Standby

 

“Can I just say you look absolutely lovely today?”

“Really?” Barbara exclaimed, shyly fiddling with her hair to hide her embarrassment. “No I don’t. But thank you.” Barbara stood up from the settee and smiled coyly at the unexpected remark. “I’m just going to the kitchen. I won’t be a moment”.  Walking out into the hallway Barbara couldn’t help but laugh and shake off the compliment from her friend Pat. “Lovely?” she thought to herself disbelievingly. “I’m only wearing my lounging clothes”. Still, it was always nice to hear. She seldom received compliments these days.

Grabbing the kettle from the kitchen counter she sparingly filled it with water, flicked the switch and sat down, listening to the gentle drone of the boiling vessel. The water bubbled and spat gently for a few moments before settling to an eerie calm. Barbara walked over to the cupboard and grabbed a mug, threw in a teabag and poured the boiling water over the top. She watched as the sepia ink from the tea leaves swirled amongst the clear water. From the living room she could hear her friends Pat and Margaret deep in steady conversation.

“Did you see Sharon the other day in that dress? Talk about wanting a little attention.”

 “I know. It was awful. The colour really brought out the veins in her legs.”

The room erupted with laughter and Barbara smiled to herself as she drained the teabag from her mug.

     It hadn’t always been this way for Barbara. Only four years ago she had lost her husband and at that time she felt utterly and desperately alone. When you’re with someone for so long you almost forget the rest of the world exists and in doing so you isolate yourself. She didn’t need friends then, she had Ken. But when he died of Emphysema it was only then that she needed the world to help her, needed someone to turn to. She should have seen this day coming. Hell, she had 15 years to prepare for it, but time creeps by unawares.

When they were first told he had the disease it wasn’t so apparent, they could almost forget he had it. But as the years crawled by, denial was no longer an option. Ken suffered terribly. His body became frail, his lungs exhausted from coughing and gasping for air. His eyes became glazed and the life that once projected from them slowly diminished. Barbara would sit on their bed and stroke his hand and talk to him as she had done throughout their 45 years of marriage. Just sit there and talk. It was the silence that scared her the most. Silence was a foreboding reminder of what was to come, of what she had absolutely no control over.

Eventually Ken was admitted to hospital and there, in the sterile bed with its starched sheets he passed away. Afterwards the hallways danced and blurred with shadowy figures coming and going with the murmurs of goodbyes and condolences. Life was going on at full speed around her as Barbara’s had stopped completely.

Going back to their empty house was torture. Every room, every item that scattered the shelves and every smell that seeped from the fabrics momentarily fooled Barbara into normality. It was only when she lay in bed, smothered by the dark silence that she would remember Ken wasn’t coming back. The ache in the pit of her stomach would return and she’d cry. Anguished screams rained down on her pillow, absorbing into the feather stuffing where they would wallow and fester night after night.

Twelve months rolled by like this and before she knew it the first anniversary of Ken’s death resounded in her head like an unwanted echo. Its grim voice reminding her of everything she had lost and the nothingness that she had gained. She would look at old photos of the two of them together and wish with such vehemence that she was that person staring back at her, that carefree, young woman who had a reason to smile and a husband by her side. She wished she was herself again. But as the months dragged themselves by Barbara began to realise that this was her life now; the empty house, the silent walls, the pathetic meals for one was all part of her daily routine. But no matter how much time would pass she knew she would never accept this new life of hers, she just had to learn to tolerate it.

But then, just like the flicking of a switch or the pressing of a button, two people entered her life. They have such significance to Barbara now and yet she can hardly remember the fist time she met them. The image of their meeting is no clear picture, just a grainy flickering of pleasantries, opened gestures upon smiles upon laughter upon sympathetic ears and inevitable tears. No specific memory is required. That is Margaret and Pat. Like a whirlwind they entered and like the remaining breeze they have stayed.

Barbara had never met two people whose lives were as dramatic as theirs. It read like a script from a soap opera; a playwright of adultery and misgivings, drugs and bereavement. At the time of their meeting Margaret was in the process of divorcing her third husband, had previously lost a son in a motorcycle accident and had overcome a painful addiction to painkillers. Pat, herself a divorcee, had fought breast cancer twice and had her house repossessed due to an ex-husband who thought nothing about using their life savings to feed his gambling habit.

But despite all this, or perhaps because of it, they formed a great friendship. Barbara realised that listening to their stories of bereavement and emotional struggles made her forget her own life or, in a strange way, appreciate it more for its simplicity. The veil that had been suffocating her since Ken’s death was slowly slipping and glimpses of the old Barbara were emerging; exuding from the twitch of a smile or the melodic beat of a laugh. And the three days a week they would meet up, Barbara was slowly returning to the woman in the photographs. 

Eventually the day arrived when she realised she was no longer sad for Ken. She could remember him and smile; she could laugh at jokes and no longer feel overwhelmed with guilt. She grew in confidence and actually began to enjoy the independence that came with living on one’s own. She could put her feelings before anyone else’s and do as she pleased. For the first time in years she had friends, it was as simple as that.

 “What do you mean you’re seeing him? Are you mad?”

Barbara’s thoughts were interrupted by Pats wails from the living room. She poured some milk into her mug of tea, laid some biscuits out on a plate and headed back to join what sounded like a heated debate amongst her friends.

“So what have I missed?” she asked as she took her seat at the end of the sofa. Placing the biscuits in the centre of the coffee table she stole a rich tea, dunked it in her mug and leant back in her seat awaiting a response from one of the two to update her. No one answered. The room remained silent. Barbara looked up from her mug. The sofa was empty, the seat cushions cold and unused. The silence overwhelmed her like a cold, thick fog. She sprang upright tipping tepid tea onto her leg. Panic rose in her throat, crept along her skin, and wrapped its suffocating body around her chest.  She looked across the living room. No one was there. It remained dark and passive except for the small red glow of the standby light on her TV. Retrieving the remote from underneath her, she pressed the button and the TV jumped to life.

“Well, I’ll tell you now if it all goes wrong. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Pat said to Margaret with a sternness in her voice that surprised Barbara.

“You scared me for a moment there.” Barbara said, beginning to relax the grip on her mug. “I thought I was on my own again”.

Feeling the thump,thump thump in her chest slowly receding, Barbara settled back in her chair, sipped her tea and listened intently. She closed her eyes and relaxed, enjoying the company of her friends.  

Reviews

[roarke]

very nice handling of a difficult life passage. You blended the character and the setting seamlessly. I liked the twist ending finishing your story, well done.