Why I chose Everything Is Seen At It's Best In The Dark:
I particularly
liked the way a brief moment in time is coupled with enough information about
the past to tell the tale of a tragedy and its effects on those concerned.
Particularly Sue. The description of her regular walk and her regular
route, through very ordinary surroundings, is vivid in its simplicity and heart-breaking
against the backdrop of grief and loss. The language is uncluttered and
used to great effect. I am always interested in the aftermath of an
event, how people cope, how they don't cope. This particular story
flicked that switch beautifully.”
Charlottte Delaney
Everything Is Seen At Its Best in the Dark
Neil Campbell
Sometimes in autumn when the ash trees are filled with
red berries there are loads of crows among the branches, and evening sunlight
filters through the taller trees, spraying the meadow with golden light. Sue
always sits at the same bench near the pond so she can listen to the whispering
of the reeds. She’s seen whole families of herons by that little pond. And it
is quiet down there in the late afternoon. From the bench by the pond she can
look beyond the river towards the high rise flat where she lives. And from the
eleventh floor Denis can keep an eye on her too. Denis has always kept his eye
on her, but he doesn’t know everything. She has friends on Chiffon Way and
Angora Drive, and sometimes she sees them in the Old Pint Pot, but mainly it’s
just her and Denis.
To get to the meadow she cuts down the cycle route instead
of going via Blackburn Street. She has to be careful to cross on the sharp
curve of road. On this occasion a car stops for a stray collie dog that clearly
has somewhere to be. Sue crosses and looks up at the apple tree in one of the
back gardens down there. She’s never seen a cyclist on the route and the road
is scattered with broken glass. She follows the road round and finds herself by
the bridge. She looks down at the swans that gather beneath it. The water is so
shallow she can see tyres on the river bed. She follows along the river by the
backs of houses, looking upriver at the weir that sparkles and crashes. She
takes a right and then a left past the new houses, where a woman tending a
newly-laid lawn ignores her as she walks slowly by. The people in the new
houses don’t seem to know that it is okay to say ‘hello’. Sue thinks of how
people are in such a rush these days. She was the same when she was younger,
but she has forgotten.
She is not out of breath by the time she reaches the bench by
the pond. That is the advantage of coming every day. She concentrates, and
listens as the reeds brush together. Then she hears the crows calling out. They
fly in pairs above the new-mown grass. How wonderful it must be to fly. It
doesn’t matter to them if a lift breaks down. In a matter of seconds a crow can
move from the meadow to the roof of the high rise.
When her boy was young, Sue stayed at home with him. When he
was a baby he was wonderful, but on some days the flat could feel like a prison
and the panoramic views seemed like a curse. Once, when watching the Telly
Tubbies, she thought she might actually be going mad. She had nobody to help
her. Lee was so tiring in his need for her attention. On nice days, when he was
older, they would walk over to the meadow with a football. If they didn’t have
the football, Lee would just run headlong into the bushes. Once she thought he
was going to end up in the pond, he just ran straight towards it. But he loved
the football. She remembered when he dribbled it all the way around the park.
Even then he was determined. If he set his mind to something he would do it,
and there was never any changing his mind. Denis tried to argue, but Sue just
showed support. Sometimes she reproaches herself for that.
The friends who did speak were as bad as the ones who
didn’t. She came to think that condolences are not for the benefit of the
bereaved. At first, she hated the sight of poppies at the memorial on Chapel
Street. She didn’t say anything. Friends said she’d ‘come round’. But the years
after that were just a blur of keeping busy. They didn’t mellow her. She
thought of all that pomp and ceremony. For her it was a token gesture. And the
patterns kept repeating, and year after year they kept sending the boys and
girls of Salford overseas.
Sometimes she thinks Lee might still come back. Sometimes
she thinks she sees him in the Old Pint Pot, but there are many young men with
broad shoulders and black hair. Sometimes she doesn’t remember that he wouldn’t
look so young now. She always sees him as he was on the day he left. That day
when Denis was so proud, and the buttons were brightly shining, and Sue smiled
though she wanted to cry. Some days she sees him everywhere. She sees him in
Denis’s face every night and every day, but that is a good thing.
The whispering of the reeds continues. In the vivid light of
dusk the outline of the crows seems sharpened. As the day descends, their
outline blurs, and soon enough they are flying beyond her sight. She buttons
her jacket against the cold and begins the walk back. In the darkness, she can
hear the wing strokes of the crows. Looking up at the sprinkled lights of the
high rise, she can see a darkened figure in the living room window.
At Adelphi Street she goes right and walks towards the main
road. She cuts through the car park and makes her way down the steps and into
the Old Pint Pot. She doesn’t see the fusilier on Chapel Street, standing in
stone. There are no names of any soldiers on that memorial anyway, and she
knows nothing about South Africa.
The pub is filled with students. Sue likes them. And they’ve
done up the Old Pint Pot since the last time she came in. They’ve done a good
job with it. She sees Ken and Pauline from Angora Drive. She takes her red wine
over to their table by the window. From there she can see the crescent of the
Irwell, and beyond that, the moonlight shining across the meadow.
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