The Marauders: Year Five #Wattys2017

Chrysanthemums and Bluebells

Chrysanthemums and Bluebells

Mrs. Evans moved in a sort of trance about the house. The vegetable platter needed more olives, and they were running out of punch so that needed mixing. The cocktail napkins could do with a restocking. Polish the photograph on the table, where Mr. Evans's unmoving eyes stared out at all the people dressed in black, standing about his living room, holding tiny paper plates with bits of cheese and handfuls of crackers, talking about their memories of him and wondering what would happen to Mrs. Evans now that he was gone. Mrs. Evans dusted the surface of the coffee table on her way by once, with the hem of the sleeve of her black dress.

"Mummy," Lily pleaded, putting her hand on her mother's back, "Please, you should sit down and relax, you haven't sat down once all day. I haven't seen you eat or drink, either. Please. I'll fix you a plate."

"No," Mrs. Evans' voice was firm. "I'm not hungry."

Lily looked about helplessly for Petunia, hoping to get some support with her pleas, but Petunia was off in a corner with two of her friends - a very large boy from her school whose round features were filled with judgement at the small house and whose thick, short fingers clutched Petunia's narrow shoulder like she was a prize he'd won - and her friend Julie, the one that had gone to the cinema with them the prior year. Petunia's eyes met Lily's and she quickly turned away, leaning into the round boy beside her.

"Mummy, please," Lily tried again.

But Mrs. Evans only shook her head, "I can't right now, Lily, I have things to do." And Mrs. Evans quickly scurried away, continuing her errands of running back and forth from one end of the house to the other, ducking between mourners with a sort of disconnected feeling about her.

When she'd run out of little chores to do she simply flitted back and forth from the living room to the kitchen in a nervous loop, asking people what she could do.

"Can I get you anything?" she asked a man with greying white hair - someone her husband worked with, she thought perhaps.

"No, thank you," he said. Then he touched her shoulder gently. "I am very sorry for your loss."

Mrs. Evans steeled herself. "Thank you." Her voice was crisp and she hurried away. She would lose it if she heard that one more time... if someone said sorry for your loss to her even just once more... she didn't think that she could bear it. Her loss, that's what he was now. Mr. Evans had been her friend, her suitor, her lover, her betrothed, her husband, and her soulmate and now, after all of these years, he was her loss. She shivered, hating the words, and drifted back toward the kitchen.

Suddenly, there came a knock at the door and, thankful to have a purpose again, Mrs. Evans hurried to answer it, straightening her hair and smoothing her clothes. She reached the door and opened it up carefully, peeking 'round it to the stoop.

Before her there stood a boy with messy black hair and glasses that framed deep brown eyes. His clothes were a bit frumpled - his school uniform, which she recognized from the things she bought for Lily each year. He held a small white box and he had a book bag 'round his shoulders, as though he'd just stepped out of a class. In his hands, too, was a small bouquet of white chrysanthemums, mixed with tiny blue bells and sprigs of ivy, wrapped in blue paper 'round the stems.

The boy stared at her in awe for a moment, looking quite nervous and then he juggled the flowers into the crook of his arm that was holding the white box and he wiped his palm on his sweater vest and held out his hand. "Hullo, my name is James Potter," he said, "I'm - I'm a friend of Ev-- I mean... Lily's - from school." She put her hand in his, intending to shake it, and instead she was surprised as he lifted her fingers to his lips and kissed her knuckles in a very cordial, respectful manner, ducking his head as he did so. He lowered her hand and lifted the flowers from his arm. "These are for you."