Writing for Fun
April 2023
The Walk - Anne Wilson
She pursed her lips obstinately.‘I don’t want to do it.’
‘But you must, darling,’ he reasoned; walking behind her as she put on her make-up whilst seated in front of the bedroom mirror. He rested his hands on her shoulders in an effort to calm her.
‘I do everything else you ask of me,’ she countered (and he had to admit that it was not an unfair assertion on her part). ‘But this is just one step too far.’
He chortled quietly at the pun, but she either chose not to acknowledge it or was too angry to have even assimilated her choice of words.
‘Come on,’ he cajoled her. ‘It’ll all be over within minutes.’
She swung her legs round to face him.
‘That’s just where you’re wrong,’ she argued. ‘I agree, it won’t take all that long, but the aftermath will last for days whilst my every gesture and facial expression is analysed beyond endurance.’
‘So will theirs,’ he reassured her. ‘And so will mine, come to that. We all have relationship issues with each other, but we must rise above them. We can’t air them in public.’
‘I don’t see why not,’ she pouted. ‘Everyone else is in the country has that right.’ He pulled a face at her in tacit understanding that he agreed but that there was nothing he could do about it.
She stood up to face him.
‘Alright. What do I say when we first come across them?’
‘“Hello,’” might be a good start.’
She smiled, but her face showed no mirth.
‘What would I do without your wisdom and guidance?’
The number of flowers at the Gates were greater in number than she could have possibly imagined and she gasped with amazement as soon as she saw them. They had touchingly been left there out of love and respect, of course, and she fervently wished that she could have been left to her own devices to share this moment with her husband. Things had changed, though. Instead of being able to focus on their own grief and gratitude for the support, they had been forced into a charade that was not of their making.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw two figures advance hand in hand towards them. She felt herself tense involuntarily. Even the atmosphere in the crowd seemed to have altered perceptibly – the buzz lessening as if they had taken a collective intake of breath. She acknowledged realistically that it may have been her imagination playing tricks and a hand squeezed hers.
‘Relax,’ said her husband. ‘Just smile.’
Her entire face felt frozen, as if someone had injected it with such a lavish amount of botox that it would never again feel normal.
She smiled rigidly and waved at the crowd in preparation, feeling the presence of the other couple as they edged ever closer. She turned round to face them head on, to find a woman’s face beaming fulsomely.
‘Lovely to see you,’ the Face said. ‘What a wonderful turn-out and what magnificent tributes.’ The Face’s husband shuffled awkwardly beside her. She could think of nothing more clever or apposite in reply than answering ‘Yes.’ How she wished that lying came as easily to her.
As if by clockwork, the four of them seemed to move robotically at the same time towards the crowd, dispersing into inches apart for the walk, whilst they greeted the individuals. She felt the Face’s eyes bore into the back of her head every now an again, but surely it was, again, only her imagination?
Some individuals were bolder and more effusive than others and it was hard to avoiding singling them out to shake their hand or exchange a few words.
‘Where have you come from today?’ she asked one, who had pushed her face so far forward so that it almost touched hers.
‘I come from Milwaukee, Wisconsin,’ the woman gushed.
‘Goodness!’ she exclaimed tritely. ‘That’s a long way from Windsor.’
‘I just had to come,’ responded the woman, pumping her hand.
On and on it went. She prided herself on her ability to be able to exchange innocuous small talk with people; years of study and experience having honed it into a fine art. Behind her, though, she could hear reactions to the Face – peals of nervous giggling and laughter – an altogether more relaxed and natural approach having exacted them. It riled her, but she mustn’t let it show.
Every minute of the forty allocated seemed like an hour to her, but she knew she must endure it. Ordinary people could look at their watches every now an again, but she daren’t, so on she plodded. Step after step. Eventually someone ‘called time’ and the quartet moved away from the crowds towards the centre to join each other and walk back to the Castle.
So relieved was she that the ordeal was now nearly over that making communal interaction whilst the four of them were still on camera was not a consideration and both she and the Face turned to their respective husbands to exchange a few words. It was subsequently remarked upon.
Sometime later, in the privacy of her own room, she would confess that the day had been ‘one of the hardest of her life.’ It was a remark she hoped would never be made public but should have known better. It was. With some irony she learned that the same remark had been uttered by the Face. Was it? She would never know the truth.