In Memoriam

She paused for a moment at the bottom of the carpeted stairs and looked up, lifting thin wrinkled lids, weary with years, to reveal youthful desires still dancing in those sparkling blue eyes. Sighing heavily she turned towards the living room, shuffling slipper-clad feet unhurriedly to her favourite armchair by the fire.

Sitting down gingerly she turned her head absently to the window, placing the tips of her delicate fingers together, and heaving another great shuddering sigh. Unnoticed and unbidden, a single tear welled up in her eye and rolled down her cheek, slowed by the furrows and wrinkles of age.

It had been a week since the letter had arrived. It lay where she had dropped it, on the floor by her chair. She glanced at it quickly, as though afraid it would explode, and returned her gaze to the window. Then, not knowing why, and with a hand that never normally shook, she reached down and picked it up, smoothing the photocopied paper out on her knee and holding it up close to her eyes.

Her eyes moved swiftly from left to right, taking in the news again, adding to the numbness she already felt.

Officer Samuel Walters was dead.

A hand went up to cover her quivering lip as she read the words afresh, and she tore her eyes from the officially-typed letter. So devoid of any feeling, cold black letters stabbed into starched white paper.

She rose from her seat and shuffled to the old bureau in the corner of the room. Very old it was, passed down from her grandfather. She paused as she ran her free hand over its polished surface, remembering that her grandfather had been in the forces for a while. But he had died not as a result of a battle with men, but a battle with cancer. Fresh tears sprang to her eyes. It had been so long ago, and yet this recent news turned the knife in old wounds.

She wondered momentarily if the other officer cadet she had met at University had met the same fate as Samuel, and a surge of anger rose in her chest. He deserved it if he was. He had not only broken her heart but…

She struggled to contain her fury. She thought of how she had been fooled by his mind games, how she had been used. But that was ancient history now. He was ancient history. He would never come near her again. But what of the people who he had come into contact with after their bitter parting? What if she had not been the only one? She swallowed back a lump of guilt and anger in her throat as she thought with regret that she could have stopped him then. But she had had her education, her career to think about. And the trauma she had suffered was such that she wanted to forget it, not have it dragged up before a court, not relive those terrible moments in public. And then after that it had been too late anyway, she had a husband and a family to think about. She sighed, a quick exhalation of fury, guilt and resignation. He had beaten her, she supposed. And yet maybe he hadn’t. Maybe her family was testament to her survival and her victory over his abuse. Her three beautiful girls, now all she had left in the world after the sudden death of her husband three years previously. She lived through them in so many ways. Watching her youngest get married the year after her husband died had been one of the most painful yet wonderful experiences of her life. Like the news of her best friend’s death it had stirred up old memories, it had been a cacophony of agony and joy.

Shaking these thoughts from her head she turned the little key of the bureau and lowered the in-built writing desk, took out a fresh sheet of paper and her fountain pen. She smoothed down the paper as was her habit and poised her pen to write. She wrote the address and the date – 12th January 2047, and then paused again, wondering how to begin. It had been the year 2000 when she had met Samuel for the first time. He was only just 18. She had been a little older. All those years ago. And now, here she was, 47 years later, writing a letter of condolence to his wife, his widow. A knot came to her throat as she remembered him at 18. She shook herself from her reverie once more, and wrote: “Dear Natasha”

She got no further than the addressee, and the pen dropped from her hand as memories flooded back, breaking down the gates of resistance, and huge, jolting sobs found their way through them, bringing a sudden and severe release of emotion that had been too long pent up.

Samuel at 18. Their deep bond of friendship, their passion. She remembered their short time together in secret. The way he had always looked after her, the way he had been a father to her and she a mother to him. She remembered with a particularly painful sob how he had believed her over his best friend, and so become her best friend. Her twin spirit. Her dear heart. She remembered the promise she had made him, to name her first son after him. At this remembrance she cradled her head in her hands and rocked gently on the chair. Three daughters. She had not kept her promise. And now it was too late.

Through the agony of sobs, through the stabbing silence of emptiness in that house, the searing loneliness she felt having lost her two most precious friends in so short a time, and the realisation of her age; her uselessness seemed to engulf her, and she wished for a fleeting moment that she too could die. But this emotion was only followed by another wave of guilt and grief as she thought of her children and grand daughters, particularly her youngest child who was due to give birth any day now. She could not leave the world now. She had come too far. She must struggle on. For them. For all of them.

With a massive effort she composed herself, taking out a lace handkerchief and wiping her red eyes and tear-stained cheeks. She picked up her pen again, and began to write; “Samuel was a wonderful man, and he will be greatly missed. I cannot begin to express my sorrow and I wish to tell you how sorry I am for your loss.” She blew her nose soundly.

She remembered attending Samuel and Natasha’s wedding. She did not know Natasha as well as Sam but they had got on well. She knew she would not have been happy to see him married to someone who did not deserve him. They had not had any children, one of the great regrets of Sam’s life. He had had an active role in the life of her own children. She thought sadly what a good father he would have made. But he was married to the army as well as his pretty wife. She thought how strange it was that once upon a time he had doubted whether he was suited to it, he had been so disillusioned with the fabric of the forces. But he had lived and died for it. She sniffed sadly. At the time the army had been her great enemy, as it was his career in the army that led them on separate life paths. She sometimes wondered what would have happened if they had been married. She cursed the army now, that a life so wonderful could be wasted.

She was on the verge of turning back to her letter when the telephone rang shrilly, piercing her thoughts like a silver arrow, slicing clean through the silence in the house. She got up and shuffled over to it, picking it up with a hand that did not normally shake. “Hello?” she said softly. The excited voice of her son in law came as harsh contrast to her misery, and she struggled to understand his ecstatic gabble. “Elsie, you’re a grandmother!”. She let the words sink in for a moment, silently holding the receiver to her ear. “David?” She said, stammering, for some reason unable to believe the words, “Anna has had the baby?”

“Yes Grandma Elsie, yes! And guess what??! It’s a boy!” came the ecstatic reply.

She felt a another lump rise in her throat as she struggled to contain emotion that came with a thought, a thought that was trying to get out, a thought so ludicrous…

“Grandma Elsie, are you alright?” her son-in-law asked gently.

She mumbled ascent before he continued in the same gentle tone, “Anna wanted me to tell you, she said it was very important. She told me that I must tell you that the baby’s name is Samuel.”