In Life We Are in Death - Part Two — The Woman

In Life We Are in Death

Part Two — The Woman

Louise Smithers

It was a warm summer evening.

Two women sat in the garden enjoying a bottle of wine as the last of the evening sun settled across the lawn. Their conversation was punctuated by laughter, the comfortable kind that came from years of friendship and shared memories.

Both women were in their fifties.

Louise Smithers leaned back in her chair while her friend, Beatrice, topped up their glasses.

“Louise, would you ever consider going back to teaching?”

Louise raised an eyebrow.

“Go on,” Beatrice continued. “You know you want to. You were good at it. How long has it been now? Three years?”

Louise took a sip of wine.

“Three years,” she said. “Three long years of bliss.”

Beatrice laughed.

“And Brian would have you back in a heartbeat.”

“I’m sure he would.”

“I hear they’re still relying on supply teachers.”

Louise smiled.

“I’ll have to think about it before I make any decisions.”

“You’ve been thinking about it for months.”

“Then perhaps I need a few more months.”

They both laughed.

Before long, they were reminiscing about former pupils—the hardworking ones, the difficult ones and those unforgettable characters who had somehow managed to leave their mark on the school.

Both Louise and Beatrice had been teachers for many years. They had worked together for more than a decade and had remained close friends even after Louise left the profession.

Louise had not intended to give up teaching permanently.

Circumstances had made the decision for her.

Frederick

Three years earlier, Louise’s husband, Frederick Smithers, had died.

Frederick had been considerably older than Louise. He was a successful businessman who owned several properties which he rented out. For many years, the business had provided the family with a comfortable life.

His death had changed everything.

Louise had lost her husband.

Their son, Benjamin, had lost his father.

At the time, Benjamin was studying for his GCSEs, and Frederick’s death affected him deeply. His concentration suffered and his schoolwork began to deteriorate.

Louise watched it happening and made a decision.

Her son needed her more than the school did.

She left teaching.

Louise taught Benjamin at home wherever she could. For the subjects outside her expertise, she employed private tutors.

Slowly, Benjamin recovered his confidence.

When his GCSE results arrived, he had done exceptionally well.

Louise could not have been prouder.

The experience also gave her an idea.

Perhaps, one day, she could teach privately.

She could visit pupils in their homes, helping children who were struggling or whose circumstances prevented them from attending school normally.

It would allow her to continue doing something she loved while giving her greater control over her time.

But there was no hurry.

For the moment, Benjamin came first.

Following Frederick’s death, his rental properties were gradually sold.

Benjamin showed little interest in taking over his father’s business, and many of the properties were beginning to require increasing amounts of maintenance.

Louise did not want the responsibility.

One by one, they were sold.

It felt like another part of Frederick’s life slowly disappearing.

Benjamin

The following year, Benjamin started college.

He did well.

By the summer, he had completed his course and was planning to go to university.

Louise could see a future opening before him.

Frederick would have been proud.

Before university began, Benjamin and several friends decided to travel abroad together.

They called it their holiday of a lifetime.

For Benjamin, it was more than that.

It was his first real trip away from home without his mother.

His first journey abroad with friends.

A small declaration of independence.

Louise worried.

Of course she did.

But she also understood that she could not keep protecting him forever.

Benjamin was growing up.

The arrangements were checked carefully.

Flights.

Accommodation.

Travel insurance.

Everything seemed perfectly safe.

Louise eventually told him to go and enjoy himself.

And he did.

The Letter

Back in the garden, Louise disappeared into the house.

A few moments later, she returned carrying another bottle of wine and an envelope.

She placed the bottle on the table.

“I know you, Beatrice. I can read your mind.”

Beatrice smiled.

“Oh?”

“You’re wondering whether I’ve heard from Ben.”

“I might have been.”

Louise handed her the letter.

“This arrived this morning.”

Beatrice unfolded it.

Benjamin had written about the places they had visited, the things they had done and the people they had met.

“He seems to be having a good time…”

Before Beatrice could finish the sentence, a black-and-white collie came bounding from the house and raced across the garden towards them.

Benji.

Benjamin had jokingly named the dog after himself when they first brought him home. He had insisted that if the family was going to have a dog, there ought to be two Bens in the house.

Louise had protested at first, saying that having a Benjamin and a Benji under the same roof would only cause confusion.

Benjamin had thought that made the name even better.

And so Benji he became.

Over the years, the name had become so natural that Louise rarely thought about where it had come from. Benji was simply Benji—a much-loved member of the family and, in many ways, Benjamin’s constant companion.

Now the collie raced towards Louise, barking excitedly and demanding her attention.

“What is it, Benji?” Louise laughed.

Benji stared at her, his tail wagging furiously.

“What do you want?”

Nothing, apparently.

He simply wanted to be noticed.

Beatrice laughed.

Then the doorbell rang.

Both women looked towards the house.

A few seconds later, it rang again.

“That sounds urgent,” Beatrice said.

They got up and went inside.

As Louise passed the front window, she noticed a police car parked outside the house.

Beatrice saw it too.

“What have you done, Louise?”

It was meant as a joke.

Louise smiled.

Benji began barking excitedly again as Louise walked towards the front door.

She opened it.

Two uniformed police officers stood outside.

The smile immediately disappeared from her face.

The older officer spoke.

“Mrs Smithers?”

“Yes.”

“May we come in?”

Something in his manner told Louise this was not a routine visit.

“Of course.”

She stepped aside.

The officers entered.

Beatrice took hold of Benji’s collar and led him away from the door.

The older officer removed his hat.

“I’m PC Jones, and this is my colleague, PC Evans.”

Louise looked from one officer to the other.

Neither man smiled.

“Mrs Smithers, I’m afraid we have some very difficult news.”

Louise felt suddenly cold.

PC Jones paused.

“We have been informed that your son, Benjamin, has been killed.”

Louise stared at him.

For several seconds, the words meant nothing.

“What?”

“I’m very sorry.”

“No.”

Beatrice moved towards her.

“No,” Louise repeated.

Her legs weakened.

Beatrice caught her and helped her into a chair.

PC Jones continued speaking.

There had been an incident abroad.

The local authorities were involved.

Further information would be provided.

Arrangements would need to be made.

But Louise could barely hear him.

His voice seemed to move further and further away.

She remembered only fragments.

“Is there anyone we can contact?”

“Arrangements will be made.”

“We’re very sorry.”

Everything else disappeared into a meaningless collection of sounds.

Her son was dead.

Bringing Benjamin Home

After the police officers left, Beatrice remained with her.

Louise cried.

She cried until exhaustion took over, and then, when she thought there could be no tears left, she cried again.

One question repeated itself endlessly.

How could this have happened?

It was supposed to have been safe.

Everything had been checked.

This was supposed to be Benjamin’s holiday of a lifetime.

He was supposed to return home.

He was supposed to go to university.

He was supposed to have a life.

Louise wanted everyone to leave.

Even Beatrice.

She wanted the house to herself.

She wanted only Benji beside her.

But Beatrice refused to abandon her.

She stayed that night.

Then the next day.

And for several days afterwards.

There were countless questions.

Would Louise have to travel abroad?

Would she have to identify Benjamin?

How would his body be returned to Britain?

How long would it take?

Who would deal with the authorities?

What documents were required?

Louise found herself surrounded by procedures at the very moment she was least capable of understanding them.

Enquiries were made and the necessary authorities assisted.

The process took weeks.

Eventually Benjamin was brought home.

A local funeral director took responsibility for the arrangements.

Only then did Louise begin to understand how many lives her son had touched.

People came constantly to the house.

Friends from school.

Friends from college.

Teachers.

Lecturers.

Neighbours.

People Louise barely knew.

Cards arrived every day.

Flowers filled the house.

Messages came from people telling Louise stories about Benjamin she had never heard.

Small acts of kindness.

Jokes.

College adventures.

Times he had helped friends without ever mentioning it at home.

Benjamin had been loved.

Far more than perhaps even Benjamin himself had realised.

Louise decided his funeral should show that love.

It would not simply mourn the life he had lost.

It would celebrate the life he had lived.

Benjamin’s Funeral

The funeral took place in October.

The hearse arrived outside Louise’s house, followed by a single funeral car.

There was no need for another.

There were no other close family members to travel with Louise.

No siblings for Benjamin.

No brothers or sisters waiting to support Louise.

No aunts, uncles or cousins joining the immediate family.

There was only Louise.

And Beatrice.

Beatrice sat beside her in the funeral car.

They travelled to the local church in silence.

As the car approached, Louise began to notice people standing outside.

Then more people.

And more.

When Benjamin’s coffin was carried into the church, Louise and Beatrice followed behind.

Louise looked up.

The church was full.

Friends from school and college filled the pews.

Teachers were there.

Lecturers.

Neighbours.

Young people from different parts of Benjamin’s life.

Louise had expected people to come.

She had not expected this.

The service became a celebration of Benjamin’s life.

Hymns he had liked were sung.

His favourite music was played.

Friends stood and spoke about him.

Lecturers talked about his ability and the future they had expected him to have.

One friend told a story about something ridiculous Benjamin had done at college.

Laughter spread through the church.

For a moment, Louise laughed too.

Then the laughter became tears.

Beatrice reached across and held her hand.

At the end of the service, Benjamin’s coffin was carried from the church.

The cortege travelled to the local cemetery.

Benjamin was to be buried beside his father.

The Solitary Man

As the funeral car travelled slowly along the cemetery road, Louise looked through the window.

That was when she first noticed him.

A solitary man stood beside a grave.

He was smartly dressed and completely alone.

There was something about his stillness that caught Louise’s attention.

She watched him for a few seconds.

Then the car moved on.

She thought no more about him.

There were more important things ahead.

Benjamin’s coffin was lowered into the grave beside Frederick.

The final prayers were said.

Afterwards, the people who had filled the church came forward to offer their condolences.

Gradually they left.

The crowd became smaller.

Then the cemetery became quiet.

Louise remained.

She stood between the graves of her husband and her son.

Frederick.

Benjamin.

The two people who had been her family.

She whispered her farewells.

Then Beatrice gently led her away.

Wednesday Afternoons

Weeks passed.

Life did not return to normal.

There was no longer a normal to return to.

Instead, Louise slowly created a different kind of life.

She began thinking again about teaching.

Perhaps Beatrice was right.

Perhaps there would come a time when she could return.

Every Wednesday, Louise took Benji for a walk to the cemetery.

Benjamin had loved the dog.

Frederick had loved him too.

Bringing Benji somehow made the visit feel like something the family was still doing together.

There was another reason, one Louise rarely admitted even to herself.

Every time she called the dog’s name—

“Benji!”

—there was still an echo of Benjamin in the house.

It was a small connection, perhaps, but after losing her son, small connections mattered.

On the first Wednesday, Louise saw the solitary man again.

The same man she had noticed on the day of Benjamin’s funeral.

He stood beside a grave.

She assumed it was coincidence.

The following Wednesday, he was there again.

And the Wednesday after that.

Week after week, Louise saw him.

Always on Wednesday.

Always alone.

Always smartly dressed.

He came in sunshine.

He came in rain.

He came during the cold winter afternoons.

Sometimes their eyes met.

One would give the other a polite nod.

Nothing more.

Louise became curious.

One Wednesday, after the man had left, she walked over to the grave where he had been standing.

She looked down at the memorial.

LUCY ATKINSON

Louise stood there for a moment.

His wife, she thought.

She understood now.

The man was doing exactly what she was doing.

Visiting someone he had loved.

After that, Louise viewed him differently.

They were still strangers.

But they were strangers who understood something about one another without ever having spoken.

Benji

The following May, Benji became ill.

At first, Louise hoped it was nothing serious.

But he grew worse.

The vet eventually told her what she had been dreading.

There was nothing more that could reasonably be done for him.

The kindest thing would be to put him to sleep.

Louise was devastated.

She knew Benji was a dog.

But to her, he represented much more.

He was the final living connection to the family she had once had.

Frederick had stroked him.

Benjamin had played with him.

And Benjamin had given him his name.

After Frederick died, Benji had remained.

After Benjamin died, Benji had remained.

He had followed Louise around the house.

He had waited for her.

He had slept nearby.

He had filled some of the silence.

And every time Louise had spoken his name, there had been the smallest reminder of her son.

Now that name would no longer be called through the house.

Benji too was gone.

For the first time, Louise felt completely alone.

The Bench

The following Wednesday, Louise went to the cemetery without Benji.

The walk felt strangely empty.

There was no lead in her hand.

No impatient collie pulling her towards some interesting smell.

No sound of paws beside her.

Louise visited Frederick first.

Then Benjamin.

She stood between their graves for several minutes before walking towards a nearby bench.

She sat down.

The cemetery was quiet.

Louise looked towards the path where Benji had walked beside her so many times.

The tears came without warning.

She lowered her head and began to weep.

Not only for Benji.

For Benjamin.

For Frederick.

For the home that had once contained all of them.

For the life she had once taken for granted.

And for herself.

Simon and Louise

Simon had finished his usual visit to Lucy’s grave and was making his way towards his car when he noticed the woman sitting alone on the bench.

She was crying.

Simon hesitated.

For months, they had occupied the same place at roughly the same time without ever properly acknowledging one another.

He knew nothing about her.

Not even her name.

He could simply continue walking.

Perhaps he should.

Instead, Simon stopped.

He approached the bench.

“Hello,” he said gently. “Are you all right?”

The woman quickly wiped her eyes.

Simon gestured towards the empty space beside her.

“Would you mind if I joined you?”

She looked up at him.

“Yes,” she said quietly.

Then she realised what she had said.

The faintest smile appeared.

“I mean, no. I don’t mind. Please sit.”

Simon sat beside her.

For a few moments, neither of them spoke.

There was no need to hurry.

Eventually, the woman broke the silence.

“I’m Louise.”

“Simon.”

“I know.”

Simon turned towards her in surprise.

Louise gave a small smile.

“I’ve noticed you coming here,” she explained. “Every Wednesday.”

Simon glanced towards Lucy’s grave.

Louise followed his gaze.

“You come to visit your wife, don’t you?”

Simon was taken aback.

For months, his Wednesday afternoons had seemed private—a small part of his life belonging only to himself and Lucy.

Yet this stranger had noticed him.

“Yes,” he replied eventually. “I do.”

Louise looked towards the rows of graves.

“I thought so.”

Simon studied her for a moment.

“And you?” he asked.

Louise lowered her eyes.

For several seconds, she said nothing.

Then she looked towards two graves further along the path.

“My husband is buried here,” she said quietly. “Frederick.”

Simon followed her gaze.

Louise paused.

“And my son.”

She swallowed.

“Benjamin.”

Simon looked back at her.

“He died last year,” Louise continued. “He was away with some friends. It was supposed to be the holiday of a lifetime.”

She managed a faint, sad smile.

“He’d just finished college. He was going to university.”

Simon did not know what to say.

“I’m sorry.”

“Thank you.”

Louise looked towards Benjamin’s grave.

“After Frederick died, Benjamin was all I had.”

She paused.

“Well, Benjamin and Benji.”

“Benji?”

“My dog. The collie you used to see me walking.”

Simon nodded.

“I wondered what had happened to him.”

“He became ill.”

Louise looked down at her hands.

“I had to have him put to sleep last week.”

“I’m sorry.”

Louise nodded.

“Benjamin named him.”

Simon looked at her.

“After himself, actually.”

Despite everything, a slight smile appeared on Louise’s face.

“He thought it would be funny to have two Bens in the house. Benjamin and Benji. I told him it would cause nothing but confusion.”

“Did it?”

“Constantly.”

For the first time, Simon smiled.

Louise did too.

Only briefly.

Then her expression softened.

“I know people say they’re only animals. But Benji wasn’t just a dog to me. He belonged to all of us. Frederick loved him. Benjamin loved him. He was there when we were still a family.”

Her voice weakened.

“After Frederick died, Benji was still there. After Benjamin died, Benji was still there.”

Louise looked towards the path.

“And whenever I called his name, I suppose a little part of me was still calling Benjamin’s name as well.”

Simon said nothing.

There was nothing he could say that would improve upon the truth of it.

“Sometimes,” Louise continued, “I think that stupid dog was the only reason I got out of bed in the morning.”

Simon gave the faintest smile.

Louise did too.

“And now he’s gone.”

Simon looked towards the empty path beside them.

He finally understood why seeing Louise without the dog had seemed so significant.

“I’m very sorry,” he said.

“Thank you.”

They sat together in silence.

It was not an uncomfortable silence.

Eventually Louise looked towards Lucy’s grave.

“What was her name?”

“Lucy.”

“Your wife?”

Simon nodded.

“Yes.”

“How long ago?”

“Last September.”

Louise calculated the months.

“So it hasn’t even been a year.”

“No.”

“Was she ill?”

Simon hesitated.

“Yes.”

Louise waited.

“She was in hospital.”

Something in the way Simon said it told her there was more.

“Were you with her?”

The question caught him completely unprepared.

Simon looked away.

“No.”

Louise said nothing.

“I wasn’t there when she died.”

Simon stared towards Lucy’s grave.

“I should have been.”

Louise could hear the guilt in his voice.

She did not tell him that he should not blame himself.

She knew enough about grief to understand that words like that rarely helped.

Instead, she waited.

Simon glanced at her.

For twenty years, people had come into his office and told him their problems. Simon listened, asked questions and gave advice.

He was accustomed to hearing other people’s stories.

He was not accustomed to telling his own.

Louise settled back against the bench.

“You know,” she said, “I’ve just told you quite a lot about myself.”

The faintest smile crossed Simon’s face.

“You have.”

“So perhaps it’s your turn.”

Simon looked at her.

Louise smiled gently.

“I’ve got time.”

The words stayed between them.

Simon turned towards Lucy’s grave.

He thought about the hospital.

The telephone call.

The funeral in the rain.

The Wednesdays he had spent standing beside Lucy and telling her everything except the one thing that mattered most.

That he was sorry.

He looked back at Louise.

For the first time since Lucy had died, somebody was not asking Simon to be strong, professional or in control.

She was simply offering to listen.

Simon took a breath.

“All right,” he said.

And there, on a cemetery bench between the people they had loved and lost, Simon began to tell Louise about Lucy.