The Graveyard Read online

The Graveyard

  James Eddy

  Copyright 2013 James Eddy

  Bewilder

  Heart over Head over Heels

  Bonfire Blues

  Lily Green

  The Devil eats Coleslaw

  Fading Polaroids in Reverse

  Hello, Emptiness

  Revelations

  The Ghosts Are Out Tonight

  In Dreams

  Diamonds

  Cover by Laura Riches, Lauren Bathurst

  Publishers Notes

  Disclaimer

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Manufactured in the United Kingdom.

  The Graveyard

  Colin Abbott looked down through the darkness of his shadow at the smooth white headstone and the grooves of words cut into it; truth, set in stone. Few things could be more final.

  The grave beside his mother’s was still new enough to be marked by a name etched into a small wooden cross. There was also the rounded mound of earth, discoloured by the glorious life of flowers placed on top. A beautiful shroud of sadness for the body within.

  The rotting of petals and stems on his mother's grave had happened weeks ago. The sight of it hadn't been as sad as Colin expected. Reading both his parents’ names on the headstone that day was the first time he understood why. Part of Colin had always thought his mother would find a way to live forever. That had made finding her cold, lifeless body both unexpected and even more traumatic. What he hadn't realised until then was that he'd actually been preparing himself for it since the day his father had died.

  After his death, she'd never quite been the same woman. All Colin had been able to do was watch while the goodness she once had in abundance slipped away. He'd spent the best part of twenty years grieving for that loss.

  He sighed and turned away from the grave. Someone was standing right behind him.

  “Hello Colin! How the devil are you?” the vicar asked with a smile.

  Colin didn't come close to making sense of his strangely ironic question. Reverend Peters was the first person to speak to him in nearly three days. As a result, his response came more from surprise and politeness than honesty.

  “I am fine thank you," he told him.

  “And back here again,” said the vicar.

  It was neither a question nor a statement.

  Colin nodded anyway, noticing for the first time the effects of the sun’s brutality upon the vicar's head. The sunburn and flaking only made the man's growing baldness all the more noticeable. Reverend Peters looked down at the headstone and Colin looked away from his scalp.

  “They’ve done a good job there, I think,” the vicar said, without looking up.

  Colin nodded in agreement.

  “Yes...They have.”

  “Not really to my taste, of course,” Reverend Peters added, “But I assume it's what Nancy wanted... And since it’s her body in there and not mine, that’s the most important thing.”

  He often spoke like this. It was a slight vampiric twist to his general jollity that suggested understanding that cut through the spiritual into real life.

  A sudden breeze cooled Colin’s face for the first time that day. He briefly enjoyed the sensation on his smooth shaven skin.

  “She was a good woman really,” the vicar told him.

  Colin noticed the word “really” but not even family loyalty made him question it.

  “And you have been a good and dutiful son.”

  Reverend Peters twinkling blue eyes peered even more intently through his thick lensed glasses.

  “That should not be forgotten. And it certainly shouldn’t be by you... The door of the church is always open if you need any guidance... But I would imagine you would rather not be guided by anybody for a while. After all, it has taken a long time for you to reach this point.”

  Colin barely noticed the hand on his shoulder and the friendly goodbye that followed. Thoughts and feelings, hinted at before, were suddenly blossoming. He knew then that he'd been waiting for his life to begin. Since his mother died his routine hadn't even changed. He'd just rattled around the house on his own. He was so very alone in the world and he couldn’t help realising that his life had become little more than a grey stroll through a graveyard.

  The vicar walked back into the old stone church and Colin took his first steps the other way. The sun was at its highest in the sky and no shadow shapes blackened the ground. The breeze pushed him forward and out of the graveyard, through its impressive wrought iron gate, down some steps and onto the grey pavement.

  The sounds of the road signalled the return of the city. The peace and tranquillity Colin had found in the rustling of leaves, replaced by noises of a more powerful nature. Cars pumping out rhythms through closed windows. Providing a base to layer the chaos of traffic, road works and voices onto. People of all races and ages walked along the pavement. It was a truly modern mix. Fat men in England shirts, suited businessmen, and elegant ladies trying to avoid the cracks in the pavement that didn't suit their high heels.

  Normally, Colin wouldn't have stopped until he got home. But that day, he felt drained of energy. The heat, along with his black pinstriped polyester suit, was affecting him. He walked to a bus shelter and sat beneath the shade it offered.

  The muscles in his legs were a bruised ache. The thin plastic bench giving only limited relief. Only a few metres away were billboards of scantily clad lovelies, airbrushed to empty perfection. Colin didn't even notice. He saw his own lonely face instead, reflected in the glass of a coffee shop window. He saw himself surrounded by couples with fingers or lips engaged. He tried not to look but he was suddenly aware of how long it'd been since he'd known that kind of casual intimacy.

  Years had passed with his life only consumed by his mother. It had all been about her needs, her wants, her demands and her opinions. It became second nature to him and, by the end, Colin could predict what she'd say in almost any situation.

  There had been a time when that hadn't been true. Before his father's death, Colin had actually had no idea that his mother didn't really like the woman he’d once planned to marry.

  Rachel had been a sweet girl but, with the death of his father, Nancy Abbott had rarely missed any opportunity to put her in her place. Casual put downs had eventually turned into lengthy insults. And the worst part was that Colin had let his mother say her ugly unkind words. He didn't want a fight or confrontation and eventually poor Rachel couldn't take it anymore. Colin always despised himself for his weakness but he never spoke to her again.

  He stood up, removed his blazer and loosened his tie. Folding and draping the jacket over his right arm, he walked on. Progress was slow. The streets were lined by chip shops, Indian restaurants, kebab houses, and smokers standing outside pubs. A group of teenage boys walked towards Colin. There were seven of them; in their late teens and in baseball caps, baggy t-shirts, jeans and white trainers. All looking as unreal as the strange American accents they spoke in. Colin’s stomach still turned over on itself and fear stepped in his footsteps. Whispering in his ear, he heard his mother's voice telling him to worry about the “Little gangsters.”

  The boys passed him without a glance and his nostrils filled with the sweet smell of cigarettes and relief. Shame followed him for another dozen steps. He was a grown man who was afraid of the world. He shook his head and went on.

  Something changed. His stride was longer, more assured. St John’s Wood tube station came into view and he knew he was one stop away from the cold-blooded sanity of
home.

  Colin felt hunger in his belly for the first time that day. He had a plan. It wasn't much but it'd do. He followed his feet past two clothes shops, a chemists, and other shops with shattered windows like spider’s webs. A turn to his right and automatic doors parted allowing him into a supermarket.

  There was a chill in the air inside. He put his jacket back on. The shop looked bland. The smell of baked bread was more pleasant although his belly continued to growl in protest. Food wasn't the reason he was there. Instead, his mind was fixed on a film he'd seen years before where a man managed to meet women by looking helpless in the fruit and veg section. He hoped life would imitate art. He was left disappointed.

  Apparently, films don't understand the concept of customer service. Worse than that though, Colin probably looked a little bit too helpless. And so, even though the shop was busy, three different members of staff asked him if he needed any help. Good manners veiled his