‘There’s plenty of fresh fruit,’ said Jenny, opening a Tupperware box of strawberries.
Imogen lifted her leg and laid it across Henry’s thigh.
‘It will be nice to take out a boat, won’t it Henry?’
Henry nodded. It would be hot too, he thought. Hot on his scalp.
Jack crunched on some celery and said.
‘It’ll be a hoot.’
‘They have life jackets, don’t they?’ asked Jenny. ‘Only, I can’t swim.’
‘You’ll be alright if Henry is with us,’ smiled Imogen. ‘Henry is an excellent swimmer.’
Those words stood out more than any other did for Henry. Even Imogen had considered him an excellent swimmer. He’d always been expert in the water. He’d been a lifeguard at the pool in his younger days. There was no way I would ever drown, Henry thought. It was unthinkable.
‘That’s not how I would have died,’ he said aloud.
He wearily pulled his body up from the bench and leant down to pick up some stones from the grassy verge, before skimming them into the river. He watched as they skipped across the surface of the water and wondered how long he would have to wander about like this before someone came to take him to wherever he ought to go. It even occurred to him that perhaps he was in one of Derren Brown’s illusions. Maybe, he was on television right now. Most likely, Imogen and Rita were watching, both wondering how it would all end. He rather thought Derren Brown was taking things a bit too far. Two whole days was far too long. He’d certainly complain about this. Then again, he’d never agreed to go on Derren Brown’s show had he? Unless Derren Brown had erased that from his memory, but surely they couldn’t do that without your permission. Anyway, Henry believed that he wasn’t that gullible, which could only mean, he had to be dead and that he was in some kind of transition from this world to the next. All the same, thought Henry, that doesn’t explain why Rita can see him.
A woman pushing a stroller was walking towards him. It reminded Henry of Imogen’s miscarriage and it was like a heavy weight on his heart. He sat beside the woman on the bench and smiled at the child who lay sleeping in the buggy. Had he been wrong? Would children have been a blessing and not a stain on their perfect existence, which, of course, Henry now realised, had not been perfect at all. A quick glance at the woman’s watch told Henry it was twelve thirty. In half an hour, Rita would be here. He ought to walk to the entrance and meet her. He knew, for certain, that Rita would be on time.
*
Rita wasn’t just on time she was five minutes early. She was hoping they would be able to have lunch at Pansies. She glanced in the window of the teashop to see how busy they were. She should have known it would be packed with lunchtime diners. Still, thought Rita, by the time she and Henry walked back from the park there were bound to be some free tables. Her eyes landed on a couple sitting by the window. The woman’s face was familiar. Rita gasped. It was Henry’s wife, Imogen. For a moment, Rita was too scared to look at the man sitting opposite her. Henry must have sorted the dead thing after all. With a sinking heart, she realised that he wouldn’t be at the park as they’d agreed. Rita felt bereft, as though someone close to her had just died, when, in fact, Henry had become alive again. She should be happy for him. But instead, it felt like a cold glove had encased her heart. Life would now go back to the way it had been and Rita didn’t think she could stand that.
‘Oh, Henry,’ she whispered forcing her eyes to look at him.
She saw the hands first. Henry’s strong manly fingers were lying close to Imogen’s hand. A lump formed in Rita’s throat and she felt sure she would choke and die right there, outside Pansies, looking through the window at the man she could have loved and she thought maybe this is a good way to die. She finally lifted her eyes to his face and her mouth opened in surprise. Her lips tightened in anger. That wasn’t Henry. Any sense of relief Rita might have felt was immediately overtaken by the anger she felt towards Imogen. How could she, and so soon after Henry’s death?
‘Huh,’ uttered Rita.
This had been going on long before Henry’s death, of that Rita felt sure. The man looked familiar too. Perhaps he’d been into the store and sampled her wares. She hoped that next time they would choke him. Rita then recalled where she had seen the man before. It had been at Henry’s funeral. He’d looked at Imogen in a strange way then, she remembered.
Oh, poor Henry, thought Rita. She ought to give Imogen a piece of her mind. March into Pansies and say loudly,
‘Is this how a grieving widow behaves?’
The waitress would give Imogen disgusted looks and the other diners would avert their eyes, not wanting to see the widow who had deceived her husband.
‘Adulterer,’ Rita would hiss.
The man wasn’t anywhere near as handsome as Henry. In fact, Rita didn’t much like the look of him at all. Her feet itched to go into the tearoom and her tongue tingled with the unspoken words she wanted to throw at Imogen. Instead, she turned and walked to the park, frustrated tears struggling to break free. Henry was waiting at the entrance and Rita broke into a run. She was now late, thanks to horrible Imogen. Henry saw her and gave a relieved smile.
‘I thought perhaps you weren’t coming,’ he said.
Should I tell him what I’ve just seen, Rita wondered.
‘How long have you got?’ Henry asked.
‘An hour, well, a bit less now,’ she said, looking at the time on her phone.
‘Shall we take a walk? Helps to clear the mind,’ said Henry.
‘Yes, I could do with my head clearing,’ she said.
He had such a lovely soft voice, thought Rita; warm and velvety. She didn’t imagine the man holding Imogen’s hand in Pansies had such a lovely voice. He looked common and rough.
