‘I’ll get help,’ she had said calmly, hurrying back to the house where she had then phoned for an ambulance. It took some time for them to get through the snow and reach the farmhouse. By then her mother had returned.
‘He must have slipped in the snow,’ Rita had said. ‘He lost control of the saw.’
‘Yes,’ her mother had agreed.
‘If only I’d seen him sooner,’ Rita had lamented.
‘Yes,’ her mother had said.
They never spoke of it again.
Chapter Eight
Henry left the supermarket feeling euphoric, his face flushed, and his eyes wide. He thought if he had been wearing a hat he would most certainly have thrown it into the air. Rita could see him. He had touched her, and she had felt it. It didn’t make sense why only she could see him though. Perhaps she was right and that he wasn’t dead after all. Surely Rita wouldn’t be able to see him if he were. He really hadn’t expected her to see him at all. He had just started getting used to being invisible. He wasn’t even sure if she would be at the store. He’d always gone there in the evenings. He had been surprised at how different she’d looked. Her hair wasn’t the same. He couldn’t work out what was different about it, but he liked it. She looked bright and fresh faced. He’d smelt her perfume before he saw her; a mixture of bluebells and cut grass. He thought he would get a closer sniff of it. He had never been able to do that before. Often he had wanted to ask her what the perfume was. Perhaps he could buy some for Imogen, but then again, it would no doubt, smell very different on Imogen. Henry liked Rita. He had missed her those few days he and Imogen had gone to the Isle of Wight. He sometimes wondered what it would be like to kiss Rita and had then felt ashamed for such sordid thoughts. Of course, he would never do it. It was just a little daydream. Henry was only ever bold and reckless in his daydreams.
He had been about to lean in and sniff her hair when Rita had opened her eyes.
‘Oh, hello,’ she’d said.
Her green-flecked eyes had sparkled with pleasure
He had reeled back in surprise. She must have thought me mad, Henry thought. I really must explain when I see her. It had finally stopped raining and the sun had broken through the clouds. Henry shivered all the same and turned up his collar wishing he was in his overheated office. He wrinkled his nose in disgust as the smell of cigarette smoke wafted towards him. Several supermarket workers were puffing away at the side of him, inhaling and exhaling smoke at an alarming rate. Smoke blew into Henry’s eyes and he groaned.
‘Disgusting habit,’ he muttered, careful that they shouldn’t hear. He then smiled and said it more loudly. None of them turned.
‘Do you know what you’re doing to your lungs?’ Henry shouted. ‘Not to mention, what you’re doing to mine.’
The group continued to puff on their cigarettes as if their lives depended upon it. Henry felt quite giddy. He had always wanted to tell smokers what he thought of them and now he could.
‘You’re a load of idiots,’ he said and walked away.
Imogen would have told him off.
‘Everyone is entitled to do what they wish, Henry,’ she would say. ‘Some people might think it odd the things you do.’
Henry couldn’t think of anything he did that was even remotely odd.
He ought to find Imogen. He had an hour before he had to meet Rita. Although he had no idea what he was going to say to her when they did meet. He rather hoped that by one o’clock other people would start seeing him too. He checked his mobile again, but nothing had changed. He decided to walk to the greengrocer’s. Surely if Rita could see him then Imogen most certainly would. His Imogen, that is, not the woman he had seen earlier, who looked like Imogen. Everything seemed so different, which convinced Henry that this was, most likely, all a bad dream. Even Rita looked different to normal and Imogen would not be kissing some man in Pansies. She would be at work. Most likely he would wake up before he even got to the greengrocer’s.
He was feeling peckish now. He should have bought one of those pies. Rita certainly did have tasty wares on her stand. He wondered if she would think to bring one to the teashop with her. The walk to the greengrocer’s was pleasurable in the sun even if it was chilly. He passed a bridal shop and stopped to look at the window display. Mannequins dressed as a bride and groom stared blank faced at him. The dress was similar to the one Imogen had worn for their wedding and Henry smiled. It had rained that day too. The sky had been clear and blue until three and then, as though on cue, the heavens had opened at the same time that Imogen had opened the door of her father’s Metro. Henry remembered waiting in the church, hearing the downpour and thinking ‘Poor Imogen’.
The church had been full of people that he and Imogen barely knew. It hadn’t been their choice. It was what Imogen’s parents had wanted; their friends, not Henry and Imogen’s.
‘They are paying for it,’ Imogen had explained patiently.
‘All the same,’ Henry had complained. ‘It’s not what we agreed.’
‘No, I know,’ Imogen had said. ‘But it’s the least we can do.’
They had agreed a quiet wedding. A registry office affair. Perhaps, a few drinks at the pub afterwards.
‘Just the two of us,’ Henry had said.
‘Perhaps our parents too,’ Imogen had suggested.
‘Just us and the parents then,’ he had agreed.
But the parents weren’t having any of it. This was their big day too. That had been the beginning of the friction between Henry and his new wife’s parents. They saw him as opinionated and forceful.
