un1ovablehand

“You look lost,” said a woman standing to the side of the path. She had a folded umbrella dangling from her arm, wearing dark clothes and shades. Behind her was a small procession of similarly dressed people, and Phoebe’s face grew hot with mortification when she realised that she’d just walked into somebody’s funeral.

“Oh. I’m so sorry, I had no idea that… well, I’m very sorry for your loss.”

The woman gave her a serene smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “If it makes you feel any better, no one here really gave a damn about him. He wasn’t a good guy.”

Phoebe wasn’t sure what to say to that. “Oh. How well did you know him?”

“Not very. He’s-- he was barely an acquaintance.” The woman’s mouth pressed into a thin line of displeasure. She was lying. “No one ever saw much of him.” Then she extended her arm, which caught Phoebe off-guard. “I’m Margaret, by the way.”

“Phoebe.” Phoebe cautiously eyed Margaret’s gloved hand before shaking it.

“So what brings you here today?”

“Visiting my mother’s grave.” Phoebe tried for a disarming smile but it felt false. “She died seven years ago. Cancer.”

“I’m sorry,” said Margaret, sounding as though she really meant it but not knowing the proper words that came afterwards. Anna let her gaze linger a little bit on Margaret while she was distracted, feeling too intimidated to look at her directly when she wasn’t spacing out. She seemed a good deal older than Anna, dressed in typical funeral attire and yet still giving off a certain sophisticated air that wasn’t very common, especially at overgrown, run-down cemeteries.

“Are you alright?” Phoebe finally asked.

“Not really,” replied Margaret, pushing the bridge of her sunglasses further up her nose. “Excuse me, I should be getting back now. It was nice talking to you, though. Thanks for the company.”

Phoebe waved and watched her disappear out of sight, feeling a bit stupid for waving. It seemed too juvenile of a way to say goodbye, especially to someone like that.

___

Evelyn came home to a dark and empty flat, which she found more comforting than lonely tonight. She didn’t want to open her phone to an endless stream of pitiful condolences from people she barely knew. So she turned her phone off and tossed it onto the couch, kicking off her heels and heedlessly leaving them in the doorway.

She paced around the room agitatedly for a few minutes before she realised what she was doing, then sat down on the couch to watch whatever was on television at this hour. The news droned on about suffering in some third-world country she didn’t catch the name of, death tolls in the hundreds rattled off as though there weren’t individual lives attached to each of them. After a few minutes passed, she turned it off again. It did nothing to drown out the thoughts in her head. She threw on a coat over her black sheath dress and went down the hall to the elevator.

The liftman barely acknowledged her after pressing the button for the ground floor with a gloved finger. He was new, an older man with grizzled hair and stubble with ramrod straight posture. Evelyn knew she should introduce herself and try to be polite to the help, after all she had once been like them, waiting hand and foot on people much richer than her who wouldn’t deign to look her way. But she couldn’t think of anything to say, and the door dinged open before she could try.

“Thank you,” she said, trying to not give the impression that she was in a hurry even though she was. Evelyn took in the twinkling lights draped over the well-paved streets of Hampstead, the ambience of pleasantly voiced people enjoying their night, trying to let its tranquility wash over her to no avail. Her neighbourhood was a lovely gated community of pretty Victorian townhouses in muted colours, green lawns, and black iron fences. It was always difficult to believe that she actually lived here. As she strolled past maple trees and warmly lit windows, she wanted to scream until her lungs were raw and bleeding. She wanted to do something that demanded people to fucking look at her, make a spectacle out of her pain just so they would acknowledge it.

Her body seemed to move beyond her conscious control, taking her down into the London Underground, pushing past the turnstile, and boarding the train. It had been so long since Evelyn last took the Tube, even longer since she rode it unaccompanied. Breathing in the earthy smells of grease and ozone and people, she expected it to evoke memories of her uni days. It did not. She gripped the pole she was leaning on and tried her best to rein in any thoughts that threatened to splinter her carefully put-together facade. Her stop was Lewisham, a location she accidentally punched in when printing her ticket and couldn’t be bothered to fix. She hadn’t been there in ages, though she recalled years of afternoons spent wandering its streets and ordering Indian and Chinese takeaway with her mother.

When she emerged from the Underground, she cursed herself for not checking the weather forecast. A light mist of rain blew in her face and while she couldn’t be less bothered by it, she had a feeling that it would be pouring by the time she got home.

Evelyn ducked into the first pub she came across, a dimly-lit building that reeked of beer and mildew. She revelled in the security anonymity provided her, with no risk of being recognised here. She waved off a man who tried to buy her drinks, just wanting to be left alone, though another one settled into the stool beside her and started chatting her up. Evelyn was resistant at first, but realised there wasn’t much point in ignoring him. He was polite enough and she could use the distraction.

“What do you do for a living?” He’d introduced himself as Noah, a lanky man with a thick mop of dark hair and downturned eyes.

“I’m a mum.” Evelyn didn’t know how to explain her situation, so she said nothing else.

“You married?”

“That’s a bit direct, don’t you think?” she asked, arching an eyebrow.

He held his hands up defensively. “Just curious. You don’t have to answer, if you don’t want to. Sorry.”

In spite of herself, Evelyn smiled. “It’s fine. Are you a local?”

“Born and raised.” He went on to tell her about how he’s just finished med school and came back home to look after his ailing mother, who has cancer.

At the mention of cancer, she felt a tug of familiarity, sparing a thought for the young girl she’d met in a graveyard, though it passed quickly.

“How about you?” Noah gave her an open, genial smile that only people as young as him seemed capable of. “I can’t place where you’re from.”

“I grew up in Lewisham, but I live elsewhere now.”

“What made you come back?”

Evelyn contemplated her answer. “Just needed to get away from things for a bit.” The truth was, she didn’t know what she was doing. It was reckless of her to leave so abruptly, as though she were someone who didn’t have responsibilities tethering to the life she had now, like a dog on a leash. She had no idea what her next move was. It was exhilarating.

After an hour more or so of talking, Noah gave Evelyn his number without asking for hers. He offered to pay their cheque too, but she put a stop to that immediately.

“Money isn’t an issue for me,” Evelyn said, and as soon as the words passed her lips she regretted them. It sounded like she was bragging.

But Noah didn’t seem to take offence, just gave a small nod. “Take care.” Evelyn finished the rest of her drink and examined the small slip of paper he’d written his number on before tucking it into her pocket. He was too young for her, and she wouldn’t be calling him, but didn’t want to just leave it there for anyone to take.

The pub had begun to clear out, as it was a weekday and most people had work tomorrow. Not Evelyn, though.

She went out into the night, blinking neon lights following her down the dark street. Shadows dragged themselves across the dirty white-tile front of a meat shop, a silent wind pulling the trees towards Evelyn. From what she could tell, she was the only person for blocks. Yet she had the distinct sense she was being watched.