****
Graham picked up his phone and walked over to the fridge. As he typed in the familiar numbers and lodged the phone between his shoulder and his ear, he idly fingered the refrigerator’s contents. The milk was almost past its sell by date. He could never drink two pints in two days on his own. That pizza should have been eaten yesterd…
“Hello?”
Last night’s beer cans lined up on the worktops like a battalion of infantry; the kitchen smelt of wine, lemon and limescale.
“Yeah, can I order a taxi please?”
The boiler clicked into its heating cycle and the radiators groaned. Drizzle turned to rain outside and Graham pulled the open window closed.
“18 Leighton Grove, half an hour? Thanks”
He hung up and stared at the children playing football on the road outside the kitchen window, unperturbed by the rain. Above them, the Horse Chestnuts sighed a weary sigh, echoing Graham’s resignation. The sky was like a vast grey duvet, towering above everything, and yet seemingly so close. This wasn’t a day for the claustrophobics.
Behind him, in the living room, Nicola was crying. He couldn’t remember the last time he had seen her smiling, the tears seemed permanent to him, a feature of her face no different to the freckles on her nose, or the tiny mole so elegantly positioned on her right cheek. The tungsten above lit her brown hair so that it shimmered like her tears as it fell onto delicate pale shoulders. The curtains were drawn and the room glowed sickly orange.
Graham turned and walked back into the living room and sat at the table, watching Nicola over on the sofa. He felt an intense sadness.
“The taxi’s on its way- half an hour”
She dragged the hair from her face and fixed him with sad eyes and a half smile. She noticed he was fingering the watch she had bought him for his birthday last year. No, the year before. That was the year he had told her he loved her. She felt a surge of happiness for that memory, as if for that split second she was back in that place, could smell the freshly mown lawn, and taste the charcoaled sausages from her father’s barbeque, but she wiped her eyes and quickly faded back into the present tense.
“Can I use your shower?” she asked,
My shower? Considered Graham; ‘my’ shower? Now it was his shower. Before this morning it had been ‘ours’, in fact, before this morning it may as well have been hers, he thought, the amount of time that she had spent in there compared to him. It seemed right that she should take it with her. It was more hers than his, and now she was asking permission to use it. He suppressed his temptation to be pedantic;
“Of course”
“Thank you”
She stood up and walked past him, past her bags which stood packed, bulging with her life in the hallway, to the bathroom. He caught her scent as she passed him, a mixture of sleep and Cerrutti, and reflected on how much that smell used to excite him. He wished the morning were over.
***
Outside in the taxi, forty three minutes later, she stared out through her still damp hair at Graham’s flat, her home for the last two years, and tried in vain not to take a mental picture of its red brick walls for the last time. She tried not to acknowledge the fact that she would probably never set foot in it again, never walk up the crumbling staircase, with its discarded free newspapers and pizza delivery menus which Graham seemed to collect by the dozen. She tried not to imagine greeting the black and white cat which always yawned at her in the evening from the windowsill half way up the stairs when she got in from work, and the cobwebs outside the front door of Graham’s flat which now almost obscured the green copper number 18. Graham refused to clean them away because it was the landlord’s responsibility to “maintain the exterior of his property”. At least she’d not have to hear him complain about that again. But she tried not to consider even that; this was just a normal taxi journey, and she would be home in the evening. This wasn’t a film, after all.
“Where you going, love?”
She could feel his eyes all over her, like snakes exploring the contours of her body. She could smell his coffee breath and the vague trace of Vic. She reminded him of Susanne, one of the girls who had got him expelled from school all those years ago. Vulnerable and hurt. They drove on.
“Hello?”
Last night’s beer cans lined up on the worktops like a battalion of infantry; the kitchen smelt of wine, lemon and limescale.
“Yeah, can I order a taxi please?”
The boiler clicked into its heating cycle and the radiators groaned. Drizzle turned to rain outside and Graham pulled the open window closed.
“18 Leighton Grove, half an hour? Thanks”
He hung up and stared at the children playing football on the road outside the kitchen window, unperturbed by the rain. Above them, the Horse Chestnuts sighed a weary sigh, echoing Graham’s resignation. The sky was like a vast grey duvet, towering above everything, and yet seemingly so close. This wasn’t a day for the claustrophobics.
Behind him, in the living room, Nicola was crying. He couldn’t remember the last time he had seen her smiling, the tears seemed permanent to him, a feature of her face no different to the freckles on her nose, or the tiny mole so elegantly positioned on her right cheek. The tungsten above lit her brown hair so that it shimmered like her tears as it fell onto delicate pale shoulders. The curtains were drawn and the room glowed sickly orange.
Graham turned and walked back into the living room and sat at the table, watching Nicola over on the sofa. He felt an intense sadness.
“The taxi’s on its way- half an hour”
She dragged the hair from her face and fixed him with sad eyes and a half smile. She noticed he was fingering the watch she had bought him for his birthday last year. No, the year before. That was the year he had told her he loved her. She felt a surge of happiness for that memory, as if for that split second she was back in that place, could smell the freshly mown lawn, and taste the charcoaled sausages from her father’s barbeque, but she wiped her eyes and quickly faded back into the present tense.
“Can I use your shower?” she asked,
My shower? Considered Graham; ‘my’ shower? Now it was his shower. Before this morning it had been ‘ours’, in fact, before this morning it may as well have been hers, he thought, the amount of time that she had spent in there compared to him. It seemed right that she should take it with her. It was more hers than his, and now she was asking permission to use it. He suppressed his temptation to be pedantic;
“Of course”
“Thank you”
She stood up and walked past him, past her bags which stood packed, bulging with her life in the hallway, to the bathroom. He caught her scent as she passed him, a mixture of sleep and Cerrutti, and reflected on how much that smell used to excite him. He wished the morning were over.
***
Outside in the taxi, forty three minutes later, she stared out through her still damp hair at Graham’s flat, her home for the last two years, and tried in vain not to take a mental picture of its red brick walls for the last time. She tried not to acknowledge the fact that she would probably never set foot in it again, never walk up the crumbling staircase, with its discarded free newspapers and pizza delivery menus which Graham seemed to collect by the dozen. She tried not to imagine greeting the black and white cat which always yawned at her in the evening from the windowsill half way up the stairs when she got in from work, and the cobwebs outside the front door of Graham’s flat which now almost obscured the green copper number 18. Graham refused to clean them away because it was the landlord’s responsibility to “maintain the exterior of his property”. At least she’d not have to hear him complain about that again. But she tried not to consider even that; this was just a normal taxi journey, and she would be home in the evening. This wasn’t a film, after all.
“Where you going, love?”
She could feel his eyes all over her, like snakes exploring the contours of her body. She could smell his coffee breath and the vague trace of Vic. She reminded him of Susanne, one of the girls who had got him expelled from school all those years ago. Vulnerable and hurt. They drove on.
2 comments:
Ace, carry on :D
Quality joffers
I can't wait for the next installment.
Really vivid imagery, i bloody love it.
love si
Post a Comment