THE END OF THE JOURNEY

Rose drew her coat tightly around her and shivered as she waited.
Why they had to have the bus station in this draughty, God-forsaken
place she'd never know! She looked in distaste at the empty beer cans
and chip wrappings.

Last night, she knew, the spot where she now waited had seen the dregs
of humanity searching yet again for happiness at the bottom of a
bottle. Where did they get to in the hours of daylight, she wondered?
And what horrors in their lives had brought them to such a state?

She watched, with almost indifference, the bus inspector leave the cosy
depths of his car, and knew the bus for which she waited wouldn't be
long. She felt a frisson of dread, and hardly saw the few who had
joined her in her waiting.

Sam. she knew, would be watching the clock in the ward - waiting for
her coming, as he did every Wednesday. Climbing stiffly up the steps of
the bus - far too high for arthritic knees - she hoped, as she always
did, that she would have him all to herself.

Mary hadn't been a bad wife to Sam, she mused, as the bus sped along
the motorway, but Dear Me! hadn't she a sharp tongue! Many's the time
she - Rose - who loved him so dearly, had wept inwardly at some of the
things Sam told her. Not that she was one for carrying tales - dear me,
no! It was just that every now and then he needed someone to confide in
when things at home got too much for him, and hadn't she - Rose -
always been there when he'd needed her.

At the gates of the hospital she bought her flowers as usual - today
she chose sweet-pea and gypsophilia. She knew the sweet-pea would not
last as long as some of the other flowers like carnations, but Sam had
been so proud of his sweet-peas - "plenty of good farmyard manure" he
had always said, "was the secret".

As the weeks of his long illness had gone by, Rose had watched him lose
his appetite for the little titbits from home she brought to supplement
the hospital diet. Now, she thought with sorrow, only flowers still
held meaning for him.

Rose shivered slightly as the antiseptic hospital smell hit her
nostrils. It was a long walk down the corridors and she was tired. At
the doors of the ward Rose waited with the others for the clock to move
round - oh, so slowly - to the stroke of three, then moved forward with
the others to file past the nurse on duty at the door.

But today was different to all the other Wednesdays.

The nurse asked Rose to take a seat in the waiting-room. There she
waited in trepidation and hardly saw the Sister who came to speak to
her.

She felt disembodied, and knew no pain as the Sister, such a young
girl, told her gently that Sam's suffering had ended just twenty
minutes before. As in a dream Rose was led towards the
screen-surrounded bed in the side ward which had been Sam's home for
such a long time.

Alone at last, she laid her flowers on the cover and gently kissed his
cheek - her last loving gesture to the only man she had ever loved, the
boy she had grown up with, her champion and hero - her brother.

Those who saw her leave that day marvelled at the little old lady
walking bravely down the long corridors, clutching a single flower,
tears falling unheeded onto her best coat, her face diffused in
radiance.

Only Rose could see that now she would have Sam to herself for ever. No
longer just for Wednesday afternoons, but evey minute of every day -
and no more tedious bus journeys either.

Rose and Sam, almost inseparable in life, would know no division in
death. Sam, she knew, would be waiting, and with that she was content,
as she made her way to the bus stop and the weary journey home.