Bedtime Reads

by Janet Pywell

  ‘He doesn’t any more?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘And sex?’

  Monica shook her head. ‘It used to be amazing; experimental and fun but now it’s as if we’ve done it all so we can’t be bothered.’

  ‘Maybe you should buy something sexy? You’re too young not to have a sex life.’

  ‘We still do it – but the magic has gone. All the little things I like he seems to have forgotten about.’

  ‘Then remind him,’ Gail said with passion fuelled by Pinot Grigio.

  ‘That’s not the worst thing though.’

  Gail stared at her sister’s sad face wondering what could be worse. There was only one thing and her heart dropped with realisation. ‘Oh, no.’

  ‘Yesterday, it happened yesterday. I was getting ready to go to work and getting ready to take Alfie to the nursery. I was late and Alfie was running around being naughty. He wouldn’t put on his coat or his shoes. It took me ages to get hold of him and get him ready-’

  ‘And?’ Gail passed Monica a tissue.

  ‘Neil just sat playing on his iPhone.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘Before he would have helped me. He would have helped Alfie get his coat on and he would have tied his shoe laces but he didn’t bother. He just sat doing what he wanted to do. I know Alfie isn’t his but-’

  ‘You think he’s having an affair?’

  Monica looked confused then hurt. ‘Of course not, silly! He still loves me but don’t you understand? He didn’t even put Alfie’s shoes on.’

  Gail laughed. ‘Thank goodness that’s all it was.’

  Monica shook her head. She had forgotten just how frustrating Gail could be. She really had no idea what it was like having a serious relationship. It was complicated. The real world was a bad, hard place and Gail seemed to sail through it without a worry in the world with no commitments and no responsibility.

  If only the shoe had been on the other foot.

  If only she was the one who’d travelled around Greece.

  Monica would love to have sailed to every island. She would adore that freedom with Loukas or without him. Instead of living here with all the responsibility of a son, a mortgage and a man who paid her less and less attention.

  ‘You don’t understand, Gail.’ Monica dabbed her eyes. ‘It’s all changed. It’s just not the same.’

  ‘For God’s sake, Monica. It was just a pair of shoes.’

  Something Might Happen

  Sonia Brooks unfolded the creased newspaper and with a purple nail she ran her finger under the text, re-reading the obituary. Just to be sure. She didn’t want to arrive too late or too early. She’d taken an early bus to Whitstable and it was a pretty town – she might even have lunch afterwards.

  She replaced the Canterbury Times in the navy bag on her lap and stared out of the window. The bus rattled along and as it dropped down the hill to the town she could see the sea and the wind farm on the horizon.

  How lovely that would be to wake up each morning to look at the changing tide and to walk along the slopes in Tankerton. So different to her life in the busy city that seemed to get more and more polluted.

  She imagined Milton Lawson who died peacefully, he was 72, living here. She thought about his home and his family and she imagined them all and their grief. Funerals were such sad affairs.

  She opened her compact and checked her appearance licking the tip of her finger and wiping a smudge of mascara from under her large eyes. She added concealer to the spot on her chin and added pink lipstick.

  Her iPhone was already set to Maps and she checked the distance she would have to walk from the bus stop in the centre of town. She was used to searching for information, after all, she had been on enough dating websites and met various men in different bars. She was quite independent but at thirty year-old she knew her body clock was ticking louder than the baby crying at the back of the bus.

  Sonia glanced at the newspaper. Devoted husband to Stella and Dad to Mark, Iain, Freddie and Jenny. Sadly missed by family and friends and remembered as a teacher and historian. He was a scholar - a learned man - and Sonia had respect for anyone who had an education or who had done well in life. He was also respected in the local community and that was essential for Sonia. She would like to marry a man like Milton; tall, handsome, broad-shouldered with a sense of humour. Someone who knew things, not like some of the men she had dated who could barely string a sentence together or drank beer as if the world was coming to an end that very night. It was hard to find a man who, like her own father, opened doors for a lady to pass though first, or who always walked on the outside of the pavement to protect her from cars and puddle splashes but she wouldn’t give up trying.

  Sonia crossed her ankles pleased with her outfit. A navy dress with pink and purple flowers, high heels, and a jacket that matched the blue coral necklace at her throat.

  The bus rattled through the town and the baby squealed louder. She stood up, dinged the bell and made her way gingerly downstairs, hanging onto the rail, tottering on high heels and swinging onto the ground floor. She was jolted as the bus came to a halt and she set her hat straight remembering the instruction.

  Milton had requested: ‘No flowers or funeral black.’

  The High Street was busy and it took Sonia seven minutes to walk to the church. On the way she wondered if she would recognise anyone. It had been a long time since she had been to this area. She followed a couple toward the tree-lined pathway to the porch of the church. Once inside she quickly scanned the pews wondering where it would be best to sit. Not too near the front and certainly not at the back. The aisle was perfect. There was a space beside an elderly lady so she slid in to the seat and gazed up at the statue and crossed herself.

  The old lady beside her returned her sad smile then glanced at the Order of Service. Milton had aged well; receding grey hair, spectacles and still a twinkle in his eye. It was a lovely photograph and she guessed Stella must have chosen it from one of the family selection.

  Soft music played and Sonia glanced up at the church organ wondering what it was called. She looked at the old lady beside her who seemed lost in thought but looked up when she felt Sonia’s gaze.

  ‘What a beautiful piece of music,’ Sonia whispered. ‘Do you know it?’

  ‘Adagio in G Minor,’ the old lady replied.

  ‘So beautiful.’

  ‘Milton loved it.’

  Sonia smiled. ‘He did like music. Do you know the family well?’

  The old lady slid a little closer as more footsteps clicked down the aisle and new arrivals sat down.

  ‘We taught together.’

  ‘How lovely.’

  ‘Yes but it was a long time ago now-’

  ‘Was that at St Joseph’s?’

  The old lady frowned. ‘No, no, it was at St Bart’s.’

  ‘Oh yes, of course, I always get those muddled up. How’s Stella taking it?’

  ‘It was a shock of course. But Jenny and the boys have been wonderful… so supportive.’

  ‘Didn’t Jenny get married?’

  ‘Yes, years ago now.’ She nods at the front row. ‘They’re her two boys Gavin and Edmund.’

  Sonia looked at the family. Jenny’s dark hair contrasted with her blond husband. ‘The boys look like Milton’s side of the family.’

  ‘Do you think so?’ The old lady craned her neck to see. ‘I don’t see it myself.’

  ‘Well, it’s been a long time since I saw any of them. Didn’t Freddie go abroad?’

  ‘No? I don’t think so. He’s up in London. Although he may have gone away before he went to medical school…’

  ‘Maybe it was Mark then, I’ve always muddled them up.’

  The old lady smiled. ‘It’s easy to do. Although I’ve always though Iain was more like his father-’

  The music stopped. The door banged and the congregation fell silent.

  Sonia turned around as a tall man in a crumpled suit strode down the aisle to the fr
ont. When Jenny looked up she smiled in surprise, jumped to her feet and threw her arms around his neck. Her husband shook the man’s hand and he greeted their two boys by ruffling their hair. Sonia thought he might sit with them but he didn’t. He stood confidently at the front of the church with his hands in his pockets staring around. He nodded and smiled at a few guests then his eyes rested on Sonia and she could feel the heat of his stare, so she smiled and looked quickly down at Milton’s face in her hand.

  ‘Goodness Mark has come home,’ the old lady whispered.

  ‘That’s a surprise,’ agreed Sonia.

  ‘I wonder what Stella will say…’

  ‘I’m sure she’ll be thrilled,’ Sonia replied.

  The old lady muttered something and fiddled in her handbag. Then the funeral entourage appeared and filed down to the front. They lay the coffin on a splint and the undertakers retired to the shadowed recess of the church.

  Sonia craned her neck piecing together the family. Stella sat beside Jenny and Trevor with the two boys. Freddie is married to Hannah and they had three children who were too young to be at the funeral. Iain sat beside a tall slim blond woman with thin lips, and it was Mark in his crumpled suit who seemed to be alone.

  Sonia followed the service. She prayed, she sang and when it came to the eulogy she learned about their lives and family anecdotes; where they lived and what Milton liked and the type of man he was and of their frequent trips to the family beach hut on warm summer evenings. Milton was devoted to Stella and he adored his five grandchildren.

  They were the perfect family.

  At the end of the service the vicar remind the congregation that Milton and the family would like to invite them to the Hotel for some light refreshments.

  The procession left. Sonia had a view of them all. Stella clutching a wad of damp tissues hung on Jenny’s arm. The men followed stoically behind with the tall blond woman and the children, and as he passed by her pew, Mark’s eyes rested again on Sonia.

  ‘Are you coming to the Hotel?’ she asked the old lady and when she nodded Sonia linked her arm through hers. ‘We can go together, if you like.’

  Sonia noticed the elegance. The triangle-cut sandwiches, tea served in bone china cups and steaming rich coffee were all laid out and waiting on a pristine linen tablecloth before a roaring fire. As far as funerals went, this was one of the best that Sonia had attended. She tasted an egg and cress sandwich and then ate a piece of chocolate cake.

  ‘He didn’t want people wearing black,’ Sonia said, when the old lady introduced her to a group of retired teachers.

  ‘You look very pretty, dear,’ another replied.

  ‘Do you know the family well?’ asked another.

  ‘I did – a long time ago – we were just children. My mother knew them much better-’

  ‘Did you live in Chestfield?’

  ‘We moved, let me see, that must have been…oh, thank you. These sandwiches are delicious. Have you tried the egg and cress? I remember growing cress with Iain or was it Freddie? I can’t remember, I do muddle them up.’

  ‘Do you? But they are all so different.’

  Sonia felt the gaze of her small group on her and she laughed. ‘They weren’t when they were younger…’

  ‘Ah, here comes, Mark.’ The foppish man in the group with a red bowtie waved him over. ‘I think he’s going to join us.’

  Sonia’s heart skipped and she concentrated on the trembling china tea-cup in her hand.

  Mark smiled. ‘Dad would have been thrilled to see so many people here today. This is a real celebration of his life.’

  ‘It was so sudden,’ says one.

  ‘Such a shock.’

  ‘How’s Stella coping? They were inseparable,’ asks the old lady.

  Mark sighed and shrugged. ‘It won’t be easy.’

  His eyes rest on Sonia and he is about to speak to her when the old lady tugged on his arm.

  ‘And where have you been?’

  ‘On a dig – in the Artic.’

  ‘Find anything?’ asked Mr Foppy bowtie.

  ‘Skeletal remains, I think, we’ll know next week when I get-’

  ‘Your father would be so proud,’ the old lady interrupted.

  Then to Sonia’s dismay Mark is caught up in greeting someone else and is whisked away. She uses this opportunity to freshen up in the Ladies and she is applying lipstick when Jenny walks in. Their eyes meet in the mirror and they smile sadly.

  ‘Have we met?’ Jenny asks.

  Sonia pushes the lipstick into her bag and zips it firmly closed.

  ‘I’m Sonia – we had a beach hut near yours.’

  ‘Really? I don’t remember?’

  ‘My father used to talk to Milton…on the beach.’

  ‘Really? Did we play together?’

  ‘I was a little younger, no-one had time for me,’ Sonia laughs.

  ‘Any brothers or sisters?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I wondered if Freddie, Iain or Mark might have played with-’

  ‘I did speak to the boys a few times when I was with my father but they wouldn’t remember it was a long time ago.’

  ‘And then you came here …today…how kind.’

  ‘Well, my Dad and Milton still saw each other – up until the end.’

  ‘They did?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Is your father with you?’

  ‘No, he, er, he passed away suddenly…’

  ‘I’m sorry. But it’s nice of you to come.’

  ‘Well, don’t let me stop you…’ Sonia nods at the cubicle and smiles. She has just reached the door when Jenny calls out.

  ‘How long ago did your father pass away?’

  ‘Only a few months ago.’ Sonia dips her head at the door and disappears. She hangs onto the stair rail conscious of the stares of those below looking up at her and decides on one last cup of tea.

  ‘We haven’t met,’ Mark says coming to stand beside her near the window. ‘Would you like to speak to Mum?’

  Sonia is unable to resist him as he takes her elbow and guides her to the grieving widow.

  Sonia takes Stella’s hand in hers. ‘I’m sorry for your loss.’

  ‘Thank you. How… how did you know Milton?’

  ‘I didn’t know him well at all. My father and he… were close.’

  ‘Really?’ Stella looked surprised. ‘Who was your father?’

  ‘Matthew Brooks. He was an historian. I think they consulted on history things… and they chatted about everything.’ Sonia sipped her tea and watched Jenny descend the stairs.

  ‘I don’t remember the name,’ Stella said. ‘Does your father still work? Milton was retired.’

  ‘Yes – Dad was too. I think they chatted on the phone a lot.’

  ‘Really?’ Stella frowned at Mark.

  Mark smiled. ‘I think I remember.’

  ‘Really? You do?’ said Sonia. ‘We had a beach hut.’

  ‘Yes. Of course,’ Mark smiled.

  When Sonia smiled she looks attractive. Not at all fat and jolly like they say she looked, in the chip shop, where she works most evenings.

  As Jenny joined them Sonia is forgotten and she slips away unnoticed. She walked to the town centre and on the bus she kicked off her shoes. Her feet are sore and her ankles are swollen. She tapped the seat with a purple nail thinking about the events of the past few hours.

  It had all gone very well. She sighed and pulled the newspaper from her bag and scanned the obituary page.

  Would she have time for another funeral this week?

  Mark had potential. He was the only single and eligible one there but he was going back to the Arctic and Sonia wasn’t hanging around. Her clock was ticking too quickly. There must be another funeral she could go to on her day off.

  She’d met some lovely people today and had a wonderful time. It certainly beats sitting at home alone or conversing in a chat room.

  She didn’t know why more people hadn’t thought of doing
it.

  It was much more fun than a dating website and far more exciting.

  All Inclusive

  ‘It’s ridiculous to fly all this way to the Caribbean and not see anything…’ He didn’t turn around and I could barely hear him. His voice drifted away, right over the hotel’s tropical gardens; colourful flowers, exotic bushes and lush palm trees with fronds that looked as though they’d been polished for our arrival. His irritable words seemed to float away and disappear into the Atlantic and I just caught the tail end of his sentence. ‘I thought this place would be more, you know, accessible and we could go out-’

  ‘But you knew it was all inclusive-’

  ‘Yes, but not that it was in the middle of nowhere.’

  ‘You saw the website.’ I kept my voice deliberately calm and pulled my towel over my breasts, relishing the soft sweet aroma of the body milk I’d rubbed in after my shower. It was expensive and I’d bought it especially for this holiday.

  ‘Even the taxi driver said we had to be careful if we left the resort. Well, it’s not even a resort, is it? It’s a mini village. It’s like two weeks of living in Clacton but with heat and mosquitoes-’

  ‘You said you were tired and you wanted to sunbathe and read and do nothing. Now it seems you want to go sightseeing. Have we come on the wrong holiday, James?’

  ‘Christ, now look! There’s even a wedding down there on the beach, look! How crass is that?’

  ‘It’s romantic,’ I say standing beside him. My neck and shoulders aching down to my waist and I yawn. My body is still jet-lagged and I lift my chin to rest on his shoulder. Below us hotel staff are preparing a secluded area on the beach; laying out three neat rows of four chairs with white covers and blue bows. Two young boys erect an archway and secure it in the white powder sand and a waitress appears carrying fresh red and yellow flowers that she weaves between the latticed frame-work of the arch.

  ‘Romantic?’ He squints at the scene below and turns away. ‘It’s tacky. I’d hate it.’

  ‘Why?’ I try to hide the disappointment in my voice and realise I’m not altogether successful. He stands with his back to the scene contemplating the terrace table littered with magazines, old newspapers and books from our flight.