Writing prompt courtesy of William Boyd’s The Blue Afternoon, my current read.
‘Mum, are you awake?’
The voice threaded its way into Sally’s consciousness. A stranger’s voice, so why did the owner call her Mum? She tried to open her eyes, to see this person with the adult voice saying Mum. Her eyelids were leaden. They twitched, fluttered, closed again. Sally’s mind slipped into blankness.
‘I think she’s coming around again.’ A different voice, another stranger, sitting on Sally’s bed. ‘Mum, are you with us?’
Someone gently lifted Sally’s hand from where it lay on the bed covers – strangely stiff covers, nothing like her own soft, silky duvet. Like the voice, she didn’t recognise this clasping hand. It was long-fingered, smooth, dry and cool. Pleasant enough but what was it doing here?
‘Mum, are you there?’ The first voice, male Sally realised, spoke again.
‘If you can hear us, Mum, grip my fingers harder.’ The second voice, female, belonging to the hand holder.
Sally hesitated. She could grip the fingers tighter, but in doing so, would she be acknowledging the right of the voice to call her Mum? She concentrated hard, aware of a nagging pain at the base of her skull as if she had slept too heavily and too long.
Sleeping? The idea filled her with a vague uneasiness. She shouldn’t be sleeping. There were things to be done. Images danced in her mind, hazy at first, gradually settling into sharper focus and greater urgency. The twins would be awake, needing to be fed and dressed, and taken to their nursery before work.
Sally couldn’t be late to the office again. She was already on a warning, and God knew they needed her job, with Alex’s hours cut and twins to pay for … And yesterday, after she’d dropped the twins off, she’d only just made it in time … hadn’t she? More whirling images – of rain on a windscreen, fast moving traffic, a lorry ahead sliding on wet tarmac …
The urgency mounted. Sally moaned – where did that husky growl come from? Did she have a cold? – tried to turn, to open her eyes. Squint, blink.
‘Look, she’s opening her eyes.’ The female voice, excited, happy. Who was this person?
‘We should be the first things she sees when she comes around.’ The owner of the male voice sat itself on the other side of the bed, took Sally’s other hand.
‘Won’t she be surprised?’ The female.
‘A surprise for us too, a brilliant surprise.’ The male.
Sally opened her eyes to find herself staring into two faces. One was an image of herself, the other of Alex. Was she looking in a mirror? She blinked harder, confused. Unshaped dread crept its way from her stomach into her chest and throat.
‘You can’t imagine what it’s like after 33 years,’ the young woman whispered, ‘to see your mother awake at last.’
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“You can’t imagine what it’s like after 33 years,” his voice growled in her ear.
“Thirty-three years of never wanting to be with you – always wishing I was somewhere else,” he snapped.
Elsie cried out in anguish. “Then why did you marry me, you useless oaf?”
George recoiled a little. He hadn’t expected this reaction. Normally when he railed at her, Elsie would just curl up into a ball, hands over her ears and crouch in a corner trying to get as far away from him as possible.
But not this time. This time, she was unleashed fury, spitting and clawing her way like a wild she-cat all set to pounce.
“You have pushed me too far, George Smithers. For 33 years I have been putting up with your spiteful complaints and condemnations,” Elsie went on. “Well, I’ve had enough you hear, literally up to here (gesturing with a hand to her neck), and I’m not standing for it anymore.
“So, if you don’t like all the things that I try to do for you, you can just get out – and while you’re at it take those dreadful cockatoos with you. I can’t stand their screeching, all day, every day!!”
George was totally taken aback.
“B..b..b..ut you know I can’t do anything without you,” he said sheepishly. “I mean, who is going to cook my meals, wash my clothes, take care of me.”
“I don’t know and what’s more I don’t care,” Elsie responded angrily. “Maybe it’s time you learned how to do these things for yourself.”
George knew he was between a rock and a hard place. If he left, he would be totally alone, not able to care for himself and before long terribly lonely.
Only one thing for it, he had to mend bridges – and quickly. Thirty-three years of abuse needed to be reversed in a heartbeat, or he would find himself so far on the outer it would be like coming back from the planet Pluto.
“Look, sweetheart,” he cooed. “You know I didn’t mean it. I just lose my temper sometimes and the words are out before I even realise.”
Elsie wasn’t convinced. “I don’t believe you,” she scoffed. “I need to see something much more concrete beyond a few conciliatory words before I change my mind.”
“What you need to do George Smithers is go to anger management classes and learn how to keep that nasty temper of yours in check.
“Perhaps then, and only then, we can stay together for another 33 years.”
George was relieved. He knew he was off the hook, but only just. Heaving a massive sigh of relief, he looked up to see his wife handing him the phone book, the page open at anger management classes.
“Dial,” she said. “And be quick about it.”
or he would find himself so far on the outer it would be like coming back from the planet Pluto. Great line.
And Elsie should have stayed her course!
Probably. A forgiving soul under the circumstances
This is definitely one of your best, into the best, efforts so far
Thank you – might throw it at Dean Writers for comments and keep it for a comp.