Five(67)

But unlike you, the middle-aged commuters are unfamiliar with the travelers on Platform 1. They don’t know them as well as you do. They do not know what you know.

So they do not appreciate the gravity of Mrs. Worth’s survival as they see her taken out on the next gurney, this time with the paramedics yelling and running. Mrs. Worth’s endurance means, of course, that we have only two more possibilities. Although she did come close to dying today. She was dead enough to need CPR when the paramedics arrived, and she was lucky they were in time and able to whisk her off and bring her back to life.

Several months later, long after the news has moved on to other tragedies around the country and the train station has reopened and is functioning as normal, Medical Student will stop in the local café on his way to work.

In the corner booth by the window, he will see Mrs. Worth, much diminished physically but not in spirit. It will take him a moment to place her. He will not know why she is so familiar to him until he turns to leave, and then he will remember. He will stand at the cream and sugar station and stir his coffee while he looks at her surreptitiously from the side of his eye. He will see pride and loneliness in her face, and regret, so common in the faces of the elderly that he knows from his work.

He will walk over to her booth and politely, with a smile, say, “Excuse me, madam, may I sit down with you?”

Mrs. Worth will be uncertain at first. Her memories of the day are hazy, but she will recognize his voice, his precise pronunciation, and then she will know right away who he is.

“If you like,” she will say, and she will try not to purse her lips when she says it, but she won’t be able to help it.

“I remember you from the station. You are up and about. That is good. How are you feeling?” Medical Student will say and take a sip of his drink.

Mrs. Worth will be taken aback by the familiarity with which Medical Student speaks to her, but she will say, in spite of herself, “Yes, I’m fine. I’m better.” And then, because she will realize that no one but her son has asked her how she is since it all happened she will say, “Thank you for asking.”

“What a terrible day? No?” Medical Student will say. “I’m glad you’re all right.”

“Yes, it was awful,” Mrs. Worth will say. Then, after a pause she will surprise herself and ask, “Are you all right?”

“I am, thank you,” Medical Student will say. And then, after they each sip their drinks in silence he will say, “I suppose we are the lucky ones. I must be getting to work now. Nice to see you. I’m glad you are well. Have a blessed day,” and he will turn to leave.

“Wait,” Mrs. Worth will croak, and adjust her neckerchief and swallow a lump in her throat, and shed something that is not quite a tear, but that also is, and then she will reach for Medical Student’s hand and say, “Thank you.”

After finishing her tea she will take the train to London. She never made it to Livvie’s funeral because of the other death and almost dying herself. But she will do today what she meant to do then.

When she gets to Nicholas and Livvie’s house on the corner of a leafy, quiet road in Wimbledon, she will hear Rafi and Robi’s voices carry out to the street. She will follow the sound, through the front gate, round the path on the side of the house, to the garden in back. She will see Horatio, old and bony and gray, laying on a dog pillow under a tree, his head on his paws.

“Hello, old chap,” she will say, scratching his head.

The boys will be throwing pieces of gravel at a wooden crate, assigning points in some indecipherable way that only children understand.

“Excuse me, boys?” They’ll turn around and look at her, quizzically.

“I’m not sure if you remember me, I’m your grandmother, Matilda,” Mrs. Worth will say, putting out her hand awkwardly to shake with each of her grandsons. They will look like different versions of Nicholas.

“We have a grandmother,” Robi will say, unsure of why this strange old woman is in their garden applying for a vacancy already filled and wondering whether this is an example of stranger danger and whether he is supposed to start shouting for help.

“Yes, I know. Florence. She’s—well, she’s your mother’s mother,” Mrs. Worth will say, keeping a promise to herself not to say anything unkind while still remaining truthful.

“I’m your dad’s mum. The last time I saw you, you were very young, probably four and six. I should think,” Mrs. Worth will say.

“Yeah, I remember,” Rafi will say, unimpressed. “You showed us how to do surgery on Robi and then you ran over our dog—”

“Oh, you’re that lady,” Robi will say.

“Yeah, Dr. Gran. Mum didn’t like you,” Rafi will say, loyally.

“No, she didn’t. And she was right not to,” Mrs. Worth will say.

“Why?” Robi will ask.

“We didn’t get along and it was stupid of me not to fix that. And I’m sorry because it meant I didn’t get to see you grow up, and now here you are.” And then a silence will lie between them.

Then Mrs. Worth will say, “I won’t bother you anymore, I just wanted to see you, and you are very handsome, nice young men. That’s good,” and she will turn to go when Rafi will ask, pointedly, “Do you still cut up dead people?”