Dying for a sunny afternoon

The day I died was the first really warm day of the year. I chose to be outside – walking the dog with my very good friend, Shelagh. The prom at New Brighton was packed full of dog walkers and mums and children on half term break. My pup got stopped every five seconds it seemed as I answered the endless queries of how old? And what breed? And then heard them exclaim: he’s so soft! as they reached down to ruffle his long fur.

We walked to a crowded café on the hill in the park. With the pup hiding in the shade and Shelagh and I with an enormous pot of tea between us, we relaxed into our chairs, the sun cooking us ever so slightly.

That was when the first series of explosions sounded. It was loud, very loud, rumbling across the Mersey to us from Liverpool. Outside the café, all conversations stopped. There was a moment of silence before all the various dogs outside the café started to bark. As I listened I realised all over the park and down on the prom, dogs were barking and howling. Above us, birds flew out of the trees in the opposite direction of the blasts.

“That was odd,” I said, and sipped my tea.

“Must be celebrating something over there. Shooting off cannons on a boat maybe,” Shelagh said.

Slowly conversations around us picked back up, and the dogs quietened. The birds stopped flying overhead – or maybe they’d all gone. Then a second explosion sounded. It was close – closer than the first one, the ground rumbling under our feet as the air seemed to tremble. The tea in my mug rippled, and I thought of the movie Jurassic Park and the approach of the tyrannosaurus.

The explosion rumbled on, now with an almost hungry edge to it, like it was eating the ground up somewhere in front of where we sat. I mused that if the trees didn’t block our view of Liverpool we’d see the buildings across the water being consumed.

“Ha, ha, maybe this is the apocalypse,” Shelagh shouted over the roar. Her voice had taken on a nervous quality. “We picked a good spot for it, didn’t we?”

“Yes…” I replied. Feeling sun-baked and harbouring more than a seed of worry in my gut, I held my breath until the explosions finally settled down. My pup pulled on his lead as another dog bolted, the owner ran after it, hollering its name. Maybe the dogs knew something we humans didn’t as I glanced around the café and realised every single dog was pulling at their lead. All trying to get away from the hungry explosions.

So very English, the crowded café remained crowded as we waited nervously for the next set of explosions. Sipping our tea my friend and I debated the merits of trying to outrun whatever disaster was making its way towards us, and I speculated about the odd sense of calm... as if everyone was under a spell.

I clutched my mug to my chest whilst staring at the leafy screen before me and wondered at the chaos the canopy was hiding. I could have done many things in that moment as the sun beat down and the dogs panicked, but all I could think was: we picked a good day to die.

***Inspired by a sunny walk yesterday. I did sit at the cafe, there were explosions, and no one ran off screaming in terror. I found out later they set off fireworks (at midday) in celebration of beginning dredging the Mersey River. (???)***