Story 3 – Maurice and Joan

“Could you pass me the water, Maurice?” Joan’s voice was weak.

“Of course I can.”

Maurice concentrated and picked up the small cup of water, working hard to lift it from the bedside table and pass it to Joan with spilling any. It took a lot of work for him to manage it.

She sipped at the cup, spilling some. Maurice regretted not being able to provide a straw, but there were none in the house.

“That’s nice. Cool.” Joan managed.

Carefully, Maurice replaced the cup, slipping slightly at the last and dropping it so that it thunked on the table. Joan jolted at the sound and he felt terribly guilty.

Her hand reached out for him and he gripped it as best he could.

“You’ve been a great friend to me, Maurice. Better than I could have imagined when we met.”

“I’ve tried. I only ever wanted to be your friend, both you and Richard.”

She sighed “We were so unkind to you when we first moved here.”

Maurice shushed her “You’ve not been unkind for nearly fifty years since then. I forgave and understood.”

Joan’s hand slipped through his and fell back to the bed. She stared at the cream wallpaper.

“I was going to change the colour this year. Cream is such a nothing colour, I wanted something vibrant, exciting. I wanted something different.”

“I like cream, its soothing.” Maurice protested.

“I’m dying, Maurice. I do not wish to be soothed. I want to be amazed as I go. I want flashes of noise and thunder, sparks of glorious colour.”

“I don’t understand.”

She smiled, her naughty smile when she thought she was being crafty “When I’m gone, there will be nothing, for ever and ever. I wanted my last moments to be full of everything one last time. I don’t want to just slip away in a cream room with a… is that water damage in the corner?”

Maurice looked to where she pointed, a dark spot was indeed visible.

“It could be, I suppose.” He wasn’t certain.

“Oh just great.” Anger gave a little more life to her voice. “Something’s leaking in the loft, and I can’t do anything about it. If only you could.”

Maurice smiled, sadly “You know I would.” He gestured at himself “But I’m not exactly the man I used to be.”

They shared a small laugh “And I’m not the woman I was once. Time passes and we change, that’s the nature of it.

“Would you like me to find the tv remote, we could watch Father Brown, I think. The time looks right.”

Joan pshawed him away “I’ve seen too many of them now. I always guess who the killer is.”

“Might be your last chance to prove yourself smarter than me.” 

Joan poked at him “Ooh, you cheeky sod. Go on then. One last time. I think we both know I won’t see tomorrow’s.”

Maurice gave her a sad smile “You might.”

“We’ve spoken about this. Tonight will be my last night here, I can feel it.”

Turning away so that she would not see the sadness in his eyes, Maurice poked clumsily at the remote, cursing his fingers until the familiar faces and sounds of Father Brown came on the tv.

“Farmer’s daughter. I knew it, I knew it as soon as I saw her. She looked too nice.” Joan cackled with glee.

“Victory again. Your brains were only ever surpassed by your kindness.”

She blew a raspberry at him “We both know that’s a lie. I wasn’t all that kind, but I was a great home cook. Wasn’t I?”

“It certainly always smelled great.” Maurice said, diplomatically.

Joan gave him a sharp side eye, she still had a spark in her, he was glad to see.

“You know, cooking for Richard and seeing him clear his plate each day, it was one of the simplest and most wonderful pleasures I ever experienced. Do you think I might be able to do it for him again, afterwards? When I get there?”

“I couldn’t say, I’ve never been there. Haven’t met anyone who has, either.” He paused, wanting to comfort his friend but not wanting to encourage her departure either. “I guess its possible, stranger things have happened.”

She nodded, slowly, her energy fading “That it has, old friend, that it has.”

“Why don’t you have a nap. I’ll try not to let you sleep too long.”

She shook her head “I’ve got one sleep left in me and its the last one I’ll ever do. I’m not quite ready for that yet.”

“What would you like to do?”

She thought for a long time, long enough that Maurice started to think she had actually dozed off, then she nodded.

“First, turn the telly off. Then, I want you to tell me the story of us, how you saw it. Tell me about me, Maurice. Let me know who I was to you. I think I’d like that to be the last thing I should experience. My life through someone else’s eyes.”

“Really, that’s the last thing you want to do?”

She sighed “Not really, but you won’t take me roller skating down the big hill into town, so it will have to do.”

“There’s nothing else?” He had no idea what else they could do, what with her dying and his limitations, but he wasn’t sure he could actually do what she asked well. “I’ve never been asked to do anything like this before. I don’t even know where I would start.”

“At the beginning, where else? The first time you saw me, the first time we met.”

“You know those are two different times.”

She tilted her head, trying to focus ageing eyes on him properly “I didn’t, actually. So start with the first one.”

Then a coughing fit hit her and Maurice struggled to get the water to her again. When she was done, there was very little water left and he wasn’t sure he could get more.

“Don’t worry about that, Maurice. Tell me the story. Please.”

He nodded, and motioned for her to get comfortable. Joan wriggled her shoulders a little before nodding at him.

“Now, you talk and I’ll listen. I may close my eyes, but I’ll still be listening. I won’t interrupt, but don’t you stop to keep checking on me. That will ruin the flow. Just tell the story until its done.”

Maurice smiled, still telling him how to behave. No-one else had even tried to talk to him before Joan. He wondered if anyone ever would again.

I first saw you on the day you and Richard came to view the house. As I remember, it was a grey drizzling day, gloomy and typical for the time. But neither of you showed any sense of that. Instead you both smiled as you arrived, I could tell from your expressions as you stood in the front garden that you had already fallen a little in love with this house.

He was pointing at the outside, describing to you all the small fixes he and his friends were going to do. That paunch which grew larger after he retired was just starting to make an appearance.

Your dark hair was tied back with multi coloured string in a ponytail. It struck me as oddly joyous, those colours so bright against your dark hair.

You stepped through the door after the estate agent and I couldn’t see you any more until you came back out, all three of you laughing and shaking hands.

The next time I saw you was on moving day. You were so busy, but so organised. You knew exactly where you wanted every box and piece of furniture to go. You ordered Richard and your friends around like a general. Every hour, on the hour you would vanish for five minutes and then return with a tray of teas for your workers. You kept them fed and watered all day. I could hear the laughter from all of you throughout the day. It made me happy, the house had been quiet and sad ever since Iris and William had died the year before.

Then it was just the two of you, all of your friends had gone back to their homes. I wanted to introduce myself then, but I was a little scared. I also thought you might like to have your first night to yourselves, being in your new home, just a married couple and everything.

Ahem.

The next days you were so busy unpacking and making the house yours, it felt rude to intrude on you. Though I dearly wished to know if we could be friends, I was so lonely, but so afraid of being rejected again.

Richard was painting the walls, to your specifications, when you first saw me I think. You were in the kitchen, making him some dinner. I was by the back door. You looked at me, shrieked and dropped your chopping board on the floor. So I ran away.

“I don’t remember that. The first time I saw you, Richard and I were in the garden, enjoying the late afternoon sun with some tea.” Joan chuckled “There does seem to be a lot of tea at this stage of my life. I can’t say it really lessened as I got old.”

“You really didn’t see me that day?”

“I don’t believe so. I think if I had, I would remember, don’t you?” She was looking at him and smiling.

Maurice nodded “You probably would at that.”

“Well, carry on then.” Joan closed her eyes again.

After that day, which apparently wasn’t the day I thought it had been, I was too scared to try again. For weeks I kept trying to build up the courage, but I just couldn’t bear to be rejected again. To have the hope was better than the reality of a no.

When you finally did see me, properly I thought, but the first time it would appear, it was a complete accident on my part. I hadn’t realised you were in the garden, I thought you had gone out for the day. I thought it would be safe to have a proper look at what you had done to the kitchen, I had seen and heard the delivery of the new cooker and the cupboards. I was curious.

So, there I was, sneaking a look when I heard you yell from behind me.

“Why are you here?”

You scared me. I looked out to where you were and I could see you and Richard staring at me.

“Get out! Get out! Get out!” You screamed, I could tell I was scaring you, so I fled. My heart broke, thinking that you hated the sight of me. Not that I blamed you. How could I?

I retreated to my space, crying all the way. I did not stop all day.

I could hear you and Richard arguing, the words muffled but I could tell you were both scared. It was not the first time people had fought like that because of me.

Then, you did something I never expected. You came looking for me. You must have been scared, you couldn’t know what I was like, but you came looking for me with kindness. I didn’t want you to find me at first, but you said we could be friends. You told me your name, though I already knew it. You called out and asked me my name.

You searched for three days, every spare moment you looked for me.

Eventually, I trusted that you were the person I had observed, that you really did come in friendship. So I showed myself to you and you smiled at me. It was so genuine, so full of warmth and kindness. You will never know just what that smile meant to me. I decided there and then that I would be your friend for as long as you lived.

“And you have been. Was I really so kind? I was mostly curious about you.” Joan whispered, her voice fading. She didn’t have long left, Maurice could tell and felt sadness tighten around his soul.

“You came with curiosity, but you were kind. You didn’t yell for me to come out. You didn’t come in anger or fear. You were kind, you were gentle.” Maurice could feel his voice wavering as the soon to come loss of his friend started to really sink in.

“Must you go?”

A very slight nod of her head “I want to see my Richard again. I miss him so much. Tell me more about me.” She managed a small giggle.

After that day, you would talk to me, tell me about the world I was hidden away from. You were so proud of Richard and his painting and decorating business. I could tell how much you two meant to each other, I wanted to meet him as well but you said he needed a longer time to get used to the idea of me. You were protecting us both, you weren’t ashamed of either of us and you really did want us to be friends as well. But Richard was Richard, he had certain ideas about how things were and should be. You took the time to get him used to just the idea of me.

It worked, that day you introduced us properly, me shy and him sceptical, was one to remember.

He laughed when he saw me, not one of humour but of nervous shock. It was still better than just about the way everyone else but you had reacted. Then he stuck out his hand and introduced himself. We all stared at his hand for a moment, then you laughed. You were always full of joy, but I don’t think I ever saw you laugh so freely and infectiously as you did in that moment. He and I were laughing along with you in moments.

From then he would talk to me as well. Asking my opinion of changes he was going to make to the house. At first I was nervous to give my opinion, knowing that if I disagreed he could do it anyway and then ignore me. But he didn’t, the first time I suggested a different way, he actually listened. He didn’t agree, but he did think of a third choice that we both liked.

He was a good man and a good friend, I miss him.

But you were my best friend, the best I ever remember having.

You kept me informed and part of the world. There was never a bad word between us, until that day.

I won’t repeat what you said, because you were grieving so hard. Richard was too, but he wasn’t the one I was trying and failing to cheer up. I should have known that I couldn’t stop it hurting, but I hated to see you sad.

You snapped, you were cruel. But you were entirely justified and I don’t think I can ever stop apologising for bringing that out of you.

So I stopped coming to see you for a while. I tried to help in other ways. I heard you tell Richard that you couldn’t cope with all of the people coming by to give their condolences. So I made myself your guard to keep people away.

“I remember. You did too good a job of it on some of them. Hilda never came round the house again, I always had to go visit her.” Joan’s voice was barely audible, there wasn’t much time left.

But you recovered yourself in time. You apologised to me, I apologised to you. We carried on as we had before.

When Richard retired, we started to play cards in the evening. You insisted. Then it was board games and puzzles, but I had a terrible time with the small pieces.

You would never let the house be quiet in the afternoon. You said we could be quiet in the evening, but afternoons were for laughter and music and noise. Richard would drum on the table, I would rattle pots and pans and you would make up silly songs about anything an everything. Your tunes were bizarre and often out of time with the beat, but we didn’t care, it was fun.

When Richard had his heart attack, I didn’t see you for days while you stayed at the hospital. When you came back alone, my heart broke for you. For him to have died away from home was the worst way it could have happened for you.

“But I’ll see him again soon.”

Maurice looked at Joan. She was stood by the bed, young again, with multi coloured string holding her dark hair back in a ponytail.

“Won’t you stay?” Maurice pleaded.

She shook her head “You have been a great friend, Maurice. The greatest I ever had. But I miss my Richard so much. I can’t go on, knowing I’d never see him again.”

“I’ll be alone again.”

She reached out and touched his cheek, the first time she had ever truly bee able to do it, her hand was soft.

“This house will sell soon. There will be new people, you’ve done it once, you can make friends again.”

Maurice felt a tear roll down his cheek, how unusual, he hadn’t known he could cry “But what if they are scared and hate me?”

Joan stared at him “Then you wait. You wait like you waited until I arrived. It might take another four hundred years, but you will make another friend, Maurice. You are a good friend, someone will see that.”

She started to fade “Or I could find a way for you to join us. I can ask, it never hurts to ask a question.”

Since his death over four hundred years ago, Maurice had never even considered the possibility of moving on. This had always been his home, even if the building had been demolished and rebuilt a few times. But would it feel like home any more, without Joan?

“I think I’d like that. If I could, I’d like to join you and Richard.”

The last he saw of her before she faded away was a smile and a wink “I’ll find a way. We’ll see you soon.”

Then she was gone and Maurice was alone.

Alone, but not without hope

© Robert Spalding 2020