SHADOWS

SHADOWS

It was one of those bitterly cold January nights which made me glad that the heater in my ancient Morris Traveller was working properly for once .

 

I would have preferred to stay at home, and not make the journey as I dislike cold weather and almost regretted that I had made that phone call to Liz.

I say almost regretted, because I liked Liz..   She wasn't particularly good looking, as the spectacles she always wore with a spec-chain were inclined to make her look severe, but she was quietly efficient with a pleasant smile.  She also had a brain.   So in a platonic way, I found her quite attractive

 

We had been working together in the Archaeology Department for about four years.   As Research Librarian, she was aware of every stage of our projects and always seemed to have relevant information on tap whenever it was required, almost as though she could read your mind.

No one in the Department knew very much about her private life, except that she was married and had a six year old daughter, always referred to as Carrie.

No one had ever met her husband and she rarely mentioned him, which produced a series of hypothetical theories about the state of her marriage, even her marital state.   It was also noticeable that she never joined any of the drinking crowd at lunchtimes and avoided office parties, if she could.

 

I never joined in any of this speculation as it wasn't any of my business. I had my own life to lead and, as I was absorbed with my work, photography and the restoration of my old car, named " State of the Ark" by one of my more uncharitable colleagues, I also managed to keep away from the sycophantic and boozy romanticism of staff functions.    Perhaps that's why I was selected (I chose to call it press-ganged) as the Department's representative for an eighteen month project in Turkey.

I had to send regular reports back to the Curator, which were then passed to the Library. I always received an official acknowledgement from Liz, accompanied by a short personal note giving me snippets of local information and asking about my health and well-being.

This, of course, meant that I had to reply.    So she learned that I was bored with life in Turkey.   In turn, I learned that she had been separated from her husband and was about to finalise her divorce.

 

I then received a birthday card - she must have been checking staff records.   I wasn't able to be so subtle, but a more direct approach allowed me to return the compliment a few weeks later and I was assured by the English speaking shopkeeper that the message (in Turkish) on the card was "Good for nice ladyfriend"

I found that I was now looking toward to her letters, not only because they were interesting and witty, but I also felt less of an exile.      Although she was gradually revealing her personal life there was no sense of self-pity and therefore no threat of romantic involvement.

I couldn't have coped with that.    I suppose that's why I accepted her invitation to visit her, as soon as I returned, which was going to be just in time for her birthday.

 

                        **************************************************

 

As I approached the avenue of trees near Crane Park, I slowed down, remembering the sharp bend and humpbacked bridge that had given me such a salutary lesson during a heavy rainstorm. I had ended up with one wheel hanging over the edge of a deep ditch that ran along the edge of the road. Only by carefully reversing with the now outmoded rear wheel

drive had saved me from an expensive towing operation.

                                                                

I noticed that red warning marker posts had now been installed in the vicinity of the bridge, and the light from an amber street lamp on the far side of the bridge caught the peak of the road, making the frosted surface glow like burnished gold, which dissolved into a confused moving pattern as the branches of a large tree waved in front of the light

Concentrating on the line of markers , I was suddenly horrified to see what appeared to be a cyclist, without lights, moving slowly in front of me I tried to keep a safe distance to allow the cyclist to pull over to the side, as there was no room to manoeuvre without scraping the far side of the narrow bridge.

 

But I was still gaining ....I switched on my main headlights to warn the rider and wound down the window to instruct the lumbering idiot in the rules of road safety, but not necessarily in the language of the Highway Code .  The cones of light illuminated the bridge and the.....   empty road.

I turned off the lights and all I could see was the mosaic of shadows from the partially obscured street lamp. I was sweating now and my hands were slipping on the steering wheel The interior of the car was stifling.

As soon as I cleared the bridge, I stopped the car and felt as though I had been swimming under water.   I was wet with perspiration and my breathing was irregular.   Realising that I had started to doze in the oppressive atmosphere of the car, I switched off the heater, opened both windows, took a few deep breaths and continued my journey.

It took another twenty minutes to reach the house and I was in danger of falling asleep again, but this time from hypothermia . Even if I had been reluctant to accept the invitation, I couldn't wait for the comfort of a warm room and a hot meal that I didn't have to cook for myself.

 

                   ***********************************************************

I thought that Liz looked thinner than I had remembered, but she wasn't wearing one of thick chunky sweaters or loose dustcoats that she usually wore in the library. The forbidding spectacles on a chain were also absent.   I wasn't sure whether shake hands or kiss her, partly because of my own diffidence and also because a little girl (whom I guessed was Carrie) was hovering in the hallway.     Liz took my hand and offered her cheek, resolving the problem . She could still do her mind reading act.

I self- consciously handed over the birthday present.   Although I had wrapped some fancy paper over the envelope, the shape and size almost shouted "Book Token".    She must have sensed my embarrassment.

"I can guess what this is," she said "You must have known that I enjoy an excuse to browse around in bookshops " . I didn't dare to think about the real reason - that I didn't want to appear too romantic. She might have read my thoughts.

 

I must have looked pretty dishevelled from driving with an open window, and Liz had already discovered that my tiny hands were frozen.   She offered to go and make me some coffee.

Carrie, determined to show her sophistication, pointed out the bathroom and told me to go and wash my hands.

 

"Don't be so rude Carrie" snapped Liz.   In all the years that I had known her, I had never seen Liz so flustered.   Children can be terrifying creatures.

"But I wasn't being rude. Mummy" replied the child." I wanted to give him one of my special biscuits, and YOU told me I must ALWAYS wash my hands before I touch them.

 

Liz relaxed and grinned. "She's been cooking". Don't worry, they taste alright, and I think you'll find the shapes........ interesting." She gave me an almost imperceptible wink.

 

Whilst Liz was busy in the kitchen, Carrie introduced me to LEGO. This was a new experience for me, but under her tuition it didn't take too long for me to assemble the knobbly pieces of plastic into quite a creditable pyramid.

I naturally started to explain about the Pharaohs and mummies, when Liz came in to take Carrie to bed.

 

When she returned, I was still engrossed in my new-found creative ability.    Perhaps I should have to consider marriage and parenthood in a different light, sometime.   It could provide a good excuse to regain the enjoyment of childhood, without losing face.

Liz hoped I liked beef casserole and apple pie - she didn't get a lot of practice in fancy cooking with only Carrie and herself, so she felt more confident with a straightforward menu.

With my standard diet of cornflakes, microwaved fish fingers and Pot Noodles, this would be a gourmet feast. Despite her misgivings, it was a superb meal.

 

As our conversation, fortified with a bottle of St. Emilion, became more relaxed, Liz told me that as the uncertainties of the divorce had now been resolved, she had applied for a teaching post at one of the schools near her home as it would give her more time with Carrie. She had trained and qualified as a teacher originally, but the opportunity to work as a Research Librarian had seemed more fulfilling, at the time.

 

Whilst she was telling me this, I realised for the first time that I didn't really fit in at the Archaeology Department, and without Liz, the job would be even more empty.

I certainly didn't want to spend my life being transported to the more remote parts of the world. I liked my own company, but I didn't enjoy isolation. It was probably the wine, but I felt myself telling her all this.

 

"Then stop being isolated and do something different" was her reply." You have to grasp the nettle, sometime. I had to - and now I'm just beginning to enjoy my freedom.".

 

I was obviously becoming maudlin and suspected that the rebuke was also a hint that she wasn't going to be caught on the rebound.

 

**************************

 

It was getting late and I thought I should leave after a final cup of coffee. The wind outside was becoming stronger and there were creaking and knocking noises coming from upstairs. Liz shivered slightly.    " I hate this house, it feels quite spooky sometimes" she said..

 

"I couldn't imagine you believing in thing like that" I replied.

 

She crossed her index fingers and held them up in front of her. "Of course not. And of course, you don't, otherwise you wouldn't enjoy handling mummies, would you." She looked at me and giggled.

I was a bit worried by the double entendre. It could have been a Freudian slip by either of us, but I felt that a tactical diversion was called for.   Then, I remembered the incident in the car.

 

"I saw a spook today -I was driving up to the bridge at Crane Park and I thought I was going to hit.... "

 

"A cyclist?".

 

I could have sworn Liz was grinning as she chipped in.     I felt irritated and scared at the interruption   -   anticipation of your needs at work is one thing, but this was something different - was she really telepathic?

”How the hell did you know that". I retorted.

She gave me a quizzical look and took my hand. Sorry! she said. " I thought you knew , and was just trying to change the subject".

It had happened again.   She just had to be telepathic.

She was serious now, and went on.    "It's the local legend - a cyclist was killed by the bridge about three years ago .   A hit and run job .   The postman found the body and bike in the ditch the following morning .    They never traced the car, as far as I know . A couple of people claim to have seen a cyclist that suddenly vanishes, so the local paper plays it up occasionally with lurid reports of sightings.    This prompts other people to write in, and that's how the story grows.     Are you sure you haven't read about it somewhere ?    I suppose we'll have you writing to the papers, next."

I was tired and didn't feel like another  ghostly encounter, even if it was only my imagination, so I decided to go home by a different route that night.

Call it morbid curiosity, if you like, but I made the journey over that bridge dozens of times, right up to the time that I married Liz, but without any  further signs of the phantom cyclist.

Pity!   Because I shall never know whether I saw shadows of the trees   -  or the past.

 

 

 

Reviews

[Great Aunt Astri]

A good read with a satisfying ending. It's my bed time nearly. Perhaps not the right story to read at bedtime. Oh what the heck, he never saw the ghost again!

[Norman T]

Worthy of Bills and Moon, do you think? The only true parts were the Morris car, the "ghostly" encounter and the last line of the story.
Thanks for reading and commenting.

Norman