Riley - The Likely Resolutions of Oliver Clock

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Text copyright 2020, Jane Riley

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

Published by Lake Union Publishing, Seattle

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ISBN-13: 9781542008143

ISBN-10: 154200814X

Cover design and illustration by Leo Nickolls Design

To Mum and Dad.

CONTENTS

PART ONE

I must eat less cake.

I must stop watching infomercials.

I must take up a hobby making model aeroplanes, perhaps?

I must go to the movies once a month, even if it means going on my own.

I must find love.

Can I find love?

The Yellow Notebook

They say old habits die hard, which is true, but I also think that new habits are born easily when you live on your own. Like talking to yourself. Ordering pantry items in alphabetical order. Storing balled-up socks in colour-coordinated rows in a drawer. Buying microwave meals for one when you should be cooking from scratch, because you really do love to cook. And fantasising writing lists of things youd like to do, imagining a life that isnt yours, all from the comfort of your sofa.

Mine are rather like New Years resolutions. Except I make them at any time of the year, whenever I think my life needs reviving jotting them down in a yellow, dog-eared notebook Ive had for ages. Its an enjoyable way to spend an evening when you have little else to do and no one to share your time with. Its also a pleasant way to unwind from my job as a funeral director.

I was on the sofa with a red wine and mediocre microwave chicken cacciatore, fantasising again. I put my unfinished meal on the floor and picked up the notebook, turned to a new page and began to write.

Thou shalt not grow too large to fit comfortably into a standard-size coffin: I must start exercising.

I dont know why I adopted old-fashioned vernacular but I liked its authoritative tone, which Id not used before. There was something arresting about addressing imaginary masses of people, even if I was the only addressee. It gave me a sense of hopefulness that maybe this time I might actually get off the sofa and carry out some of my desires.

Thou shalt be messy: I must refrain from excessive tidiness.

I kicked a shoe out of place. Stared at its haphazard placement and sideways slant, out of whack with its partner. I knew the sight of it shouldnt make me break out into a sweat but it was a start.

Thou shalt broaden your social life: I must make friends with people other than those who have passed on.

The nature of my vocation, being on call day and night, made it difficult to have meaningful encounters with anyone else. And as for meeting potential dates, well, that was proving more difficult as time went on and my previously single friends were preoccupied with getting married and having children. You see, if you boiled it down as if deglazing a pan, what I really yearned for was a partner. And love. Ideally both at the same time.

I chewed the end of the pen and wondered with horror if my only option was to sign up to a dating site. Quelle horreur, as Mum would say. Yet if I did, how would I describe myself? Bachelor, thirty-nine years old, walking fit (at best), with excess podge and a slight slouch. Has a kind heart and is a good listener. Considers himself a gourmand (tonights microwave meal notwithstanding, as well as the six others I have in my fridge). In his job people may be dying to see him but what hes looking for is a like-minded living female to bring love into his life.

Sigh.

The truth was, I had my eye on somebody already and had done for a long time. If only Marie knew that she was the like-minded living female I dreamed of enlivening my life. I suppose there was only one way to make it happen.

Thou shalt find a way to ask Marie out.

Marie may be married, but hadnt she said only a few weeks ago that she was unhappy? The idea of me asking her out was so outrageous it made me laugh. Not just a chuckle but uncontrollably, stupidly, unable to stop. A socked foot left the ground, then both feet were airborne as I fell back against the sofa in glee, rejoicing at the audacity of my latest resolution.

Happy New Year, I said out loud, even though it was a humid February evening, as I pondered the extraordinary notion of going on a date with the woman I had admired from a distance for fourteen years.

Then I put my feet back on the floor, picked up the television remote, turned on the TV and switched channels. Nothing took my fancy. I left it on a documentary about stars and galaxies with the sound on mute. Yet, as I drank the rest of the wine, I couldnt stop thinking about Marie. My mind clicked and whirred like the old ceiling fan above me, as if deciding whether to slow down or speed up. It was an apt analogy. Do I or dont I? Hold off or dive right in? Slow down or speed up?

Undying Love

The next morning I drove to work at the same time I always did (eight oclock) and arrived at the same time I always did (twelve minutes past eight), parked in the small car park behind our building where there were four spaces reserved for Clock & Son Funeral Home, and went inside. I unlocked the front door, swung the closed sign to open and stepped on to the footpath to take a minute to survey the outside world, as I always liked to do to remind myself for a brief moment of the beauty of life in the inner city, in contrast to the death behind the cloistered walls of my business.

I breathed in the reassuring smells of petrol fumes and roasted coffee, as the nose-to-tail rush of morning traffic eased to a comfortable road-rage-free rhythm along King Street. Clouds formed judder bars across the sky. The wind whipped everything around me into new shapes. I nodded to pedestrians walking past but they seemed unaware I was even there. I didnt mind. Im not one to draw attention to myself and have learned the art of listening a necessary trait in my line of work.

I went back inside and headed to the morgue to check on our latest client, whom our embalmer, Roger Dewfield, finished sprucing yesterday. Anne Mulligan lay snug in one of our solid oak coffins, nestled in white satin lining. I smoothed out her jacket to remove the creases, tugged at the corners of her collar and tucked a strand of hair back into place. You would never have known that the cause of death was anaphylactic shock from a bee sting while lawn-mowing. How serene she now looked. Gone were the signs of bee-stung fear and facial swelling. Her head was just so, muscles fully relaxed, lips a gentle smile, skin smooth and creamy. Her face was heart-shaped chin on the pointy side with almond eyes and a caring mien.

I know it sounds silly but I like chatting to cadavers. If Im honest, it eases my loneliness and there are times when it helps make things clearer. Helps sort the dross from the vaguely sensible thoughts clattering around my mind like loose Smarties in a nearly empty box. I had gone to bed with Marie and resolution number four on my mind, and woken up with it, and her, still there. It followed me into the shower, sprung out at me from my underwear drawer and plopped on to my toast as if it had morphed into marmalade. Was this going to be the one resolution that shadowed me until I acted upon it, poking my bottom and tapping my shoulder like an annoying toddler?