Published Fiction - Making Peace

This was published in the Rio Grande Review, a University of Texas literary journal 

It was a lovely day for a walk, and Alice was trying to enjoy it. She wished Arthur could be here to enjoy it with her; he’d always looked forward to the spring, but he’d been gone these twelve years and more. She missed the way he used to call her Alice Blue. He’d called her that because she’d always liked the song. She still hummed it sometimes: “In my sweet little Alice blue gown...” 
Alice had become used to living alone. Mostly, she quite liked it, although sometimes the house seemed too quiet. Still, at the age of eighty-three, she knew that each day was a blessing, and she tried to be grateful for every minute. Some days were easier than others. Today, even putting on her wool coat took a real effort; Alice wasn’t sure why, exactly. But she had worn that coat for years, no matter what the weather. The coat would see her out, she was sure. 
Right now, she was focusing on the way ahead of her, making sure she didn’t trip on an uneven paving stone. Her heart seemed to be beating rather harder than usual, and she was starting to perspire. Take it easy, old dear, she told herself, and stopped for a minute, to get her breath back. A light breeze blew some of the cherry blossom off the trees toward her, and cooled her faded cheeks as she continued her slow but resolute steps. She was making her way to the new postbox on the corner of Clarence Road. Why they’d moved it from Acacia Avenue, she had no idea. All she knew was that it was further away from her house now.
Walking didn’t come as easily as it once had. When she and Arthur had been courting, they’d thought nothing of climbing Shooter’s Hill with a picnic, which they would eat at the top, while they surveyed the London skyline. Alice recalled the smooth flat rock where she and Arthur had been sitting, looking at the view, when he’d first kissed her cheek. She blinked a tear away, remembering. 
She hadn’t expected him to die when he did. She had taken for granted, when they were young, that they’d both live forever. That was before the war, of course, and the bombs that fell during the Blitz. Arthur had joined the navy, and had spent much of the war on the convoys that escorted the bigger ships across the Atlantic and through the North Sea. He didn’t talk about it much, but he’d survived, that was the main thing.
Alice had always said that she’d follow him to the ends of the earth. Not that they’d traveled far, when it came right down to it. After he came back from the war, Arthur said he’d seen as much of foreign lands as anyone could want to see. So, for twenty-odd years, they’d taken their summer holidays on the south coast, and sometimes in the Lake District, until Arthur had fallen ill.
Even then, Alice had decided that if she didn’t live forever, she’d still live for a long time in good health. After all, her parents had lived well into their eighties. And she was still healthy, really, she supposed, apart from the old ticker, which acted up a bit every so often. The doctors wouldn’t operate, because of her advanced age. They told her to keep taking the pills, but mostly, she didn’t bother. Anyway, she still had time for what she needed to do.
She wanted to tie up loose ends. She didn’t like leaving things undone. So, a couple of weeks ago, she’d made a special visit to her daughter, Mandy, taking the bus all the way to Ashford and back by herself. She wanted Mandy to know that she was doing a fine job of raising her children. Alice hadn’t been sure, to start with, what sort of a mother Mandy would make. She’d always been so flighty when she was young. But her kids, Terry and Sheila, had turned out great, though Alice didn’t see much of them anymore. After all, teenagers always had so many other things to do. But they’d been at home the day she’d visited, and even sat down to have a cup of tea and piece of cake with her and Mandy. Alice felt a warm feeling in her chest as she thought about that day.
Today, it was warmer out than she’d expected. Alice paused for a minute to catch her breath again. A greengrocer’s van drove by, trailing a cloud of exhaust fumes. “Australian apples – good on ya”, it said on the side of the van. Alice wasn’t sure what “good on ya” meant, but she thought Ruby would know.
Her old school friend Ruby had moved to Australia a long time ago, but they’d kept up. Ruby wrote regularly, still inviting Alice to visit, as she had for the last forty years. Only last week, Alice had written back again to explain that it was still too far to come, though she would always treasure the oldest friend she had. And she had written to her wartime friend, Maggie, who was Canadian. They had met in the ATS, driving ambulances around London after the bombing. Maggie had come all the way from Canada, to help the war effort. Five boys, Maggie had, all grown up, now. How on earth had she managed with five? 
Alice had barely coped with her one boy. He’d been a lovely little lad, John, always smiling, always trying to please his mum. And then he’d gone away to college, which was only right, because he was brainy. He’d studied rocks – geology they called it. The family used to tease him about being a know-it-all. But he really did know a lot, thought Alice. Still, it had never been the same after college. He’d met that stuck-up girl, Isabella. Alice had always known that it was the girl who’d been ambitious. It was obvious to Alice from the first that she was out to snare John. And she’d succeeded. Alice had tried to warn John that Isabella wasn’t right for him, but it made no difference, of course. Perhaps she should have kept her own counsel, because that’s when John had really started to become a stranger. Alice had never liked Isabella, and thought she was a bit of a gold-digger. Well, diamond-digger really. She smiled wryly at her own joke. That was what John did for a living. He was paid to look for diamonds for the largest diamond company in Africa. It was an awfully long way to go, so far from his home and family. If it hadn’t been for Isabella, he might have taken that job he was offered with the oil company in Scotland. That was far enough, Alice thought, but not as far as Africa. Still, Isabella had decided that diamonds sounded more posh than oil, and so they’d gone to live abroad, instead of staying close to his roots. He’s never asked me to visit, Alice reflected. Probably because of Isabella. 
And now she’d written one last letter. After sealing the envelope, she had hidden it carefully in a side pocket of her ancient black handbag, so as not to mislay it. It was addressed to a post office box in Africa, and Alice wondered, as she stopped again to lean against the carefully clipped hedge of Mrs. Wilkins’ garden, whether they had the same sort of post offices in Africa as here. She thought they probably did. And maybe they had boxes on a post at the end of the drive, like those American ones she’d seen in the pictures. 

She worried too much, that’s what Arthur had always said, when she wondered why John didn’t write. Arthur kept saying that youngsters today had no idea how to write any more, and it wasn’t that John didn’t love her. Alice wasn’t so sure. And she wondered why this letter of hers had been so hard to write. It wasn’t as though she was upset with John, or even Isabella, come to that. Well, not any more. Not after all these years. He was her son, when all was said and done. It would be silly to hold a grudge for so long. It was simply that…
She paused again for one more rest before she reached the corner. She used to make this walk in five minutes. Funny, how slow she’d become. A bench stood nearby, one the local council had failed to remove when they instituted the big clean up of the neighborhood. That’s when they’d moved the pillar box, too, from Acacia Avenue to Clarence Road. She sank gratefully onto the bench, and gripped her handbag a little harder, pulling it in towards her chest, making sure she still had the letter.
It was time to make amends now – to say she was sorry for everything she’d said. The letter was here in her bag. She was going to post it today.
Alice closed her eyes, letting the spring sun play on her face. Her eyes fluttered open a few minutes later to see a young man walking towards her. It was hard to see his face because the sun was in her eyes. He had red hair, like Arthur’s. She’d always liked a redhead.
“Mind if I sit here?” he said.
“Help yourself, ducks,” Alice murmured. She was feeling a bit drowsy, truth be told. 
“Taking a walk then?” the young man asked. His voice sounded oddly familiar.
“Going to post a letter.” 
“You look done in. Would you like me to take it? The postbox is just over there.” He pointed to the corner of Acacia Avenue.
Alice frowned. She squinted at the corner, and sure enough, there was the pillar box. 
“I thought they’d moved it,” said Alice. Maybe she was getting forgetful.
“So, shall I post it for you?” he said, rising from the bench.
“That would be kind.”
Alice fumbled with her bag, which released a smell of the extra strong peppermints that she favored as she opened it. She took out the letter, and handed it to the young man. She watched him as he walked away, rolling slightly as he did so, like a sailor. He turned as he reached the letter box, before dropping the letter into it. Now he was on his way back. Alice felt a little flutter in her chest. He seemed like a nice young man, but you could never tell these days.
“That’s done,” he said, and sat down on the bench next to her. 
Alice closed her eyes again. She felt a cool hand close over her own warm one, but she didn’t feel nervous. Nothing to worry about, now. The letter was safely on its way. And she could be going on hers.
As though he’d heard her thought, the young man spoke again.
“Time to get going, my lovely,” he said, then leaned across and kissed Alice gently on the cheek.
 Alice felt a warm glow on the spot where he’d kissed her. 
“I’ll see you soon, Alice Blue.”
Alice’s eyes flew open, but the sun was too bright and everything looked hazy. She closed them again.
“Arthur?” she whispered. 
The sun seemed to be glowing, suddenly hot, through her eyelids. Her head fell forward. Her bag dropped to the ground. 

THE END