such thing,” his wife’s head popped around the door. She entered the room and fussed over him, placing a blanket over his knees despite the temperature in the room being in the twenties. He tolerated it for a minute before swatting her away like an annoying fly.

Some wives, upon their husbands’ retirement, found themselves resenting the constant and intrusive presence in their lives. For some, when retirement struck it was as if they’d gained themselves a rather large toddler. One who whined that they were bored or sulked around the house when told to find something entertaining to do. Some wives found the sudden flood of half finished DIY projects annoying, or the repurposing of their herb garden for their husbands’ plant grafting experiments mildly frustrating.

But not Shirley Hedley. She’d been waiting for this moment for some time now, and she finally had her husband right where she wanted him. Born to be a nurturer, she’d been so bereft when their only son left home she’d almost had a clinical breakdown. To fill the hole, she’d started sponsoring one of those African orphans, sending gifts and paying the dollar a day. But it just wasn’t the same. She had considered getting a dog but she’d finally got the cream carpets she’d been coveting for years and wasn’t about to ruin them. When her husband keeled over, taking his entree with him, she’d naturally been terrified. But the moment the doc declared him well enough to come home she’d rolled up her sleeves and sighed happily. He was hers now. She was
needed.

Mr Hedley, on the other hand, was finding the constant fussing irritating, to put it mildly. He’d had enough sponge baths to last him a lifetime, and this was despite the fact he was quite capable of bathing himself. There wasn’t a room in the house, he’d discovered, where he could hide from his wife’s watchful eye, and she hovered around ready to plump his cushions or lift his feet onto a foot stool. If he sneezed a tissue would be pressed into his hand before he’d even opened his eyes. If he coughed a thermometer would be shoved between his lips while she felt his forehead and fretted he was coming down with something.

It was driving him crazy.

So when Anna arrived to visit he was as grateful as a puppy when its master arrives home from work.

“OK,” he rubbed his hands together gleefully. “Tell me everything and don’t leave a single detail out.”

“About?” Anna was confused.

“The bank of course,” his face assumed a sad, wistful, expression. “I think I spent more time there in the last forty years than I ever did here.” He looked around the room with its floral wallpaper and collection of photos of relatives, both alive and deceased. He had no idea who some of them were, let alone whether they were from his side of the family or his wife’s.

Anna realised he hadn’t heard about her suspension so she filled him in. When she finished he was outraged, his lip quivering and a spittle hovering in one corner.

“She can’t do that,” he said. “She can’t. I’ve a good mind to go down there and sort this matter out.”

Shirley reappeared at the sound of his raised voice. At the sight of him, animated and angry, she frowned.

“Now what’s got you so riled up,” she tutted, pushing him back into the couch and straightening the blanket over his knees. “You know you’re not allowed to get stressed, it’s bad for your heart.”

“But Shirley, you have no idea what’s happened  –”

“No I don’t and I don’t care either,” Shirley cast a dark look Anna’s way.

“I’m sorry,” Anna said, getting to her feet. “I’d better go.”

“That’s probably for the best,” agreed Shirley.

“You’ll do no such thing,” growled Mr Hedley. “Sit back down. Make us a cup of tea please Shirley, we have business to discuss.”

“I’m sorry,” Anna repeated, when Shirley had reluctantly left the room. “I didn’t come here to upset you. I just wanted to make sure you were ok.”

“You’ve always been such a sweet, caring person Anna,” he smiled at her fondly. “You didn’t deserve what happened to you. And you don’t deserve to be treated this way. I don’t know what the devil Judy is playing at.”

“I probably shouldn’t have called you at home like I did,” Anna admitted.

“It was unorthodox, certainly. But I didn’t mind so why should she? Leave it with me,” he told her. “I’ll sort it out.”

“No please don’t worry about it,” Anna regretted telling him now. He was still recovering and was supposed to be enjoying retirement, not fighting her battles for her. “Honestly, I’m not worried. After all, what will be, will be.”

“Que Sera Sera,” he smiled. “I love that song. My mother used to sing it to me when I was a wee lad.”

Anna’s breath choked in her throat as a memory flitted across her mind. She was in the nursery, rocking her son in her arms, his little eyes growing heavier as he was lulled to sleep by the gentle sound of her voice.

‘
Que Sera Sera,
whatever will be, will be, the future’s not ours to see, que sera sera’

When does it stop? She wondered. Would she ever be able to see something, hear something, or smell something that reminded her of them, without feeling the heartache all over again, as fresh as if it had just happened?

Chapter twenty four

The twenty first of the month.

This one was slightly harder than the others, as it marked the anniversary of another year gone by. Another year they had been in the ground. Another year they hadn’t celebrated a birthday. She wasn’t able to bake them a cake or throw them a surprise party or wrap and hide a present somewhere they’d no doubt find before the big day because, as her husband used to joke, she was rubbish at hiding presents.

Another year where they were frozen in time and in her memory, yet diminished in the memory of others. It bothered her, this thought. How many people still remembered them? Did her husband’s old work colleagues’ ever stop to think about the man who once sat in the corner office and who was the first to volunteer to dress as Father Christmas for the Christmas party? Not because he bore any physical resemblance, but because it was his favourite time of year. Family aside of course, who else out there stopped from time to time to remember Tim, husband of Anna, father to Ben and a generally nice bloke?

She doubted the people whose lives he touched on a daily basis in little ways did. Like his dentist, or the guy who pumped petrol into his car. Or the nice Japanese woman behind the counter of the sushi shop who always nodded enthusiastically and greeted him with a loud, “Hey! You come again!”

Did she ever stop and wonder what had become of him?

Or the people he’d gone to school with. When they held their reunions and he failed to show did they wonder where he was and why he wasn’t there.

The thought that she might be the only person left in the world, apart from his family, who ever thought of them or missed them, made her terribly sad.

Life goes on. Anna stopped listening after the fifth person said it to her in the wake of their deaths. They were right though. Life does indeed go on. When all was said and done and the funeral was over, Anna curled up in a corner while the grief ate her from the inside, while everyone else returned to their normal lives as if it had been nothing but a blip on the radar. Eventually the frozen meals stopped being delivered and the phone stopped ringing. The sympathy cards in her letterbox dribbled to a stop and the flowers, the elaborate bouquets that made her lounge look like the lobby of a florist shop, withered and died.

With these thoughts heavy in her mind, Anna was more depressed than usual for the twenty first. She paid for the flowers without exchanging her usual pleasantries. She quite frankly didn’t have the energy to pretend to be happy when she was not.

At the cemetery she went straight to their graves and did her usual tidy up. She could barely see the headstone through her tears, the names and dates a wavering blur. Days like this there was no hiding her grief. No pretending that she was coping ok, or moving on with her life as everyone expected her to. On days like this the pain was as raw as if it had happened yesterday.

Memories flew at her. Standing over the cot, watching her baby sleep. Listening to him breathe and feeling an indescribable love, one so strong that at times it felt like a physical grip in her chest. She would be unable to resist touching his soft blond hair, stroking it, and then freezing as he murmured and moved in his sleep. Other times she’d creep in and he’d be laying so still she’d feel real fear, and she’d quickly lick a finger and hold it under his nose to feel the cool air of his expelled breath, rather than scoop him up and call his name which is what her motherly instincts wanted to do.

Memories of his birth; her first sight of him as he was lifted up from between her legs and her husband spied the unmistakably swollen genitalia and whooped and said, “it’s a boy!” although she knew he would have been just as pleased if it had been a girl. She had held him against her naked skin, marvelling at his tiny little arms and legs, wrinkled from his time floating in amniotic fluid, and his indignant angry red face. The following weeks and months; nuzzling his sweet skin, smelling his delicious baby smell, smiling at every coo and gurgle he made, convinced he was trying to communicate with her, quite certain he was cleverer than any other baby in the world. Closing her eyes now she could still feel the weight of his small head on her shoulder as she rocked him slowly to sleep, his fine downy hair tickling her chin. She remembered the sensation of his lips on her breast as she fed him, watching as his tiny jaw milked her, in awe of this perfect person she had created.

Memories of the first time she saw her husband, like some cheesy cliché. A party, the crowds parted and there he was, standing on the opposite side of a darkened room. Drinking a beer and laughing at something someone else was saying. She’d been unable to look away and he must have felt the weight of her stare because he stopped laughing and looked straight at her.

Three dates and that was it. She’d moved in with him and they hadn’t spent a night apart until he died. When she gave birth to their son he’d camped out in a grotty old armchair in the corner of her hospital room, determined not to miss a second of his son’s early days in the world. When her son had a mild reaction to his six week immunisations and had to spend a night in hospital under observation, her husband refused to go home without them, even though she knew he really could have done with a night of uninterrupted sleep. The nurses tried to tell him there was only enough space in the room for their son and Anna, but he’d just shrugged and said ‘whether I sleep in the hallway or your office, I’m not leaving,’ so they relented and let him squish up on the extra bed with Anna, even though it was against hospital regulations.

All these memories and more assailed her. It was like a mental slideshow of their too brief time together, the slides in no discernible order. She flicked through them at random, pulling forth the memory of her baby’s first smile here, then with a swipe of a mental finger she was looking at her husband’s beaming face when he turned at the top of the aisle and saw her making her way towards him. The triumphant smile when the first tree they planted together bore fruit, his tears when her first pregnancy ended in miscarriage.

Of course it wasn’t all perfect. She remembered the bad times too. They fought. Both stubborn, both determined, both certain they were right about most things. There had been arguments that festered until one or the other turned to trusty Google for the answer, or called a friend for an impartial point of view, then informed the other with ill concealed glee that they were, in fact, wrong, and here was the proof.

He’d been incapable of closing a drawer or a cupboard after himself, and it drove her nuts. He talked with his mouth full and scratched himself without being aware he was doing it, and over time the rasp of his nails against his skin made her want to batter him.

But of course the good moments outweighed the bad, and they’d been happy. Certainly happier than some other couples they knew. Every few months they’d be climbing into bed and one of them would say, “You know Bill? Works at the council, drives a red Audi? Does that weird shaved thing with his beard so it looks like his mouth is in the shape of an arrow?” and the other would fluff up the duvet and murmur that yes, they did indeed know Bill.

“His wife just kicked him out.”

“Nooo. Really?” (the voice would be suitably scandalised.)

“Yes. In such a clichéd manner too. Changed the locks while he was at work. Came home and all his stuff was on the front lawn, well, what was left of it. Some of the neighbours’ kids had already rifled through and helped themselves to a fair bit.”

“That’s terrible! That poor man.” (Sympathetic.)

“Don’t feel too sorry for him. Turns out he’s fond of clichés too. Been having it off with one of the fluffy blond typists at work.”

“That bastard.” (Shocked outrage.)

“I know, right?”

“Can you reach the light switch? Thanks.”

They would snuggle down together in the darkness, each lost in their own thoughts. Eventually, just when one thought the other was asleep a voice would break the silence.

“I’d never cheat on you,” it would say.

“I know.” (Contentment.) “I’d never cheat on you either.”

“I know.”

Then they’d drift off to sleep in each other’s arms, an island of security in an insecure world.

These memories played in a loop through Anna’s head, as she lay on the ground with her eyes squeezed shut and her tears pooling at the corners of her eyes before they overflowed down her cheeks, past her ears, and into the earth beneath her.

“Anna?”

The voice seemed to come from faraway, like another room or across the street. She barely registered it.

“
Anna?”

Closer this time, more insistent. Anna refused to open her eyes. This was her time to mourn, her sanctuary from the outside world, a place to remember her loved ones and everything she had lost. Any moron who couldn’t see that was not deserving of her attention.

“I knew it was you.” The voice was above her now, triumphant until the last second when its owner saw the state she was in. “Shit,” it said, “you’re busy. I’m sorry –”

But it was too late. Anna emerged from inside her cocoon of memories, bereft at having her journey cut short, annoyed with the voice for doing so. She opened her eyes and looked up. Matt was already starting to back away.

“What do you want,” she said.

“I’m really sorry, I didn’t stop to think you might be
busy
.”

“Busy?”

“Yeah, you know,-” he gestured at the headstone above where she lay. His words deserted him.

Anna sat up. Her back protested. “What are you doing here?”

“Working.”

“Working?”

“Yes.”

“You work in the graveyard?”

He pointed towards the church. “I mow the lawns and trim the hedges, that sort of stuff. This might seem like a stupid question, but what are you doing here?”

“You’re right. That is a stupid question.”

“Sorry, I’ll rephrase. Who
are you here to visit?” and he tilted his head to try and see around her to the headstone.

“If you don’t mind,” Anna said in a voice positively dripping with capital letters, “I WOULD LIKE TO BE LEFT ALONE NOW.”

“Say no more.” Matt held up his hands and backed away.

She didn’t watch him leave but she sensed after a time that she was alone again. She also knew without a smidgeon of doubt that he would be back. Not while she was here maybe, but once she had gone.

And she was right. When she departed the cemetery by the side gate an hour later, her tears spent, the slideshow completed, there was no sign of him. The buzz of his lawnmower had come to her on the breeze occasionally, and the ‘snip snip’ of a pair of long handled hedge trimmers as he worked his magic on the Ivy, but she hadn’t looked. She was annoyed that he had disturbed her. The cemetery was not a place for social niceties.

From around the other side of the church Matt watched as Anna slowly got to her feet and picked up her bag. She stood for a long minute, her eyes drinking in the headstone in front of her, before raising her fingers to her lips and kissing them. Then she pressed her fingers against the head stone and left without a backward glance. He ducked back out of sight as she left but he needn’t have bothered as she kept her eyes firmly on the ground in front of her. When enough time had safely passed that he knew she would already be down the road, he moved out of the shadows of the building and straightened, feeling like a spy in a James Bond novel. The night was approaching and with it the light was fading, so he moved quickly to where Anna had spent the last few hours.

The grave was clearly well visited and maintained. Two bouquets sat each side of the headstone, one colourful and extravagant, the other pale and sedate. The names and dates meant nothing to him, but when he did the maths in his head and realised that one of those names belonged to a child less than one year of age, he felt all the air leave his lungs in one long, sad breath.

“Oh,” he said. “Oh hell.”

He thought about what his life would have been like if he’d lost Oscar in his infancy, and the tremendous fear and grief at just the thought made him groan out loud.

How could a parent survive such a thing?

“Matt, I’m glad I caught you,” Reverend John had approached, his footfalls silent on the fresh cut grass. He came up alongside him. “I’ve been meaning to thank you,” he said, “for the advice. My lawn is the best it’s looked in, well, in as long as I’ve lived there anyway.”

“Your lawn -?” It took Matt a moment to collect his thoughts and catch up to what the reverend was saying. “Oh yes, your lawn. No problem Rev -,”

“John.”

“- John.”

“You should branch out you know, start your own business. I know a few gentlemen who’d be grateful to have their garden and lawn maintenance taken out of their hands. We’re not all blessed with your green thumb unfortunately.” He realised his audience was not paying attention. “Matt?”

“Hmm? Sorry.” Matt shook himself. “Reverend did you know, -” he didn’t want to say ‘the deceased’ so he simply gestured to the grave.

Reverend John followed the direction of his finger.

“Ah,” he said. “Yes. A real tragedy, that was.” He closed his eyes tight for a minute and Matt realised that he was praying. It felt wrong to ask for the story when it was so clearly still a sensitive subject.