Tabatha

I was sitting on that rusty old bench in the park, the one near the bandstand, lobbing stale bread at the pigeons. The day was still fresh, but I wasn’t. Judith wasn’t around to keep me in check now. I often come here to think. Or rather to avoid thinking. My mind has been a little numb of late. It must be old age, not knowing what I'm up to half the time. But it's not just that. It's the regret you see; it keeps me awake at night and then I come out here and doze off in the sun. I'm a hopeless case but I can't be bothered to call anyone about it. Who'd want to talk to an old cudgel like me anyway? Not one of those brilliant young doctors at the practice in town. They've still got their hands full poor sods. I'm just one of the after effects I guess; the walking wounded, only you can't see the wound. It's inside.

I first saw the girl wreathed in morning sunlight, an insubstantial form. As she started to towards me an odd motion flickered briefly behind her.

   She stopped in front of me and as I reached up a hand to shield my eyes from the glare I saw a strangely beguiling expression on a pretty puckish face. She was simply dressed in torn jeans and a white shift. One of us had to speak first.

   “That’s quite close enough young lady. Can I help you?”

   She smiled innocently. “You remind me of my boss.”

   “Is that a compliment?”

   “Oh, it certainly is.” She nodded, as if to emphasise the fact. “White hair, stern expression, pretty old. It’s definitely him. I thought you looked a little lost and would like some company.”

   “I don’t need any company, thanks all the same.” She was an odd one.

   “Oh right, enjoy being miserable on your own do you?” Despite her aggressive reply the smile remained, as if she was unaware of any rudeness on her part. “You shouldn’t reject an offer of friendship you know. Might not come your way again.”

   An odd thing to say; yet it wasn’t so much passive-aggressive as concerned-sounding. “How can someone like you help me?” I asked.

   “Someone ‘like me’? Well, we could have a chat. Maybe there’s something on your mind I could sort for you.”

   “Like what, not that it’s any of your business.” I was annoyed.

   “I don’t know… something you’ve done in the past, something you’ve said that you regret. People mull things over don’t they? ” She studied me with a comical frown. “I think you do that. You’re a bit of a mull-er-over-er.”

   “There’s no such word.”

   She pouted. “Well there should be.”

   “Shouldn’t you be wearing a mask?” I asked.

   “Don’t need one.”

   “That’s just typical of the young,” I told her, starchily. “So thoughtless of others. Look I haven’t got all day so what is it you really want?”

   “Like I said, just a chat. We could go back to your place if you like Tom. I expect its quite near as you don’t have that car anymore.”

   “How do you know…?” It suddenly struck me. “Are you trying to pick me up?”

   Her expression became quizzical. “I don’t think so. I just thought you’d like to share with somebody.” Then, "I know how much you miss her.”

   “Miss who?”

   “The other one, Judith.”

   I felt a ripple of shock at the mention of my wife’s name. “How…do you know Judith?”

   “We met quite recently. Lovely lady. We all thought she was fab.” She grinned widely.

   “My wife died seven months ago in the first wave so it can’t have been that recent. Were you in her class?”

   “Yes, she said she was a schoolteacher. What a gift it must be to love children.”

   Yet another strange attitude. It was almost old school hippy-ish yet this girl couldn’t have been more than eighteen. I realised I’d been mistaken about her way of speaking. It wasn’t simple so much as childlike, yet in the way of the old. She wasn’t a hustler yet she knew about Judith, and where we both live. Lived in Judith’s case. What was her game?

   Almost in answer she said, “Judith loved you a great deal you know, despite your grouchiness. She used that word but I don’t think you’re grouchy, Tom. Just a little lost. We decided I should cheer you up by letting you talk about her. I won’t tell the others, promise.”

   “Who are these ‘others’? Friends of yours? Judith’s pupils?”

   “Just helpers. We help people, it’s our job.”

   “And you’re attempting to help me, whether I like it or not?”

   But then she half-turned at shouts from a group of lads kicking a ball about. I glimpsed two adjacent rips in the white shift, near her shoulder blades. They weren’t like the manufactured ones on her jeans.

   “Are you okay?”

   She turned back. Her face now held a shadow of uncertainty. The puckishness was gone.

   “I can’t be down here too long.”

   “Down here, you mean in the park?” I asked.

   “Please, tell me about your wife, Tom.”

   I sighed. Perhaps she was right. I hadn’t spoken to anyone we'd both known but she was a total stranger. “Judith was one of a kind. I… well I could have been more helpful.” The words didn’t come easily at first but then I couldn’t stop them. “She was a wonderful woman, so giving of herself. We couldn’t have children. She must have had her regrets but never made a thing of it. She was always there for her school-kids you see, what she called her ‘family’. I often felt left out, unfair of me. She deserved better but I wasn’t the supportive kind; too self-absorbed in my own little world. Now that world’s empty and I… don’t know if I can live in it anymore.”

   My own words shocked me. I realised that I’d needed to say them since the funeral I’d been denied attending; my final chance for redemption. Yet now I’d said them to a total stranger and I felt cleansed for doing so, more cleansed than I’d been in so many years. Since the day I met my wife.

   “What’s your name?” I asked, but the girl was a blur against the sun again. I thought I heard ‘Tabatha’ but it was just a whisper on the breeze, masked by the beating of powerful wings.