She had been dreaming, she could still hear the echo of Joe’s voice, still smell his maleness. She felt irritation at being awoken by the giggling coming from the far end of the ward, someone must have passed away, they always giggled when they were laying them out.
The dim nightlight, the snoring, and the muffled noises associated with the wee small hours, told her it was still the night shift. She couldn’t move her head to see the clock above the door but she fancied she could hear it ticking.
She had recently suffered a major stroke. As she lay in her hospital bed, limbs twisted and awkward, unable to move or call out, she wished fervently that she had died.
She was eighty eight years old, and no one was bothering that seriously to try to help her to get well again; if she were honest she didn’t want them to.
Before her stroke she been compos mentis, had in fact, been an intelligent woman with a certain dignity. She found her present plight made her waking hours a nightmare and she tried desperately to escape into her dreams of Joe. For now though, the muffled giggling and whispering continued.
She was thirsty, but she knew her thirst would go unslaked, there was no way for her to call to a nurse or ring her bell; she was locked tight into her broken body. After a while she heard the sound of curtains being pulled all along the ward, then those in front of her bed were drawn shut; she heard the squeak of the trolley as it was pushed toward the end of the room, more giggling, more whispering, the slapping sound of sheets being stripped off the bed and once again the squeaking trolley returning with its occupant. She envied the trolley’s passenger.
Often during the following days, she was privy to conversations not really meant for her ears; nurses and doctors alike tended to ignore her slight figure lying unresponsive in the bed nearest the nurses station. Inside her head she couldn’t help but smile at some of the things she overheard, however nothing registered on her lined and skeletal face. The conversations were a revelation, she got to know who had had sex with whom the night before, those who were gay, every piece of hot gossip she became aware of purely by default.
She was lying in Joe’s arms, laughing up into his mischievous eyes that were alight with love for her and with the happiness they had discovered so unexpectedly. He was a full decade older than her, this man she adored so completely; yet she was aware of the guilt hovering there on the periphery of her conscious mind, nudging, niggling away for her attention. She steadfastly shoved it aside, ignoring it’s accusing murmurings .
The night air caressed and kissed their bodies; naked flesh pressed against naked flesh. He had plucked a head of perfumed Lilac crushed it in his hands, scented her soft skin with it like some wild creature marking out his own territorial boundaries. His lips trailed a path, he alone decreed; his tongue lapping up the sweet nectar as it travelled its highway to the heaven they both sought so greedily.
She woke breathless from the dream, startled unable at first to identify the cause of her unease; slowly her eyes focused and she became aware of the two grey suited men who were deep into an earnest discussion, it took her a while to realise that she was the subject of their attention; she who was so used to being ignored and bypassed.
“It can’t be allowed to go on of course, she has no relatives and all the nursing homes are refusing to take her, they just don’t have the resources. It’s out of the question she stays here, I mean, she is just taking up valuable space, a state of affairs that could go on for weeks at this rate.” There came a short thoughtful pause, then the voice continued cautiously.
“Off the record Simon I really feel this is a case for withdrawing all treatment and sustenance, giving palliative care only, make her comfortable with painkilling drugs; slowly increasing the dosage until she slips quietly away.”
The words came to her quite clearly and to her it seemed to her like justice at last, she was to be executed; after all these years of living with the guilt over Lily and the children.
Joe would never have any of it though… She saw him clearly, she could feel Joe’s fingertips brush a wayward strand of hair from her eyes, whispering her name over and over, telling her it was no ones fault, Lily was deranged, had driven him away from her with her wild jealous ways; until at last he had finally sought and found love elsewhere.
She knew the truth though, the terrible truth, whichever way she looked at it she couldn’t get passed the facts. Lily had killed her children then taken her own life, because Joe had preferred other loving arms to those of a termagant, her own warm and ever open arms.
“Demented” Joe had said, well of course Lily was demented, she would have to be, to do what she had done, but if Lily had been demented, then she been obsessed; forever taunting her, telling her what a pathetic sight she was. Hinting to Lily about Joe’s love making, bragging about how crazy he was for her, how easy it would be to steal him away… It was her fault, she had driven Lily to it, she had been too eager, too ready to take Lily’s man away, to steal Joe from his children…
She felt the needle go into the thin layer of flesh on the back of her hand, felt the plaster being put in place to hold the Cannula there and finally the cold liquid as it travelled up into her vein.
Lily was up to her elbows in soap suds and her once pretty golden hair hung lank over her tired face, she kept blowing at it as if to clear her view, in the end shoving it angrily away with roughened red hands, leaving tiny soap bubbles on her forehead. She turned her wild eyes upon her and screamed “ Go on then! see if you can missy! Joe belongs to me, to our children, he would never give all that up for a silly trollop like you!”
She grinned at her, “Look at yourself Lily.. Have you looked in the mirror lately? Listen to yourself, Joe needs a real woman, someone he can talk to without her whining back at him. He needs someone to hold who doesn’t stink of baby puke.. You’ve had your turn sister dear, he’s mine now”
Joe hadn’t known about her taunts at Lily, had never heard one spiteful word leave her soft full manipulative lips, only she knew the truth…and God of course, was that why Joe had been taken from her so cruelly and so soon? Killed by the freak weather of 47.
Was that why she had had to go on living so long alone with only her memories and her guilt to torment her? Was that why now, God had decided she should die this slow and undignified death?
She came awake once more, her tongue filling her parched mouth, choking her, dimly she could see a slight figure bending over her, gradually a face slipped into focus. A pretty face with soft golden curls framing it, cherry red lips that were smiling to show a row of small perfect teeth. A sweet throaty voice crooned to her, “ Hello my pet, comfy? I’m Sister Lillian, your named nurse for today, time to rest now dear, you’ll soon be at peace.” The nurse’s pretty face seemed to shimmer and dissolve as she carefully slipped the needle into the Cannula and sent the cold liquid spurting into her slowly cooling bloodstream…
©
Copyright
VMM2006
The morning was hot and the air was redolent with the scent of pine. A squirrel scampered along the branch of a blue spruce, suddenly he leapt out of the tree and onto the fence, then craftily began eyeing the string bag of nuts I'd hung out for the tits to feed from the previous evening. His quick nervous movements made him appear clumsy, his eyes continually darting this way and that, making him seem uncomfortable to be out in the open. The buzzing of the honey bees disturbed the morning tranquillity as they busied themselves among the lavateria that bordered the bottom of the garden. Every now and then there was a flash of yellowish green of the greedy greenfinches as they swooped and squabbled over the cake crumbs on the bird table. A flash of black and white and a hefty thump sent the greenfinches fluttering in all directions and the squirrel scurried off disappearing like a phantom into the woods beyond to escape the bullying magpie. The bees droned on.
I moved from the open window and turned my attention to the pan bubbling away gently on the stove. One brown egg! Jack had loved a nice brown egg. There used to be two or three if he was extra hungry; just one now though. I could hear the ticking of the old clock in the sitting room..tick, tock, ticking, dragging the moment, stretching my nerves. Oh! come on get on with your breakfast! Anyone would think you had nothing to do! The egg was tasteless, nothing seemed to taste the same these days. I cleared away the breakfast things and filled the bowl with hot soapy water, slowly I washed and rinsed the crockery, stacking them in the rack to dry. I looked down at my hands as I dried them; they had been slim and soft and very white once. Jack had loved my hands,was always kissing them, the memory of it made me smile with pleasure. Now my skin had thickened with age and they were dotted with brown spots.
I hung towel back on the hook and took off my apron; opening the back door I made my way down the stone steps onto the lawn, it needed mowing again. I stooped to dead head a rose and the sweet heady perfume of the crushed rose petals filled my senses, as I straightened up, the warm scented earth came rushing to meet me as I lost my balance and I toppled backward. My hand shot out and clutched at the woodbine that was growing nearby, early morning dew trickled down arm. I became aware that I was looking up into a perfect summer blue sky. Gingerly I rolled onto my knees and pushed myself up, no damage done this time...
The morning passed uneventfully as I mowed the lawn, trimmed the edges and hoed the flower beds. Jack had loved his garden so much, he had kept it immaculate. I wasn't about to let him down now, dizzy spells or no dizzy spells!
I went back indoors to make my lunch of cheese on toast and a pot of strong tea; as I sat picking at my food my thoughts turned to the afternoons task ahead. I had made up my mind to sort out Jacks things and take them to the charity shop in town, there was no use keeping them. I had to be sensible about it, after all, come what may I had my memories, nothing could alter that.
There were three neat piles of clothes on the bed. The first pile consisted of Sunday best, the second was every day wear, the third was my favourite. For a moment I couldn't resist burying my face into them. I could almost see him standing there; so strong was his scent, his essence. They were the clothes he wore for gardening and odd jobs around the place, the temptation to put them all back was almost overwhelming, like an ache that that wouldn't go away. "Come on old girl, pull yourself together, get the job done and you'll feel much better" Jacks voice urged, somewhere close by, inside my head.
Later when all the things had been packed neatly into a suitcase I decided to walk a little way down the lane just to clear my head and try to overcome the melancholia that had settled over me. An afternoon walk was a habit that Jack and I had acquired since moving to the cottage after his retirement. We had enjoyed watching the change of the seasons as they came and went.. I hadn't felt much like walking since Jack had been gone. Somehow this afternoon the urge to walk was strong. This was Jack's favourite time of the year, just when the corn was beginning to ripen.
I turned off the lane into a cutting where the tractors came in and out of the field; I stood looking out over the scene before me, it was so beautiful.
Blood red poppies mingled with the golden corn, heaving and waving like a land locked sea of colour. A shimmer of afternoon heat just above the corn distorted the trees and hedges beyond. Somewhere off in the distance I could hear some children laughing and calling to one another, then a row of brown bobbing heads became visible above the corn along the edge of the field. Jack and I had longed for children; we had tried so hard for so long, then just as we had given up all hope, the miracle had happened. I became pregnant, we were so happy. I recalled Jack's face that evening when I broke the news to him. You would have thought we had won the football pools!! It hadn't seemed long after that when Timmy had been born. He was such a lovely baby, right away I could tell he was special. Year after year he would delight us with his achievements
The bobbing heads had now acquired bodies, as they turned the corner of the field their shouts and hoots of laughter became almost deafening as they ran breathless past me and out into the lane beyond.
When Tim was twenty three he had met Angela; she was so lovely no wonder he wanted to marry her before she could get away! It was such a wonderful wedding too, we were so proud.
A long time had passed since that beautiful day, Angela had made a lovely bride , a lovely daughter in law too. We couldn't have been more pleased Jack and I.
Then came Edward, sweet adorable Eddie, born just a year later he made our lives complete, time seemed to fly after that. We were always so busy, like most families I suppose; gran and grandpa always happy to baby sit. Time just flashed past, seeing him grow more and more like his father and grandfather as the years rolled by.
It came like a bolt out of the blue. The news that dreadful day almost four years ago now. Timmy my baby, Timmy, Angela, lovely Angie, even sweet little Eddie.
DEAD all dead. An accident they called it at the inquest. A tragic accident.
They had been on their way to Sheffield, taking Eddie back to university;
they had just spent two weeks holidaying in Greece, but Eddie had wanted to hurry back to Sheffield to be with a girl he met just before his holiday. Tim and Angie were to spend a few days with us before going home, then on the motorway the pile up. We had been devastated.
Jack had never been the same after that, all his joy had gone.
I suddenly became aware that the breeze had dropped , that a certain heaviness pervaded the atmosphere, the kind of feeling you get when a storm is brewing.
I looked up and saw storm clouds gathering in the distance. I remembered that I was supposed to be taking Jack's clothes to the charity shop in town. I decided to leave them until tomorrow, perhaps I would make a day of it and treat myself to lunch somewhere fancy or even see a film; anything to escape this tangle of self pity I seemed to be caught in at the moment.
The air grew heavier as I neared the cottage, I felt trickles of perspiration running down my face, some of it had found it's way into my eyes and they stung dreadfully. My head was swimming and my breath was coming in short gasps, my vision was blurring, I thought I saw movement under the arbour of climbing jasmine Jack had made five years before. Yes, there it was again. I rubbed my eyes trying to clear my vision. My heart was thudding loudly as I ran toward the gate, my vision cleared and the garden was bathed in a golden light. There in the light stood all my dear ones. Jack, Tim, Angie, and sweet Eddie, waiting for me. Seeing them took my breath away; a bubble of joyous laughter rose in my throat. I moved forward happily. Eager to join them in the light...
The light didn't last, not the golden light, the light I lusted after. The light that returned after a darkness that seemed to have descended suddenly was a cold stark light, that revealed strange emotionless faces.
Harsh voices spoke in staccato whispers. I tried to speak, I tied to ask" where am I?" all I could manage was a low gutteral sound followed by a pathetic whimper.
I tried to move, but could not. It seemed the only abilities I had left were sight, hearing and thought. I was trapped.
It dawned on me slowly that I had suffered a stroke, a fate worse than death, a slow miserable journey I am forced to make alone. I look back at that glimpse of my darlings standing in the beautiful golden effulgence and all I can do is wait and pray for that happy day, when this prison I once called my body releases my soul to fly free to re-join them in that longed for state.
©
copyright
VMM 2005
If anyone had offered old Tilley Edwards a million pounds to explain the
compulsion to put on her hat and coat and catch a bus into town that morning
she would have been unable to do so. She just knew that after a strange
restless night, she had to obey the feelings that were guiding her. Now here
she was standing in the high street staring through the window of a second
hand shop in gob smacked surprise at a piano!
The piano in question had belonged to Tilley’s grandmother! She had
recognised it at once. The lid of the piano was open and there, slap bang in
the middle of the underside of the lid was scratched the initials a.m. Tilley
found her self smiling in remembrance of the day it had happened, a.m. were
the initials of her younger brother, Albert Morris. Poor Bertie had got such
a hiding from grandpa that day when he saw what he had done; grandpa had
given the piano to grandma as a wedding gift, and Bertie had spoiled it.
Grandma used to let Tilley play the piano, because it was said that
Tilley had an ear for music. After a while with grandma's tuition and her own
determination Tilley became quite a good little pianist.
Now, standing there seeing it again after all these years, Tilley knew
she must have it. The stirrings of long forgotten feelings for the joy of
music and laughter began to bubble up inside of her, she laughed out loud
and hardly recognised herself, it had been so long since she'd had occasion
to laugh out loud, almost a life time.
Buying the piano and making the arrangement for the delivery didn't take
Tilley long, so before going home she went into the small cafe further along
the high street. She self-consciously sat at an empty table to wait for the
waitress to come and take her order.
She was determined to ignore the sound of Wally's scathing voice in her head
telling her not to be so bloody daft and get on home where you belong woman,
you've already wasted good money on damn silly nonsense once this morning,
did she think money grew on trees!! Tilley shook her head impatiently, "go
away you stingy old bugger, your dead, I won't let you make me miserable any
more," she told him, silently.
As Tilley slowly ate her lunch her mind went back over all the wasted
years, miserable years as it turned out. She had met Walter Edwards when she first went to work for Andersons Bros' Auctioneers of Livestock. He had been a handsome devil then, and while they were courting, quite the charming gent' but the minute the wedding was over, off came the mask.
He took her to live with him and his mother on his dairy farm and she had quite happily given up her job to become a farmer's wife, what she hadn't bargained for was becoming a farmer's slave!
She quickly learned that Wally and his mother were skinflints and neither
of them had a sense of humour, music was frowned upon and thought of as an unnecessary waste of time. Tilley’s days became a blur of drudgery and
loneliness, even Walter's love making was a mockery; it was a need he
satisfied, just as eating and sleeping were needs. There was no tenderness,
no warmth. As the years went by Tilley lost several babies early in
pregnancy which elicited more scorn from Walter and his mother, always
ready to let her know how useless they thought her. She learned to keep her
own council but as time went on all the joy in living was gradually leeched
out of her soul. After Wally's mother died, she imagined things might
improve for her , perhaps Wally would come to depend on her for
companionship, that with time he would mellow, but he got worse; the older
he got the more bitter he grew. Tilley’s life became even more unbearable,
then a month ago he had had a stroke and died shortly afterwards.
At first it was if Tilley’s mind had shut down. After the funeral it was
like she was functioning on auto pilot, nothing much was going on in her
head. Slowly though, over the last day or two a strange change had taken
place; all the misery of the past years was being released from her soul,
like the air escaping from a balloon, culminating with the moment she had
stood in front of the shop window in the high street, looking with wonder at
her grandmother's piano.
The piano was duly delivered the next day, Tilley had been up with the
lark and had cleared a space in her sitting room for the piano to take pride
of place. After the delivery men had gone she set about polishing the piano
making it shine the way she had always remembered, lovingly admiring the
beautiful patina. She ran her finger over the key board and was disappointed
to find that it needed tuning, "never mind" the said out loud, "I'll just
have to spend some more of the stingy old bastards money and get a tuner in".
She sat back onto the sofa and went into a paroxysm of laughter until the
tears ran down her cheeks.. She was feeling happier than she could remember for many a year.
That night Tilley went to bed feeling as if she was a young girl again;
lying in the darkness she rejoiced in the wonderful knowledge that she was
free for the rest of her life. She fell into a dreamless sleep.
It was cold and the music was getting louder and louder. Tilley awoke,
suddenly afraid, wondering what the music was and where it was coming from;
she sat up in her bed and with trembling fingers turned on the bedside
lamp, the music had swelled to a deafening crescendo then stopped abruptly,
the air grew colder still. Tilley became even more afraid, who had been
playing the piano and for God's sake, why? She cautiously got out of bed and
silently made her way down the stairs dreading what she might see. Slowly
she pushed open the sitting room door and nervously peered in, she could see
no one in the room but there was a strange luminescent quality to the
darkness and a feeling that she was being watched. She stepped warily into
the room, immediately it felt as if she was being held softly in loving
arms, all Tilley’s fear and loneliness disappeared. Gently she felt as if she
was being guided to the piano, she sank effortlessly down onto the stool and
put her fingers on the keys and started to play an old music hall song her
grandmother had taught her all those years ago. Deep in the back of her mind
she marvelled that the piano that was so badly out of tune this morning was
now at perfect pitch... from somewhere across the years she heard a familiar
sweet voice...
“Roll out the barrel,”... there in the reflection of the polished piano front
she saw the face of her beloved grandmother. Tilley Smiled, Grandma winked.
©
copyright
VMM 2004