Three Things About Elsie(105)

I can hear her saying it. Even though she’s not here any more. It’s strange, because sometimes it feels as though she’s never even left my side.

Perhaps the most important moments of all turn out to be the ones we walk through without thinking, the ones we mark down as just another day. Just another day we have to get through before something more interesting comes along. We benchmark our lives with birthdays and Christmases and holidays, but perhaps we should think more about the ordinary days. The days that pass by and we don’t even notice. Elsie once said that you can’t tell how big a moment is until you turn back and look at it, and I think, perhaps, that she was right.

I think this may be the last of all my moments. I think my forever must have finally arrived. I didn’t imagine this is how it would happen. Lying all alone on the floor, waiting for someone who never arrived. I thought Simon might have been the one to find me. He’ll be clearing away the funeral tea now with Miss Ambrose, stacking plates and sweeping up crumbs. He’ll talk whilst he’s doing it, because that’s just how Simon is. He’ll probably talk to Cheryl more than anyone. I think she’s sweet on him, although he’s as daft as a brush and he hasn’t even noticed. Perhaps he’ll have a drop of brandy before he goes home, to take the edge off the chill, and then he’ll cross the courtyard and his boots will crunch at the gravel in the silence. He’ll be wondering about borrowing a coat before he starts walking, but then he’ll think about me for some reason and he’ll decide to call and check I’m all right. You get these feelings sometimes, don’t you? There’s no sense behind it, but for some reason, you know you need to do a thing and you’ve no idea why.

He’ll notice there’s a light on in the hall, and so he’ll knock on the door, and he’ll shout, ‘Miss Claybourne? Florence? It’s Simon. Is everything all right in there?’

He’ll keep saying it.

‘Florence?’

Over and over again.

I open my eyes. Someone has triggered the security system, and the room is filled with light. It hurts my eyes at first, and I close them against the glare. When I open them again, everything is back. The furniture and the curtains and the television. All the life I left a few hours ago before I fell. But the first thing I see, washed with light, is the mess underneath the sideboard. The pens and the coins, and everything that fell without me noticing. It takes me a moment for my eyes to find it, but it’s there. Right at the back. Resting against the skirting board.

‘Florence?’

A brooch.

A brooch with a smooth, dark stone, and a reflection almost like a mirror. A fossil. A piece of Whitby jet. It’s a perfect circle, flawless and shining with an inky black. Surrounding it is a silver rope, which holds it forever in a polished frame.

‘Florence?’

Something you would buy for someone you love. Not something you would buy for yourself.

‘Miss Claybourne? Florence? It’s Simon. Is everything all right in there?’

I stared at the brooch.

‘I’m fine, Simon. Everything is fine.’

The strength to shout came from somewhere. From a place I didn’t know existed.

‘Are you sure? Is there anything you need?’

The brooch stared back at me. Elsie found me again after all. I stopped myself from reaching out, but then I realised I really didn’t have to any more.

‘No,’ I said. ‘I don’t need anything. Everything I need is right here.’

I heard him turn to leave, his shoes on the footpath outside. ‘I’ll say goodnight, then,’ he shouted.

I waited just a fraction too long. I knew he wouldn’t hear, but I still shouted back. ‘I’ll be seeing you, Simon,’ I said. ‘I’ll be seeing you.’

The light clicked and the room fell into black again. It was strange, because it felt more of a comfort now. More of a friend. I waited in the quietness for the music to return. For Al Bowlly. For a dancehall filled with who we used to be, circling a room, in shoes that pinched our toes but made us happy. Listening to music that wrapped itself around buried thoughts and made us feel less alone. A time we never wanted to leave.

I never did tell anyone my secret. It’s strange, because I told them everything else. I even told them about Ronnie in the end. I just couldn’t tell this. In those days, you couldn’t say a word, and then it became too late. Elsie had found her Albert, and I had to use up the remnants of other people’s lives to decorate my own. I didn’t mind so much, as long as we could be friends. As long as she didn’t leave me. It’s strange, isn’t it? How love paper-aeroplanes where it pleases. I have found that it settles in the most unlikely of places, and once it has, you are left with the burden of where it has landed for the rest of your life.

The music is very loud now. I can’t imagine where it’s coming from, although I think a part of me is beginning to realise. There was a point when I thought Simon had come back, when I thought I heard him knock at the door again, but the tap was too light, too gentle, and I knew it couldn’t have been him.

I know I won’t have to wait long.

I’m not sure I have enough time to remember it all again, from the beginning, because there’s so much to fit in.

I have never done anything remarkable. I’ve never climbed a mountain or won a medal, and I have never stood on a stage and been listened to, or crossed a finishing line before anyone else.