THOSE AWAKE... 

By Tessa Harvey

Gradually, almost imperceptibly the two became acquaintances and then, finally, friends.

    Grayson invited Imelda up to his home. Though he knew she was at least a decade older, he respected her caution.

    Because her flat was tiny, and her landlady understandably strict about guests of either sex in these so-called progressive times, Imelda could not invite him to her own dreary room.

    When she arrived, dressed demurely but, surprisingly brightly, he smiled. His smile was rare, but changed his habitual sullen moodiness into an attractive personality.

    Encouraged, Imelda entered, but it was clear she disliked the characterless bleak surroundings. Politely, the woman found the view to admire.

    Gray laughed. "I know it's awful, isn't it?" Imelda regarded him, head slanted, watching him. He thought of a bright robin he had once loved long ago in his childhood.

    He prepared drinks and snacks, sparkling mineral water, cheese dips and fruit. Imelda ate and drank appreciatively. Thank God she is not a picky eater, he thought, thinking of his ex-wife. 

    "Can you help me with Dad's letter?" he asked abruptly.

    If Imelda was surprised, she hid it well. Early on she was clear about what Jesus Christ meant to her, how he was everything to her. Daily she read her Bible. She was unequivocal in her views.

    "Dad wrote about stuff he could not possibly have known," he stated, flushing slightly with a, to him, puzzling embarrassment. "How did he know Covid was released from China deliberately.?"

    "Yes, I saw the young dying doctor who tried to spread the word of the danger. That photo will always haunt me," Imelda interrupted softly. "His death was not an accident. His eyes were so full of fear."

    "Yes, but how could Dad know that dictators everywhere would be in place to use this disease to displace all our freedoms so fast with so much tyranny. Aren't people aware?"

    Imelda paused, reaching for a small piece of apple. She chewed it politely, while she seemed to consider how to reply.

    Grayson rose to make them both a hot drink of packet soup. The evening was closing in, chilly and cold. A setting sun bathed the orange and yellow marigolds.

    Companionably they sipped the warming pumpkin soup. It tasted as delicious as her mother's had been, she reflected. The light shone on her face and Grayson.