Rosemarie is for Remembrance

A lonely, patient man waiting for his vanished wife to reappear.

 

ROSEMARIE IS FOR REMEMBRANCE

 

The front door opened with difficulty. The wood was swollen with weeks of rain, and the door needed quite a shove to get it open wide enough to let Barron inside. There was no welcoming warmth to greet him. Rosemarie, his wife had disappeared some years before and Patrice, his sister, had not arrived home yet from visiting her friends in the village where she used to live before Rosemarie’s disappearance. The house was of red brick that with age had darkened and was now a brownish colour. On the roof there were chimneys which meant that Barron and Patrice had log fires lit at the weekends in the downstairs fireplaces. The living-room and dining-room were pure chintz, the dark wooden floor was highly polished by Tracey, the daily help. Large colourful rugs covered the shiny floor giving the room a much cosier atmosphere. The only truly modern rooms in the house were the kitchen and the bathrooms that had just been finished when Rosemarie had gone.

 

Barron had informed the police of her disappearance and there had been no end of visits from the local police. Rosemarie’s photograph was still pinned up on the Missing Persons board on the wall in the police station, and in the computer all the information about her was on a file along with other local people who had disappeared over the last ten years. The police were baffled by Rosemarie’s case as there seemed no real motive or possible explanation for it.

 

On a clear afternoon in early summer Rosemarie had told Barron she was going outside for a cigarette, and had gone who knows where. He had searched high and low for her, but with no result. Every so often he would drop into the police station to see if they had discovered anything new. Tracey, who had been very friendly with Rosemarie, was at a loss to understand. Barron and the police had asked her whether there was another man in Rosemarie’s life, but she had said, ‘No, there wasn’t.’ All in all it was a sad situation for everyone �" especially for Barron.

 

Barron was finding it impossible to sleep. When he had arrived home and found the house cold, he had switched on the central heating to get some kind of warmth in it before his sister came home. He had then gone into his study and did what he had done every evening since Rosemarie’s disappearance, he watched the Police Crime Report of the day on the TV and hoped to see that someone had recognised his wife. It had never happened yet in the five years that had passed. The rest of the news was just as disheartening, so he changed to his computer and listened to music on the YouTube.

Barron sat thoughtfully in his large leather chair wondering about why his life had taken such a strange turn. He never stayed long in such a pensive mood, it got on his nerves to be inactive. He stood up and made his way to the kitchen where he began preparing a thick bean soup and crusty bread for dinner. Barron liked cooking for distraction as much as for eating. In his youth he had been very slim but over the years he had put on weight due to his love of food. Rosemarie used to tease him about the loss of his slim waist. Barron was now fifty-four and still in fine fettle in spite of not being the tall thin man he had once been.

 

Patrice and Barron had dinner in the dining area of the kitchen, to save having to clean up the dining-room. They were having coffee in the living-room when Patrice said, “Guess who was at tea this afternoon. Aster. You remember her, don’t you? She was a friend of ours back in the village in our younger days.”

Barron, who was never interested in anything unless it contained something about Rosemarie’s disappearance was deaf to his sister’s chat. “No, I don’t remember any Aster. Who was she?”

“You know, your girlfriend before you met Rosemarie. Aster left the village because you abandoned her for Rosemarie, and went to live in Canada. Now she’s back and very keen on rekindling old friendships. Don’t you remember her at all?”

“No, I don’t. I have enough on my mind without middle-aged women from the past turning up. The only woman who needs to turn up is Rosemarie.”

“Well, Aster remembers you all right, and asked after you. I told her about Rosemarie and she said maybe she suffered from amnesia, and had forgotten who she was and where she lived.”

Barron stared at his sister and said, “I’m going up to bed, the bedroom must be warm enough by now. Goodnight.”

Barron left the living-room and walked up the stairs to the bedroom he had once shared with Rosemarie.”

 

Patrice observed his long straight back as he gracefully went up the stairs. She sighed because deep in her heart she knew there was nothing she could do for him. At the very beginning of Rosemarie’s disappearance, Barron had been the prime suspect in the case, as it always is with the police. He had been questioned interminably about his own actions on the afternoon his wife had disappeared. At times, during the long hours he had been in the police station, Baron had thought it might have been easier to plead guilty to something just to get them off his back. In the end the police had seen that he was either very clever or not involved at all.

 

Barron’s sleeplessness was nothing new. It was something that occurred every so often and he was unable to understand the reason behind it. He switched on the lamp and tried to get himself into a new, popular novel. After two minutes he put the book down onto the bedside table and got out of bed and put on his slippers and his dressing-gown. He knew where to step on each stair so as not to wake Patrice, and went into the living-room. He pulled the curtains back and pushed the sofa to face the windows. He took a blanket from the back of the sofa and covering himself with it he lay down. The sight of the wet windows and the swaying trees in the dark reminded him of when Rosemarie had still formed part of his life and one Sunday morning he had found her fast asleep on the sofa in front of the window wrapped in the blanket. He wondered, as he had often done, how well he had really known her. There was a long streak of lightning, and for a moment he saw his wife’s face in the shadows created by the movement of the trees and the rain. Barron covered his face with the blanket and was soon asleep.

 

Then several events occurred at the same time: Tracey, the girl who had cleaned for Rosemarie was becoming more and more worried about her missing boss. On a free day, and after thinking about things for a long time, she went to the local radio station to talk with a couple who ran a ‘Missing Persons’ slot on a popular channel. She handed in her details and left all the information she had accumulated during the five years since her friend and boss had vanished from the face of the earth. Tracey was promised by the two presenters that the details, plus a description of Rosemarie, would be broadcast soon. Tracey went back to Barron’s house feeling a lot happier after having made her effort in the search for Rosemarie.

 

The next event to take place was that one day Patrice announced that she had invited Aster to Sunday lunch. Barron was unsure as to how he would react on seeing a woman who meant absolutely nothing to him. Sunday came, and with it a heavy rainfall and Aster. Barron opened the front door to her ringing, and stood staring at the woman standing on the doorstep. He really didn’t recognise her.

“Please, come in,” Barron said, opening the door wide.

“Hello, I’m Aster. You must be Barron. Hello Patrice. Your brother doesn’t remember who I am.”

Patrice came from behind while Barron took Aster’s coat. “Don’t you recognise Aster? You went out together,” Patrice said, looking at Barron and then at Aster.

“Would you like a drink, Aster?” Barron asked their guest.

“No, thanks,” Aster replied as she walked into the living-room. “This is very cosy. Have you lived here long?”

“Yes, for quite a while,” Barron answered, at the same time wondering what Patrice had told Aster. “Patrice told me that we used to go out together way back. I don’t remember that at all. She also said that you went to Canada and now you have returned. Have you been back long?”

Aster stood gazing around her, taking in everything. “I think you remember me but you don’t want to admit it. I went to Canada when I realized you weren’t for me. Someone had attracted you more. How long has your wife been missing?”

“Five years and I still hope to see her again one day,” Barron said, although he didn’t really believe his own words. He wanted to have a sign that Rosemarie was still alive, but there had never been one.

“Lunch is ready,” called Patrice, and the three went into the dining-room.

 

During lunch was when Barron was aware of why he hadn’t recognised Aster. She looked unnaturally young for her age and it was not difficult to see that she must have passed through a good plastic-surgeon’s hands. Now that he was reminded of who she was, Barron felt rather amused at what she must have had done to herself to remain so young-looking.

The rest of the day was spent in speaking banalities, with Barron absorbed in his own private world. He wanted to ask Aster various questions. The important one being why she had returned to see him after so many years away.

 

“Are you going to ask Aster out?” Patrice asked her brother, as their guest drove off.

“What on earth for? Although I must admit I’d like to ask her why she has come back after so long away,” Barron responded to his sister’s question.

“It’s not as if Rosemarie is here, or even if she is still alive.”

“If you’re so keen on taking Aster out, why don’t you do so?” Barron asked indifferently.

“Don’t be silly! She liked you in the past, and still does from what I can see,” Patrice responded.

 

What Aster hadn’t told either Barron or Patrice, was that she knew that Rosemarie was still alive.

Barron had been her idea of the perfect man, and when she saw that he was more interested in Rosemarie, she hadn’t been able to bear the sense of failure at not having managed to get him to the altar. Canada had been an opt out  to create a distance between her and Barron and Rosemarie, happy in their lives together. But Aster’s life in Canada had never gone very smoothly, and after her first disastrous marriage she had gone from man to man. So she decided to try back home in England.

On her return, Aster only suffered more, surrounded by the old memories, and fell into a clinical depression and admitted herself into a psychiatric hospital. At the registration desk they told her to see Dr Simpson in his office on the right-hand side of the main door. The building didn’t have any architectural merit but it had been constructed to be functional. Aster had had no illusions about what might happen to her once inside, but she wanted to feel better and happier than she had done in the last years.

 

She saw Dr Simpson’s office door was open and walked in. There were two women working at desks. An efficient looking woman went up to her and said, “Good morning. How may I help you?”

Aster was on the point of speaking, when the other woman looked up, and Aster gasped,. “Rosemarie!”

“Excuse me, but what did you say?” the efficient one asked.

“Your companion looks like someone I used to know many years ago.”

“Her name is Rosemarie. How strange she should remind you of someone with the same name.”

“Yes, it’s quite odd,” Aster said, filling in the form she had been given.

 

In spite of the potent drugs she was being given, Aster tried to find out as much as possible about Rosemarie. It was impossible to get friendly with the staff, so she had to ask questions to lesser folk who worked in the hospital. So, she listened to ‘Missing Persons’ on the radio. She also found Barron’s old appearances on TV appealing for Rosemarie to return, and then how, as time passed so Rosemarie’s disappearance had passed into history. Aster was determined that this time she would possess Barron. Eventually Aster had about as much information as was possible in the circumstances.

 

After six weeks in hospital and her curiosity aroused, Aster had returned to her old village, and it was there she met up with Patrice who told her that she and Barron now lived in a different village. Aster then convinced Barron’s sister to invite her to the Sunday lunch.

 

Doctor Simpson switched on his radio and was sitting at his desk when he heard the message that Tracey had given to the radio station to send out. The dates were given when Rosemarie had disappeared, with her personal details. The doctor switched off the radio and began to think. He rang the number given out on the radio and said that he was sure that Rosemarie was the same one who was working in the hospital. Then he rang the police to let them know that Rosemarie was most likely to be the same person.

Still in his chair the doctor thought of the day when Rosemarie had been found wandering along the road muttering to herself. He and his wife could get no sense out of her. That she was suffering from shock was evident, and so they had taken her to the hospital where he worked. Rosemarie was given a brain scan and they discovered a wound caused by a heavy, blunt object on the back of her head. The only thing she remembered was her name. As she was not considered dangerous, Rosemarie was allowed to work in the office. One reason for this was that Doctor Simpson was hoping that someone some day would recognise her.

 

The local police were duly informed and paid Barron a visit.

“Good evening, Sir. We’ve received a phone call from a psychiatrist who says that your wife may be working in the hospital where he works. Would you be interested in going over to the hospital or do you prefer the doctor to bring the lady in question here?”

 

Barron was absolutely taken aback. It was the news he had been waiting for, nevertheless the shock was tremendous. He was alone when the policeman had called, and he put the visit out of his head till after dinner, when he informed Patrice of the policeman’s visit.

“Patrice, it seems that Rosemarie might still be alive and is suffering from amnesia. The doctor who’s in charge of her case wants to bring her here, it might bring her memory back,” Barron said.

“After such a long time away and with amnesia, do you think she’ll remember anything at all?”

“I don’t care. I’ve been waiting five years for this to happen and have her back.”

 

Patrice went to bed early, much to Barron’s surprise, as her favourite programme was on TV and she never missed it. Her excuse was that she had a bad head and her back was aching. The truth was, that Patrice was scared of Rosemarie returning and taking away her place as the lady of the house.

 

Doctor Simpson spoke to Rosemarie about a car ride they were going to make.

“Where are we going, Doctor?  Is it far? There’s quite a lot of work in the office,” Rosemarie said.

“Rosemarie, how much do you remember?”

Rosemarie stared at her hands and then at the Doctor. “I sometimes have quick flashes but they don’t last long enough to create a clear picture.”

“Perhaps, the picture will become clearer with the little trip we’re going to make.”

“That wouldn’t be a bad thing, after forgetting what my life was before. I’d like to know if I have a husband and children or cats or dogs. It would be lovely to recuperate it, whatever it was,” Rosemarie said. “It’s not easy living inside this mental fog, forever wondering who you are and where you’re from.”

 

The next weekend Doctor Simpson, his wife, and Rosemarie began their trip to the village. Nothing had changed in the five years since their first encounter.

The house Rosemarie and Barron had shared was on a quiet road just off a main road. There were trees everywhere. Rosemarie perked up a bit and began staring through the windscreen.

 

Barron heard the sound of a car driving up to the front of his house. He was both excited and nervous at the long-awaited arrival of his lost wife. He didn’t have time to wonder what she would look like or if she would remember him, the doorbell rang. A tall man accompanied by two women was at the door.

Barron said, “Good evening, Doctor. I’m Rosemarie’s husband, please come in.” Barron saw in the hall light the women’s faces and his heart felt a painful jab. Rosemarie was still the same, just a little bit older. He held out his hand to her, “Do you remember me? I’m Barron your husband. I’ve been waiting five years for this to take place.”

Rosemarie stared at Barron and shook her head in bewilderment. “You seem to be a nice man, but for the moment I can’t place you.”

At that moment, Patrice came down the stairs, and Rosemarie screamed, “It was her! She hit me on the head from behind with something. That, I now remember.”

 

Barron turned to his sister, “Why did you do it? How could you do what you did? How could you see me suffer all these years?”

“I didn’t do a good enough job. I meant to kill her. After inveigling her into the car with the excuse that I needed her help in choosing some plants for the front garden, I drove out in the direction of the old quarry, thinking of pushing her down there, but instead I turned way from that and continued along the road and when she was looking out of the window I hit her on the back of the head, stopped the car and pushed her out of the door leaving her on the side of the road.”

 

 The local police had already arrived and had heard Patrice’s confession.

 

Barron wasn’t satisfied that his sister could go, just like that, to the police station.

“You still haven’t answered my question. Why? Why?”

 

“Why not?”