Sorrow

'Just take some.’

‘No thanks.’

‘Please?’

Evelyn gave up and took a sweet.

‘Good, no?’

‘Not bad,’ she laughed.

The salty breeze had caused her mouth to dry, so she was thankful for the treat.

Fewer people were on the beach than usual; she suspected the weather was to blame.

‘My grandsons have planned to stay over next week,’ muttered Albert, more to the ocean than to her.

‘That should be good for you.’ Evelyn stated matter-of-factly as she watched the waves crash upon the shore.

‘You reckon?’ he scoffed. ‘Two teenagers, loud stereos and teenage angst? We’ll go crazy by sundown.’

‘Just what the doctor ordered,’ Evelyn laughed. The cold breeze rustled the sand as she pulled her coat closer.

‘You heard the garbage they play on those phones they must carry everywhere? So loud even Barry up the road can hear, and he went deaf before the war.’

Evelyn laughed harder.

‘Can’t be that bad,’ she teased.

‘Makes my ears bleed,’ Albert joked.

‘They’ll keep you young.’ Evelyn glanced up at the clouds. They looked dark and heavy.

 ‘The sky ‘s gonna open,’ Albert took another sweet and chewed thoughtfully. ‘How’s Emma?’

‘She’s good. She phoned last Tuesday, as usual. Reckons she'll make the journey down after Easter.’

‘Easter, huh? That's a way away.’

‘Mhmm.’

The twosome sat peacefully for a moment as they watched the ocean.

They watch as a toddler makes a break for the lure of the waves as they sparkle under the obstructed sun. She's soon to be scooped up by her mother, blanket at the ready to protect her from the almost grey, solemn sky and fateful sea. The flustered mum bent down and scolded her toddler softly before she wrapped her baby up and started towards the car park, no doubt headed for shelter.

‘Funny that.’

‘What?’

‘You spend so many years exhausted… you cloth them, feed them, run around after them, and almost look forward to the future when you can have peace once more. But you never see the future clearly. The one where you crave the grubby marks on the walls, the mud-covered floor you just cleaned, the messy rooms and the grubby faces.’

‘Are you okay, Eve?’

‘Of course,’ she laughed, grateful for the concern. ‘Just a touch lost at the moment. Not sure what to do...There's a lot of empty space now. You assume your nearest and dearest shall always be there. You crave the sound, the racket, even.’

She paused, thoughtfully.

‘There were years when a future alone seemed absurd. How could one go from a houseful, a husband, two bouncy German Shepherds, dance classes, football matches and parent-teacher conferences, to a meal for one, the house empty? You know?’

Albert watched her thoughtfully; she looked exhausted. A deep sorrow loomed over her face as she spoke.

‘Now the urge to go back keeps me awake. To tell those small, grubby hands to go wash up for tea…to scold them, to cuddle them. To clean a messy room, be begged for just one more story before they go to sleep, even though the chores outnumber me and the need to go and get them done clouds my judgement of what matters most.’

Albert frowned. She was a proud woman, and he knew she’d never openly ask for help, or take any should he offer. But as the breeze danced through her short curly locks, she looked a type of vulnerable he hadn’t seen for a stretch.

‘You know there’s always room at ours. Mary would love to have you. She’d welcome the company even.’ He offered.

‘Don’t be daft. Plenty to do at home, just can’t seem to rustle up the energy lately.’

‘You know there’s a support group on Western Road. They meet on Wednesdays. All people who have suffered the same loss. They’re all w-’

‘Don’t say the word.’

Albert paused, flustered.

Evelyn took another sweet from the packet he held and stared out at the unsettled water, her eyes lost.

‘Okay. Okay. Tell me you’ve got a plan then, that you won’t just stay at home alone. You need people around you at the moment.’

Albert chose the next words carefully.  ‘When you lose someone,’ he stumbled, ‘when you become truly alone, your soul suffers.’

Evelyn placed her hand on Ablert's but kept her gaze on the water.

‘Thank you for your concern, dear...but Everlyn Stokes does not become forlorn. God knows, there’s been enough love, enough of a heartfelt bond through my long years to carry me to my last days. He made sure of that. Every damn day.’

Albert could have sworn he saw a small sparkle on her face as she thought about her husband. He squeezed her hand.

A droplet fell on the bench between them.

She tapped the top of Albert's hand gratefully.

‘So, tomorrow then?’

‘Of course.’

Evelyn slowly pushed herself up from the bench and shuffled onto her feet. Albert groaned as he rushed to stand; ever the gentleman. He passed her her cane.

‘Walk you home?’ He asked.

‘Don’t be daft. We’re only a stone’s throw away. No, you get yourself home before the storm starts.’  

Evelyn turned and started up the road. As she reached the kerb, she stopped to button her hood and waved over her shoulder. She knew he watched her walk and wanted Albert to hustle; The breeze had grown angry and the sky threatened a downpour.

Albert’s gaze wandered up the road to the small, once homely bungalow, that used to be surrounded by colourful flowers and a perfect lawn.

He looked at the now dull and neglected garden and secretly pledged to help her more; her stubbornness be damned.

For a second, just before he turned to walk home, he could have sworn he saw Bob, stood at the bottom of the garden path, arm outstretched and a beam from ear to ear, as though he’d watched Albert’s attempt to comfort Evelyn and was proud... but when he turned back, the garden path was empty. Just the letterbox chattered; battered by the strong breeze.

Albert tutted as another drop fell onto the pavement and started the long journey home. Old age plays the meanest jokes.