The Stranger
An inky blackness began to wash through the streets, engulfing everything it came in contact with. A wind was trailing just behind it, causing the town to quake in its track.
Though she was unaware of the encroaching gloom beyond her window, she sat, absent-mindedly watching her television.
The seven o’clock news came on, as it always did, a pattern was beginning to show in her days. Recessions, children missing, children found, murder. She turned it off, tutting as she did so. Is the world ever going to sort itself out?
She felt hungry, a glass of wine and a few bars of chocolate seemed every so tempting. You can start your diet tomorrow, just a few pieces won’t do you any harm. She told herself that every night, never to start a diet. She ambled into the kitchen, turning the radio on. It was the irritating man who played the awful music. And didn’t she love it.
She opened the fridge and pulled out the wine, the cupboard for the glass and the drawer for the chocolate. She knew where to reach as if it were built into her: she made the little trip every night. She made her way out of the room, glass in one hand, chocolate in the other, making her way back to the lounge to watch Hollyoaks, the later viewing. She stepped over the threshold as the doorbell rang. Frozen in a forward motion, she wondered who could be calling at such a late hour. Come to think of it, no-one ever came round. She turned and darted back to the kitchen, placing her snack on the edge of the table. Heading for the front door, she fixed her hair and clothes as she went.
The inky wind washed through her hair, it was no-one she knew on the doorstep, a stranger.
He knew she wasn’t expecting to see him, an officer. He could always tell, as soon as they opened the door. Some would look relieved, others confused, the majority worried and a small number, like the lady, surprised.
His first job was to state his name, his office, removing his hat as he did so, looking calm and professional. Then after the facts had been stated, he was to pause, letting the information sink in. If the person did not ask them to come in then he was to ask to come in. But she asked him in, with a perplexed smile.
The smell of a shop-bought ready meal still hung in the air. He could always tell the difference between a shop-bought and home cooked meal. When his wife was out he’d always have a ready-meal. Perhaps it was lasagne.
She ushered him to a seat at the table, asking if he’d like a cup of tea. That’s one perk, or disadvantage of being an officer, all the tea. He refused that night, however, he could tell from the one glass of wine and chocolate that she was on her own. She would therefore be social. He could also tell she was lonely by the irritating music she was playing, which she turned off as he’d just begun to register it. All these facts told him that she was going to want to gabble on, and he wanted to go home. Resulting in him declining the offer of tea.
She sat awkwardly at the edge of the table, her eyes falling onto her wine. She snapped them up, embarrassed with her indulgence. He smiled, saying that it may be best if she were sitting comfortably. It was a little trick officers had, playing the host when they were the guest. She sat staring at him, inquisitive and innocent.
For a brief moment he wished not to tell her, to keep her in her average day’s life. But he had come here to complete a job and this he did.
He didn’t cease talking until all he had needed to say had been said. He watched her facial expressions change. From that of curiosity to horror, from horror to disbelief and from disbelief to a state of permanent blackness.
When he had finished they sat for a while in silence, then he asked if there was anyone she wanted him to call. When she shook her head he stood to leave. He gave her his number and left the house.
His work was done and he did not turn back as the inky darkness engulfed him.
She had had customers all day, she couldn’t help feeling that this tragedy was good for her business. She also could never understand why people placed flowers at the site, passers by didn’t want to walk by and know that right there is where someone died, that’s what she believed.
A lady walked into the shop. She walked straight over to the tulips and took three, then she moved to the till, her eyes drawn down as she did so. The lady placed the flowers down and took a card from the rotating stand. ‘Is that all?’ she asked, beginning to tie the flowers. The lady simply nodded, her eyes still down.
She said the price and the lady handed it over in silence. She couldn’t help feel that this lady’s mood was clashing with her happy music and she wanted her to be gone.
But the lady stood still for a while, a hand floating above her purchase. She was just about to ask if she wanted anything else when the lady unexpectedly spoke. ‘Do you have a pen please?’ As she said these simple words, the lady’s eyes rose. They were, she thought as she reached for the pen, the worst eyes she had ever seen. They were stained black through tiredness and the skin was wrinkled around the edge. But mainly they just seemed so lost, so saddened, like nothing was ever going to put the light back into them. She handed the lady the pen.
The lady took it with a nod of the head and began to write in her card, her hand shaking as she did so. She knew it was wrong to read people’s messages but she couldn’t help it.
To my darling son
The world will never be the same without you.
Never feel like anyone’s ever forgotten you.
Because I never will.
Your loving mother
Who will always love you
She felt a feeling of abandonment reading the card, and then, just like the rain vanishing, she realised; she realised who the lady was and why she was buying flowers, why her eyes seemed so lost and why she had just written that message. And in that moment she understood the pain this stranger was going through, and then she felt like she was no stranger. She watched her leave the shop and walk the few yards to the site. She followed in the same route out of the shop and to the site and here she stood, hands by her side, watching the lady place the flower and the card among the others.
When the lady stood back up their eyes met for a moment and she offered a little smile, even though tears were threatening. She understood now, why people place flowers.
She looked around and noticed an officer walking down the street, hat in hand. He looked solemn as his eyes fell upon the flowers. He paused and stood by them for a moment, head bowed. The lady, the mother of the deceased, made a small movement towards him, like they’d met before. But her thoughts were in a different place.
Here the three stood, watching the petals of the flowers shiver in the wind, while the world carried on around them. Three strangers, brought together by an occurrence, a forgettable happening that changed the course, interrupting the pattern of their every day lives, like an expected wind vanishing.
