Warmth in a Cold Conclusion

Mansfield Town, England, 2022.

The town centre was obscured by morning darkness. Icy wind blew through the streets, hindering the stride of a lone, thin figure. The old man shrank into his overcoat against the gale’s bitter assault.

“Come on, Chief,” mumbled Randall. “Not far to sanctuary.”

En route to the library, he passed a small, family-run electronics shop. Across the window was a huge banner advertising a ‘Going out of Business Sale’. 

“Time for a new owner, Bunty?” he asked.

He fondly placed his hand on the glass, staring into the shadows of the unoccupied store. Recalling what it had looked like decades before, he sighed. The warm breath drifted from his mouth, catching the celeste light of the streetlamps. It glowed, stretching out like the wings of a spectral butterfly. Randall stepped back from the strange spectacle. He huffed out another lungful of air and it combined with the gleaming vapour. In the thickening cloud, Randall could distinctly see images, as though he were watching a TV screen. The layout of Bunty’s Café took shape before his dumbfounded eyes. It had looked so different in his youth. Meticulously cared-for with a welcoming charm, a stark contrast to the weathered electronics store it had become. Movement in the cloud drew his attention away from the details of the building.

A young woman, dressed in a peacock-coloured trench coat and billowing skirt, stepped into the visage of the café. She walked by a younger Randall, who gawped at her from his table. While she queued to be served, Randall took a one-pound note from his wallet.

Hesitantly he approached her. “Excuse me, Miss, I think you dropped this.”

Her aquamarine eyes glanced down at the money and then up to his face, an amused expression playing across her features. She rummaged around her pocket. “Oh gosh, I think you’re right,” she said, snatching the note from his hand. “Thanks.”

Before he could respond she turned away, as though finished with the exchange. Randall blinked, bemused that his ploy had backfired. He stared at the back of her head.

“So, what’s your twenty-bob going to buy us?” She pointed towards the counter, towards the glass that protected the assortment of cakes beyond.

There, Randall caught her reflection in the pane.

Her mirror image grinned at him mischievously. “I saw you take it out of your wallet. Crafty, but I like your style.”

He moved into the space beside her. “That’s a relief. That’s all I have till payday. I was about to cry.”

“Dry your eyes, Treacle.” She pulled some coins out of her pocket. “I’ll look after you.”

“I’m Randall.” He blushed. “Nice to meet you.”

“I’m sure it is. I’m Sylvia.”

Randall shuffled away from the apparition, slipping on the icy ground. He fell onto his backside, the impact rattling his joints. His heart pumped in an odd rhythm. He cast his gaze back up to the cloud, but it had vanished. For a moment, he was sure he could smell Sylvia’s perfume; thought he could hear her melodious giggle fading on the wind. But it wasn’t possible.

“Silly old sod,” he said, picking himself up, feeling spooked.

He turned to the library on the opposite side of the street and hurried towards it.

As he drew close, the lights flickered on. The azure beams lit up the icicles that hung like carnivorous teeth from the library’s window frames. Randall rushed towards the beacon, wanting to be in the warmth, away from the cold – and away from whatever it was he’d just witnessed.

Janice greeted him at the door. “Good morning, Randi. How are you?”

“I’m good, thank you,” he fibbed, worried that if he mentioned the inexplicable encounter Janice might think him unhinged. “And yourself?”

“Shattered,” she said. “Macey was up all night with a tummy bug. I nearly didn’t open this morning.”

Randall’s stomach twisted uncomfortably. What would he have done if Janice had stayed home? He realised, with embarrassment, that he was considering his needs over the well-being of a sick child. “I’m sorry to hear that. Is she feeling better now?”

“She will be,” Janice replied. “I dropped her off at her Mama’s. I swear that woman was a witchdoctor in a past life. She’ll have Maymay on the mend by dinner.”

Randall chuckled. “Useful person. Has Mama got any potions for my arthritis?”

Snorting, Janice made her way to the welcome desk and flicked on the computer. “I’ll ask her. I’m sure she’ll have something up her sleeve.” The screen sprang to life. “In the meantime, I’ve got something that’ll help you get comfortable.”

“Oh?” Randall arched a brow.

“A warm mug of tea on your table.” She grinned up at him. “And a leftover blueberry muffin.”

“Wonderful.” He rubbed his hands together. “I owe you big time.”

Janice waved him away. “Having you here with me is more than enough.” She glanced about the library. “It’s creepy here when I’m alone. Besides, it’s council tea. You’ve paid enough council tax over the years. Trust me, you owe them nothing.”

His mouth began to salivate. There hadn’t been any breakfast to eat. “You’re a good one, Janice. Thank you.”

“You’re most welcome,” she said, her focus returning to the screen.

In his corner near the radiator, Randall sat with his face in a book. It was one he’d read before. A spaghetti western called Arrow in the Sun by T V Olsen. Throughout the day Janice kept him topped up with warm drinks and yesterday’s sandwiches. When he wasn’t reading or eating, he looked out at the street through the misty window. Mostly, his eyes kept wandering back to the decrepit electronics store where he’d seen the strange phenomenon. A small part of him wished to catch another glimpse of it, to see Sylvia’s pretty face again. A greater part of him feared it and had tried to rationalise it away. Tiredness and hunger.; that’s all it was. When he wasn’t thinking about that, he observed the winter sky. As the hour grew late it shifted from a morbid canvas of cobalt clouds into a dark canopy of obscurity.

“Randi?” Janice called, locking up for the night. “Can you crack that window open for five minutes?” She flicked off the overhead lights leaving the dull sidelamps on. “Let some of that condensation out.”

Happy to oblige, Randall did as instructed. Disturbed by the movement, the condensation travelled in rivulets down the pane. Cold air rushed in through the gap, catching his breath. Again, the expiration that left his mouth seemed to glow an eerie cerulean. Randall’s brow furrowed as he stared at it, huffing another breath into the foggy substance. Like before it seemed to grow denser and from within there was movement.

Sylvia sat with her bare feet in a river, near a picnic basket and empty champagne flutes. Randall was fishing in the stream beside her. He widened his stance, struggling with his rod dramatically.

“Give me a hand, Love!” he said. “I think I’ve hooked a whopper.”

Sylvia shot him a suspicious glance but rose to aid him anyway. She wrapped her arms around his waist. With an emphatic yank, Randall pulled his line from the water. He lowered it to show her.

“What’s this?” she asked.

Tied to the end of the line was a sapphire-encrusted ring. Her favourite jewel.

He smiled. “Told you. I think I’ve hooked a whopper.”

Her hand shook as she reached for the jewelled hoop. “Can I take it?”

“Only if you’re going to say, yes.”

“You can close it now,” shouted Janet. 

Beside the opened window, he blinked back tears. The apparition disintegrated, disturbed by Janet’s voice. Shaking, Randall lowered his outstretched hand that had been reaching for Sylvia.

“Am I cracking up?” he whispered.

 “Randi, did you hear me?” Janet appeared from behind a row of books.

“Sorry,” he answered quietly. “These old ears.”

She became concerned. “Are you okay?”

He nodded, feeling anything but okay. “I think I just need a good night’s rest.”

Not wanting to worry his companion, he quickly gathered his things and said his goodbyes.

Thirty minutes later, Randall arrived back at his bungalow. He stepped over the newspaper on the doormat, barely registering the agitating headline – ENERGY COMPANIES BOAST RECORD PROFITS. Unable to shake his feelings of unease, he decided to follow his own advice and get ready for bed. He made his way to the kitchen and turned on the kettle. He used some of the steaming contents to fill a hot water bottle and then washed with what was left - as best he could. He couldn’t shower. The spray was freezing. The boiler was too expensive to run, so there was no heat in the pipes. His home felt like an arctic wasteland. The only place Randall felt warm was under his blankets. He dressed for the cold night, putting on a pair of woollen long johns and a woollen jumper.

“I look like a sodding sheep,” he groused, crawling under the duvet. “Mutton dressed as lamb…”

In later life, that’s how Sylvia had described herself. Mutton dressed as lamb. The saying had amused her. She’d always dressed youthfully; always used her cosmetics to appear girlish. Warpaint, she’d eventually called it. A means to stave off the mien of fatigue while she battled cancer. She’d been so brave. So beautiful. And without his brave beauty, Randall’s world had become a long orbit of sunless midnight.

Confused by the day’s bizarre events, Randall’s mind swam with vivid memories of Sylvia. A pining moan bubbled out of his throat. The air flowed past his lips and began to shimmer brightly, rising into the dark room. Sylvia’s musical laughter chirruped from the writhing glow. Randall’s pulse quickened, sped on by a mixture of fear and excitement. He wanted to see her again, to see his Sylvia in the floating oddity. Was he losing his mind? Did he care? He huffed out another deep breath, intensifying the scene in the cloud. 

They lay together in bed. Sylvia’s hair was a dishevelled remnant of an extravagant beehive. Woven amongst her locks were small gatherings of forget-me-nots and ornate butterflies. It was their wedding night. They had spent the day relishing in the celebrations. Too tired to consummate the occasion they lay content in each other’s arms.

“Promise me,” she said as they basked in the euphoria of the moment. “Promise me it’ll always feel like this.”

He squeezed her tight. “I can’t, my love, but I promise I’ll always guide us back to this feeling when needed.”

In the freezing bedroom, Randall’s breathing had become ragged. Each laboured wheeze rose to join with the apparition above his bed. As the cloud grew, it kept jumping from scene to scene.

Both in their early thirties, sat in a doctor’s office. Sylvia sobbing while the doctor explained that she would never have a child.

“All I need is you,” Randall consoled. “All I’ll ever need is you.”

Another breath, another scene.

The two of them in their late forties, locking up the pub they’d managed. Sylvia starting a tipsy water fight that ended in passionate lovemaking on the pool table.

Breathing. Jumping.

The two of them in their twilight years. Their first night in the bungalow together. Dinner in front of the TV. Side-by-side.

“What did I do to deserve you?” She gently placed her hand over his.

“You took my twenty-bob,” he replied,

They both laughed.

In his excruciatingly cold bedroom, Randall wept. Meanwhile his breath condensed above him, thickening into something corporeal. Ghostly limbs stretched away from a feminine torso. Long hair wisped about a transparent head. Aquamarine eyes peered down at him from a face he had so desperately missed. Above Randall was his Sylvia. Young and old. Lost and found. An ethereal, sapphire beauty.

She reached down towards him. “Dry your eyes, Treacle. I’ll look after you.”

Shaking, he lifted his hands to hers, pushing his duvet to the floor. As their fingers entwined Randall felt a rush of warmth sweep through his body. A heat, so pleasant and so consuming, it obliterated any sense of the cold. It obliterated everything.

The next morning, Janice arrived at the library. She went in the back door and then straight to the staff room. Sleepily, she made two mugs of tea and plated up some macaroons. She put the mug and sweets on Randall’s table, next to the book he’d left out. Then she went to let him in. The sliding doors swished gently open, and she peered for her elderly companion. Save for a young couple, who appeared to be perusing through the window of the electronics shop, the wide street was empty.

End