The Bench

It was late summer when you came to the bench. I was sat reading a book - I don’t know which - while listening to the lazy hum of the bees dipping in and out of the scented wildflowers, a gentle breeze playing on my skin. I didn’t hear you coming; I looked up, and there you were. 

“Hello, Alice,” I said. 

“Jacob.” You smiled back at me, settled down beside me. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too,” I said, returning the smile. There was a pause. My smile gave way to a slight frown. “It’s been too long. I thought…I thought you may not come again.”

“I wanted to,” you replied. “I’ve wanted to for such a long time now. It was ever so hard to find you, Jacob. You don’t make it easy.”

I chuckled softly. “You didn’t think to look here?” I said. “I’m always here, you know. It’s my favourite place in all of heaven and earth.” You looked around the little walled garden, took in the dark red dahlias and the creamy white clematis spilling from their flowerbeds, the stone pergola wound about by wisteria. 

“It is beautiful,” you agreed. “Same as it ever was. Just like when we first came here, all those years ago.”

I leant back and closed my eyes, listened to the birdsong. A robin close by, by the sound of it. Some moments passed in silent contemplation.

“How’s Simon?” I asked at length. 

“He’s doing alright. Busy as usual. Travels a lot.”

“But treating you well, I hope?”

You paused, considering, not meeting my eyes at first. Then, looking up at me: “He’s a good man, Jacob. He’s doing his best.”

I nodded, slowly, my lips pursed.

“And how are the kids?”

“Sara just won herself a promotion. She’s worked hard for it. That girl deserves it, I can tell you that.”

“Good girl,” I murmured. “That’s great, really great…what about Pete?”

“Pete? He’s OK. Talking about moving to Australia. He’s got a lot of ideas, you know. Just seems he can’t always get them off the ground. Had a bad break-up recently too…think it’s left him a bit fed up really.”

I sighed, stared at the deep blue sky. Wispy white clouds scudded overhead. 

“He has to apply himself,” I said. “The boy’s a dreamer. Sometimes, dreams aren’t enough.” 

You let out a little laugh, ruefully it seemed. “That’s true enough. But don’t be too hard on him, Jacob. He’s struggling, still. Misses his dad.”

“I know. I know that. I just want what’s best for him. Tell him…tell him, I’m there for him, even if it doesn’t always seem like it.”

“I think he knows that. He’s struggled with it in the past. Had his doubts. But I think he knows that now.”

“Does he also know about our meetings?”

“No,” you replied. “He doesn’t. I’ve not told Sara either. I thought it best just to keep this between you, and I - you and I and the bench.”

“The bench,” I laughed quietly. I stroked my thumb over the end of the wooden arm rest. “Yes…” I let my gaze wander, taking in the crimson roses that were in full bloom. I turned back to look at you, taking in your face: your blue eyes, clear and bright; your smooth skin, unblemished and firm. Locks of dark hair cascaded down over your shoulders. The diamond on your finger glinted in the evening light. “That was a good day, Alice.”

“We had many, Jacob. Many good days. I’ll never forget them. Not as long as I’ll live.”

“Good,” I said. “I hope that you will not.” I reached out, took your hand in mine. You smiled at me, sadly. 

“I’m afraid, Jacob. It’s…it’s not gone away. I don’t think there’s much they can do now. It’s a waiting game.”

“Alice,” I said, softly. “Alice, Alice. You are doing so incredibly well. God knows I’m proud of you.”

“I know that, too. But it doesn’t stop…I’m still scared, Jacob. About everything. About the pain. About the end. I…”

“Do you believe that, Alice? That death is the end?” I tightened my grip, stroked a thumb over the back of your weathered hand, caressing every fold, every wrinkle. A tear stained your cheek, yellowed by the years.

“I don’t know. I don’t know what I think. I want to believe…” you trailed off, uncertain. 

“Alice, darling,” I said, looking you full in the eyes. “I am so sorry for what you're going through right now…I can only say, this too shall pass. And when it does, you won’t remember the pain, I promise…it will be like waking from a dream…” I paused, took your other hand in my own. “It’s alright, Alice. It’s alright. You’ll be alright. You have to trust to that. Trust me on that.” I smiled. 

You nodded, wiped your tears. Smiled back.

“OK, Jacob,” you said. “I will. I think I have to.” You took your hands back from mine, rose from the bench. “I should get back to the others now. I ought to be there for them.”

“Alright, Alice. But just remember that I’m there also. For you. For the kids. And when the time comes, I’ll be waiting for you. Here, on the bench.”

You held my gaze, silently but with warmth and understanding in your eyes, still wet with tears. I thought you looked beautiful, your figure framed against a spray of brilliant white lilies.

“I had it dedicated to your memory, Jacob,” you said, breaking the silence. “Did I ever tell you that? ‘In fondest memory of Jacob Roberts: loving husband and devoted father. Sit a while with me, and remember - and in dreams, we will meet again.’”

“I like it,” I said. I closed my eyes once more, heard the gentle chirp of the robin somewhere away in the trees. “Yes…I like it a lot.” Some moments passed. I opened my eyes. The evening sun now hung low in the sky, casting long shadows across the garden; flowers rippled gently in the breeze. The twittering of the robin alone broke the silence. Of you there was no sign.

I smiled to myself thoughtfully. Let my mind wander back through long years. To the first time I saw you, sitting on the bench, in the full bloom of youth, intent on the book you were reading. To the many happy visits we had shared to the garden: snapdragons in winter, crocuses in spring. Roses in summer, when, your cheeks flushed scarlet with surprise as I kneeled at the side of the bench, you had made me the happiest man on earth. It had all passed like a dream. But here in the garden, sat on our bench, things seem as real, and as solid, to me as they ever did. Maybe more so. 

And I know that, when you are ready, you too will awaken from your dream. And when that day comes, I will take you by the hand, we shall rise from the bench, and we shall go out of the garden together to all that lies, vast and undiscovered, beyond.