Wake Up Call

 This was the story I wrote for TMA02.

‘Ailis, if you go ahead with this wedding, the tears I cry when you marry won’t be

tears of joy.’

‘Yes Mam, you said already. Now, are we going for these flowers or what? I’ll also need some round plates like they have those candles on in the Argos book,’ I’d blathered on until we reached the warehouse to fill silences that hadn’t happened, but were inevitable; I couldn’t, wouldn’t, go over it again. She hadn’t told me not to marry Adrian; just made it clear that she didn’t want me to. My parents had never forbade me to do anything since my age was a single digit; since then it had been reasoning, discussion, trust and belief that I’d do the right thing; and my knowledge that, if I did fuck up, their home would always be my home. Growing up, my biggest fear had been disappointing them. Losing the trust they had in me. It made me independent; strong; clever in a way they were proud of.

***************

Adrian was at the pub again; I was glad. I stared in the full length bathroom mirror prodding at the purple-black disfigured shapes that adorned my ribs; swollen now, sorer than when they’d first happened. I’d lowered myself into a hot bath savouring the scalding of my skin and grabbed my wine.

I’d understood why, obviously, I’d never been a great housekeeper and Adrian demanded tidiness. I’d tried to keep on top of it, but I just hadn’t had time. I was glad he’d had the foresight to get my ribs. I’d have been really disappointed if they’d been visible in my dress; I wouldn’t have been able to hide that from my parents. I’d have to make sure I got my basque on before Mam came to help. Not that she’d be suspicious about that. I wasn’t particularly exhibitionistic when it came to flaunting my far from petite figure. Ade had encouraged me to go to the gym every night. It’d help get rid of the wibbly arse he’d teased me about.

Five days… How quickly it’d crept up! I’d made sure I’d been organised. Not like me really, but I didn’t want Adrian to have to deal with anything; couldn’t risk setting him off this close to the day.  Five years and it was still never easy to anticipate his reaction to things that didn’t go to plan. Sometimes he’d be so laidback he was horizontal; and yet more ofte, completely irrelevant things spun him into his crazy place. I was still trying to work out what I’d done, two weeks ago, when he’d beaten me with the polish tin and poured the hot water from the mop bucket over me. I’d probably answered him back. Silly really, I should just hush up and move things on, but sometimes… I just felt as though I should stand up for myself.

Occasionally he’d cry; tell me I should leave, that he wasn’t good enough for me; how much he loved me. Usually, he’d say I was out of order. I couldn’t bear to think about some of things he’d said to hurt me. Evil things about me, my family. I’d kept my cool last week. It wouldn’t do to piss him off this close to the day. He’d been as stressed as me. I’d closed my eyes, sank further down; the heat stung the contusions. A million black eyes, bruises and breaks wouldn’t come near to hurting me as much as his words did. Bruises and breaks healed.

I’d planned on being in bed before Adrian got home, but I’d become engrossed trying to arrange the flowers. I’d wanted them completed for Wednesday night, calla lilies; my favourites. Beautifully simple. I’d been stabbing them into oasis, trying to get them perfect and natural looking when I’d heard his key in the lock. I’d glanced at the clock; five to midnight. The shiver of uncertainty I’d got when he came in drunk ran through me.

‘Ade? That you?’

‘Terri.’

His smiling slur showed how drunk he was, that and his ungainly stagger into the room using the wall and the back of the couch in a pinball method to stay upright. Terri is his pet name for me. Short for Terrier; he says I’m snappy, like a little terrier dog.

‘I’ve brought you pizza babe. Kiev, that’s your favourite right? I love you, you know. More than anything’

I smiled, he sounded ridiculous; and completely wasted, but isn’t that what everyone wants to hear? That they’re loved? I’d walked over to him so that I could guide him to the dining table without seeming condescending. When I’d put my arm around him he’d leant his weight on me, he’s not a light bloke, but I‘d aimed him in the general direction of the table and got him sat.

‘Here babe,’ he’d tore the lid off the box and ripped a few slices of the pizza onto it for me.

‘I’ll just have one piece, you have the rest. Don’t want to struggle getting into my dress do I?’ Laughing, I reached for the pizza, but it was gone, hurtling towards the wall. The cream wall. Adrian’s face contorted. All I could think was, ‘Oh shit!’ Undecided whether the ‘Oh shit!’ was for the wall and that I‘d likely have to repaint, or for me; knowing what was coming.

***************

There were wine glasses, shot glasses, pint glasses and tumblers, my house looked like a bar, some had drinks in them, most were empty. Ade’s mother was already hammered. His mum was great when she was drunk and happy. When she was drunk and unhappy; well it was easy to see where Ade came from.

He’d said she was like that when he’d been growing up, talked often about how embarrassing she was; how little his dad had loved him as a kid. Ade was constantly looking for approval from him; it was never forthcoming. His mum was… Unique. She was ferocious in fighting for her family. Just as ferocious in fighting with them. I’d been on the receiving end of it, usually in defence of Ade when she‘d been particularly awful about him. I didn’t take kindly to it; I could be ferocious too, in defending him and myself from her. I guess that Terrier nickname was justified. Ade hadn’t liked it when I’d stood up to his mum, but if I didn’t defend him he’d be apoplectic. I ached for how bad growing up must have been for him.

She’d been on top form though, loved us all; wanted nothing more than for us to be happy. She’d said it once, then again, and again… It was tedious after the fourth time, but it was nice to see this side of her; after all, the next day would be one of the biggest of my life. I would be Mrs. Draft. I’d hated the name, but Ade got really upset when I’d asked about keeping my own, even for work; so Mrs. Draft it’d be.

I’d been tired, awake on pure adrenaline, and a bit of Stella Artois. All day I’d been finalising details. The cake had been delivered to the reception venue. I’d taken the table decorations down. My dress was hung ready for the morning. The make up I needed was laid out on my dresser. I’d phoned Ade to confirm suits and boutonnières were where they should be. Now it was my wedding day. Wedding day. How surreal? It’d felt like I was heading off to be a grown up. I wasn’t excited, just with the organising and rushing around, I’d guessed.

I needed to be up at six and at the hairdressers for seven so when the final taxi left, I’d started to collect glasses and bottles. I’d needed to make sure everything was tidy. The photographer was coming to take some pictures at the house. It couldn’t be messy. It was getting close to three a.m. when I’d finally put the last glass away and threw the last bottle in the recycling. I’d gone round checking everything; total silence, clean home; I could settle enough to get to bed. Maybe even sleep.

***************

I’d decided to do my own make up. At my dresser, the sun ploughed through the blinds so heavily it seemed to create a fog around the room, illuminating every fleck of dust in the air. It’d highlighted my black, pinned up hair with none existent flashes of platinum. Facing the window I’d stared into the antique mirror. It was streaked where I’d tried to clean it. The sunlight accentuated the streaks and had made the edges look like frosted glass. I rubbed at them ineffectually.  My foundation was as perfect as it could be. I’d taken the eye shadow brush and swirled it across the cream shadow in the palette, smoothed it across my eyelids, remembering when I’d had to do the same thing in a mixture of mauve and indigo. A job interview and a black eye didn’t go well together; so I’d attempted to match the eye shadow to the bruise on the opposite eye.

Make up done I’d wrestled myself into my basque; difficult enough with help, almost impossible without. I’d had to twist and turn it over the bruises on my ribs, hurting them more each time. Through the week they’d been accompanied by some lumps on my back, along the base of my shoulder blades and a whip mark from a dog lead around my side where Ade had gotten angry with me for talking to his friend in the pub. The guy had  only said hello. Ade had apologised the next day. Cried again. I hated it when he did that; I’d feel so bad for him.

I’d checked to make sure the marks were all covered and put my stockings on. Nearly there; Mam would have to lace my bodice up. I’d fervently hoped that the gym had worked and the dress made me look good. The wedding was at half past eleven. It’d been ten a.m. when I’d heard the front door open and Mel, my bridesmaid, shout up.

‘Coffee?’

‘Oh god, yes please. Put enough in for Mam and Daddy. They’re on their way.’

As though she’d heard the kettle go on, I’d heard Mam bustle through the door.

‘We’re here love; where you at?’

‘Bedroom Mam, I need you to lace me up. Mel’s got the coffee on so she’ll bring them up. Photographer will be here in ten minutes so I need to get this on now.’

She’d opened the bedroom door a bit further to see me as she’d walked in to the bedroom.

‘You look beautiful, Ailis.’ I’d waited for “the conversation,” but it didn’t materialise,

‘Lets get you strapped in then.’ Her smile seemed like an attempt at a conciliation that wasn’t necessary.

*****************

I’d done photos. I’d done waving at people in the street as I’d climbed into my festooned VW Beetle car. It’d take ten minutes to get to the chapel; fifteen would make me traditionally late. Now for the daddy/daughter chat. This was the man I’d developed a limp for in an attempt to emulate his walk; where I’d got my sense of humour. He was where I got my looks from, not great on a girl but I was proud to look like my Daddy.

‘You look beautiful baby girl.’

‘Thank you Daddy. You look particularly pretty yourself!’ I detected the tiniest bit of pride in his smile, I gave him a hug.

‘You know how much me and your Mam love you, don’t you? It’s not like I have to say it again, but we do. I know your Mam’s not really keen on this wedding chicken, but she said she was going to make a concerted effort not to go over it again with you today.’

‘Yep, I felt her biting her tongue when she was helping me get ready.’

‘She didn’t say anything? Well, there you go; I didn’t think she’d manage to do it. Guess that shows me eh?’ The laugh in his voice and the tone in which he talked about Mam made it obvious how much he loved her. I still thought it was sweet at their age.

‘I didn’t make that promise. Babe, you know I would never ask you to do anything you didn’t want to and I’d do anything to make you happy? Today, right now, this feels like as much as I can do…’ His voice tailed off and I could see him working words around his mouth, as if trying them out before he said them. He wasn’t a great speech maker, preferred to make jokes than show emotion.

‘Ailis, I can’t help but feel that you shouldn’t seem so unexcited on one of the most important days of your life. You’re so matter of fact about everything. This morning felt mechanical. That wasn’t how it was for your Mam and me, so I’m giving you a way out. I’m asking you to think about how you feel right now and I’m asking you to think properly. If you think that going ahead with this is the right decision then I will walk you down that aisle with the biggest, proudest smile. If not, tell me now and I’ll take you away.’

‘Daddy…’

‘Think about it chicken. Just think…’

Nearly at the chapel. I catch my reflection in the rear-view mirror. No smile; the searing heat of years of uncried tears burn my eyes. I was happy wasn’t I?  I Wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t happy… Would I?

‘Mate, can you drive round the park again?’ He looked at me;

‘Ailis…?’

Frozen Charlatan

The iridescent yellow night time sky

pours flakes that cuddle and cling to the lawn.

The moon creates a reactionary

shimmer like ten thousand camera flashes

condensed to a tiny snap shot in time.

Lost in an iced world awaiting reprieve.

A chilled wind howls and grasps her brittle heart,

whipped up like autumn leaves shed from a tree

in a whirling dervish to be battered,

redelivered broken, devoid of trust.

Standing now, without a dream; the image

those flashes will save - to antique with time -

a hollow, pale, shadowed smile. Forged to fool

the world whose polite pity would slowly

erode the whole to pebbles on a beach.

Caressed, by unfeeling hands, discarded,

then washed away by a sea of salt tears;

to be made smaller, inconsequential.

Millions pass by yet they remain unseen

like the fragile heart behind the frozen smile.

A215 TMA 01

This was my first assignment for A215. Comments and criticism would be greatly appreciated. I am going to make some changes of my own over the coming weeks (time permitting :))

Moving On

03/02/1981

From her elevated position at the top of the ladder, she’d taken aim…

The deep purple paint that she’d flicked from her paintbrush landed perfectly squarely across his nose in a look that was reminiscent of Adam Ant.  He’d yelped like a wounded puppy and launched himself at the ladder; ran at it as if into a rugby tackle and grappled her legs, he pulled her down over his shoulder as she’d screeched, giggled and beat at his broad back with the half loaded brush. Her red hair tumbled down his back. The paint had spattered all down the back of his T-shirt. Straight across the protective sheet that they’d covered the carpet with, sensibly as it turned out, and landed in abstract patterns over the currently bare walls.

He’d lowered her onto her feet and enclosed her into a hug. She’d let herself be nestled into his arms and looked up at him, still smiling.

‘You look pretty in purple.’

‘You look pretty in anything, and nothing,’ he’d countered, leaned down and kissed the tip of her nose.

They’d painted little love notes to each other on the plaster of the walls, then preserved them behind the beautiful wallpaper she‘d picked for their little girl. It would be a real ‘princess’ bedroom’. The repeating, concentric circles in different shades of purple and pink to match the purple paint that she’d chosen for the woodwork. It was exhausting redecorating the entire house but it had been an exhilarating, fun time for them. The first house they’d owned together. They could decorate it as they’d wanted; not had to scrimp and save on things as they had whilst saving for the deposit for their new home. A beginning.

When she remembered it today it seemed like an age ago. As she shut the door on their first home for the last time she couldn’t help but smile. A bigger house with two more children; their first Princess about to start college; better jobs to pay for it. It was time to say goodbye and head for the future. 

03/02/1995

At the top of the ladder, she held the flat, plastic plate of the steamer against the hideous wallpaper. She had really struggled to ignore it when they’d initially looked at the house. It was faded but still looked in good condition and it was “only on one wall,” as Parker had pointed out. Otherwise the house was perfect. Surely she wasn’t going to let this one little detail put her off.  She’d been hormonal the day they’d come to view the house and at that point she thought she actually might let it put her off, thank you very much. When they’d come back to view it again she knew she’d been unreasonable. Not that she‘d admitted it.

This was going to be their little girl’s room. She was due in less than three months; Sara wanted the room finished and perfect. She’d picked the most beautiful wallpaper. It was a candy stripe, pink and purple that felt like suede. They’d had matching bedding made for the cot and a rug commissioned with the same pattern. The wall behind the cot would  be a plain pastel pink and baby’s name was going to be painted in italics directly onto the wall.  It was such an exciting time for them. Their first baby; their first own home. 

As she pulled the first strip of the retro paper off the wall in one long, satisfying strip, Sara noticed the curve and point of a love heart painted onto the plaster. She climbed down the ladder, curiosity making her work from the bottom up on the next piece. She brushed her springy auburn hair away from her eyes and reapplied the steamer plate to the wall.

As she scraped at the bottom of the paper she revealed the rest of the love heart. The initials S and P nestled inside of it along with x’s for kisses and a 14 year old date. The colour of the paint a perfect match for the purple in the wallpaper.

 ‘Parker. Come look!’

Parker strode into the bedroom, his broad frame nearly filling the doorway.

‘What’s up?’

‘Look! It’s a sign. It has to be.’

She showed him the love heart with their own initials in and he laughed.

‘Of course it is Sar.’ He gave her an indulgent smile. Leaned down and kissed the tip of her nose and cocooned her in a hug.

Haiku

Baby tears, torn heart,
Tight cuddle like a death grip.
'Please, Mammy, don't go!'

Challenge 8

This was my brief:

Write a conversation between two people who don't know each other:

This conversation must change both their lives forever.

To be completed by Thursday 6th October

I'm not sure if I've made this too simple or not... :S

‘ I sentence you to 25 years without eligibility for parole. Your crime is one of the most heinous that this court has ever heard. The fear that you must have invoked in those  that you were supposed to be caring for gives me reason to believe that you are one of the most cold hearted and evil women I have ever had the misfortune to meet. Society will be better off without you in it. Take her away…’


‘But I didn’t DO anything.' She screamed and then whispered to herself. 


'I didn’t DO it…’

Without her...

I have revised the haiku that I posted yesterday. The sentiment and fear are still the same, but this, to me, felt a little more personal and intimate.

No longer her smile
Nor her breath upon my cheek.
How my heart would break.

Without her...

This is technically the second part of the 8th Weekly challenge for  the A215 Facebook group. Comments and criticisms welcomed.

Write a haiku about your greatest fear.

No longer her smile

Nor the whisper of her breath.

How my heart would break.