Waiting

It was after the death of his wife that he thought he should start
to notice things like the colour of buildings, and so he would spend
long periods admiring old buildings, trying to become reflective on the
beauty of a brown brick pattern above a white and green shop
fa?ade.

Not that Yvonne had been one for urban beauty. They went to the
countryside and admired the prescribed scenic locations from the views
marked on the tourist maps. They would take a picnic and venture out.
He would drive there and she would drive them back. The non-driver
would navigate. There wasn't much more to it than that and they were
rarely out for more than a few hours.

The dog, wagging his little tale and panting rather than barking was
always pleased to see them return as he knew we would soon be
fed.

The buildings had been a new idea that came to him as he was leaving
the funeral directors having complained about the standard of service
he had been offered during what, both sides accepted, must have been a
very difficult time. He had demanded a full refund and they had offered
half and a frank apology. Not wanting to fight he had accepted with
reservations. But at least all the hassle was over. Buried, he might
have said, aware of the irony.

As he was leaving he had caught a glimpse of the sign above the main
fa?ade of the funeral directors. Painted onto the wall but now so faded
that the only visible words were 'Smith and Cole'. He wondered what
they had done and scanned the terrace for any other abandoned
signs.

By stages, this led to his taking an interest in the architecture of
town centres and his later subscription to a journal on the subject
which directed its readers to place that might be of interest.
Sometimes he would drive to them, sometimes he would take the
train.

One time the only sight of interest had been the naked woman in the
flat above a shop. She had seen him standing there but she didn't move
for a short whole. When she slipped back into the darkness, out of
sight, he had carried on standing there, thinking all the time about
how long he could leave it before returning to the house and feeding
the dog.

He hated that animal and its stupid, rasping way of barking. He hated
it so much it made him cry.

And when he cries he thinks of Yvonne and how cold she was when he
found her and how he had looked down at her body unable to understand
what he was seeing. Her eyes staring up, her mouth open. When he stares
at buildings he remembers the scene: the body in the kitchen and, in
the next room, the dog barking, waiting to be fed.