Photo courtesy of Cambridge-news.co.uk
The day after George’s funeral was the hardest day of all. Patricia had been in a daze for over a fortnight. From that sudden realisation, when Lucija, George’s colleague, had urgently called her that evening to tell her of George’s accident – he had been rushed to hospital after a bicycle on rue de la Loi had collided with him and knocked him unconscious – Patricia’s recollection was a blur.
Now, sitting in the kitchen, the morning after George’s funeral, Patricia was in denial. This wasn’t the way she and George had talked about their future together. George was supposed to be retiring soon; to have more time for his family and friends, and his pastimes; to leave behind that wretched ERA he had devoted the better part of his life to.
“No, George”, cried out Patricia in a high-pitched voice. “I won’t let you do this to me!” she added, as she broke down into tears. Her eldest daughter Beverley rushed towards the lounge.
“Mum, what’s the matter? Who are you shouting at?” she called from the passage, expecting to find her mother on the phone.
“You yourself told me a thousand times how dangerous that cycle lane was in rue de la Loi!”, Patricia blurted out. “You said…”
“Mum, hey Mum, shush, it’s me, calm down, it’s alright,” interjected Beverley.
Beverley looked at her disconsolately, wondering if the medication Patricia had been offered to help her cope with the shock of losing George, in such a tragic and unexpected manner, was disturbing her whole person. Patricia’s eyes flinched and she gave a sad glance towards her daughter.
“He told me a thousand times how dangerous that cycle lane was,” she repeated. “He’s not the type of person who would ever get himself into any trouble like this.”
Beverley sat down beside her mother and reached for her hand. “Mum, Dad’s gone. The bike hit him. Knocked him over. On rue de la Loi,” she spluttered. “And he’s gone.”
Patricia bowed her head and sobbed: breaking into tears the only way she could find to escape from the agonising contradiction she was experiencing.
“But how, how can they say that George is dead and buried…” thought Patricia, “….when he is still here?”
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