The small impression that we leave

Another knock at the door and Susan hastened down the hallway to welcome her friends.  “Come in, Alice, Bobby, oh, I love that dress, wine, oh thank you!”

“How are you Susan?  It’s been ages since we’ve seen you.”

“Oh, you know, here, give me your coats, Darren, Darren?!  Can you get a drink for Alice and Bobby please?”

“Hello you two, good to see you!  What will it be Bob?  Beer, whisky?  G and T Alice?”

Darren led Alice and Bobby to the modest, mid-century living room where the other friends and neighbours were chatting over drinks and nibbles.

“I’ll just go and see if Susan needs a hand with anything,” Alice whispered in her husband’s ear, and headed back into the hallway and across to the kitchen where Susan was taking a tray of hot canapes out of the oven.

“Are you okay?  Need help with anything?” Alice offered.  She’d known Susan for over twenty years, since their children had been at school together, and knew how prone Susan was to taking on too much at their annual festive get together.

“Oh, all fine,” Susan stood up, flapping away the heat from her face with the oven gloves, “did Darren sort out a drink for you?”

“Looks like you could do with one yourself,” said Alice as she observed the kitchen table which was piled high with pastries, meats, cheese and salads.

“It’s only once a year, I think that’s everything, just need to get this lot set out in the dining room.”

“I’ll give you a hand,” said Alice picking up a platter of sliced roast beef, and the two friends made their way back and forth between the kitchen and dining room while merry voices echoed from the living room, interrupted only by the sound of Darren opening the front door to great more guests in from the cold December evening.

“This looks fabulous,” said Alice once everything was laid out on the dining table, the candles lit and everything meticulously presented as was always Susan’s way.  “I do love this room,” Alice continued, “all your lovely ornaments and antiques, oh and the pictures too, it looks like something out of one of those fancy magazines!”

Alice then noticed a piece on the sideboard that she hadn’t seen before.  “Is this new?” she asked as she carefully examined the ceramic figure.  The old piece of pottery was certainly different to the Wedgwood, Crown Derby, Royal Worcester and Moorcroft that Darren and Susan so avidly collected.  The crude shape of a man, or something vaguely resembling a human of sorts, had a head that was far too large for its small rotund body, with large black eyes sunk deep into the face.  There was no hair on its head, a small indentation of a nose and a dark red mouth that was open wide, taking over at least half of the face.  The small body was naked and there was something between the skinny legs that led Alice to believe that the figure was intended to represent a male, the arms were too long in proportion and the piece gave her cause to shudder slightly and she quickly put it back on the sideboard.

“Horrible isn’t it,” said Susan with a grimace.

“Well, I didn’t like to say.  It’s not your usual sort of thing”

“Darren found it in the garden a couple of weeks ago when we were burying the cat.  Poor old Tinker, but she was almost eighteen, that’s old for a cat.”  Susan looked at the object on the sideboard.  “Anyway, it doesn’t have a maker or factory mark on it anywhere.  Darren thinks it’s rubbish.  Not sure why he hasn’t thrown it away to be honest.”

“Susan!”  Darren’s voice sounded through the wall from the living room.  “How are we getting on with the food?  We’re starving here!”

After Susan had ushered the chattering and cheery guests through to the dining room, she snuck back into the kitchen to tidy the counters and wash some of the glasses that were in danger of leaving sticky rings on the living room furniture.  She enjoyed having people at the house at this time of year, it was the polite thing to do, and everyone always said what a wonderful time they had and what a great host Darren was, so generous, and that Susan’s buffets were always so tasty.  For Susan, she would be glad when the house was empty again and she’d cleaned everything away and put her slippers on, she found it so difficult to enjoy the occasion.  And of course, after this, she’d need to prepare for her son and daughter coming home for Christmas with their families, the constant treadmill of the festive season.  She wished terribly for some time to herself before she had to go back to work again in the new year.  In any spare moment she had, Susan loved to write, and she tried to enter a regular writing contest as often as she could, but this week Christmas had other ideas, and all she wanted was to lock herself away with her typewriter.

Susan was wiping down the kitchen table when she heard a knock at the front door, expecting Darren to answer she continued her cleaning, but the noise coming from the dining room was so loud that Darren had not heard and so when there was a second knock, she put down her cloth, tidied her hair quickly in the hall mirror, and opened the door.

“Hello Susan, how are you?  It’s so nice to see you.  Happy Christmas!”  The voice was well articulated, dark around the edges, but friendly enough.

Susan looked at the man on the doorstep for a moment, she hesitated taking in his unusual appearance, and then her manners got the better of her  “Hello, do come in.  The party’s already started without you I’m afraid but there’s plenty of food and I’ll get Darren to sort you out with a drink.  Here, give me your coat.”

“Oh that’s quite alright, I’ll keep it on,” said the man, pulling his long grey overcoat around his short body, for he was a little over five feet tall, a couple of inches added by the tweed hat that he tugged down over his forehead so that all Susan could really make out was his wide mouth and dark eyes.  “It’s cold out there don’t you think?”

“Well, if you’re sure.  Just up the hallway on the right, everyone’s through there.”  Susan was trying desperately to recall who the man was, she knew him, she was sure, but he must be a friend of Darren’s, from work maybe.  She followed him down the hallway, and content that he’d find Darren in the dining room, she went back to the sanctity of her kitchen, noticing that the cat flap fell closed with a snap as she walked in, though there was of course, no cat to open it.  She was pondering what might have caused the flap to open when Alice appeared, a large glass of something sparkling in one hand and a mushroom vol-au-vent in the other.

“Lovely food, as usual Susan!  Come and join the party!  That man who just arrived, I’ve never seen him before.  Who is he?  Someone from work or something?”

“I’ve no idea,” replied Susan as she folded a tea towel, “I think he must be someone Darren knows.”

“Well, he seems to know you, he’s been very complimentary about you, keeps on saying how wonderful you are” Alice smiled and popped the remainder of the vol-au-vent into her mouth.

“I suppose I’d better come through and ask Darren to introduce us,” said Susan with a sigh, “would be rude not to.”

In the dining room, the elegant display of food that Susan had arranged earlier was now mostly consumed, with just the odd bit of lettuce and a few slices of quiche remaining.  Susan made her way over to Darren who was sharing a joke with Joyce and Alfred, their next door neighbours.

“Hello Susan, where’ve you been hiding?” smiled Darren.  “You haven’t got a drink, come on, let’s sort you out with a glass of wine.”

“Darren, never mind the wine, who’s that man, the one in the hat and coat?  He wouldn’t take them off.  I don’t know him.  Did you invite him?”

“Hat and coat?”  Darren looked around the room, “Who’s in a hat and coat?”

“Over there, by the window, stood on his own.”  Susan nodded in the direction of the man who was gazing out of the window at the garden beyond.

“Well, I’ve never seen him before in my life.  Are you sure you don’t know who he is?”  Darren took a sip of his whisky and soda.

“I assumed you’d invited him.  What is he doing here?  Darren, he knew my name!”  A chill suddenly crept over Susan as she realised that she’d just let a complete stranger into her home.

Darren’s jovial demeanour dimmed for a moment.  “Really?  Okay Susan, leave it to me, I’ll sort this joker out.”

“Oh, no, Darren, don’t,” something washed over Susan, a feeling, perhaps something of peace and goodwill to all, “please don’t make a scene, he hasn’t done any harm, maybe he’s just hungry.  I’ll talk to him.”

“But he knew your name Susan, how can he have known that?  Something’s not right.”

“Oh, just leave it with me Darren, look, Joyce needs her glass topping up, you look after our guests, I’ll sort this out, really, it’s fine,” and Susan weaved her way between her guests towards the man who was standing looking out across the garden.

“Erm, hello, did you get something to eat?” said Susan, picking up some of the empty plates and tidying the table.

“Let me help you with that,” replied the stranger as he picked up an empty platter, “shall I take this to the kitchen?” and he made his way out of the room, Susan following, a pile of dirty plates in her hands.

“Look, mister, erm, I don’t even know your name, neither does Darren.”

“Do any of us?” said the man simply as he put the empty platter on the counter top.

“Yes, but what I mean, is you seem to know us, but, I’m sorry, but we don’t know you,”

“It’s surprising how many people pass in and out of our lives without us really knowing,” said the man, his dark eyes fixed on Susan’s blue ones, “what we know of them and what we don’t know are two different things entirely.  So little do we see of a person’s real life, just the wrapping, not so much what’s underneath all those layers.”

“Do you mean that I should know who you are?” asked Susan, a sense of vulnerability crawled across her back, and she edged back towards the kitchen door.

“Oh, you’re perfectly safe,” said the man reaching out a pale hand, thin and lean, “I’m not here to harm you, or your husband.  I sense that you’re not exactly enjoying your festive gathering?”

Susan stalled for a moment, and deciding that it was better to keep the stranger talking, than to challenge him any further, she spoke quietly.  “It’s not really my sort of thing, but Darren loves to have people round, and it is Christmas after all.  But you’re right, I’ll be glad when everyone’s gone home.”  At that there was a roar of laughter from the next room, and someone turned up the music on the record player.

“I suspect that might be a while,” said the man, raising an eyebrow.  “Listen, I thank you kindly for your hospitality, and I shall leave very shortly, but consider this, perhaps I don’t know myself who I am, who you are, or why I am here.  Do any of us truly know that?”

“I think I’m here to keep everything organised,” said Susan with a small smile.

“Oh, but there is so much more than that, our own passing stories, my story, yours, they are just as important, but who are we to understand the small impression that we leave in time and space while we are here, and maybe while we are not here?  Maybe long after we have gone.  I think you know what I mean Susan, and now I shall thank you for your hospitality and leave you.”

The stranger pulled his coat around himself, secured his hat some more over his balding head and made his way to the front door where he turned and nodded, a dark smile painted across his wide face, then he opened the door and with a fleet of cold night air, he was gone.

Darren stepped out of the living room into the hallway.  “You okay Susan?”

“Yes, yes, he’s gone now, that man, he’s gone,” said Susan with a slight shiver.

“Good, so no need to worry,” said Darren putting his arm around his wife’s shoulders, “now come and get warmed up, Alfred was telling one of his rude jokes a moment ago!”

The next morning, Susan awoke to a sound coming from the kitchen, she looked across the bed at Darren, who was still in his shirt and trousers and loudly snoring off the excesses of the previous evening.  Carefully creeping out of bed so not to disturb her husband, she put on her dressing gown and quietly made her way downstairs.  Apart from a couple of empty glasses in the living room, the place was tidy and smart, owing to Susan having spent over an hour cleaning up after all her guests had left, she couldn’t possibly sleep knowing that all the mess would need to be dealt with the next morning.

She took the remaining glasses to the kitchen sink and switched on the kettle, looking out of the window to the garden beyond and taking a deep breath knowing that she might have just a little time to herself before Darren woke up.  As the kettle came to a boil, Susan almost dropped the cup she was taking from the cupboard, as the cat flap made a thunking noise and a slight breeze wrapped itself around her naked ankles.  She turned in the direction of the back door, and then succeeded in dropping the tea cup, small pieces of fine bone china shattering on the tiled floor.

“Tinker?  No, it can’t be you!”  Susan’s thoughts immediately began to think of cats in the neighbourhood that resembled her beloved mackerel tabby.  The cat made a small meow sound and waved its body from left to right, its tail sticking straight in the air as Susan crouched down to see who it might belong to.   She jumped back, her hand to her mouth, when she recognised the collar and tag hanging around the cat's neck.  The cat nudged Susan’s knee with its broad head and began to purr like a small engine as Susan scooped the animal up and ruffled its ears.  Everything about the creature was Tinker, the patterns in her tabby coat, the collar, the sounds she made.  Susan glanced out to the garden where two weeks earlier she and Darren had wrapped their beloved feline in a blanket and placed her in the ground.   It was then that Susan remembered the hideous ceramic figure that they’d found and she carried the purring cat through to the dining room.

The room felt cool and quiet after the festivities of the evening before and the absence of the weird little figure of a man was immediately apparent as Susan moved towards the sideboard.  Wondering if perhaps a guest had moved it, she looked around the downstairs rooms but could find nothing and in a moment of utter confusion she sat down bewildered on the sofa, Tinker snuggled up beside her, as Susan ran through the events of the previous evening.

The broken cup was swept into the bin and the typewriter clattered loudly on the kitchen table as Tinker munched at a tin of pilchards that Susan had found in the pantry in lieu of any cat food, given that she no longer owned a cat, or at least she’d thought she didn’t.  Her fingers hammered briskly across the typewriter keys, sheet after sheet of paper was rolled into the machine and deftly and carefully removed, set neatly to the side in a rapidly growing pile.  The words of the strange visitor, the man with no name and no place rang in her ears, ‘who are we to understand the small impression that we leave in time and space?’ and in a burst of activity that felt unreal, as though she was on another plane, alone with just the cat and her subconscious, Susan found herself writing a story that came from deep within her, that she had never knowingly thought of, as something took her hands and moved them over the keys.