A Welcome Gift

William inserted his key into the lock, easing it back a fraction as he had a million times before, so it turned effortlessly. A scattering of post lay below the letterbox, probably all junk; everyone knew by now. He gathered the pile and dropped it into his Tesco Bag for Life. He had brought a new doormat with him and stepping into the quiet of the lounge, set the bag against one of the walls. There was no table or any other furniture, not anymore. The interior was bare, a shell, albeit one adorned with lace curtains past their best, frayed carpets and wallpaper that curled at the corners.

He appraised the place as the buyer had, gauging potential. It felt different now, bereft and stripped of its soul; nothing like the vibrant, chaotic memories of his upbringing surrounded by countless children his mother had cared for. And there had been parties: friends, family, neighbours, the priest. The house filled with people laughing, always lots of laughter, but today, silence.

Had he expected nostalgia? Melancholy? Perhaps just closure. This solitary moment signified the culmination of a long chain of events, although to think that way seemed cold. But there it was: the hospitals, funerals, banks, utilities, solicitors and on and on; an endless merry-go-round of companies to deal with, arrangements to be made and forms to process. Not to mention the systematic emptying and cleaning, room by room, merciless and necessary, reverting a home to a house.

And now he felt nothing.

A faint mark on the skirting board caught his eye and William was whisked to another time. Christmas morning: a box, about a foot high, wrapped in paper and love had magically appeared beside his bed overnight. It contained an Evel Knievel stunt cycle toy and action figure. Once set-up, a few cranks of the accompanying hand-wound motor sent the bike careering forward, on that morning straight into the wall. He smiled.

Elsewhere, the carpet bore marks of his father’s favourite chair where he had sat beside William’s mother every day throughout her long illness. At eye-level the odd nail still protruded where family pictures had proudly been displayed, and tiny holes were evident in the ceiling where birthday decorations had once been pinned. This history now belonged to him alone.

“Goodbye.”

Stepping back to the open air, he withdrew the new doormat from his bag. WELCOME it proclaimed in sharp, bold characters, and was to be his gift to the new owners. The old mat lay on the floor of the porch, exhausted, and should have been replaced years ago. There it had remained however, forgotten, as much a part of the house as the doors and windows. He pursed his lip and put the new mat back into the bag. The old one was just fine.

He wiped his cheek and for the final time, William closed the door and walked away.