Two Tales Entwined

Norma’s Story

It was my mum’s birthday today, and had she still been here, she would have been 52. I visited their graves whenever I could. Well, when I say graves, they were both in the same plot together. It was what they wanted, to be as close as possible to each other. I visited them on their birthdays, Christmas, Mothering Sunday, Easter, Fathers’ Day, and the anniversaries of their deaths. If I could make the time to come in between, then I would. There was always a bit of cleaning and tidying to do around the grave. The grass grew so close to the headstone, the gardener’s mower always missed it! I trimmed it carefully with small scissors and I scrubbed the bird droppings from their names. I had been so absorbed in my tasks that I didn’t see him at first. I had been reminiscing, remembering them both, not just as my parents, but huge characters who were so full of life and energy. They loved to go on cruises, neither one of them liked flying. So the last holiday they had together, was a World Cruise. Four months was such a long time, selfishly, I couldn’t wait for them to return. Not long after, my mum had caught covid whilst working as a receptionist at the local hospital. At first, we thought she had recovered, she seemed fine, but then she developed an infection. ‘Complications’ the doctor told us. That was all that my dad and I heard. We left the hospital in a daze. Mum had been coming home; she was smiling at us the last time we saw her. Dad was devastated. They used to joke that they would follow each other if anything happened to either of them. A year later, the joke became a reality. It seems Dad couldn’t live without her after all. The doctor told me he had ‘died of a broken heart.’ I didn't even know there was such a thing!

‘But what about me?’ I shouted, ‘What about my heart, it’s broken twice!’ The doctor was sympathetic, handing me a grief counselling pamphlet, patting my hand like it would all just go away. A twig snapped, I turned and saw a grizzled face, with a thatch of grey streaked hair, shoot back behind a tall memorial stone. I stood up absentmindedly brushing my hands down my jeans.

‘Hey!’ I shouted, ‘I can see you!’ A few other people were nearby, tending graves, so I wasn’t immediately scared.

A medium build guy, around fifty-ish stepped out. He was wearing a grey tracksuit and worn-out looking trainers. For a moment he stared at me. I could see his vibrant blue eyes from where I stood.

‘Got any food love?’

He looked desperate, but hopeful. He was smiling at me. It was that kind of recognition expression on his face that made me ask.

‘Do I know you?’ As I said it, I thought, ‘My dad would’ve helped him, and so would my mum!’

‘I don’t think so love. I’ve been…well, working away for a while.’ He had hesitated, that made me a tad suspicious, but for some reason, I still was not overly worried.

‘I have some sandwiches and a banana in my car. I can fetch them for you.’

I watched him as he went back behind the memorial to fetch a supermarket carrier bag. I packed up my cleaning stuff and went to find my car. I had parked it in the Church carpark just outside the graveyard. It was almost empty when I had arrived, but now there were quite a few cars in it. ‘Probably some function or other going on in the hall’ I thought as I opened the boot and put the cleaning bag in. I was suddenly aware of somebody close to me. He had followed me out.

‘I said I was bringing it to you?’

‘Sorry love, I really didn’t mean to make you jump. Can we get in the car?’and then he added, ‘Please?’

Now I felt scared! Was this guy a polite robber, a kidnapper, or worse? My hands were shaking as I unlocked the car doors. Why didn’t I run? What a bleeding idiot!

William’s Story

While the skip lorry driver covered his skip, I climbed in the passenger side and got under the bottom tarpaulin. I had been clocking him coming in and out of the yard for months and I knew his routine like clockwork. I’d even managed a quick shifty through the passenger window and seen the stack of tarpaulins the guy used to cover the scrap metal in the skips. It was easy to strike up a conversation with him. He was keen to tell me what the metal prices were. So, we chatted. I learned his route out of the main gates and back to his yard. I never thought for one minute it would work. But I had to give it a shot. An hour later, as he pulled up at a burger van, tucked behind an Industrial site, I slid out of the cab. I looked around. It was a Wednesday afternoon, and the main road was quiet. It was several days, and quite a few miles, before I found the little cemetery. It was hard on my feet, but I had to conserve the meager allowance I had saved for food and water. I had seen an obituary notice in one of the staff’s newspapers. There was a photograph. I instantly recognised her. . My stomach had turned inside out. It couldn’t be, surely? I memorized the date and the details. That was three years ago.

When I saw her, kneeling by the grave, she reminded me of my own daughter. The one he’d taken from me. I swore if I ever saw him on the street, I’d kill him. But I didn’t, I just hurt him, a bit!. I was sent down for eight years. ‘Grievous bodily harm with intent!’ The Judge had said.

This girl had the same blonde curls and a way about her that was somehow, familiar. She was kind, I could tell, and when she offered me her lunch, I knew she would help me. I followed her to her car, startling her when she saw me behind her. I wasn’t going to hurt her. I would never hurt anyone intentionally.

I apologised for scaring her and asked for a lift to the train station. If it wasn’t too much trouble.

Her face was tense at first, her lips pursed together, but she relaxed a little, softened even. She had said that she was going past the station on her way back to work. As we drove away from the cemetery, she explained that this had been her lunch break, so she had to get back soon. I was halfway through tucking into her lunch, suddenly feeling guilty, thoughtless. She was trying to let me know, subtly, that she would be missed, in case I had different intentions. But I didn’t. I had to visit the cemetery, and I had now seen what I came here for. There was no use in me explaining any of it to her, not now. She would never believe me anyway. I needed her to get on with her life and forget that she had ever met me. A little photo on her dash in a plastic frame caught my eye. A beautiful young woman with a baby girl in a frilly pink dress, they looked happy. She saw me looking at it.

‘That’s my mum and me; she caught Covid and died three years ago now.’

I fought back the tear that had begun to run down my cheek; I looked out of the side window, brushed it away not wanting her to see. How could I tell her that I knew who the woman and baby in the photo were? My Cathy, my first love, holding our daughter, the one that I had never got to meet, until now!