looked straight at him, only for a second, before whirling and disappearing quickly from his view.
It was her. He was sure. Maybe she hadn’t recognised him from this distance? Or maybe she simply wasn’t in the mood for talking. He remembered the sadness in her eyes and her voice that day he had met her at the playground, and he thought about the toys at her house and the man’s shirt he had noticed on the floor in a corner. There had been no photos, he had checked while she was outside with Oscar. No frames on the walls or dotted around shelves, nothing - apart from the shirt and the toys - to indicate another presence in her life.
He finished the rest of the fence quickly, mulling over the mystery as he worked. Perhaps she was widowed? But then how did that explain the shirt on the floor? She didn’t seem an untidy person. It didn’t seem likely she would just leave things lying around for any great length of time.
And the toys, did she have a child? Or were they there for the use of visiting nieces and nephews? If that was the case, why did she go all funny when Oscar brought them up?
No, there was definitely more to her story than met the eye. And although his brain was telling him to run and leave well enough alone, he knew it was already too late. He had to find out more about her.
Finishing the spray, he waved and shouted out to Oscar – “one minute,” but Oscar had his nose buried in a book he’d checked out from the school library– a book which, as he’d made a point of showing his father, happened to be about ducks - and either didn’t hear him or chose not to acknowledge he had. Matt walked to the back of the cemetery, the same area he had mown earlier, and tried to remember exactly where Anna had been. But he couldn’t. He wasn’t sure which row she’d been in, and he wasn’t sure which grave she’d been visiting. He read some of the names on the headstones to see if he could garner any clues, but nothing leapt out at him as obvious. He didn’t even know her last name, he realised. In the end he gave up. The shadows from the trees were lengthening and the sky was turning light purple, like a three day old bruise.
He walked back to the church and his son. Anna could keep her secrets to herself a little while longer.
“Come on,” he said to Oscar. This place, with the desperate longing and love and grief and sadness that tainted the air so you could actually taste it, left him with a feeling of melancholy that always lingered long after he drove away. It made him want to scoop his son up into his arms and squeeze him as tight as he possibly could and never let go.
“Finally.” Oscar got to his feet.
“What did you decide on for dinner?” Matt asked, slinging an arm over his son’s shoulders, half expecting him to shrug it off as parental public displays of affection had been outlawed in recent years. But whether he sensed his father’s melancholy, or whether their surroundings had got to him as well, Oscar let it hang there, even closing the distance between them slightly, his arm bumping against his father’s leg every second step.
“Pizza,” he said. “I feel like pizza.”
“Now see why I left the choice up to you? I would never have thought of something as delicious as that. Pizza it is.”
Chapter eleven
As soon as the first hints of light illuminated the room on Saturday morning Anna was up, drawing back the curtains to admire the dawn just starting to edge out the darkness. She arched her back until it clicked into place, walking barefoot across the soft carpet to the drawers where she selected a green and white striped onesie, one of those all in one baby outfits with the feet attached. She remembered how it used to take a marathon effort to get all four flailing limbs in successfully. Often, she remembered with an ache, she would bend and twist and poke and, red faced from the effort, manage to get one leg in, but before she could make a start on the
It was her. He was sure. Maybe she hadn’t recognised him from this distance? Or maybe she simply wasn’t in the mood for talking. He remembered the sadness in her eyes and her voice that day he had met her at the playground, and he thought about the toys at her house and the man’s shirt he had noticed on the floor in a corner. There had been no photos, he had checked while she was outside with Oscar. No frames on the walls or dotted around shelves, nothing - apart from the shirt and the toys - to indicate another presence in her life.
He finished the rest of the fence quickly, mulling over the mystery as he worked. Perhaps she was widowed? But then how did that explain the shirt on the floor? She didn’t seem an untidy person. It didn’t seem likely she would just leave things lying around for any great length of time.
And the toys, did she have a child? Or were they there for the use of visiting nieces and nephews? If that was the case, why did she go all funny when Oscar brought them up?
No, there was definitely more to her story than met the eye. And although his brain was telling him to run and leave well enough alone, he knew it was already too late. He had to find out more about her.
Finishing the spray, he waved and shouted out to Oscar – “one minute,” but Oscar had his nose buried in a book he’d checked out from the school library– a book which, as he’d made a point of showing his father, happened to be about ducks - and either didn’t hear him or chose not to acknowledge he had. Matt walked to the back of the cemetery, the same area he had mown earlier, and tried to remember exactly where Anna had been. But he couldn’t. He wasn’t sure which row she’d been in, and he wasn’t sure which grave she’d been visiting. He read some of the names on the headstones to see if he could garner any clues, but nothing leapt out at him as obvious. He didn’t even know her last name, he realised. In the end he gave up. The shadows from the trees were lengthening and the sky was turning light purple, like a three day old bruise.
He walked back to the church and his son. Anna could keep her secrets to herself a little while longer.
“Come on,” he said to Oscar. This place, with the desperate longing and love and grief and sadness that tainted the air so you could actually taste it, left him with a feeling of melancholy that always lingered long after he drove away. It made him want to scoop his son up into his arms and squeeze him as tight as he possibly could and never let go.
“Finally.” Oscar got to his feet.
“What did you decide on for dinner?” Matt asked, slinging an arm over his son’s shoulders, half expecting him to shrug it off as parental public displays of affection had been outlawed in recent years. But whether he sensed his father’s melancholy, or whether their surroundings had got to him as well, Oscar let it hang there, even closing the distance between them slightly, his arm bumping against his father’s leg every second step.
“Pizza,” he said. “I feel like pizza.”
“Now see why I left the choice up to you? I would never have thought of something as delicious as that. Pizza it is.”
Chapter eleven
As soon as the first hints of light illuminated the room on Saturday morning Anna was up, drawing back the curtains to admire the dawn just starting to edge out the darkness. She arched her back until it clicked into place, walking barefoot across the soft carpet to the drawers where she selected a green and white striped onesie, one of those all in one baby outfits with the feet attached. She remembered how it used to take a marathon effort to get all four flailing limbs in successfully. Often, she remembered with an ache, she would bend and twist and poke and, red faced from the effort, manage to get one leg in, but before she could make a start on the
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