On a bench in a park, in the middle distance, shrouded by mist, sits my mother. She is gazing ahead of her, a flicker of a smile on her face. What is she doing there? She died almost 19 years ago. It can’t be her. I walk towards her, she turns toward me. The flicker becomes a broad smile. There are no lines of age and pain. Her hair is immaculate, she has remembered to put on her make up. She stands up. She is tall and slim and exceedingly glamorous. “Ricky,” she calls. It is her.
I am perhaps 50 yards away and time has gone into reverse. I am no longer the oldest person in my family. I try to walk quicker, but I can’t. I am desperate to hear her speaking English with those Dutch undertones. The mist is getting thicker. I can still see her. Now she is beckoning me forward. What will I say to her? How have you been? Where have you been? You died before I could say goodbye, except at the crematorium. God, that mist. I can hardly see where I am going now. I get the odd glimpse, though. She will still be there when I get to that bench. And it will be just us. Where did this mist come from? It wasn’t there when I entered the park.
Now I could see nothing. I can barely see a few yards ahead. The bench can’t be far away now. I keep walking. I am still on the path. I seem to have gone much further than 50 yards, though. Do I stop? Do I keep going?
“Mum?” I shout. “Where are you?” Nothing. There is no sound at all. I turn round and there’s the bench. Definitely the one I remember. But the person sitting there is not her. It’s a little girl, aged around 10, wearing a dark skirt and dark top, her hair in pig tails.
“Have you seen a very smart lady around here? She’s tall, slim, smartly dressed. She was here a few minutes ago?” The girl shakes her head. Behind me stands an older woman.
“Can I help you?” asks the lady.
“I was looking for a woman,” I said. “She was tall, slim, smartly dressed. She…”
“Yes, I heard you talking to my granddaughter.”
“I entered the park and saw her standing by this bench. Then the mist came down. By the time I got here, she had gone.”
The lady looked puzzled. “There’s been no mist. My granddaughter and I have been here for at least half an hour. We haven’t seen another soul. The sun has shone all the time. I’m sorry I can’t help.”
“Okay, thanks.”
So, I imagined it, did I? There was certainly no mist anywhere. You could see for miles in all directions. That was some daydream.
I walk down the hill, back into the village which was near where I used to live. A few people are standing at the bus stop as the bus turns up. It’s a very old bus and I clan see a conductor. A bus conductor. I haven’t seen one of those since I took the bus into town with my mum. It must be a special service, a heritage trip.
Passengers board, the driver revs up the engine and the bus drives away. As it moves away, the mist is returning. Christ – that happened quickly. A real pea-souper. And at the back of the bus, there she is; my mum. I am convinced it’s her, absolutely certain. She sees me, too. She looks so well which makes me feel good. I decide to chase the bus to the next stop and then board it. This could be my last chance. She waves. Even though the bus isn’t moving very quickly, it’s travelling quicker than I am. Soon I have lost sight and it has disappeared into the mist.
I walk back to the bus stop and I am in luck. An inspector has appeared.
“Excuse me,” I ask. “Where was that old bus going? That big green one with the bus conductor. It was going up the hill and it just disappeared into the mist.”
“I’m sorry, Sir, but there has been no bus for over half an hour. I am waiting for the one that’s scheduled in 10 minutes. And we no longer have conductors on our buses. Is there anything else I can help you with?”
“It’s nice that the mist has cleared,” I observed.
“There’s been no mist since I got here. Is everything okay, Sir?”
“Yes, yes. All good, thank you. I think I was daydreaming.”
