Steven was too good for her tainted soul, and the world knew it, so the world took him away. But Steven had known her, hadn't he? Had seen her for what she was and who she was. And Steven had still chosen her. Steven had made her; that was the truth, had glued her together. And here she lies, unmade, unglued.
How will life go on now? How is that possible? She hears a car on a distant road. "Why on earth is anybody driving? Where is there to go now? Why is the clock in the hall still ticking? Doesn't it know it stopped days ago?"
On the way to the funeral, Joyce had sat with her in the car. They didn't speak because there was too much to say. Elizabeth looked out of the window of the car at one point, and saw a mother pick up a soft toy her child had dropped out of its pram. Elizabeth almost burst into laughter that life was daring to continue. Didn't they know? Hadn't they heard? Everything has changed. Everything. And yet, nothing has changed. Nothing. The day carries on as it would. An old man at a traffic light takes off his hat as the hurse passes, but other than that, the high street is the same. How can these two realities possibly coexist?
Perhaps Steven was right about time. Outside the car window it moved forward; marching, marching, never missing a step. But inside the car, time was already moving backwards, already folding in.
—Richard Osman: The Last Devil to Die
Holly Margl is the award-winning author of Witnessing Grief; Inviting Trauma and Loss to Our Coaching Conversations, An Enneagram Perspective, coach, coach mentor, and trainer specializing in grief, trauma, and the Enneagram.
