Mr Ford

I can’t believe that it’s 7am Monday morning again. Like clockwork he gets into his wee financed Ford.  It’s the same grim grey as the dreich drizzly day outside and almost as monotone in mood. All that can be heard is the constant hum of commuter traffic and the odd irate driver blasting his verbal road rage out the window.

He seems a gentle fella with a purposeful walk but avoiding gaze. Always smartly attired with his freshly pressed shirt, snappy suit and shiny shoes. On his shoulder an expensive leather satchel that matches the designer specs perched on his head.

Off he goes only to return at his routine time of 4pm, always with his kids in tow, complete contrasts to him. Their tangled hair, and uniforms ruffled, splattered with remnants of the packed lunches. Shoe laces dragging behind them.

As usual this goes on for the week, right until Friday night, or at least that’s what I’ve come to expect.

I startle to howls and wails coming from across the street. It’s not that eejits’ huskies, they’ll be curled up on cushions surrounded by half munched raw hides. My darkened bedroom comes alive with light as the rest of the street awakens and curtains twitch. Is that my tinnitus or can I hear the whirl of sirens? The flashes of blue light rhythmically dart across my walls. It’s the emergency services alright. An ambulance and 2 police cars. This isn’t just another case of Mr Ford’s kids falling over their laces again. The wailing becomes more shrill and out he emerges but not with his purposeful walk. He’s lying limp on the stretcher. A blanket tries to disguise his weak state. Blood covers his face and exposed frail limbs bare scars and fading bruises from times before.

But who should be so cruel to victimise this poor bloke? He blends into the scheme with no enemies where I can see. But as the wife emerges, wearing cuffs and an evil smirk I realise that the enemy has come from within. The local rags catch on too. He’s been a long term subject of domestic abuse serving as a battered shield for his kids. The scheme silences and only faint whispers of gossip about his torment can be heard.

The house lies dormant and forever darkened until the Spring. Gardens bloom with seasonal petals and insects swoop across the streets looking for their next nectar buffet. And there, opposite me I catch the hobble of a man. It takes me a second before I realise it’s Mr Ford. He’s leaning on a crutch, his kids tag along behind but not because of their usual bumbling but because they too remember that night when Daddy saved the day, a local hero in a suit.

Reviews

[Julie McCarthy (juliesp..]

I’ve read some of your work this Saturday and can’t wait to read more there is magic in your writing it takes the reader to in your mind and the magic of your thoughts

[Bluebird]

Bless you. I was always slated by english teachers ay school but growing in confidence and becoming more inspired on here

[KT-B]

I love your style of writing and enjoyed this short story very much - you could have a book with this, I for one would like to read it :)

[Bluebird]

Ah bless you. Nice to know I have at least one fan :)

[KT-B]

I'm sure you'll have plenty more soon, I love your style of writing, it's easy to read, great description, funny and fresh - keep up the good work, look forward to reading more of your stuff in the Caff X

[Bluebird]

Much appreciated :)