This Is Midnight: Stories

by Bernard Taylor

  ‘Mommy, don’t! I don’t like it when you drive too fast!’

  ‘Shut up! Will you shut up.’ Sarah felt that her nerves might snap. The traffic, Laurie’s constant whining, the time, the seconds ticking away – it was all too much to cope with, she thought. With an effort she forced herself to remain calm, and consciously she softened her tone. ‘Don’t worry, baby. You’ll be okay. Mommy knows just what she’s doing.’ Her tone was desperately sweet. ‘You just be a good girl. We’ll soon be home.’

  Reaching the junction, Sarah turned the wheel to the right. Not far to go now. She said brightly, smiling, ‘I bought ice cream. Your favourite. Peach. How about that? When we get in you can have peach ice cream. Doesn’t that sound good?’

  Laurie nodded, smiling. ‘Can I have raspberry syrup on it too, please? Oh, Mommy, can I?’

  ‘Yes, sweetie, if you like.’

  ‘You promise?’

  ‘I promise. That’ll be real nice. Right?’

  ‘Oh, yes!’

  ‘I’ll tell you what, honey. When we get back you can get us both a dish of ice cream with raspberry syrup, and we can eat while we watch the TV, huh? Doesn’t that sound yummy?’

  Turning onto Camden Avenue, Sarah peered ahead for a sight of the TV repairman. She couldn’t have missed him. They had to be in time.

  Yes, there was his van. And there he was, just about to get in.

  Foot harder still on the accelerator, Sarah punched the horn – a long, ear-splitting blast, then watched, unbelievably relieved as the man stopped and looked towards her car. She waved to him and he waved back in acknowledgement and stood there waiting. With rubber protesting on the road surface she brought the car to a screeching halt.

  ‘Oh, my God!’ Dramatically clutching her ample breast she heaved her bulk from the driver’s seat. Gasping, she confronted the young man. ‘I thought we’d never get here in time!’ She sounded breathless, and the sweat of her exertion and anxiety showed clearly beneath her armpit, darkening the blue of her tight-fitting dress. She ran a hand, distraught, through her bleached, faded hair. ‘You can’t imagine the trouble I’ve had getting back,’ she said. ‘That goddamn store! It’s just impossible.’

  ‘Looks like it’s your lucky day,’ the man said. ‘You made it just in time.’ He looked Italian, she vaguely thought. Good-looking, but a bit on the lean side.

  ‘Good. Come on.’ Snatching the keys from the ignition, she slammed the door shut. From inside the car Laurie cried out in momentary panic and alarm.

  ‘Mommy! Mommy!’

  ‘Oh, my God!’ Sarah grinned at the young man. ‘I’m forgetting my own kid! I don’t know what I’m doing anymore!’ She laughed raucously. ‘Okay, baby, out you come.’

  When Laurie was outside Sarah turned back to the man. ‘Let’s get you started first, then I’ll come back for my groceries.’

  She led the way up the garden path and into the house. In the lounge the man set down his tool box and switched on the TV set. ‘What’s the trouble exactly?’ he asked.

  ‘The darn picture’s so bad.’ Sarah demonstrated with her hands. ‘It seems to shake all the time. It’s hopeless.’ She waited until the faulty image appeared then pointed, saying, ‘There! You see what I mean?’

  The man adjusted the position of the set and began to work with a screwdriver. Near his shoulder Sarah hovered, her anxiety showing now in small distracted movements of her red-tinted finger-nails. ‘Can you fix it?’ she asked. He nodded. ‘I guess so.’

  ‘You guess so. Don’t you know?’

  He nodded again. ‘Yeh, I can fix it okay.’

  A pause, and Sarah asked:

  ‘Like soon? I mean I want to watch a programme. “This is Our Life”.’ She shrugged, half apologetically. ‘I’ve been following it. It’s my favourite. And it left off yesterday at such an exciting part. There’s this young Doctor Brett whose wife is pregnant, and he’s waiting for her in his office when this patient of his comes in. Blonde. You know, a real troublemaker, you could tell right off. And she just grabs him. Just like that. And I mean, she’s his patient, for God’s sake. And there she is with her arms all wrapped around him when the door opens and this other doctor stands there. Mattison his name is. He’s an older guy, nice, understanding, but you can see what he thinks . . .’

  The mechanic grunted, not listening. Sarah went on,

  ‘Well, you gotta admit, it looks pretty bad for Doctor Brett. I mean, he hadn’t led her on or anything like that. She just went for him.’ She shook her head. ‘Yeh, it looks pretty bad for him.’

  The man nodded, concentrating on his work.

  ‘The programme begins in about seven or eight minutes,’ Sarah said, and thought, Jesus, he’s taking his time – the seconds ticking away, and he’s acting like time didn’t matter. She waited a moment longer, hovering aimlessly, then, turning to Laurie who was bouncing on the sofa cushions, said: ‘Come on, honey. Come help me get the groceries from the car.’

  As Laurie trotted out obediently behind her mother the TV mechanic shook his head with relief. These dames!

  Back in the kitchen Sarah and Laurie put down the bags of groceries on the counter. Hurriedly, Sarah sorted out the things for the freezer, put them away, then made her way into the lounge again. The man looked up as she entered.

  ‘That should just about do it,’ he said. ‘It only needed a slight adjustment.’

  The picture now was steady, clear. Sarah moved forward and flicked the switch to the channel she wanted. ‘I don’t understand these things,’ she said smiling. ‘I just think you guys are so clever. It beats me.’ She looked at her watch. Two minutes to go before the programme started. Shooing Laurie out of the way, she took her cheque-book from her purse and made out a cheque in payment of the bill the man presented to her. In seconds he was moving to the door.

  ‘You shouldn’t have any trouble,’ he said. ‘But if you do just give a call.’

  ‘Yeh, sure, sure. Thanks a lot.’ Sarah was hardly listening, most of her attention directed toward the flickering screen. Vaguely then she became aware that he had left the house and was walking away down the path. With a sigh of relief she kicked off her shoes and sank back into her chair facing the set. Seeing the sharp, perfect picture before her, she felt she could breathe again, relax. With the most exquisite sensation, she felt the tension just drain away.

  As she tucked her feet up under her she became aware of Laurie at her elbow.

  She gave a little sigh. ‘Darling, why don’t you go out and play for a while?’ She didn’t look at her daughter. ‘Just while Mommy watches her programme . . .’ At the moment the afternoon movie was just ending. Next would come a bunch of commercials and then her show. She couldn’t wait to see how Doctor Brett was going to get out of the spot he was in . . . ‘Go on, honey,’ she prompted Laurie.

  ‘You said we could have ice cream . . .’

  ‘Oh, I forgot!’ My God, Sarah thought, these kids don’t let you forget anything. ‘Tell you what, sweetie – ’ She turned a wide, empty smile in Laurie’s general direction. ‘Why don’t you go into the kitchen and help your Mommy, yes? All the rest of the groceries – why don’t you unpack them for Mommy and store them away? You know which ones go in the refrigerator, don’t you?’

  ‘The cold ones.’

  ‘All the cold ones, yes. That’s a smart little cookie.’ (The commercials were starting now) She saw Laurie smiling, proud of herself. ‘You think you can manage that?’

  ‘Of course I can.’

  ‘There’s a good girl.’ Sarah lit a cigarette and flicked out the match with a chewed nail. ‘So – off you go, then, sweetie.’

  Laurie started off, stopped. ‘And can I have some ice cream, Mommy?’

  Another commercial was just ending. ‘What? Oh, it’s in a block, darling. I can’t get up just now. Can’t you leave it till Mommy’s programme
is over?’

  ‘But that’ll be ages, and you promised.’

  Sarah fought her rising temper, but even so the hardness crept into her voice, giving it that level, metallic edge that Laurie so hated to hear.

  ‘I’ll tell you what you do, sweetie,’ Sarah said evenly. ‘If you want it so badly you just go and get it yourself. You open the pack, cut off a slice, wrap the ice cream up again and put it back in the freezer. You got all that?’

  ‘Yes, Mommy. Okay.’ Laurie’s little voice was docile. She started out again. At the door she turned and asked, ‘And shall I get the syrup too?’

  ‘Of course! If you want it!’ Sarah snapped the words out. ‘Now go on. Get out, for Christ’s sake! Stop bugging me and leave me in peace!’

  Her lower lip trembling slightly, Laurie nodded obediently. ‘Yes, Mommy . . .’ On tiptoe she hurried out of the room.

  Left alone again, Sarah sighed with satisfaction and settled back once more. The programme was just about to start. She licked her lips and drew on her cigarette.

  “This is Our Life” had been running for six years now, and Sarah had followed its involved plotting since its very beginning. Like many popular soap operas it covered the careers of a group of people, telling of their hopes, their fears, their lives and their deaths. Sarah felt that she knew each character. To her – as to many others – the people in the serial were real people, people who had no connection with the actors – the men and women – who portrayed them.

  Now the blonde patient – oh, you could see what kind she was! – stood with her arms around Doctor Brett – just the way the last episode had ended, and there, standing shocked in the open doorway, the figure of the older man, Doctor Mattison. ‘Oh, God,’ Sarah said aloud, her hand to her mouth. ‘Oh, my God . . . that poor man.’

  In the kitchen Laurie was busy emptying the grocery bags. Very neatly, very carefully she unloaded the tins, bottles and packages. When she could reach the right shelf she stacked items neatly upon it; otherwise she placed them side by side on the counter before her.

  The refrigerator door was heavy, but she managed it, and from the deep-freeze she took the block of peach ice cream and fumbled with the wrapping. It tore. Never mind, she thought, it wasn’t a big tear. And there, at last, it was open, revealing a large pale pink block of luscious, tempting ice cream.

  Moving the kitchen stool, she climbed upon it and took down a shallow glass dish. Then, taking a knife from the kitchen drawer she carefully sliced off a wedge of ice cream and slid it onto the dish. Afterwards, equally carefully, she rewrapped the ice cream block and replaced it in the deepfreeze. Mommy would be pleased with her, she was sure. All that was needed now was the raspberry syrup and the treat would be complete. Pursing her lips, she looked around. Where was the raspberry syrup kept?

  On the screen in the lounge Doctor Mattison was looking gravely into the young, troubled, handsome face of Doctor Brett. The sexy blonde patient was nowhere in sight.

  ‘You are aware of the seriousness of this . . . ?’ asked Mattison.

  ‘You don’t understand,’ the younger man said. ‘It’s not the way it looks at all . . .’

  The next voice that Sarah heard was Laurie’s, closer now as she called from the open doorway.

  ‘Mommy, I can’t find the raspberry syrup.’

  Sarah flapped a hand, urging her to be silent. Laurie closed her mouth, waited. But no further sign was coming from her mother. Laurie tried again.

  ‘Mommy, I can’t find it. The raspberry syrup.’ Sarah turned on her so suddenly that Laurie visibly jumped.

  ‘Oh, for Christ’s sake! What’s wrong with you!? Can’t you ever leave me in peace! What is it now?’

  Laurie drew a deep breath. ‘The s-syrup . . . the ras-raspberry syrup,’ she stammered, trying to control her quivering lip.

  ‘It’s on the shelf above the refrigerator. Now leave me alone!’ Sarah switched her attention back to Doctor Brett.

  In the kitchen again Laurie climbed onto the stool, from there onto the counter, and then onto the refrigerator. Reaching up she opened the cupboard door. Right there, just as Mommy had said, was the bottle of raspberry syrup. Taking it carefully in her hand, she placed it on the counter and then climbed back down to the floor. It was done. She gave a little sigh of happiness and, taking up the bottle again, moved to take off the cap. It wouldn’t budge.

  Gripping it with all her strength, she tried again. No good. ‘Golly gee!’ Laurie breathed softly and then, loudly, she called:

  ‘Mommy . . .’

  After the call Laurie waited. And waited. No answer came from the lounge. The only sound she could hear was that of the music and the voices from the TV set. She called again.

  ‘M . . . o . . . m . . . m . . . y . . . !’

  Nothing.

  The peach ice cream was beginning to melt. Laurie made another attempt to unscrew the bottle top. It was hopeless. After hesitating for the briefest moment she made up her mind and, carrying the bottle, hurried into the lounge.

  ‘Mommy – ’

  Sarah stubbed out her cigarette, her eyes never leaving the screen before her. She tried to close her ears to the persistent sound of Laurie’s voice, to concentrate only on the fact that Brett’s young, pretty, pregnant wife had just fallen down a flight of steps and now, unknown to her husband, was in danger of losing their unborn child.

  ‘Mommy.’

  The voice was there again. Sarah ignored it.

  ‘Mommy.’

  Sarah took a deep breath, her lips in a thin red line.

  ‘Mommy, I can’t get the top off.’ Laurie stretched out her hand, holding up the bottle. Sarah ignored it, studiously. There was a long pause, then: ‘The raspberry syrup . . .’ Laurie ventured. Another pause, filled only by the voices from the screen. ‘I can’t open it, Mommy . . .’

  Sarah whirled. First she slapped hard at the arm holding out the bottle, then she reached out and grabbed Laurie by the shoulders. She shook her. Hard. Once. Twice. She almost spat the words into the child’s face.

  ‘Then – go – with – out!’

  With the words Sarah turned the child so that she faced the door. She gave her a push.

  ‘Now get out! OUT! I swear that if you disturb me once more I’ll . . .’ Her words tailed off in impotent fury and Laurie, the bottle clutched in her trembling hands, scuttled back to the kitchen and the peach ice cream.

  It was melting now. Its nice square shape was just dissolving away. Chewing on her lower lip she tried again to unscrew the cap. Still no good. With her tiny hands and weak grip she would never manage it.

  Opening a drawer she surveyed the rows of kitchen tools. At last she chose a longish pointed object, lifted it out and firmly closed the drawer.

  Holding the bottle tight in her left hand she rested it on the counter top. With her right hand she inserted the point of the tool underneath the lip of the bottle cap. And pushed. The next second the tool and the bottle had slipped from her grasp and fallen with a clatter into the sink. Laurie breathed a long drawn out sigh of frustration and stretched up, reaching as far as she could into the well. It was no good. Her reach was not long enough. She sighed again. Pulling the stool closer she climbed up, via the rungs, onto the counter top. Sitting there, perched up, it was an easy matter to retrieve the bottle and her improvised would-be opener. This time she held both objects much more firmly. Once more she carefully inserted the point, and again she pushed.

  Nothing happened.

  She pushed again. Harder still.

  And suddenly there was movement. Sudden, terrifying movement as the tool slipped from the metal cap, skidded off the glass and gouged deep into the soft flesh of her wrist. Blood spurted, splattering her arm, splattering the countertop and the wall, splattering the melting pink peach ice cream. Laurie cried out in horror, pain and terror, ‘Mommy! Mommy! Oh! Mommy!
’

  In the lounge Sarah tried to ignore her daughter’s cries. Am I never to get any peace? she asked herself. Is it too much to be allowed, just for one hour a day, to relax? to watch one little TV programme without constant interruptions?

  On the screen before her young Doctor Brett was still being confronted by the older man while, just yards away his wife lay unconscious, an anxious nurse leaning over her. For God’s sake do something! Sarah pleaded silently with her. Do something! Don’t just stand there! Then intruding on her concentration came Laurie’s voice again, pleading, shattering the mood.

  ‘Mommy!!! Please! HELP ME!’

  Sarah’s eyes remained focused on the picture as she yelled out:

  ‘I’m warning you, Laurie! I’m warning you!’

  The eyes of pretty young Mrs Brett pleaded with the nurse to help her. Her lips moved; it was obvious she was trying to say something. A slight sound came. Sarah leaned closer to the set. Mrs Brett’s lips, pale, quivering, opened again, fluttering, nervous. The sound that came was Laurie’s voice.

  ‘MOMMY! YOU MUST HELP ME! PLEASE, MOMMY!’

  Whatever young Mrs Brett had said, Sarah had missed it. And now the scene was changing again, jerking into the commercial break. Damn! Without a word she got up and walked from the room to the kitchen. There, without even glancing inside, she reached out for the door-knob, and with a swing that shook the house, slammed the door on Laurie’s moans.

  ‘Yell as much as you like!’ Sarah shouted bitterly. ‘I’m determined to watch this programme through to the end. So yell away. It won’t do you a goddamn bit of good!’

  She closed the lounge door as well, then, hurrying, back to her chair lit another cigarette and waited for the commercial break to pass.

  Seeing the door slam on her, Laurie scrabbled to the edge of the counter. She was unaware of it, but the cries came from her throat like the blood from the artery in her wrist – in little short, regular bursts. She tried not to look at the gash, but it hurt so, and the blood just wouldn’t stop coming from it.