The Bench - part 4

Margaret Returns

By early evening, Margaret and Alfie found themselves back in Postman's Park.

The day had been brighter than expected. The rain had stayed away and, although the air still carried a chill, there was a softness to it that hinted at spring.

Alfie seemed determined to inspect every tree in the park before heading home.

Margaret let him.

There was little waiting for either of them at the house.

She had discovered that grief changed shape throughout the day. Mornings could be busy enough. There were errands to run, shopping to buy and neighbours to exchange a few words with.

Evenings were harder.

That was when the silence became noticeable.

Roger had always made noise without seeming to.

The radio in another room.

The newspaper turning.

Footsteps on the stairs.

A comment shouted from the kitchen.

For years she had hardly noticed those sounds.

Now she missed them all.

Margaret reached the bench and sat down.

Alfie wandered off towards a tree that had apparently offended him in some way.

She smiled.

Somewhere beyond the park, she could hear faint music.

A guitar.

The sound drifted on the evening air and disappeared again amongst the traffic.

Without really meaning to, she thought about the young Indian man who had sat beside her that morning.

She wondered how his meeting had gone.

Perhaps it had been nothing.

Perhaps he had worried himself unnecessarily.

Lord knew enough people did that.

Then again, she remembered the look on his face.

No.

Something had been troubling him.

She hoped the day had been kinder to him than he'd expected.

The bench was surprisingly busy, she reflected.

She'd shared it with a stranger worrying about his future.

Now she sat alone thinking about the future of a man she would never see again.

Life was odd sometimes.

"Excuse me, is anyone sitting here?"

Margaret looked up.

A teenage girl was standing beside the bench.

She looked about fifteen, perhaps sixteen. Chestnut-brown hair fell to her shoulders, and thoughtful brown eyes peered out beneath a fringe that seemed determined to escape being tucked behind her ears. She wore a navy coat over her school jumper, with a canvas bag slung across one shoulder. There was something bright and open about her smile, although Margaret noticed a hint of sadness there too.

"No, dear. Plenty of room."

"Thanks."

The girl sat down.

Margaret returned to watching Alfie.

For a minute or two neither said anything.

Then the girl looked at her more closely.

"Miss Robertson?"

Margaret turned.

The face was familiar.

Not immediately.

But familiar.

The problem with teaching for forty years was that thousands of children passed through your classroom and then grew up.

Often far too quickly.

"I'm sorry, love," Margaret said. "Have we met?"

The girl smiled.

"Sophie Smithers."

Margaret repeated the name.

Smithers.

Then recognition arrived.

"Oh goodness."

She laughed softly.

"Sophie."

The girl nodded.

"You remember me now?"

"I remember a girl who never stopped asking questions."

Sophie grinned.

"That sounds about right."

Margaret studied her.

The years between childhood and adulthood still fascinated her.

Children she remembered in school uniforms seemed to transform overnight into entirely different people.

"You've grown up."

"I've been told that."

"I should hope so."

They both laughed.

For a moment Margaret could still see the pupil she had taught all those years ago.

Then she noticed something else.

A sadness.

Not obvious.

Just there beneath the smile.

As soon as she recognised the surname, she remembered.

Sophie's father had been a journalist.

Her mother had been a teacher.

Years earlier, the family had endured a terrible tragedy when Sophie's older brother, Ben, had been murdered. The case had attracted considerable attention at the time, yet no arrest had ever given the family the answers they needed.

Margaret remembered reading the newspaper reports and feeling shocked. She remembered seeing Sophie at school afterwards, carrying on as best she could while something unimaginable hung over the entire family.

Some losses never truly left people.

They simply became part of who they were.

"How are your mum and dad?" Margaret asked gently.

Sophie's smile softened.

"They're all right."

Margaret sensed that "all right" probably covered a great many things.

"Dad never really got over what happened to Ben," Sophie said after a moment. "He had to write about it for the newspaper. I think that made it harder."

Margaret nodded.

"I can imagine."

"Mum was amazing, though," Sophie continued. "I don't think any of us would've got through it without her."

"Your mother always seemed very strong."

"She is," Sophie said quietly. "Most of the time."

For a moment, neither spoke.

Both understood more than the words themselves were saying.

Eventually Margaret smiled.

"So what are you doing here?"

"Waiting for my boyfriend."

"Ah."

Sophie smiled.

"I've sent him three messages already."

"Three?"

Sophie shrugged.

"Just to make sure he comes to the right bench. Knowing Jack, he'd probably end up on the other side of the park."

Margaret laughed.

"When I was your age we managed perfectly well without mobile phones."

"How?"

"We arranged where to meet and hoped the other person remembered."

Sophie grinned.

"That sounds stressful."

"It was."

A few moments later a tall, thin young man entered the park.

He looked about seventeen, with untidy brown hair that appeared to have lost an argument with a comb. He wore a dark jacket over a grey hoodie, his hands buried in his pockets against the evening chill. His face was open and friendly, the sort that smiled easily, and there was an energetic awkwardness about him that seemed entirely genuine.

The moment he spotted Sophie, his face lit up.

He raised a hand in greeting.

Sophie waved back.

"That's him."

The boy approached the bench with the slightly awkward confidence of someone still getting used to being somebody's boyfriend.

"Sorry I'm late."

"You always say that."

"Because I'm always late."

He smiled.

"Fair point."

Sophie stood.

"Miss Robertson, this is Jack."

"Pleased to meet you, Mrs Robertson."

"And you, Jack."

There was something open and cheerful about him.

Margaret liked him immediately.

The young man's expression suddenly changed.

"You'll never guess what's happened."

"Go on then," Sophie said.

"My Aunt Wendy's been dumped."

Sophie blinked.

"What?"

Jack shook his head.

"Honestly, I feel sorry for her. She's always been a bit of a hippie. Yoga retreats, crystals, meditation, talking about positive energy and finding herself."

Sophie laughed.

"That does sound like Wendy."

"Anyway, she was seeing this Australian musician. Apparently he ended things by text message."

Margaret raised an eyebrow.

"By text message?"

Jack nodded.

"That's what she said. She was furious. Then she was upset. Then she was furious again."

"Poor Wendy," Sophie said.

"That's what Mum said."

Jack shrugged.

"To be fair, they hadn't been seeing each other all that long, but Aunt Wendy tends to throw herself into things."

The information meant very little to Margaret.

To Jack, however, it was clearly the most dramatic piece of news he had heard all day.

Sophie slipped her arm through his.

"We should go."

"Cinema?"

"Cinema."

Margaret smiled.

"Enjoy yourselves."

"We will."

"It was lovely seeing you again, Miss."

"And you, Sophie."

The young couple walked towards the gates, already discussing what film to watch.

Margaret watched them disappear into the evening crowd.

Young people heading towards a future full of possibilities.

For a moment she felt unexpectedly hopeful.

Then Alfie returned and sat beside her.

He looked at her expectantly.

"Yes, I know."

His tail thumped once.

"You want to go home."

The tail thumped again.

Margaret looked around the park.

The daylight was fading now.

Office workers hurried past on their way home.

The music she had heard earlier had stopped.

The bench was becoming quiet once more.

Throughout the day people had sat there carrying all sorts of things.

Grief.

Hope.

Heartbreak.

Uncertainty.

Love.

Most of it invisible.

She thought about Daniel.

About Sophie and the loss her family still carried.

About Jack and his unfortunate Aunt Wendy.

Lives crossing for a few moments before continuing on their separate paths.

Perhaps that was all anybody ever really did.

Margaret reached down and clipped Alfie's lead onto his collar.

"Come on, old boy."

Alfie stood immediately.

Together they left the bench beneath the plane tree and began the walk home.

Behind them, the bench remained where it had always been.

Waiting for whoever might need it next.