Anyway, that was then and times have changed. I still can’t explain how music brought us together, but I know what’s going to drive us apart now, three years down the line. He wants to have children. So do I, but not his children. There, I’ve said it and it doesn’t sound so bad.
Last Saturday, he was recording. The room was crammed with his equipment. I was sitting in the corner, keeping a low profile. Russell was in a world of his own as he mixed his set for the evening’s gig. After a while, I realised he’d stopped and turned everything off. I looked up. He had this strange expression on his face.
“What’s up?”
“It’s time, babe. I’ve decided.” Now he looked excited. “We should have a baby.” That was it – no preamble, no proposal and, worse still no words of love or commitment.
“You’ve decided?” I put my book down. “Do I even get a say in this?”
The beginning of the end. We had a long ‘discussion’. (That’s his word; I’d have said ‘row’.) Maybe I was wrong, who knows? I wanted him to convince me – but certain words were missing from his arguments in favour of parenthood: words I needed to hear. I didn’t get to hear his ‘set’. He went to the gig alone.
Tuesday afternoon and we still haven’t spoken. I’m waiting for him to tell me to leave. I can’t have a child with a man who has never said he loves me and he won’t want me to stay around while his biological clock keeps ticking away.
Sitting at the kitchen table, as evening falls, I hear him in the living room. He’s shuffling through the CDs. Now I’m to be punished with death by drum and bass. I pick up the suitcase and open the sliding door. He looks at me and points the remote at the hi-fi. As I cross the room, he bars my way.
“Don’t leave, Doll. I can’t live without you.” He moves to kiss me but I have to pause. I’m listening to John Denver singing ‘Annie’s Song’, in a drum and bass remix. I drop my smile and as we kiss, I’m thinking how surprising it is that some things sound awful in theory. So why do they work?
28. Per Ardua ad Astra
The darkness enfolds me and I take comfort in its embrace. It’s warmer than I expected and I relax a little as my eyes begin to focus in the gloom. I’m in a strange room. Moonlight steals through the net curtains, casting a puddle of silver light on the polished wooden floor.
Blacker against the darkness, I can make out the shapes of a wardrobe, a dressing table and a single bed. It is the outline of the bed’s occupant that draws my eyes as she sleeps, as yet unaware of my presence. I move a little closer and the floorboards creak beneath my feet. In the bed, the sleeper stirs. She rolls over, sighs and sleeps again. I allow myself to exhale. I don’t want to wake her yet. I need to collect my thoughts, to regain contact with reality, but I am so very tired and my leg is hurting.
Near the window, a rocking chair catches the moonlight. I accept its invitation and sit down. I remove my helmet and goggles at last and run my hands through my hair. It feels greasy and I wonder when I’ll be able to wash it. I smile, remembering how they used to call us the
‘Brylcreem’ boys in the old days.
The war had kept us apart a lot. Well, that’s the nature of war isn’t it? She was the loveliest sight I had ever seen, not pretty in a conventional sense, but radiating laughter and inner beauty. I loved her from the moment I laid eyes on her. It took her a little longer to fall for me but she did, I’m happy to say.
Home on leave for the weekend, I met her outside the armaments factory where she worked, doing her bit for the war effort. She stroked the pilot’s wings that I’d so recently gained and had hastily stitched above my left breast pocket.
“Don’t you look the part? I’m so proud of you.” We kissed and I was lost in the scent of her hair and the warmth of her skin. Then we walked to her mother’s home, picking our way through the debris of the previous week’s air raids.
Sunday evening came too quickly and there were tears as we waited at the station for the train that would take me back to the squadron. She removed her silk scarf and tucked it into the pocket of my tunic.
“To remember me,” she whispered as she reached up to kiss me.
“As if I could forget,” I returned her kiss, and in the distance we heard the rumble of the approaching train. On impulse, I tugged at the wings on my chest and they came off easily. I pressed them into her hand.
“Keep these safe for me. You can sew them on properly when I come home.”
I boarded the train and we waved as it pulled out, neither of us knowing that this was to be our last goodbye.
She’s stirring again, I’ll have to make a decision soon. I can’t just sit here all night.
The moonlight has shifted while I was reminiscing and now it falls on her face, still as young and fresh as ever. I’m standing over her now, willing her to wake up and see me.
So many years have passed, how can she still look so young? It’s as if she’s been frozen in time, plucked from my memory and placed before me. Perhaps she isn’t real; perhaps none of this is real. I don’t even know how I came to be here tonight. I can only remember longing to see her once more.
She opens her eyes and looks at me. The recognition is instant and she registers no surprise. “Tom, you’re here at last.”
“You knew I was coming?” My voice is shaking. The arthritis in my knee is throbbing again. She doesn’t reply but sits up and pats the bed, inviting me to sit beside her.
“Does your leg hurt very badly? It will stop soon.” She speaks with authority. I believe her. She kisses my cheek. “I’ve been waiting for you. We’ll be together always now.”
I can’t pretend to understand what’s happening and she senses my confusion. I can’t speak; I don’t know what to say. I just know that I’ve always loved her. She places her right hand on my cheek and I remember the letter.
Dear Tom,
It breaks my heart to tell you this, but Laura was killed in the air raid last Thursday …
I couldn’t continue. It was weeks before I could read the rest of it. Laura’s mother was distraught and I was devastated. The years that have passed since then did little to ease the heartache. I never loved again. I never married; I just grew old and tired dreaming of my lost love all the time and now, she is here and nothing has changed.
I am still speechless. She looks at me tenderly.
“It’s time, Tom. Your body is dying and your spirit is returning to me. There’s nothing to fear.”
“How did you know?” My pain and confusion are easing fast, replaced by joy.
“I knew you’d come. I had your promise.” She held out her left hand, opening it slowly to reveal the keepsake I had given her – my wings. “They’ve been with me always.”
As I finally take her in my arms, I can hear the steady beep of the monitor change to a solid high-pitched squeal. The hospital fades away and my love and I are reunited for eternity.
29. Three’s a Crowd
“Can I do this?” Lucy took the spare key that Marc kept under the plant pot and let herself in.
She made her way straight to the bedroom. The bedside clock showed six-fifteen. She had about an hour before he would be in from work. Working together at the hospital meant that it had been easy to find out what shift he was on. Being mates, he would have told her anyway, but this was to be a surprise and she hadn’t wanted to spoil it by alerting him. It had been safer to check the rota.
The plastic carrier bag she had brought with her lay on the floor, and she picked it up now and examined its contents. Removing the labels from the white lace bra and panties, she changed into them. She loved the feel of the new lingerie. Shoving her clothes into the bag and stowing it under the bed she slipped under the duvet and lay back knowing that in a matter of minutes she would be giving her best friend the surprise of his life.
She couldn’t quite remember when her feelings for Marc had changed. She felt a little guilty about not confiding in Linda. They had been friends for ages, all three of them, working a
nd socialising together. Things might be different after tonight but there was no reason why they couldn’t all still be friends. It’s not as if she and Marc would be running away and leaving Linda to her own devices. They’d just carry on as before, but every now and again they would have a little ‘alone time’, like tonight. She shivered in delicious anticipation and closed her eyes, just for a minute or two.
The sound of laughter in the living room pulled her from her reverie, and glancing at the clock she realised that she had been asleep for half an hour. Marc was home, but he was obviously not alone. Lucy crept out of bed and listened at the door.
“I’m intrigued.” Marc was still laughing. “Where on earth did you get that idea?”
His companion didn’t reply. “Well, you were wrong, anyway. Let’s just leave it at that, shall we?”
Lucy strained to hear what was going on, but the voices sounded muffled now and she guessed that they had moved to the kitchen. Turning the handle slowly, she managed to open the door slightly. She could hear the rattle of cups, and she could smell the coffee. Twitching with curiosity and frustration, she looked around trying to decide what to do. Surely, the guest wouldn’t stay long? Marc never had visitors. His social life revolved around Lucy, Linda and the hospital’s social club. He’d never spoken of any family or even mentioned any other friends.
They were back in the living room, but they weren’t talking. Pushing the door a little wider, Lucy peered through the crack. She could see the back of Marc’s head and his left arm stretched out along the top of the sofa. She couldn’t see his companion at all, but she heard the distinctly feminine giggles emerging from somewhere in close proximity to him. She watched as his shoulder stiffened and he let out a deep sigh.
“Hey, not so fast, love,” he gasped. “We’ve got all evening.” He sank down out of sight and there was no further conversation.
Lucy pulled back from the door; a cold shiver ran down her spine as she realised her position. Her only thought now was escape, but that was going to prove very difficult. The bedroom opened onto the living room, and the front door was on the opposite side of the room. She was stuck, unless she dared to try to sneak past the couple on the sofa. Whatever she did, she would have to get dressed first. She started to move towards the bed when she heard Marc’s voice again.
“I’ve got to take a shower. I won’t be long.” He was coming this way. Lucy dived under the bed. This evening was rapidly turning into a total disaster. Trying not to fidget or breathe too loudly, she lay in the dark and dusty space with her face resting on the plastic bag that contained her clothes and the memory of her romantic plans. How could she have been so stupid? Silent tears and perspiration made the bag stick to her skin but she couldn’t risk moving. She could see Marc’s reflection as he undressed. Even now, the sight of him in his black Calvin Klein boxers was enough to take away what little breath she had left. She watched immobilised as he removed his underwear and headed for the bathroom, giving her a provocative view of his firm buttocks. She risked a sigh as she heard the water running and wondered again about escaping, but the bedroom door opened and Marc’s guest came in.
Lucy’s heart lurched as she watched, unable to escape or look away. The woman slipped out of her uniform and placed it on a chair. She took a brush from her handbag and moved to the mirror to do her hair. Lucy could see immediately that her rival had chosen the same lingerie for this seduction as she had, but her white lace was till pristine, while Lucy’s was soiled with dust and sweat and embarrassment. How much longer would she have to endure this? She knew it was her own fault. She had carried her fantasy too far. She finally managed to close her eyes and shut out the images that were sure to follow. If only she could have closed her ears to block the sounds.
It was eight-thirty when she slid out of her hiding place, creeping across the room clutching her carrier bag. Neither of the bed’s occupants stirred as she slipped out of the room and dressed before letting herself out.
As she got home, she received a text message:
‘Coming down the club.
Linda and I will be there in half an hour. M’
About the author
As well as poetry and short fiction in a variety of genres, LILIAN KENDRICK writes ‘hen-lit’ - romantic fiction for women of a certain age.
Her first novel ‘Sister, Daughter, Mother, Wife’ was originally published in 2010 and some of her poetry was included in an international collaborative anthology ‘Poeticising Chat’ in 2011. (Both titles are available on Amazon.)
A former head of Modern Languages in an inner-city school, Lilian now works part-time as a supply teacher in her home town of Birmingham, England. She also freelances as an editor and translator.
Author Website:
http://www.verse-artiste.weebly.com
Editing Website:
http://www.liliankendrick.weebly.com
Contact from readers is always welcome at:
[email protected]
To readers everywhere, without whom writers are just voices crying in the wilderness.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I wish to thank all the ‘Friday Flashers’ on Authonomy.com with whom I have had a great deal of fun in our weekly competitions and for whom many of these stories were created.
A special word of thanks to author Adam Sifre – I didn’t know what Flash Fiction was until I made his acquaintance.
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