Bernard ignored the knock on his door, hoping that whoever it was would go away. Why was it they always insisted on spoiling the best bit of what he was watching? Sighing irritably, he dragged his eyes away from the TV screen as his caller pushed the door open and came in anyway. A member of staff, presumably. He noted the uniform as the woman passed by his armchair.
‘Just me, Julia,’ she said, going across to draw his curtains. ‘Everything all right, Bernard?’
Had he seen her before? He tried to place her as she turned back to face him. He must have done, he supposed, since she was addressing him by name.
‘Yes, thank you, dear. My daughter will be here soon,’ he assured her, lest she settle down and start talking to him. They meant well, he was sure, popping in for a chat, but he would much rather watch the end of the film. It was good, gripping, reminding him of an event in his past he couldn’t quite grasp.
‘The one with the little girl, do you mean?’ the woman asked him. ‘She’s just been, Bernard. She needed to go home and get her daughter to bed.’
Bernard arched an eyebrow curiously. Little girl? She was mistaken. Getting her confused with someone else. ‘She doesn’t have any children,’ he said, and went back to the TV.
‘Ah, you mean the other daughter,’ the woman went on. Bernard really wished she wouldn’t. He was struggling to concentrate. ‘She seems a nice girl. Always ready with a cheery smile. It’s a shame she wasn’t able to help her sister out more. But then she does live quite a way away, I suppose. She’s obviously making up for lost time now.’
‘Yes.’ Bernard frowned and tried to recall where it was she lived. Hearing the distinct chink of beer glasses, a peal of bubbly female laughter; seeing fleetingly in his mind’s eye the salty froth of seawater lapping thirstily at the sand, he thought he’d pinpointed it, but it slipped away from him, as his recollections so often did.
‘I was going to marry her,’ he said nostalgically, his gaze drifting back to the woman, who paused in her bed-straightening to eye him interestedly.
‘Her mother, do you mean?’ she asked him, her look now one of surprise.
‘It would have to have been a quiet wedding,’ Bernard continued, guilt settling heavily inside him as pictures of a white wedding, bells chiming, confetti falling, Ruth smiling, played like an old movie reel through his mind. A different clip then, another woman, not smiling, no bubbly laughter. His chest constricted as her face came to him, her huge autumn-coloured eyes glassy with tears. ‘It doesn’t have to be a fancy affair, Bernie,’ she said, wiping a trail of mascara from her cheek as she blinked hopefully at him. ‘The registry office will do. Just me and you.’
‘Two witnesses and a quiet lunch afterwards,’ he added gruffly as he reminisced. ‘She wouldn’t have minded that. She was never greedy for material things. It was my company she wanted. Security, that was all.’