Harry crawled backwards towards the ladder and felt for the top rung with his right foot. He moved the other leg gingerly and placed his left foot, expecting solidity from his weight digging the ladder into the soft earth. Instead, the ladder jerked a little. He clutched at the roof as the ladder slid and slipped, tipped to the left. For a second, he was suspended above the anticlockwise trajectory. As he lost his grip, he heard the metallic ricochet rattle. Harry fell, dumped in the leaf litter behind the hydrangeas.
He tasted blood, stinging scratches on his face from sharply pruned branches. When he tried to lift himself on to his elbows, searing pain stabbed in his right hip.
“You old prick,” he shouted towards the brilliant blue Good Friday sky. “Happy now?”
There was no answer. And there was evening and there was morning: the first day.
Harry heard the telephone ring inside the house. Bloody HRV again, or a distant Asian voice inviting him to take a survey. No-one rang now, not since Annie had gone. She had the friends, church committees, volunteer groups. Her job, keeping in touch with the family, remembering birthdays and school trivia. Not his thing.
He was thirsty again and sucked at droplets of water shivering on the nearest hydrangea leaves. Not much going in but still he needed to piss. Where did it all come from? Warm wetness flooded his groin and then turned cold.
He woke later, sure he had heard a voice.
“What are you doing there, Harry?”
… Annie?...
“How many times did I say don’t go up the ladder when you’re by yourself?”
He couldn’t see her, even when he twisted his head behind as far as he could.
“You’re not here. You’ve left me … by myself. I think I’m .. going to…die …”
“Pray, you old coot. Ask for help.”
Pray? How? He hadn’t done that since he was a nipper. Oh God… are you there, you old bastard?... Is this it?
The telephone rang again. And there was evening and there was morning: the second day.
Harry opened his eyes and saw an angel, golden hair haloing her face.
“Jesus Christ, Dad. How long have you been lying there? I was ringing all day …” She broke off, and he heard a sob. “Oh, no, don’t tell me…”
Harry lay back and closed his eyes again. The angel was talking to someone, loud and insistent. In the distance he heard music, a two-tone chant, the heavenly host getting closer and closer.
I’m coming Annie, he thought and smiled to himself. I’m coming.
Rosemary McBryde
He tasted blood, stinging scratches on his face from sharply pruned branches. When he tried to lift himself on to his elbows, searing pain stabbed in his right hip.
“You old prick,” he shouted towards the brilliant blue Good Friday sky. “Happy now?”
There was no answer. And there was evening and there was morning: the first day.
Harry heard the telephone ring inside the house. Bloody HRV again, or a distant Asian voice inviting him to take a survey. No-one rang now, not since Annie had gone. She had the friends, church committees, volunteer groups. Her job, keeping in touch with the family, remembering birthdays and school trivia. Not his thing.
He was thirsty again and sucked at droplets of water shivering on the nearest hydrangea leaves. Not much going in but still he needed to piss. Where did it all come from? Warm wetness flooded his groin and then turned cold.
He woke later, sure he had heard a voice.
“What are you doing there, Harry?”
… Annie?...
“How many times did I say don’t go up the ladder when you’re by yourself?”
He couldn’t see her, even when he twisted his head behind as far as he could.
“You’re not here. You’ve left me … by myself. I think I’m .. going to…die …”
“Pray, you old coot. Ask for help.”
Pray? How? He hadn’t done that since he was a nipper. Oh God… are you there, you old bastard?... Is this it?
The telephone rang again. And there was evening and there was morning: the second day.
Harry opened his eyes and saw an angel, golden hair haloing her face.
“Jesus Christ, Dad. How long have you been lying there? I was ringing all day …” She broke off, and he heard a sob. “Oh, no, don’t tell me…”
Harry lay back and closed his eyes again. The angel was talking to someone, loud and insistent. In the distance he heard music, a two-tone chant, the heavenly host getting closer and closer.
I’m coming Annie, he thought and smiled to himself. I’m coming.
Rosemary McBryde
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