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Special Collection

Norm Hudson

    I’ve never liked change.
    Not like Josie. She’s forever changing things. New house, new curtains, new cushions. Not that we can afford it. Not on a dustman’s salary. But she’s clever, my Josie. Wonderful with money. I don’t know how she does it!
    Me? I like things to stay the same. I get attached to things, you see. Silly, isn’t it? But I guess there comes a day when you can’t hang on to things. You have to let go. And that day had come.
    It was Josie’s idea really. I resisted at first. As I usually did. But then I had to admit she was right.
    But it was still painful.
    Even as I watched Alf and Joe look around the room of our small, semi-detached.
    “You havin’ a clearout?” Alf said jovially, looking round the almost bare room.
    A real case, Alf. A laugh a minute.
    I nodded.
    “Josie’s idea,” I muttered.
    “That’s women for you,” said Joe. “Never satisfied with what they’ve got.”
    Joe was quieter. Didn’t say a lot.
    “Hope it wasn’t a wedding present,” said Alf, as he and Joe lifted each end of the sofa.
    “No,” I laughed.
    Not a wedding present. More than that.
    I looked at the dingy coloured, floral sofa and two chairs. The flowers had been fresh, like our marriage, fifteen years ago, when I’d bought the three piece suite with my first pay packet, after the wedding. Our very first piece of furniture. How excited we both had been! And that was just the start. If that sofa could talk it could tell you a few things, I can tell you. Like, for example, what we got up to on it. Yes, that sofa was part of our lives all right. We’d grown alike together.
    I felt a bit sad looking at those flowers, now faded and almost worn away.
    Still I had nothing to complain about. It had served us well that suite.
    “Hold on a minute!” I said. “You can take the replacement covers and cushions as well!”
    I ran into the kitchen and returned clutching a big, black bag. I tossed it on to the sofa.
    “I might as well get rid of this too!” I said. “It came with the sofa.”
    “Wife couldn’t stand it, eh?” said Joe, looking around for Josie. “Saying goodbye to the sofa.”
    “No,” I said. “It’s hard parting with something that’s been such a part of your life.”
    “Only way to make room for the new,” said Joe.
    I always thought Joe was wise.
    I followed Alf and Joe out to the van. I didn’t help them. I couldn’t. Saying goodbye to fifteen years of your life wasn’t easy.
    They tossed my sofa with the black bag on it into those grinding blades. I’d watched them every working day of my life reducing other people’s goods to pulp but this wasn’t other people’s. This was mine. I winced as the blades struggled to devour my sofa. My life. Fifteen years of it.
    How Jodie would have laughed!
    “I don’t know why you get so attached to things!” she had said. “They’re only things! Get rid of them!”
    Jodie was right. I realised that, that day.
    I’d come home from work, tired. Not in the back-breaking way I used to, in the days of lifting heavy dustbins. No, my job was easier now. Everything automated. Easily disposed of. I enjoyed doing Special Collection. Getting rid of large, cumbersome things other people didn’t want. Making way for the new.
    But I’d never used the service myself. There was no need. I was happy with what I’d got.
    I thought Jodie was too. It just shows. You never know.
    I opened the front door. Right away I knew something was different. The hall seemed empty. No pictures. No ornaments.
    I laughed.
    Minimalism. I’d forgotten. The “in” thing. Jodie always liked the “in” thing.
    She’s probably packed away all my car-boot trinkets in cardboard boxes in the loft, like she always does, I thought.
     We’d argue about it, make up on “our” sofa and I’d get them out of the loft the next day, like I always did.
    I walked into the living room. It was bare too.
    She’s carrying it a bit far, I thought.
    That was Jodie all over. No half measures.
    “Where are all the pictures and ornaments?” I said.
    Not that I needed them. Jodie was all the picture I needed. Standing there looking beautiful in a jacket that almost looked like real leather.
    I don’t know how she does it on a dustman’s salary.
    I wanted to put my arms round her, feel that leather and the soft body under it. She’d always looked after herself. Eaten small. And I’d been happy to do the same. We’d argue about the ornaments and then make up. Oh, how I was looking forward to the making up!
    I took one step towards her.
    “I’ve taken them,” she said.
    I laughed.
    “Taken them where? The loft?”
    I’d almost reached her. She moved away.
    “I’ve taken everything!” she said.
    She seemed distant. Cold. Not like my Jodie.
    “Except this.”
    She pointed at the sofa.
    “I’ve come back for this. But I’ve decided I don’t want it! It’s old! Worn out! Like you! You can get rid of this!”
    “What are you talking about?” I said.
    Get rid of “our” sofa? What was she thinking about?
    “I’ve taken it all, you fool!” she said. “The money in the joint account and the house contents. I don’t want to be a dustbin man’s wife any longer. I want to be rid of it all! I want a change!”
    “Look, if it’s that old sofa that’s upsetting you, we can get rid of it,” I said.
    Perhaps I had been a bit stubborn about it. I hadn’t realised it upset her so much.
    “It’s not that stupid old sofa,” she said. It’s you! You’re weak, spineless and unambitious. Where do you think all your money’s been going for the last fifteen years? I’ve been saving it! Saving it for today! Saving it so I can leave you at last!”
    “Leave me?” I said.
    “You can’t leave me!” I shouted.
    I’ve never liked change.
    “Yes, I can,” she said. “I’ve already left. I only came back for the last black bag.”
    She pointed to a large black bag on the living room floor.
    “What’s in there?” I said.
    “The replacement covers for the sofa and the cushions,” she said. “But I don’t want them now.”
    I didn’t want the black bag either.
    That’s why I got rid of it.
    I waited till Alf and Joe had climbed into the lorry and waved them goodbye. I went into the house. It’s a wonderful thing. Special Collection. Everything automated. Easily disposed of. But it’s still painful. A bit like relationships. Still there comes a time when you can’t hang on to things. Jodie was right. And she got her change.
    Me? I don’t like change. I like things to stay the same. I get attached to things, you see.
    Though I now can see Jodie’s point of view. And I know she’s seen mine.
    Funny how you grow alike after fifteen years.
    I walked into the kitchen.
    But I’m going to give up Special Collection, I thought. It’s too painful getting rid of large, cumbersome things.
    I picked up the replacement covers and cushions, that covered the kitchen floor, and walked upstairs to the loft.
    I don’t know if Jodie would have approved.
    But then she shouldn’t have come back for the last bag – and the sofa.
    I guess you could say she became attached to it at last.
    Silly, wasn’t she?
    But then, as Joe said, that’s women for you.
    Never satisfied with what they’ve got.

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