Barbara had been lying in bed for several days, utterly lacking the will to get up. Nothing hurt, exactly; it was just a persistent dizziness, an exhausting tiredness, andif were honestthe sheer lack of desire to face the world.
Whats the point? she thought, staring at the ceiling, Ive done all I was supposed to: raised the children, bid farewell to my parents. Now, it seems, theres not a jot left for me to do. Life had zipped by with the discourtesy of a London bus youve just waved at.
Barbara looked around her room. Dusty cobwebs festooned the corners of the ceiling like bunting left over from the Queens Silver Jubilee. Her gaze drifted to the window, where her small gardenonce orderlynow resembled a wild wood fit for foxes. Dawn crept in, she closed her eyes, and off she nodded.
In her dream, Barbara saw her motherquite the surprise, as Mum had only appeared in dreams once before, and that was right after the funeral. She looked loving as always, arms outstretched for an embrace, ready to ruffle her daughter’s hair just as she used to. But there was some invisible barrier: the hug couldn’t happen.
My darling girl, Mum said, gentle but serious, Tomorrow is your last day
Barbara woke as if shot from a cannon, her heart pounding.
What do you mean, last day? Is that it? All over? And why so soon? she cried to the indifferent plasterwork.
She pictured it: her, rather deceased on this same bed, the kids and kin turning up, perhaps even that nosy Mrs Thompson from next door. The housea tip. The garden, chaos. Nothing in for a proper meal except a questionable tin of baked beans.
Galvanised by panic, Barbara shot out of bed and spun through the house like a caffeinated whirlwind, unsure where to begin. She landed in the kitchen, dumped flour in a bowl, and started kneading dough. Might as well make a few pies. If I survive the day.
She sloshed water into a basin, grabbed a cloth, and went to war with the dust in every nook. She attacked the floor, the windows, the lot.
There! The house is presentable at least, Barbara huffed, chest heaving.
Outside she dashed to the garden, yanking up weeds with a fervour usually reserved for supermarket Black Friday sales. Last day! Last day! went the refrain in her head.
It was only as she extracted the last stubborn dandelion that Barbara realised her legs were buzzing with exhaustion.
I should have a sit down. Later. She remembered the dough, rushed inside, and soon enough, homemade pies were cooling on the table.
The kids will swing by tomorrow for tea and a bit of pieand maybe mutter nice things about their dear, departed mother, she said aloud, tearing up a little. She tried a pie. Oh, these are marvellouslight as anything!
Barbara sat by the window. You know, life really isnt so bad.
But, she thought, there were practicalities to consider. She had a rummage through her wardrobe, fussing over what to wear for her final journey. There was a smart navy dress shed bought eons ago, tags still attached.
She stood at her small dressing table, did her hair, powdered her face, and finally slipped into the new dress. One glance in the mirror andwell, she couldnt help but admire herself.
Beautiful! This is a look for a wedding, not a wake. She chuckled. Fate, however, wasnt usually open to negotiation.
No sooner had she laid down to await her doom than there was a commotion outsidea car pulling up by the house, horn beeping.
Probably the neighbours, always someone coming and going, she thought.
After a few moments, someone knocked. And knocked again.
Surely not the kids, not yet She peered out. It was a car shed never seena right posh one, too.
Well, thats a stonking motor! Barbara exclaimed, wondering if this was a lost delivery driver, or an unexpected relative. She opened the door. There stood a chap, presentable, smelling faintly of aftershavea detail Barbara noted, just in case.
He looked smart enough for a wedding. Look at him, dressed up like James Bond, Barbara thought drily.
Er, are you Barbara? he asked.
Yes
Im here to see you. Apologies for the late hour, roadworks everywheretook forever.
Do you need something? Barbara asked, genuinely perplexed.
I do, actually, the man mumbled, awkwardly.
You must have the wrong house, Barbara said.
No, I assure you. I am here for you. Im terribly sorry for dropping by unannounced.
A bit late for visiting, isnt it?
Yes, sorrymiscalculated the timingIm not local, you see, and I got muddled up near the bypass.
Noticing her confusion, the man pressed on: Im Stephen, and I wanted to introduce myself.
Barbara sighed, I had other things pencilled in for today, truthfully. She squinted at him. How do you know me?
I added you on Facebook ages ago, but youre hardly ever online, so I did some investigatingdont ask how, Ill tell you over teaand here I am.
Barbara thought, What am I supposed to do with you?
Stephen, Im sorry, but I havent been looking to meet anyone new. You might be better off heading home.
I can see that. I really should have rung first. Farewell, Barbara.
He turned back, then pivoted and handed her a fancy box of Thorntons chocolates.
Im sorry, truly, he said, and walked off, shoulders slumped.
Suddenly, Barbara felt a twinge of remorse. He’d been in the car all day, after allhe must be starving!
Stephen, wait. At least come in for a cup of teayou cant live on apologies and the M25.
His face lit up. That would be wonderful, Barbara.
Settled inside, he washed his hands while Barbara brewed tea and arranged pies on a plate.
Are you hungry? she asked.
If you dont mind.
Help yourself, please.
She realised she was famished too. Good thing there was enough food for an armyor at least several hungry motorists.
Bon appétit! they said at once, and both laughed.
Barbara hadnt enjoyed a meal so much in ages. Stephen proved charming, funny, and within the hour it felt as though theyd been friends since primary school.
Barbara, if you need anything doneodd jobs, heavy liftingIll gladly help, Stephen offered.
Barbara eyed his expensive jacket, grinning.
Well! If you insist, the sheds listing, the fence out back is on its last legs
Stephen grew serious. I can help, really. Ill sort everything.
He began to put on his coat. Thank you for the pie and tea, Barbara. I wont impose for the night. Best be off.
Safe travels, Stephen.
After clearing up, Barbara retired to bed, or, as she put it to herself with a wry smile, resumed dying.
Sleep came quickly, exhaustion trumping existential angst.
That night, her mother reappeared in a dream.
Darling, why did you dash off yesterday? I wasnt finished. Today was only the last day of your lonely life. We saw you struggling alone and sent you an angela helping hand. Dont push him away, precious. Look after him, like he will you.
Mum, what do you mean? Your angels legged ittoo much work, too many fences.
Her mother just smiled, gave her a hug, and faded into the light.
In the bleak hours before sunrise, Barbara woke to noise outsidetrucks filled with wood and supplies. They parked at her house, then another arrived with great rolls of new fencing. Out trooped a gang of men, headed by none other than Stephen, directing deliveries like the foreman of Downton Abbey.
What on earth is this? I havent ordered a thing!
She braced herself to demand they clear off but saw Stephen in his work gear, sleeves rolled up, orchestrating like a natural.
When the men departed, she ventured out. Blimey! You could build a house with all this lot!
By lunchtime, more materials arrivedsheets of metal, planksand soon the fence was going up. Stephen not only supervised but wielded the tools himself.
Stephen, you really shouldnt Barbara attempted, but Stephen waved her concerns aside.
Dont worry, Barbara, itll be grand. Go on, get inside before you catch a chill.
Barbara was floored. After two failed marriages and a lifetime of independence, she was used to managing alone. No one had looked out for her in years. She didnt know what to make of Stephen.
The work went on at a brisk clip: new fence, new shed, new floorboards in the hallway, the oven repaired. But Barbara remained warysuspicious, even.
What does he want anyway? Should I offer to pay him?
Not that she really had much money lying about.
She gathered what she could and, when Stephen entered later that day, thrust the cash at him.
I cant thank you enough, Stephen. Ive barely anything now, but Ill pay the rest when I can.
Good heavens, Barbara, I dont want your money.
You must! Work deserves pay.
Without another word, Stephen left. She heard his car rattle off, and he did not return the next day or the next, nor the week after.
Barbara didnt know what to do. The ache in her heart surprised her with its intensity: shed fallen for him, as foolishly as any sixth former might.
Why did I offend him? How do I go on without him? she asked herself, as if Stephen had been part of her life for decades, not days.
She wandered the lanes, lost in thought, until intercepted by her neighbour, the all-knowing Mrs. Perkins.
Barbara, dont let him go! Look at all hes done, a rare gem of a man.
Hes long gone, Barbara grumbled.
Pull the other one, Mrs Perkins laughed. His car has been parked round the bend off the high street every night.
Where? Really? Barbara demanded.
Up by the old oakthats where.
Barbara was already running, hope propelling her forward. But, of course, neither man nor car was there. She returned home, frustrated, convinced the universe was having a little joke at her expense.
That night, sleep refused to come. She wrapped herself in a fleece, went to the porch, and huddled on the step.
Why am I so unlucky? Barbara muttered, now in tears, And why am I so daft?
Suddenly, someone scooped her up. Kisses landed on her cheeks and lips, salty with tears.
Barbara, dont cry! Stephen pleaded.
Where have you been? Why did you go?
I couldnt leave. I love you.
And I love you. More than anything.
Barbara clung tightly to her unexpected angel and whispered, Thank you, Mum! Finding herself crying once more, for the happiest reason of all.
