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It was the coldest of times and the darkest of times. The night air was still and caressed the ground with its invisible cloak of ice as a host of sparkling stars reflected upon the ice-covered lane outside Sidney Buckland’s quaint cottage.

Within its warm, cosy interior Sidney sat in front of a modest coal fire resting upon his favourite armchair. To his right was a low coffee table covered with assorted black and white photographs, various newspaper cuttings and a telegram from Queen Elizabeth. On his left was another small table supporting a glass containing a small single malt, the only pleasure he had left to savour. The whole room, lit only by the light of the fire, shimmered, flickered and danced to the music of flames and combustion.

From outside a stranger looks in through the sitting room window. She sees an old man with a full head of white hair slouched and motionless in a chair. He is dressed in a checked shirt, poorly matching tie, brown trousers and a grey woollen cardigan joined by the only two remaining buttons. This frail 101 year old man looks tired and in need of rest but she must bide her time and wait for the moment. The woman dressed in black watches the man slowly lean forward, fighting the pain in his joints, to pick up a small photograph. He kisses it and stares at it with admiration and fondness.

"Agnes, you were beautiful, my love."

He sips a small mouthful of whisky.

"We have been apart for fifty years since the day you left me. I have not looked at another woman since then. You know that, don’t you?"

Sidney picks up a newspaper cutting and reads it for the last time. He knows each word by heart.

The woman enters the room unseen. She glances at the date on the newspaper resting on the sideboard – 26^th March 2002. She checks her list, the date is correct. She watches patiently as the man continues his lone conversation.

"Do you remember the night we first kissed? You were so scared and I so inexperienced with women. We had spent a lovely day watching the royal wedding in Westminster Abbey. We waited for ages to catch a glimpse of the Duke of York and his Scottish bride. Yes, 1927, the year my life changed. We ate in that little café just off Marble Arch. You had shrimps; I had lobster. We talked and you touched me on the hand. You didn’t realise that it sent a tingle of joy racing up my spine. I never told you that. In fact there are so many things that have happened to me during the past 50 years of isolation."

Sidney took another sip of his drink and drained the glass. He glanced at the art deco clock on the mantelpiece and checked the time. It was soon to be time for sleep in his lonely bed. He dreaded sleep but welcomed it also. He felt too tired to move. The warmth of the fire and the relaxation following his nightcap added to his comfort and lack of motion. Sidney decided to sleep in his chair. After all he was comfortable and his bedroom would be cold. He shut his eyes imagining his wife sitting in the empty chair opposite, a scene he had not witnessed for some fifty years.

The fire, now only burning embers, began to die and the room darkened. Sidney felt someone touch him gently on his left shoulder. He opened his tired eyes to see a beautiful woman wearing a black cloak. Her face shone of June sunlight and her blonde hair hung loosely over her collar. She was wearing a single pink rose and its fragrance was familiar.

"It’s time, Sidney," said the angel.

"I know. I have been waiting for you," he replied.

"Are you frightened?"

"No. I am prepared. My spirit is at rest and I am ready for what is to come."

"Would you please take my hand, Sidney?" she asked.

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ã 2002 Steven Longman-Marshall – all rights reserved.

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