Fourteen Days

by Steven Jenkins

  After a minute or so he got back up onto his feet, wary. The sensation had passed. So he walked over to the DVD player, popped the disc in, and sat to watch the movie.

  Richard had fallen asleep during the movie. He woke at 1:30 p.m., unable to stop the thought that it was lunchtime at the office, reminding him he was hungry. He headed back into the kitchen to make something to eat. After throwing a frozen pizza in the oven, he went back into the living room where he noticed the ironing board still out. He wrapped the cord around the iron, folded the ironing board, almost jamming his fingers in the process, and placed both back into the cupboard. His stomach rumbled, so he checked the time on his cell phone. Twenty-minutes before it’s ready. Got to do something productive.

  Walking back out into the hallway, he opened the door under the stairs. He pulled out the small vacuum cleaner, plugged it in, and began to vacuum the wooden floor. With only half the floor completed, he switched off the vacuum cleaner, dropped the long nozzle, and entered the kitchen to check how his pizza was doing. It was still very much frozen. Using a tea towel, he turned the pizza, and then closed the oven door.

  He glanced at the hallway, and at the vacuum dropped at the center.

  God, he was bored.

  As the day went on, Richard’s boredom grew.

  He had spent most of it watching TV, eating, and listening to music. He had attempted to surf the Internet, only to discover the laptop and modem missing. He shuddered at the sight of the neat dust mark where the computer once rested. At first he thought it had been stolen—but then he remembered the astuteness his wife possessed.

  How much stress could one computer cause him? At the most he would check his e-mails and see if the cursed website was up and running. Nothing more. Ten minutes. Tops. Well, maybe an extra five to look at porn. But stressful? No chance. Removing it from his life was far more taxing.

  His cell phone read 4:30 p.m. With reluctance, he got up from the couch, picked up his dishes and cups, and returned to the kitchen. Placing them into the sink, he covered them in soap and started to run the hot water. Despite Nicky’s warnings to relax, he didn’t want her to come home to a messy house, so he scrubbed the dishes, cups, and cutlery as fast as possible, aware that she was due home around 5:00 p.m.

  After he had cleaned everything, he started to dry them with the tea towel, putting them away as he went along. When it came to the cutlery, he opened the drawer and noticed that only three of the fifteen dessert spoons remained. He frowned for a moment, and then carried on drying. The sound of the front door opening startled him, causing him to almost drop a cup. He glanced at the clock on the wall. 4:51 p.m.

  She’s home early, he thought. Finishing off what was left of the dishes, he waited for her to enter the kitchen to greet him. When she failed to come, he called out, “Nic?” He waited for a reply—there was none. Frowning again in confusion, he left the kitchen, walking to the foot of the stairs. “Nic! You home?” He waited, but there was only silence. Listening for a few seconds, he shrugged off the bewilderment and went back to cleaning the kitchen.

  To his left, next to the wall, he noticed the bin overflowing with rubbish, with his discarded pizza box from earlier sticking out of the top. Drying his hands with the tea towel, he walked over to the bin and attempted to compact the rubbish with his fist. After straining for several seconds, he gave in and decided to change the bag. Securing the black bag, he yanked it from the tall, metallic container, trying not to pull a muscle in his back. The last thing he needed was another two weeks laid up. Once out, he tied the pull-string in a knot and carried the bag out through the back utility room and then outside, leaving it propped up against the back door. I’ll put it in the garage tomorrow. No point rushing. Friday’s bin day… I think.

  Wiping his hands on his tee shirt, he locked the back door and headed into the kitchen.

  Nicky was in the hallway next to the stairs, removing her coat.

  “You’re home?” Richard said, puzzled.

  “It’s after five, babe,” Nicky replied. “I’m always home at this time. Lost track of time bumming ’round I bet.”

  He smiled and then joined her, kissing her on the cheek. “I’ve had a very productive day, actually.”

  “Oh yeah?” She hung her coat over the banister. “Doing what?”

  “I did the dishes. I took out the rubbish. I even did a little vacuuming. What do you think of that?”

  Her face lit up with gratitude and surprise. “God, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you clean since we’ve moved in. Well done. Let’s hope you collapse more often.” She beamed and then dropped her car keys onto the stairs.

  “Have you been home already today?”

  “No, why?”

  He shrugged. “That’s weird. I could have sworn I heard you come home about fifteen minutes ago.”

  She shook her head. “No, not me. Probably next door. These terrace houses have thin walls.”

  Nodding in agreement, he picked up her bag and placed it in the cupboard under the stairs.

  They walked into the living room and sat on the couch, with Nicky exhaling, as if the weight of the world had just been lifted.

  “Tough day?” he asked, leaning in close.

  “Not really, just felt long. Couldn’t wait to get home. How’ve you been? No funny turns or dizzy spells?”

  He shook his head, “No, nothing. Uneventful, like my day.”

  She gave a playful, sad look, as if to feel sorry for him. “Oh, my poor baby. Don’t worry, only thirteen more days to go.”

  Leaning back, he smiled and reached for the TV remote control. “Great. I’m sure the days will fly by.”

  As Richard lay in bed with Nicky reading her book beside him, he thought about the events of yesterday. How could he have fainted in front of everyone like that? Him. The boy who giggled when Tammy Wolford fainted in school assembly. The man who hadn’t taken a single sick day since his first job in Worcester. How could he let things get so bad? After all, he was used to a little pressure, a little lack of sleep to get the job done. His whole adult life was based on demands, on deadlines. Everything from finishing his degree to getting TSH up and running. This was him. Richard Gardener. And Richard Gardener didn’t get sick. He didn’t crack under pressure. He thrived on it.

  Sure, it worried him a little. Who wouldn’t be a little concerned? But he wasn’t dying. Not any time soon. He felt great. The best shape of his life. Doctors don’t know everything. Yesterday, Richard just had a bad day at the office. That’s all. Doesn’t everyone?

  And now he was stuck at home for two weeks. Forced at gunpoint by his doctor and senior manager Leah—a woman who couldn’t run a team if her life depended on it, let alone hand out medical advice. Two whole weeks of sitting, watching TV. Fourteen tedious days of eating junk food and sleeping late, achieving nothing of meaning and accomplishment.

  Absolute hell.

  Nicky slipped an old shopping receipt into her book as a bookmark, set it down on the bedside table, and turned off the lamp. “Good night babe,” she said, leaning over to kiss his lips.

  Nicky closed her eyes and nodded off.

  But Richard had way too many thoughts flying around his head to sleep.

  And tomorrow was yet another day of boredom and contemplation.

  This holiday stinks…

  Chapter 2

  Day 2: Wednesday

  Richard was sitting at the kitchen table, eating his corn flakes, watching his wife race around the room looking for something. “What are you looking for?”

  “My car keys,” she answered.

  Finishing the last few flakes, he took the bowl over to the sink and joined the search. “When did you last have them?” he asked, glancing at the key-rack by the sink. He could only see his own set of car keys hanging. It puzzled him why Nicky found it so difficult to hang them up. He stopped himself from bringing it up again. The last thing she needed was to have her nose rubbed in it. Not this early in the day.

&
nbsp; “I had them when I came home yesterday. I thought I put them on the stairs when I saw you. Do you remember?”

  He thought for a moment, and marched over to the stairs.

  “Don’t bother checking, they’re not there. I’ve looked.”

  Ignoring her, he examined the foot of the stairs, convinced that she had just missed them. They were not there. He entered the living room, hoping to be the hero of the hour. He dug his fingers deep between the leather sofa cushions, checked the mantelpiece, coffee table, and wooden cabinet at the far end of the room, pulling open each drawer. After coming up empty, he stood by the doorway, scanning the room for one last check. The faint sound of a woman’s voice crept inside the room. Assuming that it was coming from outside, he glanced at the window behind the couch. It was ajar. He walked over to it, stood on the couch, and pulled it shut. He then left the living room, empty-handed, and returned to the kitchen.

  “Any luck?” she asked, crouched down by a bag that was draped over the chair.

  “No—sorry. Have you checked the bedroom? Or the office?”

  “Yes. I’ve looked everywhere. They’re gone and I’m late—again.”

  He walked to the rack and unhooked his car keys. “Just take my car instead.”

  “Are you sure?”

  He nodded. “Yeah. I’m not going anywhere today. And I’ll keep looking for yours. They’ll turn up somewhere.”

  “Thanks babe, you’re the best,” she said, kissing him on the cheek. “I’ll see you at five o’ clock.”

  Smiling, he gave her a small tap on her ass as she left the kitchen. “See you later. Love you.”

  “Love you too,” she said, racing out the front door.

  The door slammed shut, and he was left with a feeling of solitude again. Ignoring it, he flicked the switch on the kettle and grabbed a cup from the cupboard.

  When the coffee was made, he sat at the table and turned on the radio. Failing to get a decent signal, he turned it off. Useless piece of crap.

  He sat, sipping his coffee, trying to plan out his day of nothingness. I’ll read that book Nicky’s been banging on about. Maybe even check my e-mails. “Damn it!” he shouted, remembering that she had gotten rid of the computer. Maybe I could borrow someone else’s laptop? He considered the idea for a few seconds, but then decided that it was too risky. She’d kill me.

  Staring at the wall, deep in thought, he remembered the new website. I wonder if they managed to get it up and running. Probably not. At least not yet anyway. Most likely by the end of the week—thanks to me. He picked up his cell phone and tried to access the website, but the signal was non-existent. After several minutes of staring at a blank screen, and pointing the phone to various parts of the room, he gave up and threw it down on the counter. He shook his head in disappointment.

  Maybe I could rent a DVD, he thought. And then he remembered that he had loaned Nicky his car. Not wanting to give up on the idea, he decided to continue the search for the missing car keys. The one place he hadn’t looked was the bedroom, so he made his way toward the staircase.

  Halfway down the corridor, he felt a sudden cold sensation brush past his arm, like an icy chill on a winter’s morning. He stopped for a moment to rub down the goosebumps on his forearm. Assuming that it must have come from another open window, Richard continued toward the stairs. As his foot touched the first step, he noticed something glimmer on the second step. There, on the stairs, was the missing set of keys. He paused for a moment, thinking back to when he first checked. I’m sure I looked there. Frowning, he picked them up and jangled them in front of his eyes. He shook his head, shrugged, and put them into his pocket.

  After putting on his shoes he left the house, climbed into Nicky’s car, and headed for the video shop.

  Richard carried his chicken and bacon sandwich into the living room. Setting the food on the couch, he played the DVD. He had rented American Psycho, one of his favorite movies from college. He and his friends would watch it after a night out, quoting lines and describing scenes, spoiling it for anyone who hadn’t seen it.

  Those were the days. Good times.

  When his sandwich had been consumed and the movie had well-and-truly begun, his eyelids started to feel heavy. He fought off sleep, but it was no use. Within thirty seconds he had passed out.

  He awoke to the sound of the end-credits rolling. Grouchy and disoriented, he ran a hand over his face, picked up the remote control, and turned the television off.

  The house was eerily silent. He sat thinking of nothing—not even work. His mind was blank as the after-effects of his doze took over. Just as the thought of moving off the couch popped into his head, a horrid screeching noise made him jump up in fright.

  What the—

  It was the smoke detector. He leapt up and raced to the hallway where it was attached to the ceiling, terrified that he had left something burning. Failing to see any smoke, he darted into the kitchen. That room was clear of smoke too. He was baffled. He hadn’t used any gas outlets all day.

  Scrunching his face up as the sound pierced his ears, he returned to the hallway to switch the smoke detector off. Just as he reached the stairs, the wailing ceased. His eardrums rang like they did after a night out, and once again the house was silent.

  He stared up at the smoke detector, shaking his head in puzzlement. Cheap piece of crap.

  Now he was awake.

  As 4:00 p.m. approached, he filled the day with pointless tasks. He rearranged his clothes drawer to make more room; he cleaned the bathroom—including the dreaded shower, which he despised due to his stomach-churning hatred of drain-hair; he sat in the garden, reading one of Nicky’s gossip magazines; he even tidied the awful mess in the cupboard under the stairs.

  But nothing distracted his mind from TSH Computers. It had almost been two days and Richard was still in the dark about the website. And not a word from Leah since yesterday. He couldn’t quite decide whether that was a good thing or a bad thing. Either way the suspense was killing him. He had picked up the phone and dialed the office on no less than six occasions, always pushing the ‘cancel’ button just before the calls went through. Each time he shook his head in disbelief and wondered how he ever became such a sad workaholic.

  Richard was sitting in the living room, staring at the clock. It read 4:49 p.m. He had almost finished his magazine and had considered starting another one, but gave up on the idea when his eyes began to ache. He longed for Nicky to return home. Boredom and loneliness had well and truly consumed him, and he needed a distraction to draw him away from the telephone.

  Watching the clock, he played with his cell phone, deleting unwanted numbers. He couldn’t quite believe how many pointless numbers he had saved over the years, and how many he had no idea who they belonged to. Almost at the end of the list, the sound of the front door opening distracted him from his task. Finally. He dropped the phone onto the couch and left the living room to greet his wife.

  The hallway was deserted.

  “Nic?” he called out, frowning in bewilderment. He walked to the front door and tried to open it, only to find it locked. “Nic?” he called out again, this time directing his cry upstairs. There was no response. Standing in confusion, he stared at the front door.

  He looked at the cream-painted wall separating him and his neighbor, Ilene. Cardboard walls.

  He then retreated back to the couch in the living room. Picking up his cell phone, he began texting one of his college friends, Simon, to fill him in on the events of Monday. He knew he wouldn’t get an instant response due to Simon’s driving job, but there was always a chance, always hope that he was on a break, or finished early. As the text message disappeared across the airwaves, he stared at his phone’s home-screen, waiting for that faithful beep sound. Nothing. Giving up on Simon, he scrolled through the list of other friends. Selecting Neil, he sent the exact same message, and just like Simon, there was no reply.

  Is everyone working but me? Am I the only one left in the worl
d? Has the apocalypse come and taken everyone?

  He sat in silence, waiting for someone to call or text, but all he could hear was the sound of the clock ticking on the mantelpiece. As the minutes of emptiness rolled on, the ticking got louder. And louder. Until he felt like smashing it into a million pieces.

  The noise of the front door opening startled him. He got up from the couch and stepped back into the hallway. Nicky was standing holding a stack of heavy folders against her chest. “Give us a hand,” she said. “They weigh a ton.”

  “Did you just come through the front door a minute ago, and then back out again?” he asked, taking the folders from her.

  She hung her bag over the banister and dropped Richard’s car keys on the stairs. “No. I just got here. You asked me that yesterday.”

  “I know I did, but I was sure I heard you come home.”

  “I told you, it’s these walls, they’re wafer thin. It must’ve been next door.”

  “I know. Like bloody cardboard.” He walked over to her and kissed her cheek. “Anyway, how was work?”

  She started to walk into the kitchen, with Richard following. “Good. It was Lisa’s birthday, so we had a little party for her. I’ve eaten so much cake today, I’m going on a diet tomorrow.”

  “You don’t need to go on a diet, you look fine.”

  “Yes I do need a diet—I’m fat.”

  He shook his head in astonishment. “Are you serious? You’ve got a perfect body.”

  Smiling, she flicked the switch on the kettle. “Thanks babe, but I’m still going on a diet.” She pulled out two cups from the cupboard. “So, did you manage to find my car keys?”

  “Yeah.”

  Her face lit up. “Oh, brilliant. Where were they?”

  “On the stairs.”

  Frowning, she scooped a spoonful of instant coffee powder into one of the cups. “That’s weird. Are you sure? I looked there.”

  “Course I’m sure. They were just there. I found them straightaway.”