Afterlife Tea

"I maintain that one strong cup of tea is better than twenty weak ones. All true tea lovers not only like their tea strong, but like it a little stronger with each year that passes."

George Orwell's words about brewing the perfect cup of tea rang true in the back of my head as I poured the first cup. While belonging to separate schools regarding 'milk before tea' or 'tea before milk', Larry and me tended to adhere to the habits of the other person. I'd always been a 'tea before milk' guy - maintaining that this way one could easily regulate the ratio between tea and milk, whereas Larry took pride in measuring this by eye before pouring the tea. 

"So, old friend. How is retirement treating you?" Larry looked at me with curious eyes. His smile as lively as ever, nothing about him gave away as much as a hint to his condition. Still vibrant, still the earnest smile. An aura of honesty about him, and still the devil-may-care twinkle in his eye.

"Well, it's ..." I paused for a bit. "It's different. I've always imagined retirement as this glorious period in life where one can finally pursue all those interests and hobbies that have been neglected for far too long. Still, as I'm getting more and more used to it, it still remains quite difficult adjusting. No work, no deadlines, no pressure. No bloody e-mails from customers demanding a last minute tweak or upgrade to their order. And still there isn't much to do."

"Well, you need a hobby then," Larry grinned while enjoying the warmth of the still piping hot cup of tea. "How about bird watching? Lots of fresh air, getting a bit of walking in. All you need is a proper pair of wellies and some binoculars."

"You know how thin my patience is," I smiled at him. "Learning to recognize the different birds would take way more time than I could be bothered spending."

"You'll ease into it. But yeah, you never were much of a patient man."

I reached into my backpack to fetch the box of cookies and biscuits I brought from home. Almost fresh out of the oven, still hot enough to leave traces of condensation within their container.

"Brought biscuits from home, courtesy of Elsie. Please enjoy." 

Larry smiled, as a young man briskly passed us. He was properly clad, sorting a waistcoat and a black bow tie. I managed to get a quick glance at him, and noticed him looking back at me with a befuddled expression before leaving us. 

"Properly looking the part, that boy." Larry looked at the lad, repressing a snigger. He always had a bit of an issue with dressing sharply, constantly choosing comfort over aesthetics. Despite opting for a rain coat and a tattered sixpence, he always seemed at ease within formal gatherings.

"There are dress codes, and there are dress codes," Larry always said. "This is the latter. As long as you own up to it, you always look the part." As much as I wanted to believe him, I still felt the gaze of the passerby having a bit of judgement towards my dirty boots.

"And Elsie?" Larry asked, derailing my train of thought about dirty boots. "Is the heart still bothering her? I remember you telling me about the operation."

"She's still feeling it, thank you." My thoughts went back to the days before the operation, and how Elsie seemed totally bereft of the will to live. The procedure had eased the pressure on her heart and arteries, but still hadn't done anything to relieve her from the depression following the loss last winter. Her loss. Our loss.

"Kev, huh? Yeah, that'll take some time," Larry said. "I've read articles about people actually dying from a broken heart. Literally. It's called broken heart syndrome. The heart eventually gives into stress and emotions. There's even a Latin term for it. Something-something-cardiomyopathy." He looked up at me. "And if losing a son doesn't make your heart break, nothing will."

Kev had died on a Wednesday. On his way back from university in Norwich, surprising us by coming home to celebrate Elsie's birthday. His car skidded on a spot of black ice, hitting a lorry in the opposite lane. Paramedics were early on site, and Kev was taken to the University Hospital back in Norwich. After spending the better part of 24 hours in surgery, he was put into an artificial coma from which he never woke up. 

The funeral took place in torrential rain, like the sky was crying with the rest of us. I still remembered how a little piece of me died watching his coffin sinking into the ground. 

"He was a bright kid." I looked blankly into thin air. "Still doesn't make sense that he doesn't call me up every Friday to tell me how great uni is. Probably never will."

"Probably won't. Proper bright lad, Kev." Larry looked at me. "Always fancied him to get far. Had everything sorted out, Kev had. Proper good lad. You did a good job with that one," he smiled.

"Well, what about Oscar? You and Deb deserve a fair bit of credit there. Working at the hospital now?"

"Yeah, he recently got transferred from Bolton to Brighton," Larry said with a proud grin. "Head of pediatrics. Immensely proud when he told me. I was bursting with pride myself. Quite the journey from the favelas of Brazil to Royal Sussex County Hospital, you know? He had all the odds in the world against him before he got picked up by the orphanage."

"Head of pediatrics, I'd say. Quite the journey, you're absolutely right." I took a bite of my biscuit while noticing my cup was empty. Larry still hadn't started his. Pouring myself a new cup, I asked Larry if he wanted a top-up. He just smiled and shook his head.

Quite a number of people had passed us by, looking at us with a slight suspicion. You'd think two friends having tea in the wild would be a bloody circus act by the looks of them. Larry just ignored them and kept on asking about Elsie, and I listened to him talking about Oscar and his new job. Apparently he recently came home with a girlfriend. 

"Deb had gotten a warning, but I hadn't. Took me completely by surprise."

"But how was the girl?"

"Mary. Nice girl, all in all. Proper minger, but with a heart of gold. Good singer as well. Got some fairly decent pipes on her, she has. Any eventual kids should be well lucky to get her voice and heart, as long as they get Oscar's looks." I couldn't help but smile at Larry's description, which he seemed to enjoy. His face suddenly turned serious, and he looked me straight in the eyes.

"Have to say it. I really appreciate these afternoon teas of ours. It's once a year, fair, but it still livens the day up. And the days gets more and more difficult to tell apart, you know? Deb hasn't been over in a while, and Oscar is up to his ears in work. Came over while home with the girl, but he probably won't be home until Christmas." 

"You know I'll always be here," I said, trying to sport a convincing smile. "Every year."

"I truly appreciate this, old friend. You're a proper good'un, you are. Just wish we had a couple more years."

"Me too, old buddy," I answered, my eyes welling up. "Me too."

As I turned around to leave, Larry called out to me.

"Hey! Aren't you forgetting something?" Larry called out behind me, and I suddenly remembered.

"Of course, mate. Your flowers. Eight this year, like we said. A new one for every year."

"I really appreciate it. Deb will probably water them for you." 

I felt a tear running down my cheek. I just smiled and dried my eyes as I put the flowers down, resting them against the cold slab of granite. I patted the headstone, stood quiet for a couple of seconds, before I turned around and left.

As I left, I heard Larry behind me.

"Give my best to Kev."