That Day

Henrietta Pickering didn’t believe in cake. It was the enemy, along with soft drinks and muesli bars. So when her twins’ annoying teacher had dared request a homemade sponge from her for their school “event”, Henrietta hadn’t been impressed. And of course she hadn’t. She’d thought everyone knew about sugar by now. Apparently not. No, it was both necessary and expected she bring a cake, so despite how vexing it was, she’d jotted it in her diary. 

Every morning, Henrietta structured her day in that leather bound diary to help her keep up appearances; which all smart parents knew, was the most important aspect of parenthood. Consequently, that diary was more important than anything else, including the “event”, which she’d purposely put at the bottom of her “to-dos” for that day. 

Henrietta was only nipping into the corner IGA now to buy the bloody cake because her networking meeting had run over, making her late for the “event”. Which was hardly her fault, was it? It was going to be so icky and awkwardly depressing anyway. How could anyone stomach cake thinking about that day? Henrietta shuddered, recalling when she’d found out from the woman herself, leaving Henrietta to fumble her way through consoling the poor, miserable thing. And honestly, wasn’t everyone else over it already? Henrietta certainly was. It didn’t need to be dredged up again, surely. It was a year ago.

She walked briskly towards the baked goods section. If she was quick, she could still make the last half hour of the “event,” for appearances’ sake.

June also didn’t want to go the shops, but knew she had to. There was only so long one could pour orange juice on cereal, and today she knew she’d need milk for all the coffees it would take to stay out of bed. It wasn’t a want, it was a need, to survive this awful day. 

This particular anniversary was always going to be hell. It was no surprise she’d struggled to leave the house. At least a year ago, on that day, there’d been police interviews and family practicalities to occupy her mind. Now the warm and sunny afternoon mocked her, and there was nothing to distract June from her hollow, aching chest. Nothing, except the day’s task at hand; there was milk to buy. 

There was one marked down sponge in the bakery section of the scummy, old IGA. Henrietta inspected it cautiously. It looked unappetizing, which of course it did: it was cake! But it would have to suffice, it was cheap and she was already embarrassingly late.

The teenage boy serving at the checkout seemed to know this. He reached for the sponge, in what she thought was the same amount of time it took her to walk to the shop. It was a personal attack. As he finally handed her the cake back, her eyes scanned for a name badge. She found it clipped to his trouser belt, which made sense given his irritating, rebellious hair. ‘Thanks very much, Wade,’ she said insincerely, and clicked her pumps loudly on her way out.

The supermarket’s sign appeared when June turned the corner. There were only a few gruelling steps between them now. Her feet were like bricks; heavy and stubborn. She looked down to encourage them with her eyes and, as she did, a handbag swung aggressively into her left hip. 

Coins fell and the clangs they made as they scattered the pavement, rang harshly in her ears. She slowly knelt and picked them up, while the woman who’d run into her re-packed her handbag. June handed her her coins and immediately recognised the woman’s perfectly blunt fringe. It was Henrietta Pickering. 

June felt instantly ashamed of her messy self. She hadn’t cared enough to put lipstick on of course, while Henrietta stood there as put together as always; so the opposite of how June felt. Her twins would be a year older now, they’d be in year seven like Dan was when… But June stopped her thoughts there, she couldn’t cry in front of Henrietta Pickering of all people. Thankfully, Henrietta was too distracted by her Fitbit to recognise June anyway, as she left with nothing more than a ‘thanks’ and power walked off. And thank god, as there wasn’t enough strength left in June to bear another of Henrietta’s unsympathetic attempts at sympathy. 

 It was then that June noticed Henrietta’s diary on the pavement, opened at today’s bookmarked page. Although Henrietta wasn’t too far down the road, June didn’t consider calling after her. Instead, she picked it up. The date, in its emboldened print, leapt out as an unneeded reminder, and then she saw Dan’s name mentioned on the page. She snapped the diary shut.

The bland, beige register made Wade sleepy from the instant he got to work, so he’d concluded he must have a switch in his brain for anything mundane, because his mind had the same trouble at school. But today was harder than normal, he was so distracted. He’d given ten customers the wrong change, and forgotten to give any to at least five. The thing was, he couldn’t shake the image he’d had since he’d woken that morning. Memories of deep red, dripping blood against bright yellow. It’d been everywhere that night, overwhelming at first as it gushed uncontrollably, then beautiful in the way it trickled quietly down. Usually Wade rarely thought about it, except when watching “Dexter”, it was all in the past. But today was different. 

Wade’s hunched posture bolted upright and his eyes widened when he saw his next customer. He avoided eye contact, hoping she wouldn’t recognise him. But what would it matter? He thought. It’s not like she knows. How could she? Still, he fuddled his way through serving her as quickly as he could. When he glanced up to hand her the two bottles of milk and her receipt, she looked him in the eye. Her eyes were bloodshot. Red. He checked the till to see if he’d forgotten change, but she stopped him with her low, shaky voice. ‘This was dropped by Henrietta Pickering out front. Could you please return it to her when she’s next in?’ 

Wade could tell from those red eyes that she’d been crying, but knew he didn’t feel sorry for her. He even checked to make sure of that. He nodded, as she picked up the bottles as if they were filled with cement, then left. Wade watched on while remembering her son. Dan used to walk around the shop pocketing things in that bright yellow coat. He’d looked Wade right in the eye, everytime, daring Wade to do something about it. Did his mum know? Wade wondered. Did she know he’d dared him like that?

It took Henrietta ten minutes after she’d made it home to realise the unthinkable had happened and her diary was missing. Bloody damn it, she thought as she put her trainers on and ran back to the shop.

There was no sign of it outside, so she went in to see if it’d been handed in. 

As Wade returned it to her, moving as slowly as ever, she looked down at her watch. ‘I’ve missed the whole thing now,’ she said. ‘I only came here in the first place for the school event commemorating that boy. You know that one who was murdered?’ She asked Wade. ‘Dan something or other?’

He nodded. ‘Packowski,’ he said, then smiled. ‘I don’t think he’ll mind.’  

Henrietta left with her precious diary safely tucked under her arm that day, secretly happy she’d avoided the “event” altogether. 

Wade looked on, with the image of blood now as fresh and exciting to him as ever. He knew all about Dan’s murder. It was his favourite secret.