Short Story: Remembrance

Short Story: Remembrance

An old thatched cottage stands huddled at the bend of a long lane, and its ‘Bed and Breakfast’ sign beckons the weary traveller. It is a small sign, an old sign, and a sign that has seen brighter days. It is now but a dim glow of its former self, set against the black silhouettes and shadows of the heavy leaning trees, but the sign still calls out to the still of the night.

Footsteps crunch hard into gravel, and splash into unseen puddles of the unlit lane. Someone approaches. Long plumes of breath push high into the chill night air, as the figure nears. A doorbell rings loudly inside the hallway of the thatched cottage. Out beyond the hedge-line, an owl casts a lonely call through the skeletal trees, and moments later a dim light fills the leaded windows of a small porch.

A door opens…

“Yes…?”

“…Oh! …Good evening… madam. Do you have a room? I’m, I’m sorry it’s a little late, but I left the train at the wrong station, and now I’m… er… rather stuck. There was no one at the station to help, and my phone has died, but a minicab said that you might be able to help…”

“… I see, yes. People do get stranded up here, it does happen from time to time. It’s hopeless at night. …Yes. Yes, there is a room. …Do you have anything with you?”

“No, no. Only the briefcase I’m afraid, no cases. Is …is that all right?”

“Yes… Come in…”

A door closes…

“Meeeowww!”

“Oh! Go away Marmite … go away, let the man through.”

“Thanks. Thanks, this is very good of you.”

“ No, not at all. Come on, come through Mister…?”

“…Terry, Terry Hansard, I’m in insurance. Thanks, this is very good of you.”

“It’ll be just the one night then…?”

“Oh! Yes, sorry if you could just manage me tonight, that’ll be fine. I’ll catch the early train in the morning…”

“Yes, that’s right, nine fifteen is the first one to stop here; come through. Careful, mind the cat, he’s just hoping for more supper; fat as a little pig, and can hardly squeeze through the cat-flap. He’s been fed, but is always hopeful. Careful, mind he doesn’t trip you on the stairs. Follow me, I’ll show you up to the room - its forty five…”

“Oh! Right, sure, that’ll be fine – nice place.”

“Yes, we like it. How would you like your breakfast – full English?”

“Sorry?”

“Breakfast. Regular English?”

“Yes, sorry, that’ll be fine. No, it’s just that I think I’ve been here before…”

“Really, how odd, I don’t remember you…”

“Yes, can’t quite remember where, but something here reminds me, can’t quite put my finger on it.”

“Eight o’clock?”

“Sorry… Oh! Yes of course that would be great, English is fine, thank you, err...”

“I’m Rose, Rose Malone, we are originally from Norfolk, do you know it?”

“Oh! Right...yes, of course, lovely…”

“My husband and I first came here thirty years ago on holiday, and we couldn’t believe it, when it came up for sale, we couldn’t resist. You know how it is when you fall for something…or someone - it’s forever. Here, this is the room…”

A door opens…

“Very nice, plenty of room...”

“Yes. Here we are then, wardrobes, there’s tea making over there, and the bathroom is just along the passage, towels there, okay?”

“Yes, good, fine, thank you.”

“Oh! …Of course you don’t have any, any…”

“Yes - that’s it. Oh, yeah…”

“Look, make yourself comfortable. I’ll pop back in a short while, Charlie has some spare pyjamas, and a dressing gown, if you would like – you’re just about his size, okay my dear?”

“That is most kind, err, Rose…”

A door closes…

“The woman must be colour-blind. Orange wallpaper! Yuck… Still, can’t complain… Blasted train! Why do all the bloody stations look the same? My God! That’s it! Yes, I remember now, it was in Auntie May’s, I thought I recognised it! The orange wallpaper! Yes, that horrid orange flowered pattern – drove everyone mad…

A knock at the door…

“Mister Hansard, are you there?”

“Yes, of course, come in.”

The door opens…

“Here we are then; they have been washed. I’ll put them here… on the bed?”

“Oh, right, yes, thanks. You’re very kind.”

“That’s all right dear, don’t forget the tea, you’ll probably be in need of that; it’s a long way from the station.”

“Yes, I was just going to pour one, and then maybe a quick bath.”

“There is a shower if you prefer, it’s one over the bath, but there’s plenty of hot water, yes well, I won’t keep you…”

“Right, right…”

“If you need anything else, just call out over the stairs, all right dear? Yes, well then, I’ll leave you in peace. But if you do need anything, anything at all…”

“Yes, yes, I’ll do that… Thanks for the….”

“Hmmm…”

The door closes…

“Grief! Coming on to me! …Blimey! Old enough to be my mother; quick where’s that tea?”

A distant door opens… a tap is running…

“La la la la… de … de… dee…”

“Ah! That’s better, hits the spot. Why doesn’t beer do that? …Now where’s that towel?”

A knock at the door…

“…Charlie? Are you there? Your bath is ready!”

“Sorry, what was that you said? …err …Rose, is that you? What was that…?”

The door opens…

“Come along now, your bath is ready… Come along dear, or it will get cold.”

“No, no it’s not necessary, I think I can mange on my own - you don’t have to go to any trouble for me.”

“It’s no trouble dear, you mustn’t miss your bath-time, and that dressing gown, its still looks as good as new on you. Come on now… I think I can still remember, still remember… now where did I put that paper? Charlie, shall I bring you up the crossword? You always finish it in the bath, and it’s been such a long time…”

“Sorry?”

“I am so pleased you came back; yes it’s been such a long time. Come down to the fire when you have finished dear, I don’t want you to catch another chill, it’s so cold outside. I’ll wait downstairs, I’ve been waiting for you, and you have been gone such a long, long time...”

The door closes…