Chapter Text
She could barely see her watch through the tears stinging her eyes. He had been so young – so full of love and hope. He had been an inspiration. Damn it all anyway. It was never the arses …
She wondered, with increasing frequency, if she would ever conquer this persistent tardiness. Being chronically late was a bad habit she just couldn’t break. Was there a program for that? Probably not – normal people would simply prioritize and get going with time to spare. No matter how hard Meg tried, she could never quite arrive on schedule.
And now, crying and rushing at the same time. Shit. Not an auspicious start to a solemn day.
Emerging from the Tube station she was whisked along by the momentum of the travelling masses. For just a second, she grimly wished that the throng of commuters would take her anywhere but where she was already supposed to be. No! That would never do. She didn’t want to be anywhere but in that church on that very morning. It was the least she could do.
While trying to check her watch for the millionth time, she walked straight into a post. The post grunted. Ugh – it was human – a surprised and unhappy human. Great, just what I need.
“Fuck”, she shouted, jumping back from a man holding a suddenly empty cup of one of those fancy, schmancy designer coffees she so detested.
Realizing her expletive wasn’t of the silent variety, she gasped “Shit, shit, double shit, I said that out loud didn’t I?”
All she could see was a creamy beverage smear dripping down a purple shirt and all over the front of what looked like an expensive cashmere coat. Her victim was quite tall – well, to be honest everyone was tall compared to her 5’1” – and he was wearing those annoying mirrored sunglasses. When she looked up all she could see was a very grim mouth, and her look of panic reflected in his glasses.
“I am not a bad person. And I rarely swear in front of strangers. I have probably ruined your poor shirt and coat. I’ll give you my business card so you can send me all the bills. I don’t usually ‘hit and run’ but I am late for a very important date,” She babbled, rummaging through her purse.
While pulling bits and bobs out of her purse in search of the elusive business card, her mobile phone erupted with Gotye’s "Somebody That I Used to Know'.
“Damn it all to shit,” she muttered, snapping up the phone.
“Fanny you have to stall. I’m only a few minutes away but I’ve just scalded some poor bastard." She paused, "I don’t know, get the kids to sing 'Tears in Heaven', 'Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door' or some damn thing. You CANNOT let the service start without me. I’ll be there as soon as possible.”
Mumbling a string of curses that would make a drunken sailor blush, Meg thrust the annoying phone into her victim’s hands, ordering him to, “Hold this a minute.”
She noticed his mouth hanging open and he seemed to be moving his lips but either she couldn’t hear him or he was doing an impression of a fish out of water. Whatever! I don't have time for his drama.
Resuming her search for the missing card, she emerged from the depths of her purse victorious. “AHA, I knew you were in there you little prick”.
She tucked the card into the front breast pocket of his unfortunate coat. Taking off without looking back, she shouted to him, “I really am sorry – I will pay for everything”.
~^~
The service was lovely, as she knew it would be. Matthew Lennox was one of her first clients when she moved to London a year and a half before, and she simply adored him. A nine year old boy stricken with Cystic Fibrosis, he was depressed and withdrawn when his parents brought him to her. Working with him as his Recreation Therapist, he showed promise right from the start. Very quickly he opened up, he trusted, he was brave, he was funny, he was wonderful. Matthew was a dream client. Damn CF. It was never the arses …
Matt’s parents asked Meg to speak during the service and to be a pall bearer. She was deeply moved to be able to do these small things for the sweet boy and his family. She read from his favourite book, “The Hobbit”, and admonished the mourners to not overlook the little guy, reminding them that a small person can have a great influence if they have enough courage. Matt certainly had more than enough courage to spare. She borrowed a lot of it from him in the last few weeks as his body began the agonizing process of shutting down for good.
After the internment and reception Meg made her way back to her office. She loved the old renovated warehouse in South East London. She never failed to giggle proudly when she saw “Dr. M. J. Porter, Recreation Therapist” on the brass plate beside the bright red door. The neighbourhood was delightful and the building exceeded her dreams, with enough room for her large work space on the main floor and a roomy flat directly above. One of her favourite features was the massive floor to ceiling windows which showered her and her clients with warm, natural light every day. It was a bonus that it wasn’t too, too far from London Southbank University where she was a visiting part time Professor of Rec Therapy.
As she passed through the foyer and punched in the code to unlock the office door she was struck by the emptiness of the place. Matt wouldn’t be back to play snooker, bake, watch movies, read, do skits, torture the piano, make Lego creations … but maybe if she listened hard enough she would still hear his laughter echo.
She moved to her desk and sitting down, put her head in her hands, weeping, smiling, sniffling, chuckling, as memories and grief took turns with her heart. Lost in a bittersweet haze, she drifted off to sleep with her head resting on her arms.