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Hilda picked up the tiny windowsill, carefully applied a drop of glue and placed the sill back into position on the doll’s house.
“There!”
She nodded at the repair, and turned her attention to a loose roof tile.
“Er, Hilda…” said Evadne.
Hilda glanced up briefly.
“Hello, dear. I didn’t hear you come back in. Have you finished cutting down those weeds in the garden, then?”
“There wasn’t much that needed doing. I just needed to get in a bit of practice with my—” Evadne cleared her throat. “Look, Hilda—could I have a word?”
“In a minute, dear. I’m just doing a bit of restoration work.”
Hilda applied the glue to the tile, pressed it into place and sat back, staring thoughtfully at the doll’s house.
She smiled to herself.
“It’s funny… I’ve been so nostalgic lately, and I thought I’d just get this out and remember old times. And you know, it’s not looking too bad. Just needs a few repairs here and there, so I thought I’d get those done while it was handy.”
Hilda leant forward. “Now… I need to replace the doorstep. Where on earth has it gone..?”
She searched about and then glanced down. She giggled.
“Oh, silly me. It’s in my hand.”
She attempted to shake it loose.
“Wonderful stuff this glue, you know...”
“Hilda!”
Hilda looked up in surprise. “Yes, dear?”
Evadne smiled somewhat tensely. “Hilda, I’m sorry but I really do need to speak to you.”
“Well, of course, dear.”
Hilda considered Evadne properly for the first time and frowned.
“Do you want to put that away first? I don’t think a scythe is terribly suited to the lounge.”
Evadne shifted the scythe so that it was resting more comfortably her shoulder. “Well, actually this is rather pertinent to what I have to tell you. You see, dear…”
Evadne came to a halt. She shook her head.
“Look, Hilda. You know how you’re always joking about my age. How I can remember the Great Fire of London? The Black Death? The Ice Age?”
Hilda gave a little shake of her head. “Is this what all the fuss is about? You know I’m only teasing, dear.”
“Yes, I do understand you’re teasing but the thing is—” Evadne looked down. “Well, you’re right.”
Hilda furrowed her brow. “I’m right..?”
Evadne looked up again and nodded. “Yes, you’re right! I can remember all those events. Well, in fact, I can remember everything because I’m as old as time itself. You see, Hilda, I am…”
Evadne smiled weakly.
“Well, I’m the Grim Reaper, dear.”
Hilda stared at Evadne. Then she burst out laughing.
“Oh, very good, dear! You almost had me there.”
She wiped her eyes.
“Grim Reaper!”
She mimed Evade solemnly scything.
“Rather appropriate really. Nice to see you can laugh at yourself.”
Evadne rolled her eyes.
“Hilda, really. Will you please be serious. I’m not joking. I am the—”
She made a little helpless gesture with the hand not holding the scythe.
“Just watch, will you?”
Evadne took a deep breath and her form began to blur.
Hilda sat up straight, clutching the arms of her chair.
“Evadne? What’s happening? Evadne!”
Evadne’s form solidified again. Now she was draped in a dark robe.
“Please prepare yourself, dear.”
Evadne threw back her hood. Her head was simply a skull.
For a long moment Hilda gaped in horror. Then she learnt forward a little, puzzled.
“How are you managing to still wear your glasses, dear? You don’t have any nose or ears.”
She gazed off to one side looking thoughtful.
“And why would you need glasses anyway? You don’t have eyes…”
“Hilda! Do try and concentrate! I am attempting to tell you something important!”
Hilda’s attention snapped back to Evadne. “Sorry, dear. Sorry. So, you really are..?”
Evadne nodded her skull. “Yes.” There was no tongue or lips to make the sounds, and the jaw wasn’t moving but it was unmistakably still Evadne’s voice. “I am the Grim Reaper. The one who collects the soul of every person at the moment of death.”
“Good heavens,” said Hilda faintly.
“I must explain that I know when to turn up because each person’s allotted time is represented by a timepiece.” Evadne hesitated. “In fact... well, I’ve got yours here.”
A bony hand began rummaging inside the robe.
Hilda watched in fascination. “So you’ve got one of those egg-timers in there?”
“Hourglass, Hilda.” Evadne sighed. “And no. Each life is represented by something that is suited exactly to the individual. This is yours.”
She pulled out a small wooden clock in the shape of a little house.
Hilda beamed at it.
“Oh, isn’t that pretty!”
She got up and approached Evadne, and tentatively touched the clock.
“Look at that scrollwork. And those dear little doors and windows. You can just imagine someone throwing open a window and— Oh!”
Hilda snatched away her hand just as the centre upper window did indeed swing open and a little wooden bird appeared.
“Cuckoo! Cuckoo! Cuckoo!”
The bird disappeared again and the window swung shut.
Hilda stared at Evadne.
“A cuckoo clock?!”
Hilda averted her head, an affronted expression on her face.
Evadne shrugged. “I’ve always thought it seemed the perfect match for you, dear.”
Hilda looked back at Evadne and drew herself up. “Well! I have never been so insulted in—”
Evadne held up a skeletal hand.
“We’re getting away from the point.” She hesitated, and then pointed at the clock face. “What does that say?”
Hilda peered at the clock. “About a minute to twelve I think.”
She frowned.
“Well, that’s not right, surely.” She checked her wristwatch. “No, see—it’s quarter past five.”
Evadne gently stroked the clock. “No, dear. This clock doesn’t measure time out in the world. It measures…” The empty eye sockets looked directly at Hilda. “Well, the time you’ve got left.”
“So, 12 o’clock...” Hilda considered Evadne warily. “I’m at… mid-day… in my life?”
Evadne shook her skull minutely and put the clock back under her robe.
“I see.” Hilda turned back towards her chair. “I think I need a little sit-down.”
She settled herself down and stared sadly at her childhood doll’s house.
Evadne came over to her.
“You see, dear, in a few hours the clock will reach midnight and the cuckoo will come out and call for the last time. And then…”
She waved her bony hand vaguely.
“Look, I didn’t just want to turn up and collect your soul when it… happens. I thought you deserved some kind of warning and explanation. We are friends after all.”
Hilda looked up.
“Are we? Are we?”
She glared at Evadne.
“I don’t call it very friendly to suddenly announce that you’re about to end my life.”
Evadne bowed her skull.
“Hilda, of course you’re my friend. Our friendship means a great deal to me.”
She looked up.
“In fact, I would go so far as to say you’re the best friend I’ve ever had. Not many people could have put up with living with the Grim Reaper over such a long period of time.”
“But I’m only seventy-thr— I’m in the prime of my life!” Hilda quivered with indignation. “If you’re my friend, Evadne, then you’ll leave me alone. There’s still lots more I want to do!”
Evadne sighed. “Being the personification of death doesn’t mean I can control it. I don’t choose when people die—I just turn up and deal with the reaping.”
“Have you ever tried?” Hilda gestured vaguely. “Maybe you can choose not to reap someone’s soul, and then they carry on living!”
“I really don’t think—” said Evadne.
But Hilda was lost in thought. She held up a finger. “What’s that film you like by Ingrid Bergman..?”
Evadne gave her a look. “Ingmar Bergman, Hilda.”
“Oh, yes.” Hilda smiled. “Well, what about that film of his—Seven Seals for Seven Brothers.”
Evadne paused. “No, it’s…” She shook her skull. “Just what’s your point, dear?”
Hilda patted the arms of her chair in mounting excitement. “We could try that—we could play chess for my soul.”
“Hilda, I doubt even if you won it would make any—” Evadne paused. “And you don’t actually play chess, do you?”
“Well, what about scrabble!” Hilda was beaming now. “I can play that. And you always enjoy a game. On your birthday I managed to sneak away and set up your surprise party simply because you had an ‘x’, two ‘v’s and the possibility of a triple letter score!”
Evadne sighed. “Hilda, sometimes you just have to accept things. You’ve had a good innings.”
Hilda shrugged. “What harm could it do though? The worst that happens is that I’ve spent the last part of my life playing a nice game with my best friend. Not a bad way to go out.”
Evadne hesitated. “Well, as long as you accept that this probably isn’t going to change anything…”
“All right then!”
Hilda brightened.
“Now you go and hang your robe and scythe up in the hall, dear, while I set up the scrabble board on the kitchen table.”
“Yes, perhaps I’ll be more comfortable with the robe off for the moment. I’ll put it back on when we get to the…” Evadne averted her skull. “...official stuff.”
Hilda nodded solemnly and then stared as Evadne took off the robe.
“Good heavens, dear…”
Evadne stared down at her true form, now clearly revealed. Yellowed, ancient bones that spoke of the tomb and eternal oblivion. That declared the impermanence of flesh and the foolishness of hope.
“I think you might be overdoing that diet, Evadne,” said Hilda.
Evadne looked up fondly. “Oh, Hilda.”
Evadne was hunched over her letters. “So I could use C and D to make… No, because then…” She shook her skull. “Or what about..? No..?”
She suddenly sat up straight.
“I’ve got it! ‘Distraction’!”
She placed the letters on the board. “Hilda, I’ve scored 135!”
She looked up to find her friend wasn’t there.
“Hilda..?”
“Yes, dear?”
Hilda entered from the sitting room, one hand behind her back.
“Finally worked it out, have you..?”
If Evadne had had eyes they would have been boring into Hilda’s face. “Hilda, you tricked me. Just what have you been up to?”
Hilda brought her hand into sight with a flourish, and held up the cuckoo clock.
“I had a rummage in your robes while you were otherwise occupied and I did a few adjustments on this. I’ve superglued the top window shut. And all the rest of the windows and doors just to be on the safe side.”
Evadne sighed.
“Hilda, something that simple won’t work.”
“Won’t it?” Hilda arched an eyebrow. “Well, we shall see. It’s almost midnight on the clock.”
“Oh, heavens!” Evadne stood up. There was a general blurring around her and suddenly she was back in her robes and carrying her scythe.
Hilda stared at the scythe and gulped.
“Don’t worry, Hilda,” said Evadne. “It’s just to separate your soul from your body. It won’t hurt.”
Hilda shuddered and returned her gaze to the clock.
“There!”
Both hands were now on twelve. There was a faint whirring within, a half-hearted pushing at the top window, a feeble ‘cuckoo’...
And then, silence.
Hilda looked down at herself and then patted herself on the face. “I’m still here! I’ve done it!”
Evadne took a step forward. “Hilda. Give me that clock.”
Hilda stuck her tongue out. “No! I shan’t!”
She turned, ran out of the living room and hurtled up the stairs.
“Hilda, please…”
Evadne slung the scythe over her shoulder and hurried after her.
They reached the door to the attic, Evadne only a few steps behind, but Hilda managed to throw herself through it—slamming it shut and locking it.
“Hilda, do come out! I can always come in after you.” Evadne rearranged her robes with her free hand. “Being the Grim Reaper, you could say I have a skeleton key…”
Abruptly there was the sound of the door being unlocked again and it opened.
Hilda stepped out, her head held high.
“There! I’ve hidden it somewhere amongst all the junk. You’ll never find it.”
“Of course I’ll find it. I have all the time in the world, remember?” Evadne shook her skull. “Hilda—you’re only delaying the inevitable.”
She looked her friend up and down.
“For the moment you’ve stopped ageing and you’re presumably immortal. But you aren’t going to miraculously get younger. You’ll be an elderly lady forever! Do you really want that?”
“Well, why not?” Hilda stuck out her chin. “I’m in good health. I’ve kept well. And...” She looked to one side. “...perhaps you could do with a companion.”
Evadne stared at her. “A companion?”
“Yes. Someone to keep you company as you go about your grim duties, dear.” Hilda looked back at her and gave her a small smile. “It must get a bit lonely, I suppose.”
Evadne hesitated for a moment. “I’ve never thought about having a permanent companion before. I’ve got so used to people coming and going…” She gazed off into the distance. “It would be rather nice I suppose. But Hilda…”
She looked back at her friend.
“It would be for all eternity.”
Hilda shrugged. “Heaven knows I did always dream of immortality.”
“Going down in musical history is not quite the same thing.” Evadne sighed. “Oh, Hilda, are you sure?”
Hilda gestured behind her at the hidden clock.
“Well, if I ever change my mind I can get the solvent out.”
Evadne laughed a little.
“There,” said Hilda, “that’s something to be proud of. I’ve managed to cheer up the Grim Reaper.”
She glanced at the scythe.
“And I suppose now that we’ve sorted this out, you’ll have to be getting on to your next… appointment.”
“Yes, I suppose I should.”
Evadne reached into her robes and pulled out her handbag. She rooted around in it, pulled out a list and consulted it carefully.
“It seems I’m due to collect old Mr. Edwards.”
“Mr. Edwards?” Hilda raised her eyebrows. “I thought he was dead.”
Evadne glanced at Hilda awkwardly. “Well, in a quarter of an hour you’re going to be right.”
“Oh. Oh, of course.”
Hilda smiled weakly and began chivvying Evadne down the stairs.
“So come on, dear. Let’s get going. Should we take the Rolls?”
“Well, I normally ride on a pale horse...” Evadne attempted to look round at Hilda. “Are you sure you want to come for this one? Don’t you want time to get used to the idea?”
“I think I should begin as I mean to go on,” said Hilda firmly. “And I mean to help you as much as I can. Which for a start means no more bumpy horse rides.”
They reached the bottom of the stairs and the two of them paused for a moment.
Hilda smiled up into Evadne’s skull.
“You know, dear,” she said. “Someone’s got to take care of those old bones of yours.”