At the moment her mobile started ringing, Penny noticed two things. Lentil supplies were low, and Paul was late. She tutted. She was engaged in the internet home delivery stock check, making sure that each half-used item had a new, full packet behind it. She had the laptop open on the kitchen table, fingers twitching over the keyboard. As the phone started vibrating against the table, her fingers stabbed. Ordered, one 500-gram pack of Organic Virtues green lentils.
The mobile rang on, playing ‘Night Fever, Night Fever’. She sang along, enunciating much more clearly than the Bee Gees. She hated to stop in the middle of the verse, so waited until ‘we know how to show it’ before quickly pressing ‘answer’.
Out of the phone came a horrible groan,
‘Purrrrrrrrhhhhhhhrrrr. Prrrrrrrrrrrrrnnnnnnnrrr.’
‘Paul? Is that you? What’s happening? Are you being mugged?’
For a second she was genuinely worried. Then she heard,
‘Igone bust.’
She heaved a sigh.
‘You’re what?’
‘Nummer hunnerd fifty eight bust Walthmsm.’
The strident voice of the recorded announcement cut in, ‘Two Nine Five – to – Clapham Junction.’
‘Paul! You’re not going to Walthamstow.’
He became defensive, ‘fuck off, snot true. Jush – jush someone fannying around.’
She could picture him clearly, gripping the metal rail of the seat in front, making seasick lunges into the aisle, out of synch with the swaying of the bus.
‘I am hardly going to believe that there is someone there in the background doing an accurate impression of the bus announcement system, Paul. You’d better get off and…’ She heard him hang up the phone, ‘get a taxi,’ she finished, looking down at the phone in her hand.
She sat and looked around the kitchen. She tried to review every planar surface, mentally checking it for cleanliness. She breathed in and out slowly. She seemed to be on top of things. The cooker hood was grime-free, the toaster tray had been properly emptied, she regularly encased the taps in a clingfilm bubble of limescale-remover overnight. Ah! She swooped on Paul’s trainers, set on the back door mat, not quite in alignment and clearly bearing dust and dirt. She put them in the washing machine, added laundry liquid and switched it on. Opening the cupboard for the laundry liquid moved her smoothly on to the stock-take of cleaning products. She stabbed, and Vanish Oxi-Action Prewash Spray 500 ml. was added to the list.
Her mobile chimed. It was a text from Paul. A single word, but properly spelled at least; ‘bollocks’.
She looked out of the window. It was getting dark and the cat was still out. She called its name sweetly until it ran in, and then swiftly turned the lock on the catflap. She grabbed up the cat and gave it a quick once-over with the cat brush, ‘now don’t struggle, you know I spend too much time hoovering up after you already.’ She kissed the cat on its pink nose. ‘Pretty munchkin. Pretty little sweetikins.’ She held its little hot ear between her lips.
~
The phone went off again, this time she picked it up after the first three notes.
‘Listen, Penny. Yaremember whenwe firsht met?’
‘Two Nine Five – to – Clapham Junction’
‘Paul, I have a shepherd’s pie waiting for you in the oven.’
‘Ihada kebabalready. Listen, Penny. ’
She noticed a smudge on the laptop screen and, still holding the mobile phone to her ear, went to the drawer to take out a soft cloth.
‘I’d lozzt both my parents. You helped me. I don’denythat.’
She stopped buffing for a second and smiled, ‘My poor little orphan.’
‘But we rushedintooquick. Nope. Yapushed meinto it. I’m sorry Penny but ishtrue. Yapushedme into gerring married and gerring the house. And now you don’even let me have myown keys.’
‘Oh Paul. You lost them too many times.’
‘You don’letme makeany decisions. You don’let me even choose what to wear any more.’
‘Two Nine Five – to – Clapham Junction’
‘I wanna listena music. Thassa smallenough thing. I wanna gotoplaces. FuckitPenny. I neverhad sex withanyone exschept you. I don’wannaget oldan die lockedupinthe same house withyouPenny. I’m sorry.’
She heard his voice crack.
‘I’m sorry Penny but thassit. I’m going. I’m goingaleaveyou. I wantadivorsche.’ A huge sob or snort made her hold the phone away from her ear. She heard again, ‘I’m sorry Penny,’ and then he hung up.
Penny sat still for a long time. She blinked and a tear left a splash on the table. She returned the soft cloth to the drawer, took a more absorbent one and wiped up the tear.
She went back to the internet supermarket and checked out. It asked her, ‘have you forgotten – Smirnoff Vodka 1 litre?’ She hovered over ‘no’ but then changed her mind and answered, ‘yes’. A tiny image of a vodka bottle appeared in her basket. Then she added two more.
She got out two sets of breakfast bowls and cups and positioned them upside down on place mats, to be ready for morning but not to gather dust. She did the same with the cat’s food bowl on its pink plastic cat-shaped mat on the floor. She went upstairs and straightened the covers on their bed. She would sit up and write her diary and read until she heard the doorbell, until she had him back. She took the diary from the bedside table and made a few notes half-heartedly, ‘sunshine and showers’, ‘prime minister urged to resign’. She made a tiny mark against today’s date, a miniature droplet shape. Then she flipped back through the pages, less crisp now that it was late in the year. There were five, six, seven little drops marked now. But it was alright. He never, ever, remembered in the morning.
Smirnoff Vodka - One Litre by Clare Sandling was read by Lisa Rose at the Liar's League Surf, Turf & Vodka event at Proud Galleries Camden on Tuesday 23 June 2009.
Found it at last! I love this story.
Posted by: Q | Mar 05, 2010 at 09:16 PM
fantastic
Posted by: adam | Dec 09, 2009 at 08:05 PM