Until We Meet

Winter comes quickly in your eighties. The smell of damp flowers makes Ronnie sneeze, his chesty cough acting up. Most of the flowers have been left to rot, that doesn't help. A building patter of rainfall makes Ronnie feel every one of his eighty-two years, knees aching like rusty hinges in need of oil. Every step takes twice as long as it used to.

“Buggered legs,” Ronnie grumbles. Best to get it out of his system now.

Even with his glasses on he squints to see more than thirty feet away. A slight blur to everything in view. Pausing to catch his breath Ronnie listens to pigeon’s coo in the high oak and Pine trees that tower over him. A blurry ginger cat digs at the bark of an old oak, pausing to lift its head in Ronnie’s direction.

“Leave those birds alone,” he hissed at the cat. The cat ignored him and continued to dig.

“That’s why I prefer dogs.”

Removing his glasses Ronnie first rubbed his eyes then the lenses. Nothing but total clarity was good enough for his Gwendoline, Nee to her friends and family. Her headstone reads Gwendoline (Nee) Peachley, a Dear Wife and Mother, 1948 - 2024. There’s a space underneath for Ronnie’s name to join his wife’s in the not-too-distant future. The headstone, a black marble look. Not colourful enough for Nee in Ronnie’s mind, but it’s what she’d wanted so he obliged. He never could say no when her chestnut eyes locked onto his.

When you reach a certain age sitting your partner down and discussing your funeral plans seems normal. Ronnie had fought it at first, selfishly he wanted to be the first out the door, not the one holding it open.

Now sodden from the rain Ronnie sighed as he lowered himself onto a damp wooden bench, trying to find a way to sit comfortably. Rain had soaked through the top layer of paper that protected his chips, they left a comforting warmth on his lap.

“Added extra salt, just how you like it,” he said to Nee. “Got them to throw some scraps in as well.” Exhaling, Ronnie took a minute to calm his breathing and compose himself.

“Okay,” he said to the stirring trees, “time to eat.” He pinched fingers together to slowly collect some of the steaming chips, popping them gently on the ground in front of Nee. She ate first and always hated the small wooden forks they give you. Ronnie took another handful, smaller this time, and popped them one by one into his mouth. The warm salt and vinegar slid down his throat effortlessly, until the fifth chip when his chesty cough reappeared. He’d spent years complaining at how salty Nee liked her chips, now he couldn’t eat them any other way.

“That’s good,” he said between bites. “Anybody else been to visit lately?” He asked his wife. “No reply huh, that’s okay. We can eat first.”

Six months was a long time to be on your own. It had felt like six years. Every minute an hour in a house that no longer felt like home. In the first few weeks Ronnie had waited hoping his turn would quickly follow, it didn’t. The revolving door was stuck, annoyingly.

“Stubborn, Nee.” He’d said to her flower’s days later.

She wasn’t ready to see him yet, wanted some time to herself. He wasn’t one to force the matter even if he thought about it daily. Didn’t seem quite so bad when you knew who waited for you on the other side.

Taking another mouthful Ronnie listened to the rain. He wore a cap to keep his face dry and a coat that came down to his knees. He hated how long the coat was. It had been a present from Nee before winter rolled into town, the last present. He’d wear it in summer if he made it that long. The wind picked up, whistling as it swept through rows of headstones. Ronnie smiled hearing Nee’s voice carried on the wind complaining about his diet and how little he walked. He ate more chips mopping up the salt and vinegar with every mouthful. Not wanting to seize up completely he stretched his knees every so often ignoring the loud clicks.

“Want any more?” Ronnie asked showing Nee how much was left, too much for just him. “No? You don’t need a diet, perfect Nee.”

After eating Ronnie slowly lowered himself to his knees, something that was only getting harder the colder it got. He pulled a cloth from his pocket and cleaned Nee’s headstone till it sparkled.

He’d placed fresh Lily’s down when he arrived, ivory white just like their wedding flowers. Nee’s headstone was the cleanest on the lot, vibrant flowers in contrast to sharp black marble. On either side of Nee, rows of gravestones in various states of decay and neglect circled around the large cemetery. Some had fresh flowers, most didn’t. Sad really, how people get their final bouquet one day but don’t get to see it. Rows of urns filled with ashes formed a perimeter of sort around section D of the Cemetery. No matter which direction you looked, it was impossible not to see Mothers, Fathers. Children taken too soon. Ronnie avoided sections C and E on his walks through the cemetery. Children should never be buried before parents.

“Any idea who this is, Nee?” Ronnie asked pointing to a headstone that had fallen, mostly covered by a holly shrub. He asked the same question every visit, he couldn't say why but it bugged him that the headstone couldn’t be read. That no one had visited or cared enough to try and fix it made Ronnie look long and hard at Nee. The thought of her being forgotten made him want to live forever, if only to keep buffing her headstone.

“Something Whillock, I think it says,” Ronnie said giving the unloved headstone one last look.

“Anyway.” Unfurling a notepad from his pocket Ronnie licked the tip of a salty finger and thumbed for the latest dog marked page. The date on the page read December 8th. Rain fell against the paper so he held it closer to his chest hoping his coat and hat would add some coverage.

“I tried making jam the other day, like you. Taste like burnt fruit,” Ronnie laughed. “Wasted a whole dam punnet of strawberries.” Nee enjoyed home cooking all her life, none more so than when she retired. Fresh bread, cakes, you name it she made it. Ronnie had piled on happy pounds, pounds which he seemed to be losing now. She made so much jam she even donated some to the local Abbey. When they returned her jam jars, he’d hugged them and cried in the kitchen. He was yet to tell Nee that.

Ronnie squinted to read the next line, not wanting to hold it further from his face and risk losing his weeks work to the rain. He knew what it said, roughly, memory not being what it once was, but he wanted Nee to have every last detail. His handwriting had never been good, that didn’t help in combination with his bad eyes.

Pausing to eat a cold chip Ronnie quickly regretted it as his cough acted up once more.

“Been trying to read some of your books,” he said after the cough past. “Some of the ones you always read. Eyesight isn’t what it once was. Should have got that eye test years ago like you said. I liked the one about the Mockingbird best. Not sure what a mockingbird is though, like a pigeon?”

Ronnie paused, Nee always laughed at his rubbish jokes. The worse the joke the more she laughed. Breathing heavily between sentences Ronnie read Nee’s headstone again. His eyes found it like it was her. It still didn’t feel real. They’d been married for forty-five sometimes trying, often glorious, all memorable years.

They didn't talk about it much but Nee had been married once before, a lapse in judgement she called it. Ronnie jokingly called it a test, she passed it with flying colours and got him as a reward. She joked in turn that Ronnie was the runner up prize. ‘And a dam fine prize, too,’ she’d say.

Clearing his throat Ronnie read his next update.

“Saw that sister of yours the other day. Keeps asking me to have food with her family on Sundays. You know how I feel about her food, it’s all vegetables.” Ronnie watched a robin swoop and land close to Nee. “Said yes anyway. Knew you’d want me to go. I’ll eat for the both of us.” Ronnie debated another chip before feeling how cold it was, throwing it to the robin instead.

Looking at his week on the page Ronnie realised how small it was. How insignificant the words looked on the page. When you can list your accomplishments for the week on a single pocketbook page you have to question if you achieved much. Finding enjoyment in the little things gets a whole lot harder when your main source of happiness is gone.

“I uh, I keep meaning to finish our shows. Watch some of the films we waited to see. I want to, sometimes I even go to press play, but my fingers won’t let me. Feels like cheating watching without you.”

Overhead the rain slowed from a moderate lashing to a gentle drizzle. Ronnie removed his cap and itched his scalp before putting the damp cap back on.

“You’re probably thinking, ‘ain’t been up to much, have you, Ron?’ and you’d be right. Seeing you has always been the best part of my day, nothing’s changed there.”

A meowing sound at his feet pulled Ron from his pages, the same ginger cat he’d past earlier had taken shelter under the bench he sat on. Ron’s long coat more than covering the both of them.

“Hey buddy,” Ronnie said lowering a hand for the cat to sniff. Its paws covered in mud from all the digging. The cat rubbed against Ron’s hand for all of a second before chasing a low flying robin. “Cats, never understood them,” he laughed as the robin flew away.

Resting his hands at his side before reading the final entry in his weekly update, Ronnie found the handle of a small umbrella sticking from his coat pocket.

“You have got to be kidding me,” he said scolding himself. He’d sat in the rain when he had an umbrella all along. With the press of a button the umbrella sprang to life protecting Ronnie from the elements. Wrapped around the handle a small slip of laminated paper read: ‘Nee’s umbrella, keep off Ron’.

“Still looking out for me, hey,” Ron said as tears swelled in his eyes.

Between tears and cold fingers it took Ron a minute to find his place and read the last update. “I finally washed your clothes, don’t worry, I separated all the colours. Did it just how you like it, took me a while. Didn’t feel right doing it at all. Kept one of your jumpers, the navy one you knitted. I need one for the smell.” Ronnie pinched his nose with his fingers and wiped his cheeks. “Good news is I found some of your old perfume, I only spray it here and there around the house. Can’t have it running out can we. I’ll buy you a new one when it does, don’t worry. I can pretend you’re in another room this way. Don’t judge me.”

Ronnie stared at the pages for a minute before sliding the pocketbook back into his coat. He tucked the umbrella between his right arm and his chest tucking his hands into his pockets for warmth.

“Are you warm up there, Nee? Always liked a blanket. Never could keep you warm,” he smiled.

Leaning back into the bench something dug into Ronnie’s back, he turned for a look and realised he sat on a bench dedicated to Amy Rose Williams. “Hope you don’t mind, Amy,” he whispered to the bench. Through the treeline ahead Ronnie could just about see the Tewkesbury Abbey clouded by a smog of rain. Nee loved exploring the Abbey, it was her second favourite thing to do besides rummaging the second handbook shops.

“All books deserve a home,” Ronnie laughed to his wife’s headstone at the memory, remembering how often she used that line to buy more books. He still found them hidden under the sofa, in with the shopping bags in the kitchen, even under the towels in their bathroom. Nee always had multiple books on the go and if the mood struck her, she didn’t want to have to go looking for one. She said it helped keep her eyes sharp, maybe she was right.

“I keep thinking I’d really like to see you soon, Nee.” Ronnie pinched his eyelids together determined not to upset his wife. “But I don’t want you to be mad at me. I know you’d want me to keep going, but I buried my life with you. Feel like I’m just waiting now, ticking days off knowing I’m one step closer every time I wake up.”

A mist of rain continued to fall, Ronnie’s eyes continued to water. His mouth moved to make a joke about hay-fever, something he said any time they watched a sad film, the words caught in his throat.

“Sleep ain’t been easy.” He said eventually. “Keep having the same dreams, nightmares really. I always think, what if I’d woke up sooner? Could I have done something? Could I have got you to the hospital? Doctors said no, everybody says no. Keep saying it every time they see me. But I don’t believe them. How can you die a few feet away from me and I just sleep right through it? Don’t matter if the Doctor says it was peaceful, quick, a husband should be there.”

Ronnie used his thumb to twist his wedding band, Nee’s wedding ring still on her finger. The rings connected them even now.

Caught on the wind Ronnie’s addled thoughts flew away giving him a moments peace. He let his eyes shut and his body relax into a shallow, unexpected sleep. Sleeping beside his wife it was the best rest he’d had in months. Even if it only lasted a few minutes, Nee had come to help him rest.

The cat returned rubbing against Ronnie’s left leg. He jerked awake, wished he hadn’t then shot daggers at the cat.

“See, a good Dog would have let me sleep.”

With his startled wake-up Ronnie jerked his hands from his pockets knocking the pocketbook to the ground.

“Balls!” He griped, careful to not let his language get too colourful, Nee was quick to clip him around the ear verbally when the need arose.

“Sorry,” he said to his wife, able to see her frowning at him through the headstone.

His creaking knees made it a slow process, Ronnie retrieved the pocketbook wiping grass from the navy cover. Somehow it had ended page down, open to the dog-eared page Ronnie had been reading from.

“Just my luck,” he said examining the smudged ink. Only the final line remained, the line he saved for when Nee told him to go home. Kissing his wedding ring Ronnie stood, stiff from the crisp wind ready to take a walk around the Abbey so he could tell Nee all about it tomorrow.

“I won’t say goodbye, you know that.” He rested a hand on the marble gravestone and whispered, “until we meet again.”