writing from
Scars Publications

Audio/Video chapbooks cc&d magazine Down in the Dirt magazine books

 

This writing was accepted for publication
in the 96 page perfect-bound ISSN# / ISBN# issue/book...
a Rural Story
Down in the Dirt (v126) (the Nov./Dec. 2014 Issue)




You can also order this 6"x9" issue as a paperback book:
order ISBN# book


a Rural Story

Order this writing in the book
Need to Know Basis
(redacted edition)

(the 2014 poetry, flash fiction
& short prose collection book)
Need to Know Basis (redacted edition) (2014 poetry, flash fiction and short collection book) get this poem
collection
6" x 9" ISBN#
paperback book:

order ISBN# book

Order this writing
in the book
What Must be Done
(a Down in the Dirt
July - Dec. 2014
collection book)
What Must be Done (Down in the Dirt issue collection book) get the 372 page
July - Dec. 2014
Down in the Dirt magazine
issue collection
6" x 9" ISBN#
paperback book:

order ISBN# book

Wednesday’s Child

Susan Rocks

    The pub door opened, blowing in a gust of frigid air. A girl was watching me from the pavement. I had a glimpse of dark hair peeking from a pink headscarf, framing a heart-shaped face, and she smiled. I pushed through the door, but she had been swallowed by the fog. A hand on my shoulder made me jump.
    ‘Where you dashing off to? Can’t you hang on for me?’
    ‘Geoff. Sorry, I saw ... a girl, walking past. I thought ...’
    ‘A girl, wow! A girl walking down the road. That is weird isn’t it?’ He slapped my back. ‘Come on then, let’s get back to bedsit towers. There’s a Fast and Furious film on Sky I want to see, fancy coming up and watching with me?’
    ‘Um. Well, maybe, after I’ve had dinner.’ I couldn’t say no to Geoff, however much I tried. There was something about him that drew people like kids to a jar of sweets, and I occasionally tried to mimic his easy manner; and failed. He often pushed his floppy hair back from his forehead, but the only time I tried it, I knocked a girl’s chin with my elbow. We walked home along the damp street, Geoff busily texting some girl he’d met, giving me a running commentary. All I could think about was that heart-shaped face.
    I was staring out of the bedsit window, pricking the cling-film shielding my meal-for-one from the microwaves, when she appeared again through the fog. As she passed I swear she paused, a faint smile flickering across her face. Her eyes caught me, mesmerised me: pleading, a sadness hiding in the depths.
    Then she was gone.
    I couldn’t get her out of my mind. All week, I looked out for her, reasoning she must live nearby. I had been psyching myself up to ask Geoff how I could start chatting to her, but he kept pulling my leg about it so I decided to work it out myself.
    The following Wednesday I got home early for once as Geoff was taking a girl to the cinema. Filling a Pot Noodle with boiling water, something caught my eye outside the window and there she was! I slopped water over the worktop as I dropped the kettle and dashed to the door, running past Miss Jennings, going into her room opposite. I ran for the gate, but the girl had disappeared into the drizzle. As I turned back, I spotted a bunch of lilies lying on the broken slats of the bus shelter’s bench across the road.

* * * * * * * * * * * *


    Sandra rinsed the suds from the saucepan and balanced it precariously on top of the pile of dishes on the drainer. She wiped away some orange pollen that had fallen from the lilies on the window sill and dried her hands. Still no sign of Derek. She switched on her small radio and tried to listen to a report about President Kennedy’s funeral but the newsreader’s words washed over her. This was the fourth time Derek had failed to come round. There was always a plausible excuse but...
    She heard Barbara’s door opening across the hall, and went out,
    ‘Hello Barb, you’re late home tonight.’
    Barbara jumped, dropping her keys, ‘God, Sandra, you made me jump.’ She scooped up the keys.
    Sandra leaned against her door-frame. ‘So, what have you been doing?’
    ‘Nothing. I caught up with ... an old friend ... from school.’ She began rummaging through her handbag, backing into her room.
    ‘Derek’s hasn’t turned up again. Fancy a cuppa?’
    ‘Um. No thanks. I’ve got some letters to write, and er, stuff.’
    Sandra frowned. ‘Come on. Just a quick one.’
    ‘No really. If I don’t write soon Mum’ll think I’m dead and be round here banging on the door.’
    ‘Why don’t you phone her?’ Sandra looked at the payphone in the hall, for once not adorned with an “Out of Order” notice.
    ‘Oh. It’s probably broken, besides, once Mum gets started ... cost me a fortune. Um, I haven’t got any cash.’ She began edging backwards.
    ‘Alright, if you’re sure. If you change your mind -’ The door closed. Sandra hesitated, lifted her hand to knock again. She heard the scratchy sound of You’ll Never Walk Alone coming from the record player. Derek’s favourite song. She let her hand drop. Back in her bedsit, she filled the kettle, put it on the gas ring, and stared at her reflection in the window. A bus pulled up at the shelter across the road and she momentarily hoped Derek might appear, but it was Mr Bowles from next door. He doffed his trilby in greeting and Sandra forced a smile. The kettle whistled and she made her tea, curling up on the saggy sofa with the latest Agatha Christie, seeking distraction.
    Later, as she was drifting off to sleep, Sandra thought she heard Barbara’s door open and coins being fed into the phone, a muffled conversation. Sleep eluded her for several hours.

* * * * * * * * * * * *


    The following Wednesday, Geoff insisted we go to the regular singles night at the Crown and Anchor near Bournemouth pier. We walked in the door, and straightaway Geoff introduced me to Abi, a friend’s cousin. I realised he was trying to fix me up. As soon as she spoke my skin heated, filling the gaps between my damned freckles, bleeding into my carroty hair. I stuttered hello and we joined a group at a table. I became fixated on the beer mat in front of me as everyone chatted, Geoff trying to include me. I drank my beer far too quickly, closely followed by the vodka shots someone bought. Buoyed by alcohol, I told Geoff this was pointless.
    ‘Sorry, but I’m meeting someone, later,’ I blurted.
    Geoff looked confused, asking who it was, so I told him. The girl who lives near here, you know, I pointed her out the other day, and walked out, ignoring Geoff’s expression. I felt quite elated until the cold air hit me, then I simply felt sick and a bit dizzy. I walked home, bumping into Miss Jennings in the lobby, knocking her bag from her hand. Apologising profusely, I picked it up
    ‘You remind me of a young man I used to know,’ she said, startling me into blushing.
    ‘Do I Miss Jennings?’
    ‘The name’s Barbara,’ she said, pushing her faded blonde curls behind her ear.
    ‘Have you lived here long, Miss ... Barbara?’
    ‘Oh, a long, long time. I ... something keeps me ... I can’t bring myself to leave.’ I looked at the patches of mould dappling the ceiling and wondered why on earth anyone would want to spend their whole lives in a place like this.
    As soon as I looked out of my window the girl appeared, the mist swirling around her, and all other thoughts drained from my brain. I waved tentatively. Would I ever be able to speak to her?
    The next morning I caught a lucky break. On the wall outside was a glove, black suede, slim, elegant. I picked it up and smelt something faintly floral, triggering a memory – my grandfather’s funeral and the ostentatious floral tributes that had swamped the crowded church with a sickly scent. Was the glove hers? Did she wear gloves? A snapshot of the past few Wednesdays ran through my mind like a jerky silent movie. There; yesterday; she’d taken her hand from her pocket to push her hair back under her headscarf, slim hand, red polished nails, no glove; it must be hers! I placed it reverently in the inside pocket of my jacket, next to my heart, a tangible reminder she was real.
    The following week, I waited for her in the lobby, heart pounding beneath the suede glove. Continually clearing my throat, I rehearsed my planned speech, until I thought I saw a shape by the gate, distorted through the coloured glass in the door. I slipped quietly into the front garden, looking up and down the road but it was empty. The sky was clear, strings of stars punctuated by the comma of a new moon. I waited and waited until my teeth chattered and my fingers turned blue.
    She didn’t appear.

* * * * * * * * * * * *


    Sandra and Barbara had arranged to meet in the coffee bar after work. When Sandra arrived she saw Heather in a booth at the back and tried to get to the counter without being seen.
    ‘Sandra,’ Heather called, waving. Too late, sighing she weaved through the tables towards her. The Beatles singing She Loves You was playing on the jukebox, fighting to be heard above the clatter of cups and chatter from the kids sitting around the stained Formica tables.
    ‘Is Barbara here yet?’
    ‘Haven’t seen her,’ Heather smirked at Sandra, ‘s’pect she’s busy, meeting her new bloke.’ Sandra glanced up sharply,
    ‘What bloke? Has she met someone?’
    ‘Didn’t you know?’ Heather said, dunking a biscuit. Sandra ordered a coffee from the waitress as Barbara dashed in/
    ‘Sorry I’m late, last minute customer.’ She dumped a couple of carriers on the floor, sliding onto the banquette next to Sandra.
    ‘Been buying up the stock again?’ Heather picked up one of the bags, pulling out a turquoise silk blouse.
    ‘Only a couple of tops, they were on special offer.’
    ‘I’ve been telling Sandra about your new bloke,’ Heather said.
    ‘Yes, Barbara, why didn’t you say anything?’ Sandra put a hand on her friend’s shoulder. ‘It’s about time you got over Dave. What’s his name? We ought to go on a double date.’
    Barbara blushed, ‘Um well, -’
    ‘Double dating might be tricky, eh Bar?’ Heather said as Barbara wriggled out of her scarlet coat.
    ‘What’s wrong with a double date?’ Sandra said. ‘What’s that in your pocket? Is it a photo of him, let’s see.’
    Barbara snatched the photo strip and dropped it into her handbag, turning away to order a coffee. ‘It’s an old one.’
    Sandra sipped her coffee, watching the two women. Heather could be quite nasty sometimes and she clearly had it in for Barbara today.
    ‘How was work Sandra?’ Barbara asked, pushing her blonde curls behind her ears and gulping hot coffee.
    ‘Fine thanks.’
    ‘So, how’s Derek, Sandra? Still going strong are you?’ Heather lit a cigarette, blowing a plume of smoke towards the ceiling.
    ‘Fine thanks. I don’t see him very often at the moment, he’s doing a lot of overtime.’
    ‘Overtime? Is that what they call it these -’
    ‘Come on Bar, let’s go home, we can talk better there, without being constantly interrupted.’
    Barbara scanned the coffee bar. ‘Oh, there’s Mandy, I need to speak to her about ... you go on. I’ll give you a knock when I get back.’
    ‘I’ll hang on if you like.’
    ‘No, no. I might be a while,’ she got up, gathering her bags and joined a group of girls at the counter. Sandra watched her, an odd thought tickling her brain, but she shook it away.
    ‘More coffee Sandra?’
    Sandra shook her head, ‘No thanks,’ and left, returning to the cold drizzle outside. She swiftly tied a scarf around her head and thrust her hands deep into the pockets of her mac. A bus chugged past, sending spray over the pavement. Sandra looked at the people staring blankly through the windows. Barbara was acting very strangely at the moment. Sandra decided she would have a nice bubble bath, if there was any hot water left. If Barbara turned up fine, if not, well, it was up to her. She stepped over a puddle, wondering what to do about Derek.

* * * * * * * * * * * *


    The girl began invading my dreams.
    She was sitting in the freshly painted bus shelter, surrounded by flowers. There were no holes in the roof, the wooden bench unbroken. I was on the opposite pavement and she was watching, waiting for me. I started to cross the road but it felt like I was walking through deep water. No matter how hard I tried I couldn’t get closer. She would gradually fade and the bus shelter would return to its normal state of disrepair.
    I told work I was sick. I spent hours and hours staring out of my window, but she never appeared. Wednesday evening I was standing at my window when there was a knock on the door.
    ‘Come on mate, I know you’re in there.’
    ‘Geoff? What are you doing here?’
    ‘Came to see what was going on. I wanted to make sure you’re okay.’
    ‘Come in then. I’ve ... not been sleeping. Feel sort of feverish.’ I filled the kettle and a movement outside made my stomach lurch, but it was only Miss Jennings.
    ‘What are you looking at?’ Geoff was fiddling with my iPod.
    ‘Nothing ... oh.’ She was there. Illuminated by car headlights, she was sitting in the bus shelter. I flung the door open, pushing past Miss Jennings as I lunged for the front door.
    ‘Wait,’ she called.
    ‘Eddie. What the hell’s going on,’ Geoff tried to grab my arm but missed. I wrenched open the gate.
    ‘Stop.’ Miss Jennings was almost screaming.
    I stepped into the road.
    Something pushed me.
    I fell.
    Hard.

* * * * * * * * * * * *


    Sandra was slowly stirring a Vesta curry around the saucepan. On the window sill was another bunch of lilies Derek had bought her the previous weekend, dropping heavy hints about sleeping together. Although she had left home two years previously, her mother’s dire warnings still rang in her ears. The disgrace of being a “fallen woman” unmarried and pregnant. Derek kept saying he loved her, he should be happy to wait. Sandra wasn’t expecting a ring on her finger, she wasn’t naîve. But she had to be sure.
    Her dinner cooked, she turned off the gas and took a plate from the cupboard, glancing out of the window. She saw a couple sitting in the bus shelter, their faces in shadow as the street-lights struggled to pierce the fog. She carefully fished the plastic packet of rice from the boiling water and cut it open. A car drove past, the headlights cutting across the bus shelter. Derek and Barbara were huddled on the seat, foreheads together, his hand on her thigh. Sandra dropped the rice, boiling water splashing down her legs. She stumbled for the door, slipping on the threadbare mat in the hall, ran along the path, tears blurring her vision.
    ‘Derek,’ she cried, fumbling with the gate latch.
    Derek leapt up, ‘Sandra, stop. I can explain. It’s not what you ... look out.’
    Sandra stepped into the road.

* * * * * * * * * * * *


    Pain shot through my head. I heard someone shout ‘Sandra, no,’ the screech of tyres, hissing air brakes, a sickening thud. Silence.
    Geoff was bending over me, ‘Eddie? What the fuck d’you think you’re doing? Trying to kill yourself?’ His face was drained of colour as he helped me climb gingerly to my feet.
    ‘The girl,’ I said, pointing across the road.
    ‘There’s no-one there Eddie.’ Geoff led me to the wall and I sat down.
    The bus had come to a stop and people were jumping off, running to the body in the middle of the road, shouting into their phones. A man was kneeling beside her. He stood, shaking his head.
    ‘What happened?’ I swayed and Geoff grabbed me.
    ‘It was Miss Jennings. She pushed you out of the way. The bus must have caught her.’ He seemed to be speaking from the end of a tunnel but I wasn’t really listening, I was looking at the bus shelter. The girl was there, smiling. She stood, reached out her hand and another figure appeared beside her. I glimpsed blonde curls above a scarlet coat as they stepped into the bus shelter.
    And faded to nothing.



Scars Publications


Copyright of written pieces remain with the author, who has allowed it to be shown through Scars Publications and Design.Web site © Scars Publications and Design. All rights reserved. No material may be reprinted without express permission from the author.




Problems with this page? Then deal with it...