Elisabeth Carpenter - 99 Red Balloons

‘Jim said you always wore a navy raincoat – and a matching hat. Whatever the weather.’

‘He did?’

She nods.

I don’t want to be here. I think I’d better leave before she tells me something I don’t want to hear. She takes hold of my elbow and guides me to the nearest bench.

‘What ward is Jim on?’ I say quickly. ‘Did I tell you he never mentioned he was ill? I didn’t know. I feel terrible for not knowing.’

She sits me down and puts a hand over mine. Why is she being so nice to me? I’ve never met her before in my life.

‘I’m so very sorry, Maggie. Jim died this morning. He suffered from cancer of the kidney, but he had a heart attack last night.’

‘Oh,’ is all I can say.

I take hold of this stranger’s hand. I am still wearing my gloves. Around me, there are people: patients, relatives, doctors. It’s like I’m on another planet – a witness looking in through the window.

Jim’s not dead. We had so much to do.

I hear the ringing in my ears again; it’s so loud. A man in a wheelchair goes past, dragging an IV drip to the side of him.

He can’t have died without telling me.

What am I going to do without him?

The woman next to me hands me a tissue. It’s only then that I realise the tears are pouring down my face.

‘No. No, I can’t believe he’s just gone. I can’t.’ I press the tissue against my face. I turn to look at her – she’s crying too. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t know you – have I met you before? I’m sorry if I have.’

She shakes her head.

‘We only got back in contact recently. I’m Anna. I’m Jim’s son’s ex-wife.’ She smiles. ‘I know – it’s a bit of a mouthful. He sent me an email. He said he never saw his grandchildren through Tom – we’ve three boys, you see, eight, ten and thirteen. We arranged a get-together.’ She takes her hand from mine and wipes her face. ‘It was meant to be next week.’

‘I’m sorry, Anna.’

This can’t be happening. Everything’s coming at me at once. I can’t handle all of this without Jim.

She sits up straight and takes a deep breath.

‘Do you want to see him?’ she says.

‘I… I don’t know.’

‘You don’t have to. There’ll be time before the funeral.’ She takes out a piece of paper from her pocket. ‘He wrote a list of songs he wants. He’s paid for it all.’

My mouth drops open. ‘I wish he’d told me.’

‘You were probably the only person he could be well with – someone who wasn’t always talking about his illness.’

She dabs her nose with a tissue.

‘Can I give you a lift anywhere?’ she says, standing up. ‘I can drop you off at home?’

I stand too. ‘Yes, please. That’s very kind of you.’

All this time I’ve been missing my family, and Jim was searching for his. It’s just too awful to comprehend. The poor, poor man.

I feel numb, like I’m on autopilot. If I can get through this now, then I can have a good cry when I get home. I can’t have an emotional breakdown in front of a virtual stranger.

‘I’m popping to Jim’s later,’ she says, as we pull up outside my house, ‘to feed his bird. Would you like to come with me?’

‘Are you sure you don’t mind?’

‘Of course I don’t. I know how close you two were. I had only chatted with him a few times on the phone and he talked about you all the time. He said you were his best friend.’

Oh God. I can’t be in this car right now.

I get out quickly. ‘I’ll see you tonight then.’

I rush down my front path, and get inside the front door. I close it and lean against it. My whole body is trembling.

A tear falls down my face – for Jim and for myself. I haven’t got anyone else left. What am I going to do without him?

I’m ashamed to say that I have never been to Jim’s flat. I had wrongly assumed that he still lived in the same house he had when Sylvia was alive. The apartment block is just five minutes’ walk from my house and I feel terrible that I never visited him.

I managed to pull myself together when Anna called for me at six. I had spent the afternoon sitting at the kitchen table in silence, not wanting to eat or drink. I can’t believe he’s gone. I think I’m still in shock.

I follow Anna through the double doors, trying to keep up with her. I imagine she’s one of those people who’s always in a rush, always busy. She pushes the button to the lift several times; I’m surprised when the doors open. I don’t think I’ve ever been to a block of flats where the lift has worked.

‘It’s so nice here,’ she says as the doors close. ‘Quite modern. Though of course it’s for people of retirement age only, so it’s well-kept.’

‘Hmm.’ I think Anna might be a bit of a snob, but I don’t say anything.

Jim’s place is on the third floor, number thirty-four. The corridors are carpeted and there are framed pictures on the walls. It’s like a hotel.

I don’t know what I expected, but Jim’s flat is immaculate. There’s a small hallway that leads to his living room, which has a settee and an elegant armchair next to the gas fire. Alongside it is an occasional table; on it a folded newspaper on the crossword page – his reading glasses on top of it next to a pen with its lid on the wrong end.

Under the table is a pile of puzzle books and what look like photo albums. If I were alone, I’d go straight to them, sit down and look at the pictures. Anna has gone into Jim’s bedroom, through a door off the living room. It would be wrong for me to go in there.

There’s a pine sideboard under the window with pictures in frames on top. There’s a carriage clock – I pick it up to look at the engraving: To Jim Arkwright. For forty-five years’ service at Ellwood’s Electrical . Forty-five years – I can’t believe it. Ron had taken early retirement after Zoe went missing. I didn’t know Jim had stayed at Ellwood’s that long. I place the clock down gently and pick up the photo with Jim and his wife on their wedding day. Such a handsome couple – so happy. Where do they go, moments like that? They just vanish in an instant.

‘This one or this one?’ Anna’s holding up two suits.

‘Is this for his funeral? Already?’

I sit down on the nearest seat to me. How could she be so practical at a time like this?

‘Sorry, Maggie. I know it’s a bit soon, but I have to head back to Scotland tonight. This is the last chance I’ll get to collect his suit before the funeral.’

I nod slowly. She has other family, children to get back to, whereas this is Jim’s life, my life. I suppose it’s better that Anna is organising it – I’d have been useless. He probably knew that all along.

‘The one on the right,’ I say. ‘It was his favourite. He bought it on Savile Row in the nineties.’

‘Good choice. Nice and smart.’ She smiles a sad smile.

‘What’s going to happen to all of his things?’

She drapes the suit on the back of the settee, and takes the other to hang up.

‘He wanted it to go to charity. The good stuff.’

She reaches into her pocket, and hands me an envelope. ‘This is for you. I’m sorry I forgot to give it to you earlier.’

I take it from her, and put it in my bag. I want to read it alone.

‘I was wondering, Anna. Would it be okay if I had a look through his photo albums, before you give them to your children? It’s just that—’

‘Of course it’s okay, Maggie. Hang on, I’ll get them for you.’

She collects the books from next to his chair – I’m surprised she knew they were there.

‘Actually, I have a favour to ask you. Sometime after the funeral, could you possibly help me go through Jim’s belongings? I know it might be painful…’