Kerry listened to the carriage clock ticking in her darkened bedroom.
The clock her mother proudly had above her fireplace, the one Dad
bought for her on their silver wedding anniversary, the day before he
died in his sleep. It was custom made, with a photo of them on their
wedding day, behind the clock face, with their names engraved in the
base.
Of all her mother’s possessions, it was the only thing she really
wanted. A symbol of the love her parents had for each other. It still
upset her that, in her will, her mother insisted that the clock be put
in the coffin, along with Dad’s favourite tie and his glasses.
Naturally, she told her brother that’s exactly what happened. Mark had
no desire to see his Mum in the funeral home, all grey and still. He
avoided seeing her when she was alive, so convincing him she had
followed Mum’s request was easy. Kerry knew how much that clock meant
to her parents and there was no way it was going to be destroyed when
Mum was finally cremated.
It had been a lovely funeral though. Aunt Valerie cried throughout,
as usual. Mark got drunk and hit someone in the pub. Apart from that,
Mum would have been proud. Although Kerry hated the black shoes she
felt obliged to wear; they were so uncomfortable. Removing them before
bed was like an orgasm. Not that she remembered what they were.
Over two years of Kerry’s life had been taken by looking after her
mother. Once the cancer took hold, there was little point in pretending
to even have a life. She did her best, made her comfortable but it
never felt enough. She quit work, even quit Richard (her last chance of
a family, he said as they split up. Bastard.) However, Kerry had
accepted her responsibility, and even felt that it brought her closer to
her mother. Not forgetting that Dad would have wanted her to look
after Mum, since he was not around to do it.
There was plenty of resentment, of course. Kerry wanted to kill her
on a few occasions; when the soiled bed sheets needed cleaning AGAIN;
when the wailing would not stop; when she just wanted to sit in the
fucking garden but could not leave Mum alone. A pillow. That’s all she
would have needed. Would have been so easy. Surely no-one would have
blamed her.
The thoughts swirled in Kerry’s head over and over. Listening to the
clock ticking, feeling her eyelids getting heavier. Thinking to
herself: Tomorrow, would be the start of Kerry Mitchell’s second life.
Job hunting, making contact with old friends, maybe even see if Richard
was still single..? She even felt the tinge of a smile as she began to
drift off.
“Kerry. You’ve ruined everything.”
Suddenly, Kerry’s eyes were anything but heavy. She sat bolt
upright, scrambling for her phone, anything for a bit of light. The
time was 1:03am (why did that time sound familiar?). She was home
alone; hell, even the cat was outside. Did she imagine it? Was she
dreaming? Was she half-asleep? Faint yet deep. It was a voice, it WAS.
The clock continued ticking, almost in rhythm with Kerry’s breathing.
Shining the little light from her phone around the room showed
nothing. She expected to see nothing; her rational mind had kicked in
now and, yes, obviously it was just in her mind. A little ‘jolt’ one
gets just before sleep embraces for the night.
She turned her phone off, put it back on the pillow next to her, and
laid down. Why was 1:03am bothering her? The answer was there, in her
mind. Just out of sight. She sighed, and decided a glass of milk was
in order.
She opened her bedroom door and made her way to the kitchen. It was a
bit colder than usual, probably needed to stop being so tight and use
the central heating once in a while. She smiled as she remembered the
only argument her parents had, over the thermostat. Dad was never cold
and Mum was never warm; perfect for each other, they used to say.
The thoughts of her parents, happy and alive, filled Kerry with more
happiness than she had felt in a long time. She took the glass of
freshly poured milk, took a sip and made her way back to bed.
As she entered the bedroom, she froze. 1:03am. That was the time of
Mum’s death, 3 weeks ago to the day. How could she have forgotten? She
turned and closed the door.
“Kerry. You’ve ruined everything.”
The glass of milk fell to the floor. That was no dream, no sleep related illusion. That was real. And behind her.
She turned around. She was still alone, the barest amount of light
trickling through the curtains showed nothing. Her breathing was rapid,
her heartbeat racing. She reached for the light switch and the room
was instantly bathed in light.
Her logical mind was trying to tell her not to worry, there was a
perfectly simple explanation. Just needed time to work out what it was,
that’s all. She sat on the bed, looking around. Was there a radio on? Next door’s television?
Minutes passed. She looked at her phone. Call someone? Like who?
Anyone she called will be asleep and even the ones that did answer will
just say “You’ve cremated your Mum today, your mind isn’t in a good
place, blah, blah.” And they were probably right.
But still. That voice. So dark, so… Familiar.
She looked at the glass of milk on the floor. “Stupid bitch” she whispered quietly.
It was then she realised. The clock was silent. She stood up, and
walked to the shelf. Picking it up, she let out a silent cry. The
photo of her parents was gone.
“Kerry. You’ve ruined EVERYTHING.” She turned quickly around.
“Dad?”
She knew the answer. It was him. Standing there, towering over her,
looking so angry, so furious. His face contorted with rage.
“YOU’VE RUINED EVERYTHING!”
“Daddy? You… You’re dead. I… I… I don’t…”
“Your Mum asked you to do one thing for her. ONE THING. And you failed her! Now we can never be together again!”
Kerry was sobbing, “I don’t understand?”
His hand raised up, pointing. “That clock! That clock was supposed
to be with your Mum forever! But you’re selfish! SELFISH!”
“Dad, I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”
She closed her eyes and crumbled to the floor, feeling the tears fall
down her cheeks. Clutching the clock to her chest, she felt him
approach. She could not look. She would not look.
“You’ve ruined us. Are you happy? ARE YOU?”
“Daddy,” she cried out, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” She could
hear him breathing. Heavy, hard, wheezing: The breath of a smoker.
The pungent smell of the cigarettes that she had almost forgotten; the
cigarettes that killed him.
His voice was trembling, “Mark was always my favourite…” Then silence.
The clock started ticking again. She opened her eyes, her father was
gone. She looked at the clock, the photo was back but now her Dad was
missing from the picture. Just her Mum, in her wedding dress. And even
though Kerry’s eyes were soaked with tears, as she stared at the
picture, she could clearly see her Mum was crying. She stood up and put
the clock back on the shelf, feeling more alone than ever. She walked
to the door, picked up the glass of milk and closed the door behind her.
She never returned.
