Free The Healing by David Park Page B

Mrs Anderson, my deepest sympathy for your loss and to say that if there’s anything I can do to be of help, you only have to ask. I’m never far from the house and you only have to ask.’
    She thanked him again and he could see that she was gently starting to close the door.
    â€˜I was wondering, Mrs Anderson, if you’d let me tidy up your garden – you know, take it in hand for you. The house has been empty for so long that it’s got into a bit of a state. I’m retired now, so I’ve plenty of time on my hands and I’d be more than glad to do it for you.’
    She hesitated, but her hand had dropped from the door.
    â€˜It’s very kind of you to offer and your own garden certainly looks very well. I was just admiring it the other day. But it’s a big job, bigger than I realized and I was thinking of getting someone in. It’s very thoughtful of you to offer, but I couldn’t impose on you like that.’
    â€˜You wouldn’t be imposing at all,’ he insisted. ‘It’d be a pleasure. I like the garden, and I’ve the time to do it. I always feel closest to God’s handiwork in a garden.’
    â€˜Are you sure?’ she asked.
    â€˜I’m sure. It’d be no trouble at all. I’ll start first thing in the morning.’
    â€˜Only if you’re sure you wouldn’t be taking on too much.’
    He shook his head, turned to go, then paused and looked once more into her eyes.
    â€˜Maybe the boy would like to help me,’ he said softly.
    â€˜Samuel? Yes, maybe he would. I’ll ask him. We’ll see you, then, tomorrow, Mr Ellison, and thank you for calling.’
    He closed the gate carefully, looking back at the coloured glass in the door, then glanced up at the bedroom to see the boy’s face vanish behind a curtain, like the moon behind clouds.
    In the morning, he put on his working clothes and boots, and went to the garage to gather his working tools. He opened the curtains, sat down on the wooden chair and laced the boots, tying the laces tightly and tucking the bottom of his trousers into his socks. His eyes flitted round the scattered contents, never resting anywhere for more than a second, then gradually, almost against his will,they returned to the same heaped monument of rubbish. Nothing appeared to have changed, nothing appeared to have moved. He felt frightened to look too closely or go any nearer to it, frightened even to look at it for more than a moment. A spider scuttled across the floor and a rafter above his head gave a sudden creak as if stretched too tightly. He looked down at his boots. One of the knots was loose and he opened it and re-tied it, stood up and stamped his feet on the ground, sending little clouds of dust into the air, then lifted a spade and a hoe down from hooks, carried them outside and propped them against the garage wall. After cleaning the lawnmower with a wire brush he took it outside also. Then he reached over the hedge and set the tools down in the neighbouring garden. He lifted the lawnmower through one of the gaps in the hedge, its weight making him stumble a little.
    As he stood looking up at the house, the woman came out of the back doorway, drying her hands on a towel. She smiled at him almost as if she was surprised that he had really come. He had to reassure her again that he was happy to do the work for her, but as he spoke his eyes searched the house for some sign of the boy. He could sense him close by, almost hear the beat of his heart, but he could find no trace of that pale face. The woman was talking to him, telling him things about the boy, but they faded out of his consciousness as his eyes flicked from window to window and back to the open door.
    â€˜I understand,’ he said. ‘Don’t worry about anything. I understand about Samuel. I understand about the boy.’
    She kept on drying her hands with the towel, turning them again and again inside its