Death and Tea at Three

11 Harold and Isobel

The clock struck three o'clock, and Harold waited anxiously for the usual knock on the door. It was hard for him to relax or enjoy doing anything around three o'clock. There was no point in starting something if he knew a disruption was coming. The older Harold became, the more he viewed things around him as disruptions. His daily knock at three was no exception.

The time was now 3:01 PM. Isobel was late. Harold checked his watch to make sure the time was right. His eyebrows arched as he stared at the second hand slowly moving across the face of the watch. Isobel was many things, he thought, but late was not one of them.

Harold walked over to the door and placed his ear against it. Nothing could be heard. Harold went so far as to open the door and check both sides of the hallway. There was nothing. All Harold could hear was the faint buzzing of lights in the hall.

It was then that Harold felt something strange. It was something he had not felt for quite some time. Harold felt worried. He hated feeling worried. His feelings confused him. He was not sure why he felt the way he did. He still found the girl to be annoying and quite a bother, but at the same time, he wanted to know that she was okay.

Harold stood idly in the doorway. He looked back into his apartment toward the comfort of his lavender armchair. Standing so far away from it, Harold felt a pang in his chest, a longing to return. As Harold returned his gaze to the hallway, he felt another strange pang in his chest. It was then that Harold decided to grab his leather loafers, throw on his cardigan, and walk out of his front door.

As he walked outside, the bitter wind caused his bones to ache. Harold was not sure if it was really cold, or if he was just growing weaker with age. His cardigan was far too thin to protect him. Had Julia been around, she would have insisted he take a jacket. Then again, if Julia was still around, he would probably still be waiting for her to get ready.

Harold threw his hands up in front of his face, shielding it from the oncoming wind. He was unsure where to go, exactly. He had never asked Isobel what school she went to, but he did know that there was a school not too far from the apartment. Harold felt his best chance of finding her was to start there.

Harold walked along the sidewalk, grey clouds looming overhead. He loved to walk, but not on days like these. Overcast days sapped the energy out of him. With every ounce of will, he pushed onward, heading toward what was possibly the wrong school, to see a girl who regularly annoyed him. Harold immediately regretted his decision.

The school was quite old, like every building in the neighbourhood. This particular area of the city was not as lively as the downtown core, nor was it as posh as the surrounding suburbs. Everything was either outdated or broken down. Harold thought it was fitting that his life would end in such a place.

As Harold approached the school, he noticed a sullen figure sitting against the fence. It was Isobel, sitting on the ground with her arms wrapped around her knees. She was not alone. There were a few other girls – presumably Isobel's age – standing around her. Harold could not tell what was going on, but he had lived long enough to recognize when someone was not enjoying the company of others. Harold stared at Isobel, who sat unmoving, her head down. After a few minutes, he called out her name. The girls around her looked in his direction and then walked away.

Isobel watched the girls leave. It took a minute for her to notice that Harold was standing on the other side of the road.

"Yes?" Isobel shouted back.

"Yes, what?" Harold said. Now that he had found Isobel, he wasn't sure what to say to her. He hadn't planned this far.

"You called my name."