A short story: For Mr Haly. - part one

Whatever it is to do in life, Mr Haly has not found it. Long has he stared outside of his window watching all kinds of people pass by. Some on their phones, some jugging and some together, but he was always alone, without a single friend in the world. “Good day Finley,” greeted Mr Haly. shopping for his two boxes of weekly eggs. “Good day to you too,” replied Mr Finley. “Have you any business today than the usual?”
“Not at all.” replied Mr Haly now paying three pounds for his purchase.
A greeting was all Mr Haly received from most people except from his mother, who being very old and wrinkled now always made sure to ring her only son every Wednesday and Friday at exactly the twentieth hour of the day. Mr Haly would leave his window watch and sit by his phone to dialogue for more than a minute with the only soul who cared anything about him. But this Wednesday evening, the hour passed by without a call from his mother. “This is unusual.” he thought. “She never misses this moment to call. When I see her this Saturday I shall ask her the reason for her neglect.” Rising to go back to his favourite spot to watch the happy couples stroll hand in hand, his old eighties telephone rang. “Hello, this is Mr Haly speaking.”
“This is Dr Stanley, of Bainbrook home.” Mr Haly swallowed his own breath and listened prudently. “Mrs Margaret has just passed away.”

Having no friend to share his sadness with except his open gaze at the bleak wall ahead of him, he shakingly dropped the phone, and cried. Poor Mr Haly, for he cried his heart out that evening but it was all as if he cried silently for there was no one to hear his sobs. After a while he did lay his head to sleep, having in his hand the soft rugged teddy bear his late mother gave him on his fifth birthday which was passed on to her from her mother. He slept as rough as the wind and awoke as sore as the cold. That morning Mr Haly received a phone call that his late mother had left him an urgent note, that he was to come at once to collect it and read it. Decorating himself as fashionable as his late mother had taught him, adorning himself with his grey trousers which steadied at his ankles, bright red socks, blue shirt, and a red-white striped jumper, Mr Haley lastly checked that he had his big round glasses around his eyes and headed to Bainbrook home.

Arriving at the care home, he was greeted with a smile that all employees by company laws were to present to customers; there was nothing more said to him other than the business he had concerning his late mother. “This is the letter, Mr Haly,” said Mr Stanley offering the sealed envelope to Mr Haly. “Thank you,” he replied walking away to read his mother's last letter to him in his bright blue 1990 Citroen XM. “Dear Haly, I can now see with dim eyes the end of my frail life. What concerns me most in this happy hour for an old woman is not my own sufferings but that which awaits my only son at my departure. I know it is not your fault that friends escape you, for you have tried much. But for some reason that God only knows, people seem to pass you by when you have all the qualities of loveliness and gentleness. There is one last errand I want you to do for me. (Even in death she orders me about Haly thought with small tears falling from his eyes). There is by the river a small church that I use to take you as a child. Go in and ask for Mr Pinkirk, for he came to me last week with much urgency that there was a young lady, a decade younger than yourself who desires to meet you and that urgently. (“What for?” Mr Haly pondered). Go and see him as quick as possible in order to meet her. For my hope of your happiness for some strange reason is to be found in her, and whatever you are to do in life, I sincerely and heartily believe that it is tied up with her. My teddy-boo, all my strength is about to leave me so I finish with these last words from my decaying mortal hands: I love you and so did your late father.”

Mr Haly admired the paper for a time after digesting what he was to do. Small loving tears marked the lined paper and after taking in a few deep breathes, he immediately aimed his wheels for the church.

“If I remember correctly, the church is right after the next turn on the left,” he thought to himself. Anxious to understand the reason for his wantedness, he began to walk gently towards the time-worn Anglican church. The sunflowers had risen beautifying the stale injured grass. The morning still sparkled but Mr Haly's anxiety caused him to forgo the notice of the bright coloured dressed lady that sat on the bench at the church's garden. “The vicar is out if you are looking for him sir.” spoke softly and elegantly by the young lady. Mindful to her voice, Mr Haly stammered in his response and said: “I am looking for Mr Pinkirk.” Recognizing his apprehensiveness, the young lady rose to her feet and repeated her first speech. “He is out, sir.”
“Do you know when he will be back?”
“He often returns at the eleventh hour.” replied the young lady.
“Then I shall wait for him.” added Mr Haly, now walking away as to go back in his car to sit. The young lady called out to him and offered to him that he can sit with her for she too was waiting for Mr Pinkirk to return.



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