Time to Let Go…

Hello!

It has been a while since I wrote a blog post. I’ve got so much to tell you! I’ve now written my first novel which I will share more about in the coming weeks. I’ll also be adding more author content to this site as we go along. So by way of apology for my absence, I offer this short story. It made the top 10% of entries in the Oxford Fiction Prize for 2024. Enjoy part one. Part two will follow next week.

It had stopped again. The absence of the familiar sound was jarring. The creaky floorboards and noisy pipes were a routine, a soundtrack to Grace’s day.  Each tick of the clock, however, divided her grief into sections. Without that it was unbearable. 

The grandmother clock had been a whimsical purchase to fit the cottagecore vibe on her Pinterest board. A grandfather clock would have dominated the hallway but this one was perfect. Grace had been delighted that it was exactly the same height as her at five foot six, its pearlescent face level with hers. 

Grace sighed as she unlatched the clock’s casement glancing at the reflection in the glass. The face she glimpsed was not her own and her heart leapt. It was there and then gone. The face of an older woman, chestnut hair pulled back and eyes the colour of a stormy sea. The clock was silent and it was three minutes past three. Grace knew she had not imagined it.

Shaking her head to dislodge the fuzziness, Grace reached inside and pulled first the hour and then the minute chain down. They were reassuringly cold and solid. Slowing her movements she resisted the urge to rush. Checking her watch, she adjusted the hands to half past four and with a gentle push, started the pendulum swinging. When she closed the casement and the clock had begun to tick, it was her own pale face that looked back at her. Grace stared at the dark circles under her eyes, skin dull, and untidy hair that needed a cut. 

Moving thoughtfully through the hallway to the kitchen, Grace boiled the kettle and gazed out of the window at the garden in the fading light. The kitchen overlooked the house behind where their windows framed the illuminated scene of a toddler wriggling in a highchair whilst Mum prepared the dinner. The child kept throwing her toys on the floor and Mum kept bobbing down to retrieve and return them. The toddler’s delight and Mum’s evident exasperation in this game made Grace’s heart ache. Then the longing appeared and left her hollow. After a moment Grace snapped the blind closed and turned her back on the window.  Opening Facebook Messenger she searched for the hairdresser’s icon and typed a short request for a cut and blow dry. She asked for the last appointment of the day on a Tuesday. Easier for work, she lied. It wasn’t, it was easier to avoid the busier hours and polite conversation from the well-meaning woman waiting for her colour to develop. Sarah, the hairdresser, had stopped asking how she was. Still in the two visits she had forced herself to make this year Grace had caught Sarah’s look of sympathy in the mirror and resolutely looked away. 

***

Grace arched her back to stretch as she closed her laptop and looked out onto the street. It was pitch black now and the frost on the road outside glistened in the streetlights.  She had been working on a tender for a new service and whilst it wasn’t a creative task it held her focus and the day had passed quickly. Grace shivered and pulled her cardigan on. It wasn’t worth clicking the heating on, she decided, as she would be leaving for her hair appointment soon. 

Gathering her cup and plate, she made her way through to the hall but paused at the silent clock. The pendulum was still inside the mahogany case. Starting the clock each day had become a ritual now.. One of the touch points that anchored her to the world, which her counsellor had assured her was vital. She wasn’t so sure about that. How could she move forwards when everything that was in her future is gone? Grace drew a sharp breath and steadied herself against the wall. She balanced her cup and plate on the radiator cover behind her and checked her watch.  It was only as Grace reached for the latch she noticed the time on the clock. three minutes past three. Her scalp prickled and the hairs on her arms rose. She lifted her head, eyes now level with the glass. There the other reflection waited. Tempestuous eyes locked steadily with her own. Grace held the gaze, taking in the lines around the eyes and mouth. the eyes held her still. She felt exposed and disconnected from the world. Now lightheaded she swayed and stepped back. Her hip caught the handle of the cup and in her peripheral vision she saw it fall to the floor. The porcelain shattering broke the spell. With a determined shake of her head Grace opened the clock, pulled down the counterweights and set the time. The only face reflected now was her own. Grace shuddered then bent to deal with the broken shards. 

A key turned in the lock and Grace spun back to face the hallway with her heart racing.  As the door opened, a blast of frigid air entered bringing with it Anna. Closing the door with a shiver, Grace's mother in law followed her to the kitchen with a bag of what she described as ‘bits from M&S’. She knew that Anna’s visit and the bag of ‘bits’ were part of a well choreographed routine of visitors who dropped in and watched her surreptitiously.

“I’m leaving for the Hairdressers in twenty minutes,” Grace said apologetically. 

Anna nodded in  response and Grace felt her shoulders tense as the other woman looked at her intently. Anna reached across the silence and put a gentle hand on Grace’s arm. 

“Are you still struggling to sleep love?”  Anna asked softly.

“No… well… yes,” Grace started, letting out a harsh laugh at her own hesitation. “I fall asleep easily enough but I keep waking through the night. I just don’t feel rested.” 

“Dreams?” Anna asked, her voice concerned. 

Grace nodded. “I can’t remember them though, I just wake with my heart racing or…” she trailed off, unable to put into words just how much she missed him. 

Anna gave her arm a squeeze and Grace knew she understood. The awful realisation each morning that Tom, Anna’s son and her husband had gone leaving only shock and grief. It had been sudden. Brutal. It made no sense. The sympathy Grace saw in Anna’s eyes reflected the ache in her soul. Grace knew she was lost. Trapped in a kind of no man’s land, where none of her friends and family could reach her. In the world but not really part of it and Grace wondered if she would ever find her way back. 

Grace left the house with Anna and once her mother in law’s car moved off Grace pulled her hood up and walked briskly towards the town centre. She entered the salon wincing at the brightness of the neon signs and tinsel round the mirrors. Sarah took her coat and pressed mulled wine in a latte glass into her hands. Grace sat in the chair and watched in the mirror as the nail technician painted tiny little penguins on the nails of the young woman behind her. The excited chatter about office parties washed over her. There was only her and Sarah left in the salon by the time Grace returned to her seat from the backwash. 

“Do you fancy a change?” Sarah asked, running her comb through Grace’s thick dark hair.

“Whatever you think best” Grace replied.

Sarah hesitated a moment, her head tipped to one side. 

“I think it needs a good couple of inches off the bottom Grace. How would you feel about a graduated bob?” Sarah asked.

“Yep, sounds good” Grace answered keeping her eyes lowered. 

Grace felt a squeeze on her shoulder and then Sarah began to cut. She had, Grace noticed, changed the playlist from Christmas songs to one that seemed to be generic pop hits from the 2000s. As the dryer switched off and the music returned Grace caught the chorus of “You’re Beautiful”.  Bile rose burning her throat. Tickets to see James Blunt live in Glasgow had been her Christmas present from Tom last year. Squeezing her nails into the palm of her hands she fought down the rising panic. Unable to do more than nod at the finished style and force a tight smile Grace paid and left as quickly as she could. She inhaled deeply, the biting air filling her lungs, pushing down the pain and shock. 

***

As Grace settled herself in bed with her book that night she pictured the face in the clock reflection. It was not a face she could put a name to, yet somehow, it was familiar. She tried to remember but there had been so many faces in the days after he died. With that thought the panic rose through her body, making her heart thunder and throat tighten. She squeezed her eyes shut, pressing her palms into them trying to block it out. It was useless the memories overtook her leaving her no choice but to surrender to them. 

The third of March. Grace had been preparing to start painting the baby’s room, although Tom had wanted her to wait until the weekend. Getting up into the loft wasn’t easy as she tried to manoeuvre her bump up into the hatch. Perhaps Tom had been right. Her phone had been ringing as she climbed clumsily down from the loft.  Too slow to reach it before it rang off, Grace smiled as she called him back. He had a sixth sense when she was doing something she probably shouldn't. The call was answered by Greg, Tom’s boss, and he had sounded so far away. 

“Grace? I’m sorry… it’s Tom… there has been an accident.” 

She woke feeling fuzzy and with a headache a few hours later. She made her way to the kitchen for a glass of water. The house was cold and she shivered as she passed the clock. “Grace… “ came the whisper,  a woman’s voice. A sensation of movement brushed Grace’s cheek like a breath and the hairs on her neck rose. “Grace… “ it came again, the tone urgent.  Soft vowels marked the voice as Scottish. Grace turned half expecting to see a ghostly figure behind her but there was nothing except the shadows and the hall was empty. She shivered again, this time with the uncanny feeling of being watched and quickly retraced her steps back to her room.  She stopped at the door to the other bedroom. It was ajar. 

“No!” Grace croaked, voice harsh in the thick silence. She reached out to the door hesitantly and then when she felt the solidness of the handle cool in her hand she pulled it firmly shut. 

***

Sitting in the Wee Blether coffee shop Grace wrapped her frozen hands around the coffee mug as the waitress in a set of elf ears put down the turkey and cranberry paninis. The walk from her home had blown away the cobwebs with the clear view of the snow capped Ochils and the bright sun. Catching sight of reflection in the window Grace noticed the cold had given her cheeks a rosy glow. Looking at the face of the woman opposite her Grace knew that flush wasn't fooling Anna.

“What are your plans over Christmas?” Anna asked. “Your Mum says you don't want to go to Aberdeen.”

Grace sighed. Clearly they had been conspiring again, attempting to manage her.

“There’s more snow forecast for next week and I don't want to drive. The trains are too unreliable between the weather and the strikes,” she responded, shifting in her seat repositioning her mug to hide her discomfort.

“You know you are always welcome with us don't you? But with Eilidh and Angus in the house it certainly won't be peaceful,” Anna said, tilting her head towards the speakers, currently playing the chorus of Silent Night.

Grace thought of her niece and nephew. Eilidh, still so delicate at nine months old. Angus, robust and determined, was just about to turn four. Angus looked so like Tom, his eyes the same hazel flecked with amber. His dark hair, too, had the same red tones when the light hit it. The emptiness opened in the pit of her stomach as Grace pictured Angus’ face. She tightened her grip on the coffee. 

“Come for dinner at least, Grace?” Anna nudged gently, pulling Grace back from her thoughts.

Grace agreed and moved the conversation onto safer ground. Anna worked for the local MSPs office and had been dealing with the ongoing saga of the huge electricity pylon in the woodland park. There had been endless complaints from the planning stages, through construction and more now the monstrous thing was complete. The local community groups had crowd funded for a team of scientists to measure the Electromagnetic Field detectable across the village. They had been galvanised into action amid a flurry of posts on social media about power surges and pets behaving oddly. It was the main topic of local conversation and had been for weeks. There was now a family experiencing poltergeist activity according to the waiter as he cleared their plates. Grace listened with interest as the waiter recounted the tales of furniture moving around rooms and items of clothing appearing in the kitchen completely shredded.

The walk home was less pleasant with the wind biting her face as it started to sleet. It stung now as Grace stood in the hall unwrapping her scarf from her neck and fumbled with numb fingers to undo the zip on her coat. She was always cold at the moment, no matter how many jumpers or cosy pairs of socks she had on. She clicked the boost button on the thermostat and the boiler flared into life. Grace noticed now how quiet the rest of the house was. No tick from the clock. Perhaps the EMF from the pylon was making it run down faster. Though that wasn't possible if it didn't have any electrical parts surely? Grace stood in front of the clock. three minutes past three again? Her watch said two thirty pm and the clock had been working when she left the house. The silence around her stretched almost expectantly. The hallway felt tense and she couldn't stand it. Grace pulled down the weighted chains and set the hands, the pendulum moved and the clock restarted with a loud tick. She closed the casing over and, as she expected, met the eyes of the other woman.

“Well?” Grace’s voice was terse. “What do you want from me?”

In the reflection, the other woman’s eyes shone with amusement. 

“That's the wrong question Grace.”

The words were clear in Grace's head, in the same soft voice as she'd heard in the hallway a few nights ago. Grace felt no fear, just that familiar and unsettling feeling of being an observer. Of watching her response from outside of her body. Then startled by a loud tick of the clock Grace blinked and the face was gone. Is this what happens when you go mad? Is it a slow unravelling of the mind, rather than a sudden and catastrophic implosion? Unwilling to dwell on that thought, Grace made her way quickly to the living room. Surfing the channels, she found the Lord of the Rings trilogy and sat down to lose herself.

Copyright © Lee-Anne McAulay 2024

Image Credit @coincidence