As she stepped out of the car a sharp but crisp breeze caught
her unawares. Wrapping her coat closely to her for security she began
to walk slowly. Ahead of her lay curiosity, bewilderment, anger, sorrow,
grief, but most of all her future. He was her everything, her all, the very
bones of her, and her heart ached longingly for him. Tears, many which
she had shed before this day, began to prick her eyes as she recalled loving
years spent together. No-one could take her memories away from her
and this comforted her on those long and dreadfully lonely winter nights.
"Happiness is gold dust scattered in your eyes" he once told her, how she
wished that she had a great big box of gold dust now as she neared her dreaded
but necessary destination.
She began to recall days now gone from her yet still alive in her heart.
There was a time when they were courting and he took her for a drive along
the beach one summer's evening. They stopped by the water's edge, the tide
was out and there were fishermen digging for worms. They talked about
everything under the sun, it was amazing how much they had in common. They
both had a passion for Italian food, he liked football and she was a member
of the local football fan club. He told her about his plan to travel
around Europe backpacking and she was mesmerized, they were so engrossed in
each other's conversation that they did not see the tide creep in and surround
the car. Giggling like two young children, they had to paddle in the ankle
deep water to go and fetch some help. This was one of the memories
that brought the rare smile to her face these days. She remembered their
wedding, just the two of them at Gretna green, with a bemused post man and
a lady from the neighbouring wool shop to witness their love for each other.
They thought it would be romantic that way. Smiling to herself she recalled
the bewildered look of their families when they arrived back married.
She fought back another tear as she recalled the day they moved into their
first home. They had forgotten to let the gas and the electric companies
know so they were without light or heat for two days. They joked
about being in a Charles Dickens novel as they carried candles from room to
room.
The first few months of their married life was spent scraping off wallpaper,
intermingled with paint fights and long slow kisses. The back garden,
which resembled a war zone complete with four foot weeds and home to large
quantities of bottles and cans, was tackled lovingly by both of them. At the
end of each day they would rub each others tense and tired shoulders and
discuss their plans for the next stage of making a home together. Those days
which seemed a life time away now, were only in reality four years ago.
Now she would give her right arm to have those days, weeks, months, years,
back again. The anger started to well up inside her, a vexation that
shocked her as she had never known this kind of animosity before. She was
shocked to find that she had harboured such anger and hatred, yes hatred.
She wondered if she should just turn round and go back to her car, no not
now, she had come this far, she must see it through if she was ever going
to live normally again. But could someone please tell her what normality was.
She felt like she was on automatic pilot as she mechanically did things.
Friends commented on how well she was coping under the circumstances, this
belied the fact that she was falling apart inside. Some people crossed the
road when they saw her, not knowing what to say. How she longed for
them to come up and just say hello, this would mean so much to her, no other
words were needed. She understood their apprehension though, feeling that
in all probability, given the same situation she could not promise that her
reaction would be any different.
Her closest friends stood by her and would listen patiently as she poured
out her heart and tried to express her anger and grief. These were people
she would never forget, and hoped that she would be of some help to
them in their hour of need.
It was a small building which surprised her slightly although she could
not explain why this should be. It did not alter the fact of what was
about to happen inside, panic began to creep up on her and her apprehension
to go further was noticed by a security guard. Walking over he gently took
her hand and guided her into a side room. The time had arrived, how she had
waited for this moment wondering what her reaction would be on this fateful
day. Walking into the court room she knew that how she coped with this
would make her a stronger person or leave her living forever in a state of
purgatory. Now she would test the strength of her love for her husband,
she was going to sit through every minute of the trial. She studied
the face of the man in the dock, he was aged about twenty with fair hair
and angelic child like features, this was no angel though, no, this was the
face of a hardened terrorist. In the blink of an eye, he took from her with
his snipers bullet the life of her husband, lover and best friend. No time
to say goodbye, plucked quickly from life like an apple from a tree.
This was Paul's sixth tour of Northern Ireland, he was two days away from
returning to her arms. Curiously enough she was not afraid for him
when he was on these tours, she thought that nothing could harm him, it only
ever happened to other people she would tell herself.
She was aware of someone nearby looking in her direction. Turning
her head slightly, she noticed a middle aged woman sitting a few rows away
from her, a younger woman about the same age as herself was sitting alongside.
Their faces held faraway looks and expressed what she was feeling.
This confused and interested her at the same time, who were these people?
"LIFE", that was what the judge said, "evil people, pure hatred through and
through for a cause which killed and maimed innocent human beings every day".
The words echoed throughout the court room. Loud sobs came from three women
that cold November day. Out side reporters pushed and shoved to get a photo
of the young pregnant widow. Two women stood silently a few feet away.
Walking towards Denise, the woman held out her hand, "I'm so sorry for what
my son has done, I want no part of his cause I want peace".
In the evening Standard that night there was a photograph of two women with
the heading "THE SURVIVORS"
©Anna Brown 1996
Back to my writing page