Time and Again

Time and Again

Shards of glass spun on the burnished floorboards. A thin sheen of
Jack Daniels granted them a glittering appeal in the suffuse lighting
emanating from the fireplace. The scent of alcohol ladened the air; the
evening hung with a heaviness all its own.
Henry groaned, tears flowing freely from his blue eyes. They had been
a steely grey but time had leached their strength leaving the pallor of
a watercolour sky. He had thrown the glass on the floor in rebellion
against his own weakness. Age and infirmity had taken their toll; his
once powerful frame was now a concave husk. In a cruel jest his memory
was left untarnished.
He'd met Mary in the early fifties, at a church dance. The memory was
branded into his heart. The smell, sight and sound of her hit him like
a tram. If there was anyone else in that room he hadn't seem them. A
smile crossed his face as he recalled the idiot he made of himself. Up
until that day Henry had been a renowned ladies man. They had moved
fast from there and within six months they were married. There were
struggles and arguments over the years and the heartbreak of not being
able to start a family. Their love had held through it and grown.
Mary died six years ago. There was no dressing it up. Henry wouldn't
tolerate euphemism. She got cancer, she died. That was all. His
shoulders juddered unbidden and wracking sobs took him by the hand and
led him to that familiar garden of pain.
Henry had been to church with Mary every week. He had never considered
himself a religious man but his faith was real enough. The last visit
to a church he had taken was for Mary's burial. He filled another glass
and raised it towards the ceiling.
"Bastard," he said, with less venom than he would have liked. He no
longer had enough of himself left for anger.
Curling into a foetal position on his chair Henry hugged himself for
comfort. A noise intruded rudely upon his grief. Henry stirred himself
and listened intently, fearing intruders. The sound came again. It was
the laughter of a child. Henry shook his head; how much had he
drunk?
He rose with some effort from the chair, his bones complained and he
sniffed hard trying to clear the melancholia from his mind. Henry
walked stiffly to the door of the cottage's living room. As his hand
tightened about the fake brass door handle the noise came again, clear
and indisputably real. Until now, Henry could have rationalised the
laughter away as an alcoholic hallucination to mock the bitterness of
his mood. His body had come to a halt and with a jolt he realised he
was afraid. Henry was familiar with stories of gangs of children
robbing and attacking the elderly. Yet the laughter was surely from a
child too young for those activities.
Breathing deeply and opening the door, Henry took an intrepid step
forward. He groped for the light switch and the bulb flickered
obediently into luminescence. The hallway was empty save for the Monet
prints Mary had collected. Henry exhaled sharply as if to chide himself
for his wayward imagination. Then the laughter came again, perhaps
three paces away to Henry's left. Looking at the spot where the
laughter originated Henry could see only bare floor. The hairs on his
arms were erect and a film of cold sweat lay upon her forehead. Henry
stepped back and slammed the door. The laughter stopped.
Stood with his back against the door, Henry could hear his quickened
pulse beating at the back of his ears. His breath hung in the air
despite the warmth of the fire. As his body began to return to normal
the fear lessened. Henry stared across the room at the bottle of Jack
Daniels in the corner. Maybe just one more glass to still his
nerves.
Henry sat back in his chair with a fresh drink. He held the glass in
front of his face for an indeterminate time before placing it back
down. Certainly more alcohol was not the answer. No, not to anything he
thought ruefully. Had he drunk enough to hallucinate? Christ knows he'd
been packing it away since Mary's death. He came to the conclusion it
was either a spirit or brought on by spirits and found the latter more
to his taste.
Before making his way to bed Henry poured all the alcohol left in the
house away. It had gone far enough. He turned in for the night and
slept fitfully, disturbed by every sound however mundane.
Morning came and with it a certain detachment from events of the
previous night. Henry sat in his kitchen, the light of day promising
more than he could imagine it would ever deliver. A black coffee
nestled in his hands and a dullness lingered, the remnant of his
drinking. This strangeness he had experienced now had a dreamlike
quality and a hollowness that seemed risable.
Henry glanced up at the kitchen clock to check the time. Perhaps he
would take a constitutional to the village shop. As he eyes alighted on
the clock face, it shimmered. He snapped his lids shut. Henry gently
massaged his eyes through his lids. His eyesight had always been good
and he'd be damned if he was getting glasses now. He looked again. It
was worse. Now part of the wall was out of focus too. Pooling his
concentration Henry directed his effort into focusing. Clarity came
almost instantly.
Instead of the clock a mirror hung on the wall. The reflection of a
young blonde woman brushing her hair filled the mirror. In his surprise
it took Henry a moment or two to appreciate that there was no
corresponding person to match the reflection. Then the image was gone
and the clock returned.
This time Henry wasn't scared but he was confused. He could not blame
the alcohol for this. Might he have a mental problem? Korsakov's
syndrome? Late onset schizophrenia? It was an unpalatable thought and
it didn't seem probable either. Henry could accept depression and even
alcohol problems but his thoughts were still ordered. He was no
psychotic. That left the option he had not wanted to consider
yesterday. Spirits. Well he still believed in God even if he'd never
pray to Him again. There could be souls who got stranded here he
supposed.
Pondering imponderables wasn't really Henry's style. Now he had
accepted something unusual was happening there didn't seem to be much
he could do until more was revealed to him. Without alcohol Henry found
himself challenged to fill his day. Deciding that he should start at
least trying to get his life together he settled on a spot of
gardening. His body protested loudly but he pushed himself to weed the
borders for just over an hour.
After a hot bath he felt much refreshed and he swore he could detect
the forgotten seed of optimism sprouting in his heart. The work had
made him hungry. It was not a feeling he was accustomed to. Large
amounts of whisky, he had found, have a tendency to significantly
deplete the appetite. He prepared himself a doorstep cheese and pickle
sandwich and devoured it with enthusiasm.
He was just beginning to wash up after his snack when the laughter
sounded again. This time it was obviously coming from the garden as if
a child was running around giggling. No hint of fear tainted Henry's
resolve to investigate and he strode confidently into the garden. It
was small and neat, dominated by flowerbeds that were now shamefully
overgrown. Henry wondered if previously there had been much more lawn
area for children to play on.
Henry glanced at the place where the laughter seemed to come from. As
he watched a girl appeared from a momentary blurring in his peripheral
vision. She was about five with blonde-cropped hair and hazel eyes.
Smiling she locked her eyes on Henry's and skipped towards him.
"Hi, I'm Cassie," she said, tilting her head sideways and smiling
broadly.
Henry's face creased. How young to die, he thought. Guilt flashed
briefly across his mind as he realised how much Mary had experienced in
comparison to this little girl.
"It's nice to meet you Cassie, I'm Henry," he returned her grin.
"Oh, I know that. Mary told me, silly."
Henry wobbled visibly. His skin already pale, blanched to the pallor
of the grave. This he had not expected. Of course, he thought, if
Cassie's dead why shouldn't she talk to Mary.
Cassie continued, taking Henry's silence as a cue.
"Mary said you were very sad."
The whole of Henry's visual field began to blur. He blinked hard and
had to work to maintain his balance. When his vision cleared the whole
garden had changed. It was, as Henry had surmised, all lawn. A swing
stood in the corner and a blonde woman Henry recognised stood with her
hands on her hips and a concerned expression on her face.
The woman said. "Cassie, who are you talking to?"
"Just my friend Henry, mummy," she replied.
The woman gave Cassie an indulgent smile and strolled towards the
kitchen.
"Mummy can't see you," giggled Cassie.
"Cassie can you tell me where you saw Mary?" He had to struggle to get
the words out. His mouth was dry and his heart was racing.
"Just there," she said, pointing to the swing.
Henry's head turned and there she was. Her auburn locks and brown eyes
ablaze with the fire of youth. Her skin as fresh as the day they met.
He raced towards her, the years falling from him with each stride. The
man who held her, tears falling like autumnal leaves, was the strong,
vibrant lover of years past.
After a long embrace henry turned to gaze at Cassie. He smiled and
waved. At last he understood, Cassie's life was ahead of her. He had
bound himself to the world with his grief and now it was time to let
go.
Cassie frowned as her new friends faded. Already she knew the future
would bring many more.