Two Tales
By
Chris Gallagher
Copyright 2012 Chris Gallagher
Published by Mesen at Smashwords
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
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All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.
Two
Tales
Dorothy's Story
I murdered my husband you know. I dare say you'll find it difficult to believe. Even I can't believe it some days. You wouldn't credit it to look at me. I’m the very image of respectability. So why am I telling you? It doesn't matter anymore; they can't do anything about it now. There's no evidence you see.
Let me tell you about my husband: he was the most useless man that ever lived. Wouldn't do a thing round the house. About the only thing he was good at was watching football, Elland Road every other Saturday, oh, and gardening. He used to have this allotment. Spent every waking hour up there. He took to gardening with a kind of religious fervour. It was as if God had spoken to him:
"Alan Robinson you will take up your spade, venture forth to the council allotments and grow vegetables. You will forsake your wife and children because this is my will."
Not that he needed much persuading.
He used to come home bearing arms full of vegetables that he then expected to be cooked and on the table within the hour. You know what? I used to take his vegetables: his potatoes, his carrots, his peas, his cauliflowers, his cabbages and throw the lot in the bin. I'd then serve up his meat and Yorkshire puddings with vegetables I'd bought at Tesco. Childish, I know.
He'd sit at the table stuffing his self-satisfied face and saying things like, "I don't care what you say, you can't beat home grown vegetables."
I'd think what a twat!
You'd think he'd notice but he never did. I don't think he ever tasted a vegetable he'd grown himself; he certainly never cooked any. To be honest I can only remember him ever coming into the kitchen once and I think then it was a mistake. We hadn't been in the house long and I'm sure he'd just got lost. He stood there and looked around in an awed silence; he had the sort of look you see on people's faces in a cathedral. He looked at me as if to say ‘So this is where you spend your time,' and drifted out again.
Another time he came into the kitchen and asked me where the fridge was!
You might wonder why I didn't just leave him?
It wasn't so easy with four young kiddies. But I thought about it. Believe me I thought about it often. Every day I thought about it and never more so than when I met someone.
His name was David. He was lovely was David. He was kind, and soft, and gentle - not the slightest bit interested in gardening. We were so in love. It was a love affair; it wasn't just about sex, although that was good! We saw each other secretly, once, or twice a week if we were lucky, for three or four months. He wanted me to leave and go off with him but the kids were young and, well, you know how it is.
It didn't last of course - it couldn't last. He found out eventually; Percy bloody Thrower, that's what David used to call him. "How's Percy today?" he'd say, "tending his leeks?" and the corner of his mouth would turn up in a cheeky little smile. He had a lovely smile. Even now, years later, I can close my eyes and see him looking at me. Smiling at me, wanting me. And I'd forget everything for an hour or two.
Alan was all bullish about it when he found out. I forget how it happened, not that it matters. Called me all the names under the sun. What he wasn't going to do with this chap who'd dared to defile his wife wasn't worth thinking about. He ranted and raved for hours. I sent the kids round to my mum's in the end. They must have told her an awful tale 'cos she turned up to see what was happening. He sent her off with a right mouthful.
On and on he went until I couldn't stand it anymore; I walked down the hall put on my coat and a scarf and was halfway down the path before he realised what I was doing.
I'd never seen him move so fast. He beat me to the gate and stood there looking at me. He was all contrite when he thought I was leaving; went down on his hands and knees and begged me to stay - said he'd be lost without me. Tears were streaming down his face.
The only other time I'd seen him cry was when vandals got on the allotment one night and dug up his precious marrow. Anyway, I went back in and we had a cup of tea. Of course, I never told him I'd only been going to the corner shop for a pint of milk.
I couldn't leave. Poor David, he couldn't understand it. 'How could I say I loved him so much and then not take this opportunity for us to be together? Was it the kids?'
Well of course it was. If I’d just me to think about I’d have been gone like a shot from a gun.
He told me, ‘He'd look after them and bring them up as his own.’ And he would have. I know he would have.
He was a lovely man.
A gentleman.
He had to go away in the end; we were tearing each other apart. We couldn't exist in the same town anymore. We were forever bumping into each other. It was awful, so in the end he went. I cried every day for a week when I realised he'd gone. I hadn't realised how much it was keeping me going just seeing him across the road; or knowing that, despite the pain, I might just catch a glimpse of him.
So that was it. I'd missed the boat; burnt my bridges. I'd done my duty. Call it what you like, I'd done it with a vengeance. It's all very well putting duty first but you've got a duty to yourself too. Duty doesn't look after you in old age.
I never saw him again.
I heard a few years later that he’d moved to Manchester and got married and then divorced a few years after that.
Nothing much really happened after he went. Alan carried on watching football and growing vegetables that I'd put in the bin. I went to a few evening classes and just withered away. I met a man at the Tech. who wanted to take glamour photos of me; I was tempted, but in the end decided it would only be more trouble.
The kids grew up and lived their own lives as they do. Simon and James got good jobs locally. Penny married a doctor and moved to Plymouth. Which only left Andrew, the youngest, at home but he soon moved out once Alan realised he was gay. I'd known for years but Alan didn't see it until he started bringing boys home. You wouldn't have known by looking at him though, big strong lad he was, played rugger and all sorts. There was nothing limp-wristed about Andrew. He broke his father's heart.
Serves him right; he broke my mine.
And then shortly after Andrew left his father had a routine medical and they found something; there is a God after all! The G.P. told me in confidence he suspected Asbestosis. No cure apparently. Once the specialist confirmed it we just settled back to wait. It didn't change him though, he still went down to his allotment every day, still brought home the veggies and still they went in the bin.
But, eventually it made him weaker; he spent longer and longer in bed and the time came when he stayed there. I moved out and into the spare room, I couldn't stand his coughing and wheezing. I remember looking at him one day and thinking, "You're taking an awful long time over this."
He used to fret about his allotment; who'd look after it when he'd gone. I thought who gives a bugger, but I'd squeeze his hand and reassure him. Hey, you must think me really wicked. He used to look up into my face - about the only time he ever did look up to me - and ask if he was going to get better. I'd look him straight in the eye and say, ‘Of course love, you'll turn the corner soon.’ And all the time I was wishing he'd get on with it and die, and leave me in peace.
Well we waited - three months passed, and then we got to the six-month mark and the bugger showed no signs of going. I know it sounds awful but I wanted it over and done with. I wanted the house back to myself. I'd decided the first thing to go were all those gardening books and magazines.
In the end I decided to give nature a nudge and help him on his way. I went down to the shed on his allotment and found some weed killer that didn't smell too strong and put a bit in his dinner each day. And do you know what? The bugger seemed to thrive on it. I had to keep upping the dose - I was dreading a post-mortem; he was that full of the stuff I expected all his organs to have melted away.
One morning after he'd been in bed just over a year, I went into his room with a cup of tea and he'd gone. The doctor said it was for the best but I was a bag of nerves until he'd signed the certificate. I didn't know what to do about his body. All those months he'd spent in bed he made me promise several times that he wouldn't be cremated - he had this fear of being burnt alive. I’d reassure him that there was absolutely no danger of that happening.
I couldn't have him buried though - even though I rather liked the idea of the worms having him. I mean if someone became suspicious they could dig him up and find I'd poisoned him. But if I had him cremated I'd didn't want his ashes on the mantelpiece forever more. I supposed I could have always left him where he was but I'd plans for that room.
It was then I remembered what he'd said a few days before he'd died. I'd sat with him for 15 minutes - I couldn't stand being with him any longer - and he'd held my hand, ever so quiet he was, which was how I liked him. Then he looked at me and said, "You'll be in charge love when I've gone. Will you be able to cope?"
And he was right. It was my turn to be in charge. My turn to make the decisions so, I had the bugger burnt. And because he'd been a Leeds supporter, I had his ashes scattered in the goalmouth - at Leeds Road, Huddersfield. It was a simple enough mistake.
Anyway that was six months ago and I'm courting again; at my age, I ask you. We go dancing occasionally and to the pictures.
He's asked me to marry him. I haven't decided yet.
We're going for a drive into the country this afternoon - for tea and buns. I'll let him know then. I probably will. I've nothing to lose really; there's still plenty of that weed killer left.
The Teddy Bear's Picnic
I’d only gone to read the meter.
Last call of the day as well. One of those medium sized houses on the Mount; you know the ones I mean. Half past four, one cold, miserable evening in the middle of August. The 17th to be precise. I particularly wanted to be home early that day; it was my son’s eighth birthday. Action Man he wanted; I’ve still got it somewhere.
His father said he shouldn’t be playing with dolls at his age, wanted to get him a Star Wars laser thingy, but I said no. No guns or anything to do with war. So Action Man it was. He was ever so miffed; the old man. Said I wasn’t to blame him if he turned into one of those. But of course he didn’t, at least I hope he didn’t.
I was doing ever so well that afternoon, managed to get into Poundland for some last minute bits and pieces and was just thinking about sliding off a bit early when I got the call on the radio. ‘Could I do a rush job?’
Some people were disputing a bill and an up to date meter reading was required. What could I say? Over an hour left till I was finished, I thought I could pop in, read the meter and still get home early.
Just an ordinary house it seemed, nothing special, nothing out of the ordinary. I parked up, walked down the path and rang the bell. Now I don’t expect someone to be waiting behind the door ready to fling it open the minute I ring the bell, nor do I expect to be kept waiting for five or so minutes. We all know how long it takes generally to get to the door. I rang the bell again, oh, two or three times in the next five minutes and was just about to give it up as a bad job when I heard a faint faraway voice calling. ‘Come in.’
So I tried the door and expecting it to open banged my nose ever so hard when it didn’t. I heard a faint rattling noise and various doors creaking open from within and the voice I‘d heard saying ‘Come in,’ was getting louder and louder and now I could make out it was saying, ‘Coming.’ This went on for ages with the voice slowly getting nearer. I remember thinking I wish you’d hurry up and come, but then I thought that a lot about the old man as well.
You know that feeling you get when you think someone’s watching you, well I got that all of a sudden. I looked round quickly but nobody was. I glanced all round the house, up at the windows; nothing. I don’t know why but I looked down at the letterbox and there staring towards my middle were two enormous blue eyes. I was that startled I jumped backwards.
‘What do you want?’ said the eyes.
'Electricity. I’ve come to read the meter.' I replied.
‘Just a minute,’ said the eyes. The letter box slammed shut and I heard the bolts being pulled back on the door. There must have five and when the door finally opened and I stepped through into the hall I was expecting the local branch of Sotheby's.
I stepped through to find a long empty space devoid of anything but newspapers on the floor. They must have been five or six inches deep. I looked at the women who’d opened the door. She was as long and thin as the hall. I thought we’ve got a right one here. She didn’t say a word just closed and bolted the door; all five bolts. Bang, Bang, Bang, Bang, Bang. Just like shots from a gun it was. I thought why has she gone and done that; I’ll only be here a minute.
She turned and looked at me. ‘Are you here for the party?’
I thought ‘party’, I want to get home for a party of my own and time’s getting on. 'No love,' I said, 'I’ve come to read the meter.'
‘Oh’, she said in a little voice, 'I thought you’d come for the party.'
So I explained about my son and it being his eighth birthday - and could she get a bloody move on and show me the meter so I could read it and bugger off home and leave her to her own party. Although I couldn’t imagine it being any happy sort of occasion, she looked that miserable.
Anyway she took me through the hall and into the utility room off the kitchen where I quickly jotted down the numbers and made to go when she thrust a cup under my nose, ‘Tea?’
I didn't want any tea, I just wanted to get home but thought it would be better if I just had a quick sip and when she wasn’t looking tipped the rest into a plant pot.
‘Why don’t you sit down for a minute and rest your weary legs? I bet you’re on the go all day long.’
So I sat down, which in retrospect was a bad move but you don’t know at the time. I sat there like a lemon drinking tea that I didn’t want and tried not to look at my watch.
‘They’ll be here soon,’ she said.
More than I will, I thought draining the cup and made to get up but do you know what; I couldn’t move, not a bloody muscle. I thought, Christ, what’s happening?
It’s ever such a strange feeling to be fully aware but not be able to move and this women just looked at me with a burning intensity. I began to feel really frightened; I couldn’t move, I couldn’t talk; I couldn’t even blink and this women just kept on staring at me, not moving, not speaking, just those enormous blue eyes boring into me.
This is a daymare I thought, I’ve been working too hard; a build up of stress; I’ve closed my eyes for a moment and I’m having a daymare. Deep down though, I knew it wasn’t. I had no concept of time, how long I sat there unable to move I’ll never know. Eventually she spoke, and the pathetic thing is I was so grateful I could still hear that I didn’t catch what she said.
She suddenly moved and bustled with tremendous energy about the kitchen. Cloth on the table; paper plates; plastic glasses; sandwiches; cakes; bottles of pop, everything you need for a children’s party. Apart from children.
She spoke again. ‘Can you hear them?’
For the life of me I couldn’t hear a thing and even if I could I wouldn’t have said a word.
‘I can hear them; my babies are crying. They need mummy.’
She left and I tried moving again; absolutely nothing. Not a flicker. I’ve read reports of people coming round in the operating theatre and being unable to tell the surgeon and having to lie there in agony feeling every cut and tug. Well this was worse, I just hadn’t a clue what was happening to me; or why. Who was this women? What had she done to me to make me so paralysed? And why?
I could hear here approaching down the corridor singing softly to herself: I couldn’t make out the tune at first it was so low, but when she came back into the room I recognised the last two lines of a song I’d often sung to my Eddie.
"Is gathered there for certain because
today’s the day the Teddy Bear’s have their picnic."
She was carrying a bundle of teddy bears. If I could have breathed a sigh of relief I would have done.
‘Here they are look,’ she said, ‘my babies. Mummies little treasures.’
I tried, I think, to convey my best, ‘Ah bless ‘em,’ look but it’s pretty impossible when you can’t move a muscle. She didn’t seem to mind though, just carried on chattering.
‘This is Cornelius, this is Jeremy, and this little angel is Humphrey.’ She held them up in turn for my inspection. I must say they looked unlike any teddy bear I’d ever seen but then I was always a golliwog girl myself. Ugly little things they were.
She propped them up at the table and just like I’d done as a little girl started pretend feeding them sandwiches. She went through the whole range of food on the table, finally finishing up with tangerine jelly and ice-cream. She then brought out a birthday cake, lit five candles and sang happy birthday to Humphrey.
I don’t know why but when she appeared with the bears I stopped panicking and in an odd way enjoyed what she was doing. She was just a poor deranged woman I reasoned to myself who probably couldn’t have children of her own and liked to play happy families with her teddy bears.
It still didn’t explain what had happened to me; why she’d drugged me. There was a lot I didn’t understand but I didn’t feel threatened anymore, or in any danger like I had before. Sooner or later the effects of the drug would wear off and I would just stand and leave.
After she’d blown out the candles and cut the cake she brought one of the bears over and held it in front of my face. ‘Jeremy wants to say hello. Say hello to Jeremy.'
I looked at Jeremy bear and realised that far from being over my nightmare was only just beginning. I was filled with horror and despair, I couldn’t do a thing but inside I was silently screaming. This women with the enormous blue eyes was mad, completely mad; it wasn’t a teddy bear she was holding up for my inspection but the mummified body of a tiny baby.
I think I must have passed out. It was either go unconscious or go mad. I remember hearing the chimes of an ice-cream van then nothing. The next thing I recall is waking up in hospital. The police said they couldn’t find any evidence of dead mummified babies. No sign of a party either; no sandwiches, cakes, jelly, ice-cream, nothing. The woman with the enormous blue eyes said she thought I looked a bit funny when she let me in to read the meter and then, when I collapsed in her kitchen had called an ambulance.
The doctors said I’d been working too hard; "over doing it"' they said. I didn’t believe any of it. There’s nothing wrong with me. They say I can go home soon. I’m not bothered either way. I’m happy here. I’ve got my baby to look after.
"If you go down to the woods today
You’re in for a big surprise
If you go down to the woods today
You’ll never believe your eyes
For every bear that ever there was
Is gathered there for certain because
Today’s the day the Teddy Bear’s have their picnic."
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Coming
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No
Sex - No Gardening
God
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