Buried Secrets Have a Way of Worming to the Surface

Ruby struggles to cope with the news she’s been dreading — Ep 3

Previously: Ruby’s elderly neighbour’s fall, lands him in hospital. When she visits, he slips in and out of lucidity, talking about suspicious behaviour that leaves her confused

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I felt infinitely weary and crushed when I got the call I’d been dreading about Henry, from the hospital. I stood dumbly, tears blurring my vision, as Mabel gambolled blithely around. She continued sniffing leaves and tufts of grass as we walked on the common, completely unaware that one of her favourite humans was no longer alive.

It did not reduce the impact, that Henry’s death had been partly expected; I had not abandoned hope. Now I felt as if someone had chopped my legs off at the knees, or filled my head with cement. I didn’t know what to do with myself. I questioned how birds could still be singing and people were carrying out their daily business when my charming friend had just shuffled off his mortal coil and his spirit was drifting about in the ether.

I clipped on Mabel’s lead, and then we walked home down the road. I broke down in tears when I passed Henry’s house, which looked the same as always. With the curtains open, it was easy to imagine he was in his kitchen, boiling the kettle for a cup of tea and poached eggs for breakfast. I comforted myself by conjuring up an image of Henry in the slightly scruffy olive green cardigan and patched trousers that he always wore for gardening. Mabel slowed in the gateway and looked up at me hopefully.

“Not today, sweetie,” I told her. I had to stifle a sob caused by the realisation that the true answer was, never again, Mabel.

Once home, I toyed with the idea of calling in sick; already a headache was tightening my temples, but I needed distraction rather than dwelling on the emptiness of a world without Henry. Once Mabel had settled in her dog bed, using her nose to nudge under the fleecy blanket, I applied some lippy, ran a brush through my hair, and then set off to work.

When I returned home that night, street lights were casting an amber glow. Many houses had their curtains drawn, and the soft glow of electric light showed in the fanlights above their front doors. I’d installed a couple of timer plugs so Mabel never had to sit in the dark.

She greeted me with wags and warm licks and I was just pulling her squirming body into a hug when there was a sharp knock. Immediately Mabel morphed from a cuddly companion to a fierce protector, scampering towards the front door to deliver a menacing bark. I gave her a steadying look and went to see who was there. On my doorstep stood a middle-aged man I did not recognise.

“Ruby Matthews?” he asked.

“Yes.” I was guarded; I hated door-to-door salesmen.

“I’m Bruce. Henry’s son.”

The penny did drop, despite my brain feeling porridge-ladent. “Oh, Henry’s … Bruce … Oh goodness, I’m so sorry for your loss. Would you like to come in?”

I stepped back and held the door open, inviting Bruce into my home.

“Thank you, yes. It would be good to talk for a few moments.”

Mabel danced around his ankles, doing her best to charm my visitor, but Bruce ignored her and stood awkwardly just inside the room.

“Can I offer you a drink? Tea? Coffee?”

“Thank you, coffee would be lovely.” Bruce had a soft voice, like Henry’s in timbre, but with the edges rubbed off, so his accent was not so classy.

As I fussed about in the kitchen making our drinks and putting biscuits on a plate, I tried to corral my thoughts so that I could ask sensible questions. Then, I carried the mugs into the living room.

“Settle down, Mabel,” I chided. She was nudging her favourite ball onto Bruce’s knee in an attempt to get him to play.

“The hospital let you know he’d … that my father had died?” Bruce said.

“Yes, they called me this morning,” As I answered, I reached down to Mabel, stroking her for comfort. “Did you manage to see him?”

“Yes,” Bruce studied his hands, “for a few hours. But I’m not sure he realised I was there. He was drifting in and out …”

“I’m sure he’d have recognised your voice, and it was a comfort to have you nearby.”

The silence stretched, both of us thinking about the last time we had seen Henry.

“The funeral — will you have it here?” I cringed at my blurted question.

“I’ll need to check his papers to see if he had a funeral plan.” He stared off to the side. “I wondered if he wanted to be buried next to my Mum.”

Bruce’s voice wobbled then, so I looked away.

“I gather you were friends? The hospital says you visited often.”

“Yes,” now it was my turn to fight back emotion.

I picked Mabel up and settled her on my lap. “We made friends over this one.” I rubbed my dog’s velvety ears. “Your Dad was a genuinely lovely man; I used to visit him and work in his garden. Sometimes, as we were both on our own, he’d come to me for Sunday lunch. I will miss his companionship and advice. He was very generous, sharing his homegrown fruit and vegetables.”

“I hadn’t seen him for years…” Bruce ventured. “Not since Mum’s funeral. We weren’t exactly close.”

Henry had said as much. As I examined Bruce, he seemed pretty composed, but grief struck people differently. To save any awkwardness, I steered things back to practical topics.

“If you put a notice of his death in the local paper, that should spread the word. Henry’s red address book is near the phone; it’s how I called you. It looked to have numbers of older friends, people from where you used to live.”

For a moment, Bruce’s composure slipped and his face blanched under the tan, but he recovered quickly.

“What’s the name of the local paper?” He pulled out his phone and prepared to tap the name I supplied into its search engine. Having done so, he got to his feet abruptly. “Right, my taxi will be here. Thanks for your help, Ruby, and for your kindness to my father.”

“Not at all. Getting to know Henry, — well, the pleasure was all mine. We’re going to miss him.” Mabel and I followed Bruce and we moved to the front door. “If you need help with anything else, just ask.”

As I watched his figure receding down the street, I wondered why he didn’t stay in Henry’s house. Then I shrugged; of course, Bruce would have booked into a hotel so that he could visit his sick father in hospital. Now that Henry was gone, it might feel odd to occupy his father’s ‘space’.

As I cooked my solitary meal, and Mabel tucked into her kibble, I questioned why — when I was so very fond of Henry — I hadn’t warmed to his son at all.

Final part publishes next week, Written in response to Tantalizing Tales’ prompt : Secret. Find them all in this list which you can download & read off-line. Subscribe and my content comes direct to your inbox whenever I publish.