Night Time Economy
I went to bed at 8.30. Mind you I didn’t get home until 7.45, it had been one of those nights. The birds were singing, no, shouting, as I staggered up the road and I remember saying something that was meant to be good morning to the bloke two doors up who was walking his dog.
‘Heavy night Jen?’ he asked.
‘The usual.’
‘Perhaps you ought to try…’ his words were a blur as I fumbled for my key.
The house was blessedly quiet: no loud shouts, no shrieks, no thump, thump, thump. There was a glass by the kitchen sink; I filled it and emptied it in one go, refilled it and took it upstairs. My head ached, but then so did my neck and my arms. What had I been doing? Why was there a bruise on my forearm that was rapidly spreading and turning darker even as I looked at it? My phone buzzed.
‘Hello Mum. Yes, I’m home. What did you hear on the radio? Yeah, I’m fine, I’ll call you later.’
Don’t get into bed I told myself, have a pee first and it might be an idea to clean your teeth, mouth feels like the floor of a bird cage. At last, soiled, crumpled clothes on the floor and a pillow under my head.
I woke up at about 1.30. The afternoon sun shone encouragingly through the curtains. Five hours and I’d start doing it all over again. In the shower a life without all this seemed quite attractive. Better hours, more money in the bank, less stress, less danger. But last night Jazi made it and Cal went to rehab.
Just time to put the washing machine on, do some baked beans on toast and drink coffee. Tomorrow I’ll try to go to the supermarket. And perhaps tonight won’t be so long. Maybe, just maybe I’ll leave early or at least before they make me go home. The bruise has stopped spreading up my arm and is turning that sort of purple colour that you sometimes see at sunset. I can discern the shape of a man’s thumb in the centre of it; I sipped another coffee and wondered, could I have handled it differently? Probably not, my head was already swimming by then.
Dressed and ready to go. Check hair, make up, bag (must get more tissues). Text Mum, tell her I’m fine and not to worry. I’ll see her asap. I have time to walk; the fresh air will do me good. Going in I meet Will. ‘Are you OK? I was worried about you. We seem to be getting more aggressive bastards, but they don’t always make the headlines like that one did.’
‘Thanks for asking, I’m fine.’
He smiles at me. Together we follow the signs to accident and emergency
About the author
enny Rogers lives in Dorset in the south of England. She writes mostly short stories, flash fiction and poems and facilitates an informal writing group. She is a regular contributor to CaféLit. When she’s not writing Penny makes jams, pickles and preserves from home grown or foraged produce.
you enjoy the story? Would you like to shout us a coffee?. Half of what you pay goes to the author the oher half goes to expense se.g. Maintaining hthe web site and setting up The Best of Café Lit book each year.
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