Mary, Mary, quite contrary

A Story by Anna

A story of loss.

Mary thought about the vast changes that had occurred over the past ten years in regards to the beautiful old library she was sitting in. She missed the steady rhythm that the date stamp made when she used to clunk it down in a book. Now, like most things, it was ‘do it yourself’ She felt that her position of power had waned slightly. She had other duties of course, mainly on the computer, which incidentally, she detested. However, being the Chief Librarian did have its perks. She liked to walk around the library whenever she pleased and felt it her duty to regularly check that the junior members of staff were performing to her exacting standards. Secretly she knew, but would never admit, that they were far more computer literate than she could ever be. It was an understanding between them all, but was never spoken of. It didn't matter how many 'Computers for Idiots’ books she read, she couldn't quite grasp the language, however hard she tried. Her mind didn't work that way. That aside, Mary enjoyed her job immensely. She had worked in the same establishment for the past twenty years and had slowly, but surely, worked her way up to her current position.

Mary didn't have friends. This was largely self imposed. She felt it so difficult to converse with people and preferred to immerse herself in her books, where them, she could at least lose herself entirely. In particular, she loved the Victorian heroines and never tired of reading Tess of the d’Urbervilles, Pride and Prejudice or Jane Eyre, avidly devouring them on a regular basis. She imagined herself in the role of the heroine, but in reality, was more similar to Mrs Haversham, living as secluded a life as modern day would allow. She enjoyed the age of gentle chivalry, long dresses and tamed hair adorned only with exquisite pearls and glittering gems. She was permanently waiting for her own Mr Darcy to materialise and whisk her away.

Mary had always been slim, it didn't matter what she ate, she never seem to gain an ounce, and therefore remained with the childlike figure of a thirteen year old. Inquisitive brown eyes were partially hidden behind bi- focal glasses, perched on her slightly too big nose. Dark hair, with threads of silver running though, which hadn't been cut in years, was expertly twirled around into a neat, tidy bun. She had visited the hairdressers before, but had hated the experience and had felt that the trite, forced conversation, left her squirming and uncomfortable. The closeness of the hairdresser had rendered her breathless and angry. The imposed invasion of her space was simply intolerable. She found it quite difficult to small talk and just couldn't understand others need to fill the void with noise when she preferred silence, more so when there was nothing of value to add.

Her everyday life was a strict routine, she was always polite and would respond in a curt, clipped manner to any enquiry that was made of her,
" How are you this morning Miss Kipping"
or " Just your usual paper this morning Miss Kipping"

Her answer had never varied in all the years she had been frequenting the newsagents on her way to work. The proprietor, Mr Singh, had never failed to ask, always with an expectant tone, as though one day, she may just surprise him.

Not today though. Today was seemingly like any other day, but only to the unassuming. To Mary, it was a very special day. It was the birthday of someone so close to Mary, that she really couldn't concentrate on anything else. This particular person was all consuming, lived in each and every pore of her and was imprinted firmly in her heart.
She vaguely heard Mr Singh’s enquiry, and gave him a polite nod as she hurried on by. Her intention was to get into work, pass the day with as little disruption as possible, and head back to her little Victorian end of terrace, that way she would have the evening to prepare for the festivities.
She felt safe there, away from the brusk harshness of iPhones, cars, microwave meals and televisions. Anyone stepping into her home would think they had traveled back into a different era. Pristine dollies adorned polished wood surfaces. Pictures of landscapes and dour portraits hung on the pictures rails. No modern appliances had ever crossed the threshold. The only link to the big wide world, was a small old fashioned radio, permanently tuned into radio 4. The radio was left there by her parents, as was the house and all the other belongings. Not much had changed since their demise fifteen years previously and Mary preferred to keep it just that way.

There had been a time a few years ago, when she had briefly toyed with the idea of change. It had all started when she had walked to her usual park bench to have her lunch, which was conveniently situated in front of the library. She was dismayed to find that someone was sitting in her usual place. Didn't they know it was her bench and that she had sat there as long as she could remember? She had abruptly turned around and had stated to walk off when she heard someone call out,

‘Miss, please don't leave, surely there is plenty of room for us both'.

Mary had been quite horrified. The thought of sitting next to someone and having to converse with them, was all too much. She had ignored the plea and hurried back to work, where she had angrily ate her lunch in a quite corner. Unfortunately for Mary, the interloper was quite persistent and gradually, over a very long period of time, Mary had softened.
They became friends. Jonathan was an ideal match for Mary. He too felt he was thrust into this world, decades too late. They liked the same things, had the same moral compass and most importantly, felt comfortable in each other's presence. This was no mean feat, and Mary could honestly say, she had never felt more at ease than when she had Jonathan by her side. She had even started to allow herself to imagine the possibility of a life together.
They remained park bench friends for quite some time, until Jonathan finally plucked up the courage to ask Mary out to dinner one evening. She was overjoyed and had been secretly wishing and hoping for the invitation.

How Mary became pregnant was a puzzle. She was vaguely aware of a moment of intimacy, but was so overwhelmed by the events that took place, she instead decided to block everything out. On that particular evening, she had allowed herself more than her customary one glass of Chardonnay, after that, the remainder of the night was somewhat foggy. In her mind, she had softened and embellished the finite details of the night, romanticising what had actually occurred. Her recollection was being whisked off her feet by a handsome prince, with lots of swooning involved. As she preferred that version of events, anything close to the actual facts were instantly dismissed.

Mary was determined that no one would know of her predicament, which included Jonathan. They continued to see each other, however, Mary made it abundantly clear, that anything beyond a quick kiss on the cheek was not going to reoccur. Jonathan felt bemused, however, he too preferred this gentle friendship. He felt he had been pressured into a more intimate relationship with Mary by society as a whole. He was a man after all, it was expected of him. He heard his colleagues laughing between themselves at work, all vying to be the Alpha Male, telling stories of their many conquests. It sickened him and made him retreat even further into his shell. No, this was the right way for him too, and secretly, he felt nothing but relief. He didn't have to prove himself anymore as Mary understood and excepted him just as he was. The embarrassing fumbling in the dark was over and thank goodness, never to be repeated.

Mary’s denial of her pregnancy, meant nothing in her life actually changed. She continued to do what she had always done, and no one at her work suspected a thing.
After about three months, when the baby had actually started to show, Mary had simply adapted her wardrobe accordingly. No one would ever know because no one ever really took any notice of her anyway. Finally, blending into the background had its benefits.

The months rolled by and the enevitable date loomed ever closer. Somewhere, in the back of her mind, Mary had registered that the baby was due late November. She hadn't thought about what she was going to do once the time came and ignored the nagging troublesome thoughts that kept entering her head. She had glanced through a couple of self explanatory books, however, the explicit graphics had left her traumatised. Mary preferred to remain in blissful ignorance.

The fateful day came mid October. She was in work when she felt an unusually heavy weight in her lower abdomen. Mary quickly visitied the ladies and was unexpectededly surprised when it seemed she had wet herself. Squirming with embarrassment, she still hadn't registered what might be the cause. Her body was doing things which were beyond her control, therefore, she excused herself from work and hurried home.
That was to be the longest night of her life. The sneaky contractions which warned of oncoming waves of pain were unbearable. Mary was beside herself with terror. The pain reached a point where it was constant and she thought, this surely was the end, it was impossible that anyone could endure this much agony and survive.
This continued throughout the evening and well into the night. Sometime, in the quite dead hours of early morning, Mary felt a sudden relief and a gush of something warm and wet rush out of her onto her legs. Everything was still and very very silent. She could hear the dawn chorus start up and the miaow of a nearby cat, no doubt wanting to come in after a late night trawl through the streets. A new day was beginning for everyone, but for Mary, hers had just ended. She tried to summon up the strength to move and finally managed to ease herself up into a sitting position. When she glanced down she could see it was a girl. She was tiny, blue and perfectly formed.Mary called her Emma. Because she appeared cold, Mary gently washed Emma in warm water, dried her with the fluffiest towel she could find and lovingly wrapped her up in a soft comforting blanket. All the while Emma remained still and silent, not unlike one of the many Victorian porcelain dolls Mary owned, the only difference being, Emma would remain a sleeping one, forever dreaming.

To the rear of the small conservatory at the back of her house, was a tiny walled garden. Mary had lovingly tended the roses, which were her pride and joy. In complete symmetry, they stood like centours on both sides, guarding the tiny space in between. The earth was weed free and easy to manage. Mary appeared perfectly calm and moved as though in a trance. She expertly dug a small hole to the base of her particular favourite rose, a strongly fragrant yellow variety, then gently lowered her sleeping Emma into it. When she was finished, no evidence of any disturbance could be found. In matter of moments, the previous days events had been erased and everything was now back to normal.
That had been almost three years ago.

It was fast approaching ‪4pm‬ at work and Mary could wait no longer. She left and rushed back home to begin her evening. Once there, Mary felt a stillness in the air and an expectancy she could never quite get used to. She got out the card she had made earlier in the week, read the words she had written over again, then placed the card in the centre of the dining room table. She had thought long and hard over a present and had finally decided on a soft toy giraffe with extra long eyelashes which she had wrapped in paper decorated with tiny blue and pink rattles. The cake she made earlier that morning, was placed along side the card and present.
Finally, she was ready and lit the three three candles on the prepared cake.

Mary then played a well rehearsed game. She imagined Emma as a three year old sitting across the table from her. Her exquisite golden curls formed a halo around her beautiful face. Her dewy blue eyes reflected the soft glow of the candles while her soft pudgy hands clapped with glee and delight in anticipation of tasting the birthday cake. Mary’s face was alive, her smile radiant. She picked up the card, opened it and slowly read the words she had written.

To Emma, forever in my heart, but never to hold.

With tears flowing down her cheeks and never once taking her eyes of Emma, Mary silently blew out the candles. In an instant, Emma was gone.

Until next year my love, she thought. until next year.