Short Story: Chapter Four

Short Story: Chapter Four

This piece has not been edited by the ShortbreadStories team.

There’s a mother dressed in black crying all alone. She’s mourning for a son who’s never coming home. And down below her window, spinning out the hours, a peacock with its tail out spread is staring at the moon. The scene takes on a surreal edge as the tail lights of cars streaking along the inner city ring road create a hypnotic swirl. Dawn is painting a distant horizon with strokes of crimson and gold, while a cruel wind rushes in, chilling the atmosphere.

A piercing scream is heard, followed by female laughter; a woman dressed in blue turns as she bends to remove diamond earrings before a mirror reflecting an opulent room.

“Did you speak?”

So begins chapter four of a novel I am forced to place face down to answer the door. It’s a parcel for the woman at no 42, across the street. I only know her to nod to. Will I take it in? Do I have a choice? I leave it on the hall table as the dog that has woken is bouncing for attention and needs to go for a walk. The fresh air will do me good. I’m meant to be clearing out cupboards in the kitchen. The move is planned for Wednesday next week and I promised I’d sort out the stuff; at least to reduce it by a third. Some of it is ancient; I know I’ll be startled to read the sell by dates, and will wonder why I bought half of it. You watch those cookery shows on TV and think you’ll give it a go, but then surprise surprise something makes you forget. I can only blame myself.

The house has been feeling empty since the kids moved out; empty nest syndrome? Not really. They still pop round from time to time. I keep the beds made up, and there are fresh towels in the airing cupboard. The washing takes half the time, only his and mine. Sometimes I look around and there’s so much space.

It’s when I said to him. ‘We don’t need all of this – not now’.

He looked at me a bit baffled, but then nodded. I thought at the very least he’d put up a battle. It’s the way he’s been since the cancer scare. He won’t admit that it changed him, but it did, and now he goes along with almost everything. I have to be careful what I suggest.

Anyway, the estate agent woman proved quite proficient. It sold almost at once. ‘Property around here doesn’t come on the market very often’. She remarked. ‘Should we have asked more?’ I said. She smiled. We never did. A nice young couple with two children arrived in an MPV. They inspected everything, drank coffee, their children had orange squash, said how nice it was; asked about schools and neighbours. Well, I had to admit we didn’t really know our neighbours. Not for years. People died, and the incomers weren’t as friendly. Everyone keeps themselves to themselves.

The new place will suit us down to the ground. Very smart and modern. A fitted kitchen. Sockets for all kinds of devices. Smaller garden of course, and no garage, but just right for who we are today.

There’s a spare room if any of the children want to stay; or grandchildren if and when they produce. It’s a twenty minute drive to the coast. I think we’ll be comfortable there. I’m looking forward to it, but he’s very quiet. He’s been going back to places round here, reminiscing he calls it. Everything’s changed. It’s progress. Go with the flow I say. He smiles when I say it; I know he doesn’t believe in that kind of thing. He’s not a modern man. More like his Dad, and his granddad. They lived and worked all their lives in the same place. I say, it’s not like that anymore. He just nods his head.

The dog has found a scent, pulling on its lead. Some bitch in heat I expect. There’s plenty around here; did I say that out loud?

I wonder how the dog will take to its new surroundings? They say an animal can pine. I’ll have to take care not to let it run off when we get there. Miles and miles of open space round about; it will probably go off its head.

The parcel is still sitting there when I get in. I wonder about knocking, but I think she works part time. One of those catalogue companies I’ve never tried. It’s not like the old days when everyone gathered in Mrs Jenkins parlour to read her Great Universal catalogue; to order through her so she got the discount. She dressed her Emily on what the rest of the street bought. Dead by now I expect, and Emily gone sour, ran off with the scrap metal man’s son. Years ago; fancy thinking back to that.

Turn out the cupboards, black sack at the ready. The stuff you keep, and most of it pointless. It’s been like that. Him, he’s back and forwards to the dump. Emptied the shed, the garage, the spare room and the attic. I said, put some of it on E-bay. He sees no point in that kind of thing. ‘Throw it’ is his mantra.

Kids coming home from school; better get on. Onto a second black sack. The bin men won’t thank us. Better be careful, knowing its food, I don’t want rats having a midnight feast. And here, what’s this – how did that get in there? One of the kids must have put it in. It shows how long it is since I had a go at these cupboards.

I’ve made a start, and it shows. Put my feet up with a cup of tea. I wonder if no 42 is home yet. No sign of a car. I’ll just read a bit more of this novel. I said I would, it’s not the usual thing I take to, but my daughter in law said I’d like it. I try to please, and have to show willing – for the sake of the unborn grandchildren.

I didn’t think my son would choose a wife like her. She’s hard to please, and he’s easy going. Not a bit like me, or his Dad for that matter. Maybe he’s one of the milkman’s? I used to tease him by saying that. His sister believed every word; now she really is just like me. Gullible, her Dad calls it. I wouldn’t say that. Soft, my old Granny used to say. You’re soft hearted; you’ll never go far. Well, she was wrong. Next week we’ll be moving quite a distance.

The sea, he said. I’d like to be close to the sea. We’ll be close enough. I get sea sick myself; all those waves, and the rocking. It makes me feel queasy to think about it.

Where did I get up to, chapter four…..

A man’s voice called softly. She rose, languid, like a star of the silent screen. And when the peacock screamed; its plaintive voice echoed the crying of the woman beneath whose window it had come to rest. A mist was rising. Soon a thousand clocks would chime in sequence across the faceless city, as lifeless bodies rose as one to face the new born day. Phantom like she floated towards the bed where the man awaited, with only the glint in his eyes revealed. As he took her into his arms, the edge of a curved blade caught the first rays……

There’s the bell. No 42 come to collect the parcel. The driver must have left a card. She insists on unpacking the parcel just so I can give my opinion on what she’s bought. I wouldn’t wear it myself, but it suits her. Blends to her colour, as I once heard Aunt Maggie remark. She never gave a compliment unless it was backhanded. The dog likes her, licking her hand. Just when I’m wondering if I should offer a cup of tea I spot her husband coming home. I can’t see the attraction myself; I wouldn’t say it to her, watching her parade back across the street. Blow me if she didn’t leave the packaging for me to clear up. It can go into one of the black sacks. Let’s hope she doesn’t need to return the thing she bought.

My husband will be back soon for his tea. Well he can have one of the tins I’ve dug out. The date is up, but it’s tinned. It must be good for a longer time than it says. I think I read it somewhere.

Put this book aside; I can’t take a thing in. I really like my heroine’s to be predictable, and this story is paper thin. Ought to make a start on wrapping the crockery; I’ve mothers tea service and Gran’s casserole dishes. I did think about passing them on, but the face my daughter in law put on when I suggested it. She wagged her head. Well, I like the pattern even if she doesn’t. Maybe she’ll come round after she’s been married a bit longer. It’s all brand new stuff she’s filling up the house with. You’ll be paying this lot off until the end of your days, I said. She’s got a pretty face but she can give such a twitch to it when she finds something disagreeable.

It was my son delivered the message, ‘don’t call round unless you phone up first’. I knew where it came from. She’s a Madam. Anyway I said, ‘we’ll be living miles away. Of course we’ll ring. And you can visit anytime you like’. She didn’t appreciate that. My daughter of course was quite tearful when she heard about the move. She and the boyfriend are always arguing; she’s forever running home for a bit of comfort. Then she goes back; in love she calls it, like it’s a disease and she doesn’t know the cure. He’s not much to look at, but she likes him. Soft she is, gullible, like me.

The dog is really hers; we look after it. We have for years. My husband says, we ought to get rid of that old dog. He never will. Sometimes they go on these circular walks for mile after mile, past all the old places, the pits and the factories. All closed down now. No industry in this town, just unemployment and ancient memories. I say, it’s good we’re getting out. It’s time to leave the past behind. He says don’t be simple, you take it with you – who you are. I’m not so sure. I think after a couple of weeks in the new place we won’t look back, and whenever we visit we’ll say. ‘Thank God we got out when we did.’

I’m going to return this novel to my daughter in law. I don’t know what I’ll say. I can almost imagine her face when I admit I had to give up; the supercilious expression she can achieve with one twist of the lips. I used to know a girl in school who could do it with her eyes. The teachers hated her. She was always in trouble, and she never had to open her mouth.

Anyway, I should really do a bit more towards the packing. There’s the whole of upstairs untouched, and we’re moving on Wednesday next week. Somehow it doesn’t seem real, not after twenty seven years. What if we’re making a mistake? Is it too late to back out?

Chapter four; am I really going to give up so easily? I can’t let her win. If this is a contest between us, so be it. I haven’t had a rival in years; I think I may have forgotten the rules. Were there rules? She’s younger of course, and has the advantage of living with my son but I keep a few tricks up my sleeve. And he was my son first. What on earth am I thinking? It’s just a book, let it go. Bloody thing; let’s see if it can fly. Not too well.

Now the dogs staring. It’s the move of course. Stress. I’m going to make a cup of tea, and then get on. I need to become ruthless; I need to stop being soft hearted. I need to know I’m doing the right thing, or maybe I don’t need to know anything. Maybe I need to believe everything is for the best. I just wish I could convince myself it was true.

There’s the bell. No 42 wants her packaging back; it doesn’t fit. What a surprise. Would it help if I told her about Weightwatchers? It worked for me, until I put it all back on. She’s offered to help pack; two pairs of hands being better than one. Now she’s telling me all about the novel she found on the floor. Apparently it really picks up from this point on. I expect I’ll have to finish the blessed thing; though with this move it’ll be the last one I ever borrow from my daughter in law.