Never before had the young woman been allowed to see the family she'd left behind. All she wanted was to let them know she was safe and being well cared for. Today was going to be her first contact. She walked down the aisle of the near empty church...
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Weeping, Abigail walked as fast as she could along the gloomy lane. She wanted to get away. Be on her own. If she could have ran, she would be running flat out right now, far from that heartless man. But walking fast like this whilst keeping her balance took all of her concentration. The sunlit park gleamed up ahead through the exit of the lane. Abigail mainly focused on the ground to avoid tripping over undulations in the soft track and occasional fallen small branches.
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Wham! A low hanging branch cut across Abigail's face. Her glasses sprung off and fell on the ground. She just continued walking. Her vision blurred now, she could still make out the sunlight ahead, heralding the entrance to the park. Her feet caught on something. Before she could bring her sticks before her to catch herself she fell down hard on her knees.
Abigail lay there flat on her belly for a moment, her arms outstretched, each clutching one of her aluminium sticks. Slowly, painfully, she got to her feet. She brushed herself down, pushed aside the fallen branch that had tripped her, and continued on towards the park. Her progress was now more slowed, pain from her badly grazed knees inhibiting her pace.
Abigail entered the park. She had to blink to re-accustom her eyes to the sunlight. Her eyesight may have been terrible without her glasses, but she could see the rich greens of the park, and soft blue of the late Autumn sky. She stopped and looked around. Squinting her eyes, she tried to pick out features among the blurs to orientate herself. She became acutely aware of the sound of digging nearby. Then it stopped abruptly. Abigail turned her head in the direction the sound of digging had come from.
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A figure in green clothing approached her. Abigail stiffened. As the figure neared, she could discern more and more detail. It was a man. He was wearing green overalls. There was a name badge. Abigail couldn't make it out, but saw a familiar pattern below it. Although just a blur to her, she recognised the pattern as the Liverpool Council logo. Must be a council worker, she thought, working for the parks department.
"Are you OK?" said the man.
"I'm fine" replied Abigail, her voice shaking. This was her habitual response whenever she received well-meaning offers of help from sympathetic strangers. She hated the pity in their voices. Worse still, when some of them would just assume she was mentally handicapped. Just because she didn't have full motor control, and spoke with a slur, it didn't mean she was mentally retarded. She had been the best chess player in her junior school, until she got fed up with being collateral damage in the mockery her chess opponents received when 'Spasy Aby', as some of them called her, defeated them. But today the tears were visibly rolling down her face, her knees were bloodied, and she could hardly see without her spectacles. This time she was clearly in a pitiful state.
"Take my arm, I'll take you to the bench over there," said the man, offering his arm to her.
"My glasses fell off in the lane back there," said Abigail anxiously, curling her hand around his arm. "I should go back and get them."
"I'll go look for them in a minute," said the man. "Let's get you a seat first."
The man slowly led Abigail to a park bench under an old oak tree, supporting her until she had sat herself down.
"Thank you," said Abigail. She placed her walking sticks neatly by her side.
"I'll go get your glasses. I'll be back in a tick," said the man, and left Abigail alone on the bench. She brought her trembling hands up to her face, and burst into tears.
"There, there dear!" said Mary soothingly.
Abigail looked up to see Mary ease herself down on to the bench beside her, Abigail's glasses in her hand, and the gardener walking back towards his flower bed. Mary stroked Abigail's hair.
"I didn't think you'd be here today," said Abigail, wiping her tears and putting on her spectacles.
Mary smiled warmly, "I changed my mind."
Abigail returned her smile.
"Why did you run away dear?" said Mary.
Abigail looked at her for a moment, then said bitterly, "I hate him!" Abigail then took a deep breath, gathering her thoughts. "He cares more about work than his own father! He never bothered to visit him. Not one Christmas telephone call, not even a single birthday card, nothing!"
Mary frowned, deep sadness descending upon her.
Abigail continued, "And all this week he's only seemed bothered by some business meeting and how inconvenient this funeral is!" Abigail shook her head, "I'm moving out, I never want to see him again!" She burst into tears again.
The elderly lady placed her arm around Abigail, drawing her towards herself, trying to comfort her. Mary bit her lip pensively, then cleared her throat. "Abigail dear. My son is not a bad man. You just need to see things from his point of view. Let's sit here awhile and I'll try to explain..."
A little house sparrow hopped around under the bench near Abigail and Mary's feet. It then flew a little distance to a patch of flowers at the foot of the nearby empty bench. The little bird rooted around amongst the flowers for insects and seeds.
