Ray said his mum’s house seemed different now it belonged to him. I said home is where the heart is. Ray grunted and we left it at that.
We collected his things from Kate’s. Didn’t take long. Kate had bagged, boxed and labelled, arranging all in a neat island in her living room before making herself scarce. All the doors to all the other rooms had been closed and her flat was dark despite the brightness of the day.
Once everything had been loaded into my car, Ray locked Kate’s door and dutifully posted the key through the letterbox. I felt bad for Kate. She’d tried to make Ray see reason, to see that their life was in the city, not out in the sticks. I hadn’t the heart to tell her he’d flipped a coin to decide. He was grieving and passion only gets you so far. The way I saw it, both of them were getting what they wanted. Ray a house with a garden and a driveway, Kate a way out.
Ray’s house was a white bungalow in a street lined with white bungalows, each topped with red slate and separated by pine fences. The garden was overgrown and the house stood out like a rotten tooth in an otherwise healthy mouth. Ray could’ve sold it had he cared to. Ironic that he’d sacrificed the only decent relationship he’d ever had for a house large enough for a family.
We each grabbed a box and our footsteps crunched the red granite chips leading to the front door. The wood of the door had faded and was in need of attention. Ray balanced his box on the handrail he’d had put in for his mum and fished out a clump of keys from his raincoat. The lock was stiff and I wondered how his mum must’ve struggled. Ray cursed as he opened the door.
Quite something to step into your past, I said. Quite something to own it, Ray said.
We put the boxes down in the hallway. Both were labelled in thick black marker. BOOKS and MISC. Underlined twice. I followed Ray’s lead and hung my coat on the mahogany coat stand. It was a nice piece and Ray said he’d keep it.
There was an odour of vacancy inside but putting my head into each room felt like a violation, as if intruding on Ray’s grief. The master bedroom looked tired and faded. The wallpaper was a floral pink, coming away at one of the seams with a patch of speckled black mould in one corner. It’s fine, Ray said. Just needs freshening up. There was only one bed, a single bed, and it was made up. It had a floral quilt that almost matched the curtains. I say quilt, but the word eiderdown came to mind for some reason. Ray said he’d made the bed up weeks ago and the sheets would need washing before anybody ever slept in it again. Not getting rid, I asked. No need, Ray said. Next to this room was the room that had once been Ray’s back when we’d been in college. It looked pretty much the same but we didn’t step inside.
Coffee? Ray made some instant, which we had to drink black. We sat in the kitchen at the plastic table in the corner and didn’t talk much. I’d already skirted around the subject of Kate and his new life during our drive and there wasn’t much else to say about that. From the silence, the door bell chimed. It was Mrs—- (Ray never could remember her name). A neighbour from across the way. I sipped my coffee as I listened from the kitchen.
‘I saw the car in the driveway. Just wanted to see how you were.’
‘I’m fine.’
‘Checking to see if you need anything.’
‘I have everything I need.’
‘Just say the word. You know where to find me.’
Ray didn’t invited her in.
After coffee we brought in everything from the car and Ray said that was that. I took the bag of clothes through to his old room and when I came back I found Ray on the sofa, feet on the coffee table. Sunlight streamed in between the white plastic blinds, casting shadows across him as he stared at his mum’s electric recliner. I asked what he was going to do with the furniture. Ray said there was an auction house in town that did house clearings, but he wasn’t sure yet. The sofa wasn’t in bad condition. He’d keep that. The furniture wasn’t the kind of thing he’d pick out, but it did the job, so why get rid? Floral curtains? So what. They’d do. He relaxed into soft cushions. It’s all here, Ray said. A lifetime’s worth. I have it all. That chair, Ray said, nodding at the recliner. I remember leaving her sitting there after dad’s funeral. I hated leaving her there with no reason to get up. I said something like it’s no fun getting old and not as if you could’ve lived with her. Ray said he wasn’t so sure.
*
Months passed before I dropped in on Ray again. We’d made several attempts to meet for drinks but he’d always cancelled for this or that reason. I happened to be passing through the village one day and decided to drop by.
The house looked the same from the outside, apart from the garden, which had been tended to and looked fine. No answer at the door and the door was locked, so I went around back and spied Ray in his greenhouse. Hello stranger, I said. Ray looked up from his tomatoes with a genuine smile lighting up his face. Well hello back, Ray said. He removed one of his gardening gloves and shook my hand like a welcoming stranger.
He looked good. He’d put on weight and it suited him. Face ruddy, sweat glistening. He was decked out in brown slacks too short for him and I could see he wore a vest beneath his shirt. Looked like one of his dad’s. Ray said I looked good and invited me inside. I have milk this time, Ray said.
Nothing had changed in the living room other than a newspaper on the coffee table. The crossword had been completed. Ray brought in a tray of coffee and assorted biscuits on a fine china plate. How civilised, I said. When in Rome, Ray said, smiling. Beaming.
He sat on the recliner and pushed a button that raised the footrest and tilted him back. He had slippers on. Down the hatch, Ray said. Thought you would’ve decorated by now, I said. It’s grown on me, Ray said. How’s things with you? Fine, fine, I said. You working? Not yet, Ray said. Busy with the garden. Helping at the church, too. I almost choked. You got religion? Ray laughed. I guess. They were very kind to mum. Met anyone? Nah, Ray said. I’m happy as I am.
Ray didn’t mention Kate that day and I didn’t have the courage to do so. He seemed happy. Why rock the boat?
Don’t be a stranger, Ray said from his door as I got into my car, a big smile on his face. As I pulled away I took one last look. The door was closed. I wasn’t sure what I’d tell Kate when I got home.
***
Ian Murphy always dreamed of becoming a writer. More specifically, he dreamed of becoming a novelist. Even more specifically, he dreamed of becoming a knovelist with a silent ‘K’. Nevertheless, Ian continues to pursue his dream, writing for adults and children. He performed at the Edinburgh International Book Festival on two occasions and is published alongside Salman Rushdie, Margaret Atwood and Shashi Tharoor in Tales On Tweet. His short fiction features in a variety of publications and he published his debut novel, The Life Lived. Edinburgh is home, though he can also be found at ianmurphywrites.com