Page 130 of To Hell With It
I ran back up them, imagining myself stomping up a mountain determined to get to the top.
‘One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, Mr O’Callaghan filming it … shit, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, trees, trees, trees.’
I closed my eyes and ran down the rest of the way.
‘Thirteen, fucking fourteen. Trees, trees, trees.’
I was at the bottom. I was at the bottom and nothing had changed. Actually, that’s a lie; something had changed; now I saw Maggie Ryan’s face too. But I was alive and as far as I was aware, no one had died.
In my kitchen, I made my cheese and pickle sandwich, packed a banana and my yoghurt, then I pulled on my boots and left the house, checking the door handle only once.
* * *
I made my way past O’Callaghan’s shop. I didn’t go in, I couldn’t quite face Mrs O’Callaghan knowing that I had seen her husband’s penis in real life after all. I crossed the road and kept my head up. I kept it up the whole way, looking out for any red cars but hoping desperately that I wouldn’t see any.
I passed Ellie’s bakery and Sally’s farm eggs on the roadside. I saw the sanitiser next to them and the notepad she left for people to write down what they’d paid and what they owed. I bent down and scribbled my message.
No need for the sanitiser anymore, thanks Sally! Pearl x
God, it felt good to do that and I imagined Sally’s face when she read the note, how happy and shocked she’d be at the same time. Then I imagined me leaving another note the next time asking for it back, because I knew I probably would, and that was OK.
I waved to Mr Dutson on my way by. He popped his head out of the garage door and shouted:
‘Sorry about that bugger, Pearl!’
Bythat buggerhe meant Jack and I waved back at him and said with a smile:
‘Thanks, Mr Dutson, glad to be home.’
Then I skipped along the pavement like someone out of a musical, except I wasn’t singing (I wasn’t actually skipping either, but you know what I mean, I was on a natural high).
When I got to the salon I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw a red car parked right outside. Una came out as soon as she saw me.
‘What do you think?’ She grinned.
‘It’s yours?’
‘Yep.’
There was a moment between us as it sunk in that the choice of colour was deliberate.
‘If I die it won’t be down to you seeing this red car, it will be down to the fact it was just my time to die.’
‘You’re a cow, you know that?’ I said.
‘Mooooo!’ Una chuckled as she grabbed my arm. ‘Come on,’ she tugged my sleeve, ‘let’s have some lunch and talk about dead people.’
* * *
When we got to the graveyard, I sat in my usual spot (on the bench closest to Gillian Murphy’s grave). Gillian was a mother, grandmother and daughter and had died when she was only sixty-three. She always had fresh flowers on her grave, so it was comforting to know she hadn’t been forgotten. Not that people get forgotten but I suppose sometimes it is easy to let time slip by and before anyone knows it a year or more has passed since they’ve been to visit their loved one.
I didn’t leave flowers for my grandmother. She’d have told me not to bother my head if she’d been alive. Instead, I’d planted forget-me-nots all around her grave so that when they came out in the spring she could see them from heaven.
My grandmother’s ashes were buried beside a cherry tree that only blossomed once a year in May. Beside her was a man called Dermot, who’d died at the ripe old age of ninety-two, and Enid, who shared the same surname as Gillian, so perhaps she was her sister?
I liked the idea of being buried with my grandmother but I hated the thought of being under the ground, trapped, so I’d told Una I was to be scattered on top instead. She told me it didn’t matter because I’d blow away in the end anyway, and probably end up stuck in a hedge somewhere.
‘So, what are you going to do now you’re back?’ Una asked once we’d sat down.
