Running Late by Sarah Swatridge, Good, strong Tea

Running Late by Sarah Swatridge

Good, strong Tea

The speaker droned on. Her talk on Horoscopes had been going for two hours and she was still only on Taurus!

            Bridget glanced again at the clock above the stage; it was almost ten. She wasn’t even listening to the lecture now but wondering how late she could leave it, and still get home, before the front door was locked.

            There had been a few minor security issues lately and, after lengthy discussions, it had been decided to lock the doors to the sheltered housing complex at eleven, although it would be possible to call the warden if you were in need of a ‘late pass’.

            Bridget had no intention of troubling the warden unless there was a real emergency, the poor woman worked long hours as it was and probably didn’t get paid a great deal, although she did have a nice, ground floor flat, with arguably the best view and with a perfect little sun trap, ideal for taking an afternoon nap.

            Briefly Bridget zoned back into the talk, but the speaker was still talking about the symbol of the bull rather than moving swiftly on to Gemini and the twins.

            The clock ticked on. Bridget was aware of her own front door key in her pocket. It was getting late but she didn’t want to be the one to get up and walk out while the poor woman was still speaking. It would look so rude.

            She heard the ten o’clock bus outside. It pulled noisily away from the bus stop heading back towards the town centre.

            She thought back to a time when she was a young woman in the 1960s. She’d told her mother she was going out to a dance, but on the way, she’d met Patrick. Bridget never made it to the dance but had spent the evening listening to Patrick’s funny stories about his family and his life on a farm. They’d sat together in the corner of the snug, like old friends. She’d nursed a glass of lemonade as she sat enthralled.

            That evening she’d had the same uncomfortable feeling of being late and being in trouble. On that occasion, she’d missed the last bus home and had to walk as quickly as she could to make sure she was still home before her father.

            All the way she was making up different scenarios of what she was going to tell her mother, and how she was going to explain why she’d missed the bus in the first place, making her late home.

            There was a screech of chair legs on the wooden floor as the Chairperson, Nuala, stood.

            ‘I’m so sorry to have to interrupt you when you’re barely half way through,’ began Nuala in her most polite voice, as she addressed the guest speaker. ‘But we’re going to have to stop you there as, unfortunately, we only hire the hall until ten-thirty, so let’s hear it for our speaker,’ she said, rather over-enthusiastically, but dutifully everyone clapped before gathering their belongings and stacking the chairs.

            Bridget glanced over at the woman who booked the speakers, she had her head in her hands, but her diary was well and truly closed. Even Bridget knew it was true that they had their monthly meetings all planned out at least as far as Christmas and one or two were already booked for the new year.

            Bridget hesitated as she shrugged on her coat, threw her handbag over her shoulder and, rather awkwardly manoeuvred her chair toward the general direction of the ones that had already been stacked. These days there were several younger members in the group who were stronger and more spritely; she’d leave it to them to do the majority of chairs for once. Today, she needed to get home.

            Just as Bridget was heading for the door, she heard someone calling her name and her heart sank. To make matters worse, it was Elaine, and Elaine had a habit of talking for hours. She never used one word when she could use a dozen.

 

            ‘I need to get back,’ began Bridget. ‘Will it keep ‘til next time?’

‘You’ve won a raffle prize,’ Elaine said and held out a large potted plant.

‘Oh. Thank you,’ Bridget said, wondering how on earth she was going to carry it home. ‘Is it heavy?’

‘Don’t worry, I’ll fetch a carrier bag for you. We’ve got a bag of them in the kitchen beside the fridge and they’re there to be used. At least that’s what I think. Don’t you agree?’

            Bridget nodded her agreement as she concentrated on buttoning up her coat. Elaine headed toward the kitchen. She could be gone for hours if she met someone else to chat to.

            Thankfully, on this occasion, Elaine wasn’t too long. Together they eased the plant carefully into the heavy-duty bag which did make it easier for Bridget to carry.

            ‘That’s very kind of you,’ Bridget said. ‘I really must be off now, but we’ll have a proper catch-up next time. Be seeing you.’

            Outside the air was fresh, but welcome after the stuffy atmosphere of the hall. It felt good to breathe in the cool night air and be able to look up at the stars twinkling above.

            It was such a beautiful starry night, and reminded her of a similar evening so many years ago when Patrick walked her along the banks of the river and gazed, so lovingly into her eyes and told her he had to go. But before her tears could fall, he’d taken her into his arms and asked her to join him.

            She’d never forget that evening. He didn’t actually get down on his knees, but he held her hands, looked into her eyes and asked her to be his wife, swearing that he could never love another.

            Tonight, Bridget hurried on as quickly as she could with her shoulder bag in one hand and the, rather bulky plant, in the other. She wondered why she’d accepted it; it was far too big for her little apartment. She’d have a closer inspection of her prize in the morning and decide what to do with it then.

            Bridget’s journey was further hampered because for some foolish reason, she’d decided to wear heeled shoes for the meeting instead of her usual flat ones. She’d seen the heels sitting, all polished, in her wardrobe and thought she ought to get more use out of them. Of course, changing her shoes, meant she then ought to swap her trousers for a skirt and all that indecision made her late leaving and she’d have to rush the welcome cup of tea they had at the start of the meeting, before the speaker was introduced. Now, of course, she wished she’d left her posh shoes where they were.

            She continued, one step in front of the other as best she could in her unsuitable shoes, her shoulder strap slipping every so often and the plant banging against her leg. Nevertheless, she felt happier now she was on her way home.

            Once again, her mind was taken back to a time when she was hurrying for a bus. She’d missed that one too and that had, well and truly, shaped her life. How many times had she thought back to that day and asked herself what would have happened if she’d caught that bus to the airport, and boarded the plane, with Patrick?

            But it wasn’t meant to be. The bus had gone and there was no way of contacting him. She knew there was no point waiting for the next bus, because by the time she arrived, he’d be well on his way and her life was destined for a very different direction.

            A car slowed down beside her. Bridget did her best to ignore it but an anxious voice called out and when she turned, she saw the concern on the girl’s face and took in the two children strapped in their car seats in the back.

            ‘Where’s the hospital?’ she asked, her voice coming out like a squeak. ‘The Satnav’s sent me down here but…’

‘Oh no, you need to turn round, go back to the end of this road, where you came in, and take the next right. The hospital’s at the far end of the street. You can’t miss it. Good luck.’ She added as the car immediately, made to turn in the road.

            Bridget sent up a silent prayer that whatever was wrong, would soon be put right for that young family. She’d been a nurse herself, working in that very hospital just around the corner. Over the years she’d seen far too many worried parents and anxious families, but they’d been good years.

            Her friends had teased her, saying at least she couldn’t be late when she lived less than a five-minute walk away! She’d felt useful back in those days. Her life had purpose and she was busy.

            Now she had more time to herself, but made sure each day was filled with one thing or another. There were always people to see, jobs to be done, people to visit, to check on. Yes, despite reluctantly agreeing to retire, she still felt her life had meaning and that there was always a reason to get up in the morning. People needed her, and she’d be missed if she was late for an appointment!

            She could now see the lights of the sheltered housing complex at the end of the street. Nearly there. Most of the flats were in darkness but Mary, who lived on the corner still had her lights on in most rooms by the looks of it. Bridget tutted, no wonder the woman described herself as a night owl instead of a lark.

            Bridget was now so close; she didn’t waste any time pausing at each lamp-post to check her watch. It was touch and go whether she’d be home in time.

            Bridget hurried along, swapping her bags over as she walked briskly on. She was finding it hard to breathe properly what with all the rushing home. It really wasn’t good for her. If only she’d had the courage to stand and quietly leave the room earlier on in the boring old talk. The chances are that either no one would have noticed, or they would have suspected she needed the Ladies. What a silly woman she was!

            Bridget paused under the light of Mary’s flat in order to catch her breath. Her heart was pounding rapidly in her chest. She knew she just needed to take a few deep breaths and she’d be fine. Her cheeks felt flushed, despite the fresh night air, as she tried to calm herself down.

            ‘Are you alright?’ asked a passer-by. Bridget nodded but clung to the railings until she was able to speak.

‘Are you sure?’ he asked again.

‘Honestly. I’m fine,’ she said at last. ‘I’m almost there.’

            She found the energy from somewhere to hurry along the last stretch to the large glass doors at the front of the building, just as the warden was getting ready to punch in whatever code it was for closing them and keeping them safe overnight. They smiled briefly as Bridget headed thankfully for her own front door; her sanctuary.

            It wasn’t until she was inside her apartment with the lights on, the kettle boiling and the computer screen glowing, that she let herself heave a huge sigh of relief.

            She plonked down the plant, still with its blue raffle ticket attached. She threw a teabag into her favourite mug before turning her attention to the instructions on the screen reminding her to check the microphone and camera before joining the zoom meeting.

            And there he was! Patrick, as handsome as ever, even if somewhat grey and portly now, but still her Patrick with his big smile, all the way from America, waiting to talk to her.

About the author 

  

 

 Sarah Swatridge writes short stories for women’s magazines worldwide. She now has a collection of twenty uplifting short stories called Feel-Good Stories along with her large print novels available in libraries and online. Visit www.sarahswatridge.co.uk and sign up to her monthly one page newsletter. 

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