Isolation

by Jenni Regan

  I soon realised that I could not lift Granny all the way. I tried several different options, but she was still too heavy to move far. I pulled her from the sofa to the floor, the bin bags stretching but sliding across the carpet. I noticed with disgust the full extent of the mess on the sofa, stained a kaleidoscope of colours. The closest I had come to physical exertion in many years was helping my granny put the shopping away, so I soon found myself red and breathless.

  Then I remembered the shopping bag on wheels my granny always took out with her, returning with it filled to the brim with goodies. I went to get it from under the stairs, and then I lifted my gran into it headfirst. It didn’t make life much easier, but it meant I could kind of drag and pull her along, stopping every couple of minutes to get my breath back. I was doing really well until I reached the stairs down to the basement. I wondered if I could lower the bag down gently, but when I tried, the weight was too much for me. Figuring that my gran was dead and wouldn’t feel anything anyway, I took her out of the bag and pushed her down a step at a time, a little like one of those Slinky toys I had seen as a kid.

  Eventually, I reached the freezer. Opening the lid, I managed to haul her up against it and eventually topple her into the ice. At first, I couldn’t close the lid, but after shifting a few things around and taking a few more bits out, I finally closed Granny in.

  It was at this moment that the room swam and a pain in my chest started to hurt so badly that I worried I would follow my gran to the grave. I knew I was unfit; despite posting various #nopainnogain selfies, the last time I had actually exercised was not in some swanky yoga studio but in a draughty school gym. Suddenly I was gasping for breath and my body was freezing yet sweating at the same time. I found I couldn’t move and even felt like I was looking down upon myself rather than in the room. After what felt like an hour—but could have easily been only two minutes—I felt better. I was ashamed to see the puddle at my feet that betrayed the fact I had wet myself.

  I was frozen to the spot and couldn’t quite believe what I had done. I had good reason, but the reality was the only person I had truly loved was dead, and I had now made a decision to hide this. There was no turning back now; I knew I wouldn’t be able to explain what had happened here. I longed for someone to come and take all the decisions away from me.

  I had tried to keep my emotions out of this. I knew it was a strange and not very nice way to treat a dead person, but I also thought at this stage that it was for the best. I couldn’t help it; the fact Granny was now resting in a freezer rather than in a coffin was a horrible thought, and I thought again about phoning for help. In the end, I was too scared. I had no idea what would happen to me, as I had no real experience of the outside world. As long as I could carry on and pretend, to myself as much as anyone, that everything was OK, then I was sure somehow it would be.

  After my exertion and funny spell, I was starving and thirsty, so I headed back to the kitchen to see what I could cook up. I removed my gloves and protective clothing, keeping them to one side for when I had to tackle the living room later. Thankfully, defrosting away in the fridge were some Aunt Bessie Yorkshire puddings and prawn balls, so I started up the oven and the deep fat fryer. There was a part of me that really wanted to update my Facebook with ‘Wow who knew a little old lady could weigh so much #deadgrannyinfreezer’ even as a joke, but I didn’t want to attract any attention to myself. Instead I told the world I was having friends over for dinner later and was wondering what to cook, knowing there were lots who would be oh so eager to share with me.

  After eating and stacking the plate up in the sink with the rest of the three-day washing up, I tackled the living room. The smell made me gag, and I nearly bought back up my lovely prawn balls, so I fashioned myself a mask out of a dishcloth and an old Glade refill that sat under my nose. I had grabbed many sprays from the cupboard under the sink, and I sprayed them randomly. I soon realised that this would not be enough to shift the mess and then discovered that there was a zip on the side of the cushion. Taking the covers off, I sprayed the cushions underneath until they were soaked with bleach. Then I took the covers through to the kitchen. One slight hurdle was that I had no idea how to use the washing machine. Granny had always taken care of the domestic arrangements. Switching on my tablet, I Youtubed my make of washing machine and was rewarded with step-by-step instructions on how to do a wash.

  I then felt the overwhelming need to feel normal, so I broke my own rules by messaging Stan. It was nothing heavy, just me asking how he was and telling him I had a very busy week ahead. I filled my time waiting for a message back by watching an episode of Friends on my tablet. I was halfway through when he responded.

  ‘You know what I want from you babe, I already showed you mine now I want to see some pussy on my phone, cmon don’t be a tease.’

  I wasn’t sure I liked this new side of Stan. The old Stan had always made me feel wanted and desirable, but my gran would say that this Stan was only after one thing. At least I guessed that’s what she would have said if she were still alive. Then again, I, more than most, knew men had needs.

  I was still working out what to say when I got another message from Stan.

  ‘Babe I hope you know how bootiful I tink you are, I just can’t get you out of my head and I hate reading about you with any other man, sorry if I come across as a bit jealous at times but you drive me wild!’

  I smiled to myself. This was the Stan I knew and loved, the one who made me feel like a princess, the one who made me feel lucky that I had ever responded to his friend request on Facebook feeling flattered that someone like him would even look at someone like me.

  I figured that giving him what he wanted was the only way to keep him interested, especially now that I knew he was jealous of my other apparent ‘online’ hook-ups. I wasn’t quite ready to bare all just yet, but I thought a boob would be doable. I knew I could go on the internet and download hundreds of pictures, but I wanted to show Stan the real me. Escaping to the privacy of my bedroom, I drew the curtains and took off my top and bra—my granny had always joked that I could fit my head into one cup. Pushing my sizeable breasts together, I took a shot with my iPhone. The first couple of shots were pretty blurred and unrecognisable, but after a few tries, the results were impressive. My breasts looked big and perky, almost exactly like ones I had seen online, and from that angle, you couldn’t see the rest of my body where the fat dispersal wasn’t so impressive.

  I sent off my favourite shot to Stan with a note telling him that this was for starters. I was sure this would buy me a couple more weeks without having to do much more. He replied almost immediately.

  ‘Wow, you are so hot babe, wish I could get my hands on your titties I would squeeze them and suck them hard.’

  I guessed I needed to respond to this, so I Googled ‘talking dirty.’ I copied and pasted a few lines about how Stan was making me horny and sent this off.

  After a few hours of playing my favourite online game where I had to collect animals for my zoo, I was feeling out of sorts. My day was usually punctuated by the little rituals and cups of tea that my gran had insisted on including in our lives. Now I was eating what I wanted when I wanted, and my day seemed to have no routine. It was strange as we had lived separate lives in many ways, but it was amazing how knowing someone was in the next room could keep you from feeling lonely. I wondered how else my granny filled my days apart from TV and remembered she used to do a fair bit of housework. Now, this was something I could learn.

  I looked around the kitchen and realised that I needed to start there as it already looked like a mess. I had dumped the gloves and bin bags I had used in my clean-up mission earlier in the corner, so I started with that, using a second pair of rubber gloves to protect me while I picked up the pile and put it in the bin which was already overflowing. I pulled the liner out and tied it, gagging again from the smell which seemed to be a mixture of rotten food, shit and something surprisingly pungent that I couldn’t put my fi
nger on but guessed was related to my granny.

  Then I walked to the front door, determined to make it to the end of the path where the wheelie bin sat. My heart was already pounding as I reached for the handle, the cool air hit me and was a relief after the stuffiness and smells of my home, but it was also terrifying as it signified the outside world. I tried to take a step outside and finally got one foot out the door. After a while, I ventured with the other foot, but this was too much for my poor nervous system. I suddenly found that I couldn’t breathe. I felt sweaty and dizzy, as though the world was closing in on me. I threw the bin bag as far as I could down the garden path, hoping that the binmen would take pity on me, and rushed back into my sanctuary, trying and failing to catch my breath. The panic lasted at least twenty minutes, and when it finally subsided, I felt tearful and shaky.

  I comforted myself with a slice of black forest Gateaux and a drink of black sweet tea that was surprisingly nice. I felt I could probably get used to being without milk. After all that, I didn’t feel well enough to carry on with my cleaning, so I gave up for the day and instead watched almost an entire series of my favourite box set through my laptop, still not able to be in the living room with its strange smell and fragile memories.

  Rachel

  13 September 2018, Midday

  Rachel was having a bad week. Not only had she had to fork out a fortune for her old rustbucket of a car, but she also had a terrible day at work. To top it all, she had gotten into a huge argument with her boyfriend, Dave, about his inability to find a job. She had come home tired from a full day at work to find him sitting on the sofa in the same spot she had left him, beer in hand and two hungry kids sitting by his feet. Her friends always told her she was lucky he had stuck around, particularly for kids that weren't even his, but at that moment, she didn't feel lucky, just annoyed.

  When she had first met him down at her local pub on a rare night out, he hadn’t exactly swept her off her feet, but it had been a long time since anyone had paid her any attention, so she had lapped it up. She knew she wasn’t a bad catch in spite of the obvious baggage. She was in her thirties but could pass for twenty-five, her body was in good nick despite the three kids, and her best asset was her hair, which was long and brown. She probably spent more on her hair than she did her car. It currently had chestnut extensions, which weren’t real because it would freak her out having some person’s actual hair attached to her head, but they still looked real enough. At the time, Dave had been working at the nearby car plant and had been generous with the drinks that night. He had ended up staying the night and they had kind of stuck together ever since.

  Rachel was no angel these days, but she was a hard worker and a good mum. Sometimes when she was having a bad week, she remembered her dark days, vague recollections of week-long benders with her taking whatever she could get her hands on. Rachel had to admit that sometimes she felt like reaching for a glass of vodka well before lunchtime, but she was much stronger than that these days. She hadn’t touched a drug stronger than wine, caffeine or tobacco for over ten years. She knew Dave and her friends would be shocked if they knew about her past. That was the good thing about London; you could reinvent yourself.

  Rachel still kept in contact with Kylie and Jessica’s dad, Rob, much to Dave’s disgust. The two men would grunt at each other territorially when Rob occasionally came to pick them up for the weekend, although it was generally her dropping them off. He wasn’t the most hands-on of fathers. As much as Rachel loved having time to herself, when this happened (albeit infrequently), she also missed her kids horribly. She would try to fill her day with online bingo or games. She loved being a mother so much. It made dealing with all the rude kids at the school where she worked worthwhile when she could buy Jess the exact coat she wanted or Kylie the latest scooter she was after.

  Knowing her time was running out, Rachel was craving another baby. There was something so amazing about the smell and touch of a baby, something so magical. Rachel had mourned each time her babies had stopped breastfeeding as this was the start of a downward slope of them not needing her as much. She was proud when Jess had started school earlier that year, but she had gone home and cried her eyes out at the knowledge that before she knew it Jess would be staying out late and hating her mum. Rachel also knew no matter how many kids she had, she could never replace the one she had lost, but it could at least fill the gap for a while.

  Tom

  12 September 2018, 8 p.m.

  Tom was more shocked than upset; after all, he and Will had stopped having regular sex early in the relationship. The realisation that Will was having plenty of sex—only it wasn’t with him, it was with his personal trainer—was not only a slap in the face, it was also such a cliché. Sure, Tom had sought sex outside the relationship on occasions, but he thought what he and Will had was stronger than a quick fumble. Tom, of course, had been the last to know, only being informed by one of their bitchier friends who had taken quite the delight in telling Tom how he had spotted his partner and the fit young instructor holding hands over a latte.

  Tom lay in wait for Will that night. They were supposed to be going to an opening on Broadway, but Tom had been firm and assertive in telling Will to come home that evening. He was nursing a large glass of Riesling when the front door went.

  ‘So why all the drama, my darling? Don’t tell me you think we need to start acting like the middle-aged bores we are and staying home every evening?’

  Personally, Tom thought a few evenings in a week sounded like a joy, but he refused to get sidetracked.

  ‘I thought it was important we had a chat; after all, I feel like we never sit down and talk anymore. I feel like I always have to share you.’ Tom poured Will a glass, wincing as his boyfriend leant in to give him a dry kiss.

  ‘OK, then, what shall we talk about? How is work for you, dear?’ Will said sarcastically, mincing round like a 1950’s housewife.

  Tom remembered that when they had first met, they would stay up into the early hours some nights, talking and sharing their secrets and dreams. This had been Tom’s first real, grown-up relationship. There had been plenty of flings, even a couple of women along the way, but finding someone who he had connected with on such an intellectual level had been a huge aphrodisiac. In terms of their hopes and dreams, they had both surpassed what they had wanted back then, at least on a superficial level. However, somewhere along the line, they had lost the thing that had pulled them together. Tom tried to keep it light.

  ‘I wanted to check in, you know, see how you were feeling? How is work?’

  ‘Jeez, I thought it was us Yanks who were supposed to be over-sharers. I know, how about I share my Google calendar with you? Then you can see what I’m up to at all times. Then maybe rather than sitting here talking about shit, we could catch late dinner with Danny and Rob and hear all about the play we should be at right now.’

  Tom was getting angry. He didn’t know if Will was feeling guilty or if he really didn’t care about them as a couple.

  ‘That would be great, and maybe you could share the details of your personal trainer with me. I have heard he is great at working you up into a sweat.’ Tom saw something flash across Will’s eyes, but to his surprise, it wasn’t guilt, it was annoyance.

  ‘So what if Alex is giving me a few extras? When you are a fat, balding fifty-something in New York, you take what you can get. Don’t tell me you have never done the dirty. I mean, we never do it anymore, and I know you can’t live like a complete monk.’

  ‘Yes, there have been a few over the years, but they have always been hook-ups from bars or Grindr. From what I hear about you and this Alex bloke, it is all romance and hotel rooms.’

  Will stepped towards him. ‘Hon, you know it means nothing. Alex is young and hot but incredibly stupid. His only topic of conversation is around muscle groups, and eating out with him is about as much fun as eating out with Hitler, but it is hugely good for my ego to have him chase me. It is so different to wha
t we have, though. It need not get in the way.’

  ‘So, are you saying you don’t want to stop seeing him?’

  ‘Not really, no. I’m sure he will get bored and move on to his next paying customer soon, so what is the point? Variety is the spice of life. Remember, we used to enjoy involving others in our sex life.’

  Tom thought back to the men they had bought into their bed at the beginning of the relationship with fondness but not longing. The day they had decided to become serious and move in together had been one of the best days of his life.

  ‘What if I say it is me or him? Surely you are not going to chuck away what we have, our solid decade-long relationship, for something so meaningless?’

  ‘You would be the stupid one, Tom! You know I bring the most to the table in this relationship—the rent on this place as a start—and would you really want to end up with just your boring old lawyer friends to socialise with? Just be cool and let this run its course. You know I don’t like being told what to do.’

  This was said softly with a smile, but Tom knew he was serious. Will really hated anyone trying to control his life. Tom felt like he was being rejected but knew what Will was saying made sense. This was his whole life now. He had invested so much into this relationship, this perfect gay New York existence, that to throw it all away would be stupid. He hated backing down, but he knew Will had won, like he always did.

  ‘OK, but I really don’t want my nose rubbed in it. Please be more subtle, and if Alex starts turning up to our social scene, then I will think again.’

  ‘Of course, darling, anything to make you happy. Now, let’s finish off this bottle and then head out. After all, what is the point of living slap bang in the middle of the city that never sleeps if we are the ones sitting at home and waiting to die?’