Past Present Future

by Alexander, N J.

  ‘No, they’re about to though, that’s why the new sign writing went up yesterday. They’ll be opening up any day now. So it would be like kissing a frog, if you like?’

  ‘Kissing a frog? Why have you just said that?’ It now felt as though Richard was even in on all the madness around me. It is peculiar, how strange words feel even stranger, when you’re in a moving car with rapidly changing scenery. It’s as though it’s all too much for the senses to take in.

  ‘What? It’s just an expression – have you not heard it before? To kiss a frog. It’s like saying goodbye.’

  ‘No. No I have definitely not heard of it, not used like that.’

  But obviously, thinking about it, in the fairy tale, the princess kisses the frog goodbye, and the frog is then replaced with a prince.

  But the last thing that old showroom felt like was a fairy tale, so I didn’t make the connection.

  I wasn’t meaning to sound short with him though, it wasn’t his fault that he chose those words. And it wasn’t his fault that the new tenant was selling designer wedding dresses. All of my hard work, hopes and dreams for the place had been replaced with different kinds of fabrics. Curtains were now satin, silk and beads woven into beautiful gowns, designed to make a woman feel, ironically, like a princess. Each one of those dresses would eventually be filled with a soul full of hopes and dreams. ‘No I don’t want to see it. It’s history. I’ve already kissed it goodbye,’ I said.

  ‘Okay, just thought you might have wanted to, that’s all. I’ll head straight home then.’

  ‘I hope it works out better for them than it did for us, though,’ I said, while thinking that they couldn’t screw it up any more than we did, and my attention then drifted back to the text Richard had received the day before.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Richard asked, as I picked up his mobile.

  ‘Looking at your phone. I want to see that text from yesterday.’

  ‘I’ve deleted it now, I’ve told you it doesn’t matter,’ he said.

  ‘Why didn’t you take it to the police?’

  ‘An isolated text? Don’t be ridiculous – they’d laugh me out of the station. Don’t bother about it.’

  But it was bugging the hell out of me. He could pass all the other withheld numbers off as the bank, but this certainly wasn’t from a bank.

  Are you sure someone hasn’t got it in for you? What about ex-ILex customers who lost deposits? Employees who lost their jobs? We’re too easy to trace thanks to laws on directors’ transparency. Credit-check companies are picking up data everyday on us. I keeping emailing them saying the company closed down but they don’t remove things. We’re easy targets for someone who wants revenge.’

  ‘I think you are overreacting,’ he said.

  But if I thought logically it had to have been sent by someone who was on my Facebook. It couldn’t have come from anyone else. So who the hell was watching me on Facebook bar Anthony? Why had someone got it in for me…and Richard? And…how had they got Richard’s mobile number? No ex-employees or clients were on my Facebook either which blew my first theory out of the water.

  ‘How can it not matter?’ I said sulkily, while still staring at the phone. I think I was hoping that the text would magically reappear.

  ‘It doesn’t matter. I don’t know who sent it. You’ve told me there is nothing to worry about, so I’m not bothered.’ His tone was final and his eyes were fixed firmly on the road ahead, so I couldn’t read his face.

  ‘But the text is just evil, it could have caused trouble,’ I tried again.

  ‘It doesn’t bother me…how many times…’

  ‘That’s not normal,’ I said and grumpily placed the phone back into the console. I turned the radio up and focused on the depressed-looking buildings as we made our way back out of the city. I was sure that knocking them down and replacing them with the huge, metal monstrosities that keep springing up everywhere is only going to make it worse in another fifty years. Then I wasn’t an architect, I wasn’t anything. So what did I know? Nearly all of the buildings had massive “To Let” signs plastered across them.

  Once home, we pulled everything out of the car and dumped the new sleeping bags in the hall. Then I retrieved the chewed up mail, along with Elyse’s mangled shoes, from Blue.

  ‘Mummy, can we play with the sleeping bags.’

  ‘No. They’re for later. Leave them alone please,’ I pleasantly warned them as I headed upstairs to pack mine and William’s overnight bags. Elyse was going to stay with my mum and dad for the night; I considered her too young for the Halloween event. I eventually came back down to see William and Elyse lying on the sofas in the new sleeping bags. Sometimes it felt like I was completely wasting my breath.

  ‘I thought I told you both to leave those sleeping bags alone,’ I said.

  ‘They’re only playing, they’re not causing any harm.’

  Richard was right, so I left them to it while I tidied the mess in the kitchen, which had been left after breakfast. But this turned out to be another one of those moments where I should have stuck to my guns.

  My sheer frustration with the sleeping bags was temporarily reduced by Maddy calling, she had noticed Anthony’s latest Facebook posting. She was even the one who mentioned it first on the phone. So after I placed the phone receiver back in the cradle in the study, I had a beaming smile on my face as I walked back into the garden room for another attempt to get the sleeping bags back into their ridiculously small carry bags. Richard shrewdly noticed my change of expression, probably because five minutes earlier I’d been on the verge of kicking a hole in the wall.

  ‘What’s with the smile?’

  ‘Nothing, no reason,’ I lied, attempting to wipe it from my face.

  ‘But you’re smiling. What has Maddy said?’

  ‘She’s was just giving me the time to meet up later for the Halloween sleepover.’ I lied by partial omission, because that had been part of the conversation – just not all of it. Richard thankfully left it at that. But I was smiling because Maddy had just confirmed what I had willed myself so hard not to see first thing that morning. Anthony was now a Fan of the band Buzzin Fly whose latest listed single just so happened to be My Angelic Demon.

  So, okay, I had to admit that he may have simply liked Buzzin Fly, but to become a Fan of them just hours after my pumpkin pictures appeared? Once again it was safely subtle of him. But I was smiling because he’d spotted them, and also because Maddy had spotted the connection between mine and Anthony’s Wall again. This meant that I wasn’t going insane, or that we both were – so at least I wouldn’t be lonely. But it would be even better if I could coax him into posting something that lacked subtlety; like the text sent to Richard’s phone.

  I turned my attention back to the sleeping bags, whilst wishing I’d been a fly on the wall when Anthony had spotted my photos. Did they make him smile?

  ‘I need to get more air out of those bags,’ I said. ‘We need to roll them up a tight as possible,’ I instructed, as Richard and I slowly rolled the first one up, only to get to the end to find that it was still like trying to squeeze a cushion into a plastic sandwich bag. ‘This is fucking stupid. Why would anyone make the bags that small?

  ‘William, Elyse…’ I yelled at them in the lounge. ‘I told you to leave these sleeping bags alone? Why didn’t you do as you were told?’ As soon as the words tumbled from my mouth I felt bad – it wasn’t their fault, because the problem would have presented itself sooner or later anyway. The problem was with the idiots who designed them, not my children.

  ‘This is a waste of fucking time, why can’t you just take them as they are?’ Richard finally said. He had no patience with uncooperative, inanimate objects.

  I glared at him and stomped into the kitchen to grab a couple of bin liners from the kitchen drawer; I shoved the sleeping bags in and tied a knot to form a handle. I stood looking down on what had now become ludicrously impractical camping equipment.

  ‘That’s fin
e. What’s wrong with those? You’ll be able to carry them with no problem.’

  The two full bin liners before me reminded me of Anthony’s Nepal camping trip – and I stood foolishly in the garden room, imagining myself on a similar trip, struggling to keep pace with his long stride – trailing behind him with William and Elyse. All three of us with our sleeping bags bobbing about on our backs like large, black Space Hoppers, severely cramping his style as he lobbed his cigarette stub in sheer annoyance.

  I bet his girlfriend wouldn’t have a problem with her sleeping bag. And then I thought about my family holidays.

  Could I really see him staying poolside all day long in an all-inclusive resort? I couldn’t. His head would have been exploding on a sun-lounger with sheer mind-numbing boredom.

  I didn’t really fit in with his life as it was, I could see that. But it didn’t seem to stop me from imagining kissing him on a beach.

  I calmed down and piled everything we needed for the sleepover by the front door, before dressing William and Elyse in their new Halloween costumes. William had chosen a skeleton outfit and Elyse a black and lime-green witches dress with long green plaits for her hair. Once again, I grabbed my camera to catch the moment, and, like their first day back at school photo, the camera was capturing them in a blur. It was fine in the lap-dancing toilets other than the mystical lighting, and it was fine with the pumpkins the other day. But then William and Elyse scarpered when they heard mum and dad in the hallway; they’d come to collect Elyse for her sleepover.

  I quickly flicked through the photos I had managed to capture; the results being the most angelic Halloween photos I’d seen. Like the lap-dancing photos, they looked like they’d been touched by angels and the really blurred one of Elyse standing by herself made her look like a pixie or a fairy – not exactly scary-looking.

  I made a mental note to hunt down the camera manual at some stage, then placed the camera on charge for later, and made Mum and Dad a drink.

  I’d just put the milk back in the fridge when I heard William’s football smash against the garden-room shutters.

  ‘William! Right that’s it.’ I’d practically flown into the room yelling my words, not entirely sure what I meant by my ultimatum at that point, but I was sure the “it” would come to me. ‘William, I keep telling you…you need to use the inside of your foot, not the outside, it’ll give you more control over the ball. Like th—’

  For about the second time that day I was on the verge of exploding at Richard.

  I could mentally see myself going for the three-move combo – jab, low kick, reverse punch.

  Christ! Was there any wonder my head was happily dreaming of snogging Anthony Hope on a beach? Richard noticed the rage on my face and quickly backtracked.

  ‘You know you shouldn’t play football indoors as Mummy doesn’t like it.’

  Richard’s discipline was second to none.

  William could smash up five thousand pounds worth of shutters and Richard would critique his ball control. William’s attachment to a football was like watching a person with Tourette’s Syndrome; no matter how many times you told him to stop, he still found his foot kicking it.

  I returned to the kitchen, my feet slamming against the stone tiles, cursing the fact that the “it” in my discipline never managed to materialise.

  Mum raised her eyebrows, she wasn’t saying anything – she didn’t need to, the look said it all, as in “…I would never have let you, your brother and your dad behave like that”.

  Dad’s way of diffusing things was to leave with Elyse pretty swiftly. Richard and I watched Elyse animatedly walk over to dad’s truck, pulling her lilac suitcase behind her. She’d packed everything a whole week early in over-excited anticipation. I’d sneakily re-packed, as her skills needed some fine honing to say the least.

  She clambered in, her legs barely able to reach the footrest, and Dad threw her bag onto the seat next to her. We waved them off but I couldn’t see her little face through the blackened glass.

  Richard then helped me load everything into our car. The sleeping bags being so cumbersome in their current Space Hopper state meant that the equally impractical boot of the CLK was full with those alone; so the overnight bags and snacks were put on the front seat of the car.

  ‘Okay, I think that’s it,’ I said, and climbed in.

  ‘Have a good time both of you, drive carefully, love you…are you sure you’ve picked your phone up?’ Richard was shouting over from the front door while holding Blue by his collar.

  ‘Yes, I’ve got my phone. I’ll call if we have any problems. Love you too and enjoy your peaceful night,’ I shouted over to him and closed the car door, before starting up the engine.

  The long journey to Magna wasn’t as uneventful as it should have been. I’d opted for leaving my car at Maddy’s and hitched a ride in Lorna’s instead. Maddy had taken her car because she was worried she would need to leave at any point because of a sick relative.

  It was very dark by this stage, and we made a quick stop for a McDonalds and a fuel top-up. But somehow Lorna managed to reverse into Maddy’s car at the petrol pump, smashing the bumper and number plate. It was yet another one of life’s more awkward moments, which managed to silence the conversation for most of the journey; Lorna was obviously pre-occupied with her thoughts. Henry, with his seven years of wisdom, had estimated the damage at about a grand’s worth. Richard had clearly told the wrong person to drive carefully.

  We pulled into the side road with the monstrous Magna building facing us. Magna must be one of the most intimidating buildings I’ve ever seen, and at night with poor street lighting it was even more so. I think it was the combination of sheer vastness, cold dark metal, and no windows. It was like staring at a rusty metal container blown-up so big that your eyes couldn’t digest it in one take. Even inside the place it was dark. From past experience there, one felt blinded by the daylight afterwards and that was part of its appeal to kids.

  This was the first time we’d ever been at night though.

  We dragged all our stuff out of the cars. The Space Hoppers, along with carrier bags containing my food stash, practically cut off my circulation after twisting tightly round my fingers as I carried them inside. Lorna, as usual had way over-catered, right down to proper camping beds and a large bottle of Bacardi. We effectively signed our lives away on the Health & Safety forms on reception. I was praying that we were not going to be spending the night on the steelworks’ floor; a tiny detail that Maddy could have conveniently forgotten to mention. It would have been like kipping on Dad’s factory floor; waking up covered in oil and grease.

  Thankfully this was not to be the case.

  A witch with Alice Cooper eyeliner led us to a conference room. This was to be our communal bedroom for the night – not ideal, but more satisfactory than the alternative I’d imagined. We marked our territory using Lorna’s camp beds and our sleeping beds. I noted that I was the only one to forget pillows and that Henry had a cute child-size sleeping bag.

  After settling ourselves in, we entered the main room. Halloween themed pop songs were playing in the background and, in contrast to the darkness of the main museum – this room was overly bright with fluorescent lighting. The boys and Lorna’s daughter Mae had familiarised themselves with everything available, and had started to work their way round the themed creative activities laid out on different tables.

  ‘Do you think they’ll let us open that fire door?’ Maddy asked. I wasn’t sure whether the comment was aimed at me or Lorna.

  ‘Why? It’s not hot in here’ I said, answering anyway, thinking that I wasn’t particularly warm, even in my coat.

  ‘No…you prat…so that I can have a cigarette. It’s miles to the main entrance.’

  ‘I’ll go and ask. I’m sure they will,’ said Lorna and she wandered off to sort it out. Although not quite as bad as Maddy, Lorna needed her fix at regular intervals too.

  ‘They’d better do, or I’ll kick off big t
ime.’ I didn’t doubt that Maddy would kick off for a second, and prayed to myself that they didn’t tell Lorna that the door was linked to an alarm.

  ‘It’s fine, we can stand out there,’ Lorna confirmed. ‘You coming, Nic?’

  ‘No…I’m going to colour with Mae…it’s okay – you two go off and slowly kill yourselves.’ And with that I went over to the colouring table, grabbed a Halloween-themed picture and set about colouring in. I’d always found colouring with new felt-tips relaxing.

  ‘Very good. Well done…would you like a gold star?’ Maddy patronised.

  I nodded and then shivered as the cold air that she had let in reached me.

  ‘What are the boys doing?’ she asked.

  ‘Still making disgusting bug-filled gunge,’ I answered, without losing focus on my colouring.

  ‘Anyway…have you established who sent that text to Richard?’

  ‘No. He deleted it. Says he’s not bothered who sent it,’ I said, whilst finishing the cauldron’s flames.

  ‘What text?’ Lorna was clearly intrigued as she grabbed a picture to colour too.

  ‘Richard got a text yesterday saying, “…cuckold. Always the last to know”, can you pass me the green please, Mae?’ and I started work on the witch’s face.

  ‘What’s a cuckold?’ Lorna asked, as she picked up a felt tip.

  ‘The husband of an adulteress is the dictionary definition according to Richard. Don’t worry Lorna, I’d never heard of it either – it’s an old-fashioned word,’ I reassured her, while wondering which part of the picture Lorna was going to colour purple.