WRITERS ABROAD MAGAZINE: THE THIRD SPACE
Dead Man Sitting
By Alyson Hilbourne
Someone is sitting in my favourite chair. The cosy one by the fireplace that over the years has moulded to my shape so it’ s uncomfortable for anyone else. It is dented where I sit, has greasy marks on the armrest and my book is still tucked down the side.
I stare. An icy shiver runs down my spine. There is a familiarity to the brown cord trousers, worn at the knees, the collarless shirt and threadbare tartan slippers. One ankle is crossed over the other displaying a scrawny, white shank. I don’ t like the thinning hair, the heavy jowls, the wrinkles around the eyes, or the slack jaw look. But the closer I peer, the more undeniable the realisation. I’ m looking at a pale, stiff, unblinking parody of myself. I hear Lottie. She’ s talking to Harriet from next door. Lottie’ ll sort this out. She appears in the doorway, gasps and gratifyingly rushes over to my body.‘ Frank!’ She slaps my face and reels back staring at her hand. Then she clasps her cheeks.‘ Ohhhhhhhh!’ That’ s not me! I want to yell, but something catches in my throat. Harriet steps over and takes her arm.‘ Lottie! I’ m so sorry. He wouldn’ t have known anything …’‘ He’ d hate it.’ Lottie shakes her head.‘ He liked to be in control.’ What is she talking about?‘ Well, you can be in control from now on.’ Harriet puts an arm round her shoulder. I frown. What? Lottie gives a brief nod.‘ That apartment you’ ve talked about?’ Harriet says. What? Lottie never mentioned a flat! What’ s wrong with this house? We’ ve lived here for forty-five years. Why would she want to leave?
‘ Yes.’ Lottie sighs.‘ He couldn’ t see how run down this place is. He wouldn’ t consider a new oven or kitchen cupboards. Oh, and a bed that doesn’ t sag in the middle! An apartment would be half the work.’‘ And a holiday, some new clothes?’ Harriet asks. Huh! If she thinks Lottie wants to go on holiday, she’ s dreaming. Lottie has always been a home-loving bird. It’ s one of the things that attracted me to her. And clothes? Lottie isn’ t worried about fashion.‘ Mmm. Italy? Greece? Would you come with me, Harriet? We could shop first?’ Harriet pulls Lottie to her.‘ Of course. I’ d love too. It was criminal the way he treated you.’ I stamp my foot. Really, what is this? Have they gone mad? A puff of dust rises in the air rather than the resonating of solid floorboards that I had hoped for.
Lottie looks around.‘ This place is a mess. Look at the dust. I suppose I should call the doctor and the undertaker. I wonder what sort of funeral Frank wanted. We never discussed it. I’ m sure he thought he was immortal.’
I clench my fists as anger fizzes through me. Is this some trick? I want to scream, but all I can do is stare, mute and helpless, at the dead person sitting in my favourite chair.
7 | May 2016