A Day's Outing

A Day’s Outing

Golly, I can’t believe she’s still lying in bed. Not great judging by the open bottle of tranquillisers on her side table. How on earth is she going to cope today?

‘Elsie…Elsie…Elsie you have to get up now’. Nothing, except the voice of a fly somewhere behind the faded curtains.

Only the village idiot would have volunteered to help her through the proceedings. I was that idiot so I’d better get on with it. I took both her hands and helped her edge her way down from her bed. She would have fallen had I not managed to catch her in time. Weighing a cool ninety kilograms in the shade she was no fairy. I felt tired already.

In her wardrobe I found a long black lace dress and black hat with a wide brim. I managed to retrieve some unmentionables from the jumbled heap on the rocking chair. Half an hour stretched to forever but at last she was dressed. She tripped on the frayed Persian rug before we manged to reach the door. Honestly, all this before we could begin the endless journey down the stairs to the front door. There I found a walking stick and grabbed onto it for dear life

*

this house looks strange, never been here before I’m sure. Never seen this car either – and the garden? The tees look drunk.

That car? Whose is that with the door wide open? They better close it before they drive off. Why do they keep waving at me?I don’t know them.

*

We are all in the car now waiting to join the slow slither of a clumsy worm towards the parking ground. Elsie seems to be nodding off. A short reprieve for me. I rest my head against the seat and close my eyes.

Once there Elsie wakes with a start before we are obliged to begin the whole rigmarole of getting out and getting up the steps and into a pew..

The parson is already fidgetting with irritation in the pulpit. We all stand to to sing Abide with me.

*

A strange hymn for a wedding I’m sure – where’s the bride I suppose she must be in that box smothered in flowers. I guess she will jump out when it reaches the front, something like those girls concealed in a birthday cake.

All the way through the service she sits when we stand and stands when we sit. Yet when they open the coffin so we can pay our respects , she pushes her way past to be first in the queue.

The undertaker has done a good job on him. He has a nifty mustache and a touch of barely peach foundation and I can swear a dash of mascara to enhance eyelashes. For the first time Elsie speaks:

‘ Isn’t he handsome?’

The church graveyard is the next hurdle. The grass cries out for a lawnmower and menacing stones, sometimes even sinister rocks, lurk waiting to trip us up. By the time the two of us have stumbled to the mountain of fresh earth next to the gaping hole which is the grave my already icy sweat has turned dizzy and a new horror looms. I dare not look down.

During the prayers I practice blatant irreverence. With my eyes wide open I stare straight ahead, refusing to bow my head. Moving Elsie a few paces backwards away from the edge proves impossible. She is fixated on the earthy bottom and refuses to budge an inch, so I remain swaying next to her until the end.

*

We are back at the house for the wake. In the lounge a large table is decked with a black cloth and delectable snacks. Coming at least partially to my senses I plonk her into the nearest chair and fetch a plateful.

It is not yet three o’clock, yet something about the house has changed. It seems darker. The chattering of the guests is noticeably subdued.

Elsie opens her mouth to speak. All talk stops in its tracks. She speaks again.

‘ I’m ready to go to bed now.’ Her voice sounds hoarse as though she has gravel in her throat.

My friend Daisy hurries over and taking one arm each we walk her through gathering shadows to the foot of the staircase. Progress is slow but eventually, all three of us out of breath, we arrive on the landing. I f have the feeling invisible eyes are fastened on me. The hairs on the back of my neck begin to rise. What is happening?

Elsie on the other hand seems to have recovered completely. Her eyes focus for the first time that day. She shakes herself free of us and begins walking in her normal way towards the bedrooms.

‘I think we can leave her now’ says my helper, ‘She seems to have snapped out of her trance.’

Downstairs again I pour myself what is surely a triple tot of whisky and flop in a chair. Daisy offers to take me home, but I force myself to snap out of it and make my way up the stairs once again. Elsie is nowhere to be seen in her bedroom. The icy sweat and dizziness attacks me once again. However this time I refuse to give in to it. After surveying my surroundings with deliberate care I notice her son’s door standing open and creep in. She lies on her son’s empty bed.

Is she asleep?I edge closer, noticing the bottle of tranquillisers which is now empty and has fallen to the floor beside her. I fear the worst.

Lowering my hand to feel her pulse, she suddenly opens her eyes wide. Again they have glazed over.

‘I am fine now’ she says ‘just waiting for my son’ He will be joining me here soon.

At least that’s the way I remember it. I would not be prepared to swear to its accuracy in a court of law. After all,given the state I was in that day, there has to be a fine line between reality and fantasy.