Counting The Gravestones

Counting the Gravestones

It's nice here in the park isn't it? Haven't seen you before. You look
like a Young Exec. Are you just here to eat lunch? I love the park; I
come here all the time, even when it's wintertime. I'm one of the
regulars. I mean you've got all these trees and the lake, and it's
free.

Mind you I still miss my home. My real home that is, in the West
Indies. We don't have parks quite like this, but we do have the
beaches. God, how I miss the beaches!
Every single Sunday after Mass, my old gran used to take us down to the
beach, my brothers and me. She'd have to sit and watch us larking about
in the sea, because she couldn't swim. She's dead now, poor thing. For
some reason she didn't like me, and I never found out why. Back then of
course you couldn't question the adults. You had to mind your manners
and know your place, or you got what for.
Kids today are much freer; they have rights. My old gran would have had
forty fits if you'd told her about children's rights.

See that woman over there, in red? Comes here every lunchtime and reads
her book for exactly one hour - I've timed her - then she goes back to
work I suppose. Another Young Exec. I was a great one for reading when
I was young. Haunted the local library. Well, it got me out of the
house and away from my brute of a father. He's dead too. That was a
red-letter day, I can tell you.
It pays to read I've always said, and it's amazing what you can learn
from the True Crimes section of the library. Why are you looking at me
like that? I bet you're thinking I'm a sad, middle-aged housewife with
too much time on her hands. Well, that's as maybe.

I've been shopping for Mrs. Bly, my next-door neighbour. I like helping
people if they need it. Mrs. Bly's a widow like myself and an OCD -
that's Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. I read up on it in the library.
She spends all her time counting things would you believe? Before she
can leave her house she has to count all of her cutlery, then the
pictures in her photo albums, then her china doll collection. It goes
on and on.
If she loses count she has to start all over again, and heaven help you
if you try and stop her. I tried reasoning with her once, made her stop
and sit down. Well, she suddenly started shaking and crying and
carrying on. Frightened the life out of me, so I just let her get on
with it.

In fact I think I've added to her problems now. The thing is, last week
I managed to get her out of the house for a walk. Well, it wasn't
exactly a walk; I wanted to go to Cloudesley Cemetery to visit Ted's
grave - Ted's my husband - and I felt like some company. I visit every
now and then, just to show Ted there are no hard feelings. He used to
knock me about, you know, and to top it all I actually caught him once
with another woman. Still, he's at rest now, as they say. Poor
thing.

Where was I? Oh yes, I took Mrs. Bly with me on the Tuesday to the
cemetery; thought I'd give her an airing. We were standing at the
graveside, and I was sort of smiling down at Ted, thinking my 'that'll
teach you' thoughts, when I realise Mrs. Bly's wandered off. I look
round for her, and she's walking slowly past all the other graves.
"Mrs. Bly" I call out, "What are you doing over there?"

I thought maybe she had a loved one buried in the same cemetery as my
Ted. So I hurry over to her, and I can hear her mumbling away. Now,
although she's an OCD, she's not retarded or psychotic or anything, so
I didn't think she was talking to herself. Well, when I listened
properly you could have knocked me over with a feather, as they say.
She was counting the gravestones! Honestly, Mrs. Bly was counting the
gravestones.

I must admit I panicked a bit. I mean, Cloudesley is a big cemetery,
and if Mrs. Bly was adding it to her list of Things To Count, well, do
you get what I mean?
It was a case of staying there with her until well past midnight,
stumbling about in the dark, or leaving her to her own devices. I
wasn't about to try and talk her out of it - not after the last time.
So, do you know what I did? I just left her there. Which was fine
because she knew her own way home.

But things can't continue like that can they? Every day she's up at
that cemetery, and it makes me feel really guilty. So I've decided to
act in her own best interests.
I've done some shopping, bought bits and pieces at the chemist and
Johnson's Hardware, and I'm off in a minute to visit her. Poor
thing.
Oh, are you off then? Well. it's been nice talking to you. You'll
always find me here, even in the winter. I'm one of the regulars.

THE END