The Last Resting Place: A Tale of a Bench and a Broken Life
The midday sun dipped lazily toward the horizon, spilling warmth over the dusty paths of the garden. At the edge of a neatly kept courtyard, fenced in by tall iron railings, beneath the broad canopy of an oak tree, sat Arthur Wilkins. He adored this bench—the first one from the building, with a perfect view of the entire perimeter. Here, he was privy to every rustle, every new car, every arrival—like a chronicler among forgotten souls.
He leaned back, stretching his legs out in front of him. The breeze tousled his grey hair like a cheeky schoolboy. His eyes were closed, but his ears were sharp. So he caught it at once—the soft hiss of brakes as a car pulled up beyond the fence.
Cracking one eye open, Arthur glanced toward the road. The tinted windows of the sleek Mercedes revealed nothing. A moment later, the back door swung open, and out climbed a well-fed, glossy man in a leather jacket. He hurried to the boot, yanking out two suitcases.
“Alright, Mum, we’re here. Look how nice it is, yeah?” he said, forcing cheer into his voice as he peered back into the car.
Behind him, shuffling unsteadily with a cane, emerged an elderly woman. Small, stooped, her face tight with tension. A mother.
“Right, grab the bags, let’s get you inside… I’ve got places to be,” he added, not even glancing at her.
“Mum, hurry up—I haven’t got all day,” the younger man muttered, irritation creeping in as he slammed the boot shut.
Arthur smirked to himself. “Ah, fresh meat… another soul tossed aside like yesterday’s news.” His heart gave its usual pang, and he instinctively reached for the pills in his pocket.
A few minutes later, the doors of the reception slammed. The man practically sprinted back to his car, slid in, and sped off without a backward glance. The Mercedes vanished around the corner.
Arthur shut his eyes again. A memory flickered—Mildred, his Millie, still alive, still whispering something warm and kind to him each morning. Always together, everything shared right down the middle. They’d even joked—if death came, it’d take them both at once.
Then one day, he woke to find her eyes already open—and frozen.
His world crumbled. He didn’t eat. Didn’t light the fire. Just lay there in the cold and silence until the neighbour called his son, who arrived two days later.
“Dad, don’t bother packing much—we’ll get you new things. You’ll stay with us, the guest room’s empty,” he insisted, stuffing his father’s few belongings into a bag.
“Help me take Millie’s picture down,” was all Arthur said.
“What do you need that for?” his son sighed, but one look at his father’s face silenced the argument.
His daughter-in-law met them with pursed lips and narrowed eyes.
“Alfie, come on, I couldn’t just leave him there!” his son whispered in the kitchen.
“Oh, so *my* guests can sleep under the bed, is that it?” she hissed back. “A care home never crossed your mind? Who’s going to look after him? Me? Not a chance, got it?”
Arthur heard every word. He stepped into the hall, leaning against the doorframe.
“Son, she’s right. Get the papers. I’ll sign whatever you need to sell the house. Just don’t fight over me, alright?”
“See?” his daughter-in-law crowed, brightening instantly. “At least *he* gets it. You’re as stubborn as your granddad. Come on, Arthur, let’s sort this out properly.”
He shook his head, as if dislodging the memory. Wiping his face with a handkerchief, he slowly rose from the bench. His leg ached, but he limped toward the building—curious about the new arrival.
The woman sat in a chair by the far door. Small, neat, clutching a handkerchief she alternately crumpled and smoothed. Trying to hold herself together, but her lips trembled.
“Well… welcome,” Arthur began awkwardly. “I’m Arthur. What’s your name?”
“Margaret… Margaret Hayes,” she whispered.
“Here by choice, then?” he asked softly, though his eyes said, *I know the truth.*
“Oh yes, entirely. My son’s a big executive, my grandson’s studying to be a barrister. We want for nothing, all’s well,” she insisted, as if convincing herself.
Arthur almost sighed. *Dropped off like a sack of spuds, and she says ‘all’s well.’ Only a mother’s heart could lie like that to shield her own.*
“I shan’t be here long… just a short stay. Then they’ll fetch me. I’m not used to idling. I can’t bear to be away from them, I just can’t…”
Tears welled, but she swallowed them stubbornly. Arthur stood.
“You’ll be alright. Hang in there. I’ll just… take a stroll before bed.”
He didn’t look back. He couldn’t.
Morning brought chaos in the corridor. His roommate tossed the news over his shoulder casually:
“New one’s gone. Didn’t make it through the night. Heart, they reckon.”
Arthur sat back on his bed, turning to face the wall. Silent.
“Rest now, love… you were too good for this place,” he whispered, crossing himself and squeezing his eyes shut.
Outside, a new day began. The sun hesitated at the windowsills, as if apologising for lighting a world where the abandoned had grown by one more.
