Something was wrong with Charlotte’s reflection. Her mouth was trembling. She realised with horror that she was going to cry. But she couldn’t cry. It was prohibited. She’d had three days to grieve her dead husband, and now grieving time was over.
Nobody knew the laws better than she did. She had helped to write them, in her role at the Ministry of Happiness, a role that was central to her life, but that she’d found more difficult in recent years. Not because of herself, but because of her husband, Harold.
“Well, that’s not a difficulty I have anymore,” she thought, and forced a smile. She was still smiling when her first guests arrived.
“You look fabulous!” said Donna, a colleague from the ministry. “And look at this place! The undertakers did a fantastic job.”
Charlotte agreed, though she couldn’t stop wishing that Harold’s favourite chair had still been there. But it was gone, along with every reminder of Harold. Last night, the undertakers had come and removed everything he’d owned or loved, and decorated the house for today’s party, which was, as the banner said, ‘A Celebration of the New Phase of Your Beautiful Life’.
As the DJ began playing music, Charlotte forced herself to stop thinking about Harold’s chair. She knew she could avoid all negative emotions if she avoided all reminders of Harold, and very soon, it would be like he’d never existed.
She kept telling herself this while trying not to think about the bracelet on her arm. It was a bracelet that Harold had given her. She should have given it to the undertakers, but she hadn’t. What was wrong with her?
She’d already broken the law by not reporting her husband for expressing negative emotions, and worse, for saying negative things about the ministry, crazy things about control and repression. Yes, people had to control their emotions now but that was a small price to pay for a more civilized society. Negative emotions, when openly expressed, were infectious and led to destructive actions. And so, those who were too weak to repress them must be removed from society, for the benefit of all. She’d always believed this and she still believed it. That’s what she told herself and that’s what she told her colleagues, who were talking about the rebels.
“I heard the ministry removed a group of them last night,” said Donna. “Bravo for the ministry!”
The other colleagues applauded, as did Charlotte. Of course, nobody said what they all knew, because it was too negative to think about: that the rebels, who wanted a return to open expression, were multiplying, no matter how many of them the ministry removed.
Charlotte was declaring her belief that the ministry would triumph —a belief that she didn’t really believe— when she felt her grief return. It was the song. The DJ was playing Harold’s favourite song.
She realised that her eyes were filling with tears. Her colleagues were staring at her, smiling of course, always smiling, but their eyes were cold and hard. She forced herself to laugh and escaped to the bathroom, where she forced herself to think positive thoughts.
When she had herself under control, she returned to the party, where Donna was presenting a cake with ‘A Celebration of the New Phase of Your Beautiful Life’ inscribed across it. Charlotte was cutting the cake, when, to her horror, she felt her grief again. Harold was there. She could smell him. But then she realised that it wasn’t him but the doctor who’d tried to save his life, the doctor who’d told her —with a smile, of course— that her husband was dead. This time, everyone saw her tears.
“What a lovely cake,” said Charlotte, forcing some into her mouth to try to stop it from trembling. She couldn’t stop the tears completely but she could try to pretend everything was okay, which she did…until she saw Harold’s ghost, standing outside in the garden. He smiled at her and then disappeared into the shadows.
“Harold!” cried Charlotte, and burst into tears, tears that she knew would never stop.
She knew she would lose her job and that she might even lose her life, but she didn’t care anymore. All she wanted was Harold, and she knew now that it wasn’t wrong to want him or to grieve him, not for days but for months, for years. It didn’t make her weak. It made her human.
While she waited alone for the ministry to come and remove her, she heard someone coming in the back door. Was it them? Had they come already? Then she felt arms around her and smelled a familiar smell.
“I’m so sorry,” said Harold, as she cried in his arms. “I wanted to tell you I’d joined the rebels, but I had to convince them that you were one of us at heart.”
By ‘them’, he meant the DJ and the doctor, who were leaders of the rebellion. Smiling for real for the first time since she’d thought she’d lost her husband, Charlotte took Harold’s hand and followed him outside, into the new phase of her beautiful life.