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Fossils
Written by Robert A Webster
Copyright © 2020 Robert A Webster.
Cover design Robert A Webster
All rights reserved
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental. Robert A Webster asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
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-Track One-
Charles felt the walls closing in as his world fell apart. He longed to hold his wife, tell her how much he loved her, smell her fragrance, and hear her comforting voice telling him that everything would be fine. Standing with his hands clasped in front of him, he glanced over at her gloss wood casket and heard the faint hum of the conveyor echo in the chapel as a curtain closed and the coffin slowly moved toward the furnace.
Charles’s sons, John and Peter, two of the pallbearers, then came and sat on the pew beside him. John patted his father’s arm, but Charles just stared forward.
Lorraine, Charles’s daughter, with tears streaming down her face, gently squeezed his hand as the vicar prayed for the safe journey of Mary’s soul. Charles wasn’t listening and showed no emotion trapped within his earthly cocoon. Apart from being with his beloved Mary, nothing else mattered to Charles.
With sobbing heard in the crematoriums chapel on the outskirts of Cleethorpes, the vicar finished his prayer and told the congregation to reflect on Mary’s life.
Charles gazed up at a ray of sunlight that shone through a skylight. He gasped and smiled. “Mary,” he whispered, as an apparition of Mary’s face as a young woman appeared in the sunbeam.
“Hello my darling,” said Mary’s voice in his head.
Charles trembled and thought, ‘Oh Mary, I am so lonely and sad. I want to end this and be with you.’
Mary smiled and Charles remembered the smile he fell in love with all those years ago, as Mary said. “We will soon be together my darling, but now is not your time. You still have plenty to live for...remember what I always told you. Life is too short to be sad.”
“Dad, sit down,” whispered Lorraine as the vicar beckoned the congregation to sit.
Charles, his thoughts interrupted, sat on the pew. The vicar went to the small pulpit and began his sermon, giving details about Mary’s life, a woman he barely knew.
“Are you alright, Dad?” whispered Lorraine, noticing Charles smiling up at the skylight.
Charles ignored her, ‘Where are you my darling?’ Charles thought, watching rays of sunlight dancing through the empty skylight.
“Dad, are you okay?” repeated Lorraine, squeezing his hand.
John, hearing Lorraine’s concern, looked at his father and gently nudged him. “Dad!”
Charles juddered and smiled at John and Peter, and with a glazed expression and tears in his eyes, looked and nodded at Lorraine.
Lorraine, relieved to see his tears, wiped them from his eyes with her sodden handkerchief. She kissed him on the cheek, faced forward, and listened while the vicar continued his sermon. Charles now felt warm, safe, and no longer alone. He glanced up again at the empty skylight, and as the vicar's words become a blur, his thoughts drifted into happy memories.
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ON A WARM SUMMER’S afternoon, a removal van arrived and unloaded a Steinway Parlour Grand Piano into the recreation room. Throughout the day, elderly residents came and admired the fine instrument, inquisitive about who was moving into Albert’s old room. However, three residents felt excited by the piano and eager to meet its owner.
The following day, a BMW came up the driveway. A middle-aged couple got out of the front seat and helped a gaunt, but well-groomed, elderly man out of the back. They took belongings from the back seat, walked into the residence, and went to the warden's office. The curtains twitched as excited old folk tried to see their new neighbour.
John, Lorraine, and Charles sat in Mrs Chew’s office while she explained about the residence and the rules and regulations that Charles must abide by during his stay.
The office smelled of stale tobacco. Hilda Chew, a small, haggard woman in her early sixties with stern features and a wrinkled face making her look like a constipated bloodhound, had been the warden at Fossdyke since it opened eight years earlier. Charles paid scant attention to the warden’s instructions as his mind wandered elsewhere.
Mrs Chew then took them along a corridor. They stopped at a room on the ground floor and went inside. “Here’s your room Mr Clark, or can I call you, Charles?”
Charles shrugged as Mrs Chew told him, “This will be your home from now on Charles. We put your chair near the bay window. The grounds look lovely this time of year.”
John put Charles’s suitcase on the bed. “It’s nice and roomy Dad,” he said, opening the case and hanging clothes in a wardrobe.
“You
