Two Mugs on the Kitchen Table by Jenny Edgerley, mug of strong tea

There were two mugs on the kitchen table. The man sat with his face in his hands, elbows resting on the wooden surface. He watched the steam as it rose from the hot tea, then disappeared into nothing.

“Life’s a funny old game, isn’t love,” he said quietly, breaking the silence. “Full of ups and downs, happiness and sadness, sweet and sour.” He sighed, then reached for the mug closest to him, patterned with a blue and white zigzag. He blew on the hot liquid before bringing the mug to his lips. He savoured the moment as he swallowed. There was something about that first mouthful that always hit the spot.

“But everything feels a bit better after a good strong cuppa, isn’t that right?” He sat back in his chair and sighed again.

“Going to be a tough day, love. That’s for certain but our Sandra will be here soon. She’ll sort us out, like she does. We did well with that one, didn’t we, eh? Such a good girl. Though now she’s in her 40s I should probably stop calling her a girl. But she’ll always be our baby. Do you remember the day she was born? Right here in this house. Gosh, it was wonderful. One of the best days of my life. She was so tiny. Head full of thick black hair and you did the whole thing without any pain killers. You didn’t moan or complain. It came all so naturally to you. As did motherhood. Proper mother earth, that was you. Nothing those kids did ever fazed you. And now look at them! Sandra, some big shot in the city and Simon with his own building company. I always knew he would do well once he left school. It never did agree with him, did it? Do you remember? He didn’t fit in, didn’t enjoy it, just wanted to tinker about in the garage. Thank goodness for that Technology teacher who took him under his wing, got him that apprenticeship. Cor, the amount of times you were called into the school.” The man laughed at the memory. “You were on first name terms with the teachers, you were there so often.”

The man took another mouthful of tea. He stared out of the kitchen window into the garden where he could see the apple tree, its branches swaying gently in the breeze, the blossom being thrown through the air like confetti.

“I’m sorry if I worked too much, if I didn’t give you enough support, especially when the kids were small. I guess I was wrapped up in my career, making sure I was providing enough for you all to realise how quickly time was passing. Blink and you realise the kids are teenagers.”

He took another sip of tea.

“I hope I made you happy. I think I did. I know you made me happy. The happiest man alive, from the day I first set eyes on you. Do you remember? We were at the  dance hall in town. You wore a pale pink dress with white gloves. You were the prettiest thing I ever saw. And when you finally noticed me, I swear I could hear bells ringing in my ears and had stars in my eyes. Took me all night to pluck up the courage to ask you to dance. Not sure I ever told you that. And by that point there was only time for one and then you left before I even had chance to ask your name. Lucky for me you came back again the next week.” The man took his handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped his eyes.

“We’ve had a good life though, haven’t we? We’ve been happy and although there have been some tough times along the way, I wouldn’t have wanted it any different. With you by my side, I felt I could conquer the world.”

The man turns his head as the front door opens. “I think I hear Sandra now, love.”

“Dad? The cars are here. Are you ready to go?” a voice called from the hallway.

“Just a minute,” the man called back.

“Well, love. That’s it then. I’ve dreaded this day coming and now it’s here. I wish it was me instead of you but it’s OK. I know it won’t be long before I see you again.” The man carefully placed his now empty mug next to the still full one on the table. He stood, slowly wincing at the pain in his hip. He picked up his stick then shuffled out of the kitchen.

“Right, time to go. Time to say goodbye.”

About the author 

 Jenny is from Suffolk, UK where she lives with husband Mark, children Joey and Mollie and Dash the dog. After years of thinking about it, she has completed her first novel. Jenny is now hoping to find a literary agent who enjoys it as much as her mum does! 

 

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The Handbag

 

by Jenny Edgerley

a nice cup of tea with a chocolate digestive

 

‘Morning dear,’ said the carer, loudly. Her face was uncomfortably close to mine. Her colleague was slouched against the door frame, engrossed in her phone.

‘Good morning,’ I reply, trying to sound cheerful, not that I felt it.

‘Do you want a nice cuppa, dear, while we sort out?’

I hate the patronising tone, the way she calls me ‘dear’. I may well be a useless, forgetful old woman but I have a bloody name and no, I don’t want a mug of the cats piss you make. I want to walk to the café on the corner, order a latte with an extra shot of expresso. I want to sit in the window and watch the world go by. I want conversation, to reminisce, tell stories, wow people with tales from my past that make them realise I haven’t always been a useless, forgetful old woman. But it doesn’t seem to matter what I want anymore. Or what I think. I’m becoming more invisible by the day.

‘Yes please,’ I finally answer as I see she is standing in front of me waiting impatiently for a response.

‘Righty-ho, dear.’ The carer pats the back of my hand.

I sigh. I don’t mean to be ungrateful, but I didn’t ask for their help. I was fine. I am fine. There was just that one time I was confused and couldn’t find my way home. Sheila had been so upset when the police called her. Though I’m not sure if it was because she was worried about me or because she’d had to leave an important meeting to collect me. She’d arranged for the carers to come within days. She didn’t even ask me what I thought about it all.

I hate them being in my home. I never know what time they are going to arrive. I get anxious when I hear the front door open. There seems to be a new one every week. They are strangers. They move my things, nose around. They don’t respect me or care about me. I’m just another visit to tick off their list for the day. They don’t know anything about me and haven’t bothered to ask.

‘Here we go, dear. A nice cuppa.’ She put it on the side table, out of my reach. She doesn’t use a coaster. I feel flustered and my mind gets cloudy. I can’t think properly.

‘Do you know where my handbag is?’

‘Yes, dear.’ She sounds exasperated. ‘It’s at the side of your chair, where you always keep it.’ She leans over me to pick up my navy handbag. She is so close I can smell stale perfume and cigarette smoke on her. She waves the bag in front of my face, then hides it behind her back. ‘Now you see it, now you don’t,’ she says in a jovial sing song voice. My heart is racing. I want to shout, to tell her to get her hands off my belongings but I daren’t. She laughs loudly as she puts it back on the floor next to me.

‘Just a bit of fun, dear. No need to look so serious.  Sheila’s coming today, isn’t she?’

‘Is she?’

‘Well, it is Wednesday, dear. She always comes on a Wednesday, doesn’t she, you silly billy.’

‘Oh, piss off,’ I mutter.

‘What was that dear?’

‘How lovely,’ I say, smiling sweetly at her.

Sheila and I have never had a close mother-daughter relationship, but I love her and I’m very proud of her. She’s a very successful businesswoman. I’m not sure what she does but she does it very well apparently. I’m almost ashamed to say that as I’ve got older, I’ve found that I’m not actually that keen on her. She means well, I’m sure but I can’t help feeling that I’ve become an inconvenience to her. A fly in the ointment of her life. She is intelligent and opinionated with it, likes to get her own way and seems to have very little empathy. She takes after her father. She spends her visits talking down to me like I’m the child and trying to convince me to leave my home, bringing me glossy brochures of soulless care homes to entice me away. I’ve always said I’ll leave this house in a box, and that is what I intend to do.

‘Right dear. Your lunch is in the fridge. Corned beef sandwich today, your favourite.’ Corned beef is not my favourite. ‘And your dinner is defrosting on the side. We’ve changed your bed. Saw you had a bit of an accident, so that’s all sorted for you. Anything else before we go?’

I’m mortified. I feel stripped of all dignity. My mind starts to cloud again and my heart races. I feel agitated.

‘Do you know where my handbag is?’

‘For goodness sake, dear, you know it’s by your chair. Where it was the last time you asked me.’ The carer sounds annoyed, and I see her roll her eyes at her colleague who is once again slouched against the door frame, phone in hand.

‘Is Sheila coming today?’

The other carer sniggers.

‘Yes dear, its Wednesday isn’t it. She’ll be here after lunch. God, if I ever get this bad, I hope someone puts me out of my misery,’ I hear her say as the front door closes behind them.

I’m not sure how long I’ve sat here staring out of the window and only realise I’m crying when I taste the saltiness of my tears. I slowly stand, wincing at the pain in my joints. I pick up my walking stick and close the front door behind me. It’s only when I finally reach the café on the corner, I realise I’ve forgotten my handbag.

About the author

Jenny is from Suffolk, UK where she lives with husband Mark, children Joey and Mollie and a Sprocker called Dash. After years of thinking about it, she began a creative writing course in 2019 which inspired her to start writing her first novel which she is well over half-way through. 

The Journey (Sequel to It’s Your Time)

by Jenny Edgerley

pink lemonade

Mabel opened her eyes and found herself enveloped in swirling white mist, which smelt faintly of pear drops. She coughed, wafting at mist in front of her face. It slowly cleared to reveal a bus stop. Mabel was confused. She had no idea where she was. In the distance, she heard the rumbling of a large vehicle approaching. A vintage red bus came to a standstill in front of her. The doors slowly creaked open to reveal a liveried driver behind the wheel. 

“Morning love, you getting on then?” he asked cheerfully. 

Mabel paused for a moment, then climbed aboard. 

“I don’t have any money for a ticket,” she said, feeling embarrassed. “I seem to have lost my handbag.”

“No matter, madam. You don’t need a ticket for my bus,” the driver replied kindly. 

Mabel thanked him and made her way to an empty seat towards the rear. As she passed them, the other passengers smiled at her, which was surprising. It had been years since she’d travelled by bus and it had never been this friendly back then. She sat down and gazed out of the window. She noticed a young face staring back at her. It took a moment to realise it was her own reflection. This didn’t make any sense. Mabel knew she was an old woman. She had memories of living in a care home, she could remember losing her beloved husband Doug and the heartbreak she had felt so how was it possible that she was a young woman again.

Before she had a chance to question it further, the bus juddered to a halt. The doors protested noisily once again as they opened to allow a young woman to climb aboard. She didn’t have a handbag either, Mabel thought to herself. She didn’t buy a ticket and she looked bewildered at the other smiling passengers, which made Mabel smile too.

As the bus continued its journey, a flamboyantly dressed man appeared. He was wearing a white shirt with a ruffled collar, beneath a purple velvet suit and a pair of black patent Cuban heels. 

“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen, I am delighted to welcome you aboard the number 21 bus to the Pearly hotel. My name is St Peter but you can call me Pete. I know you will have many questions but hopefully the welcome brochure will answer all of them for you.”

“Excuse me sir,” interrupted a young man sitting a few seats ahead of Mabel. “I didn’t receive one?” Neither did I, she thought. 

“It’s in your hand, dear and please, call me Pete.”

Mabel looked down and sure enough in her hands was a bright and glossy brochure. Her heart raced as she read the front cover. Welcome to the Pearly Hotel - Your guide to heaven. “What?!” Mabel whispered, disbelievingly. 

“Now, I appreciate that this may come as a shock to you” said Pete sympathetically, “but please be assured that you are in very safe hands. We will be arriving at our destination, the Pearly hotel in an hour so please have a read and try to relax.”

Mabel was dumbstruck, but as she read, she began to feel calmer, especially when she came to the page about the hotel’s fantastic facilities.

Mabel sat back and relaxed. Out of the window, she saw occasional glimpses of the sea glistening in the sunshine,beyond the rolling green fields. It reminded Mabel of the first holiday she and Doug had spent together. She must have fallen asleep, because the next thing she knew, the bus had stopped. She opened her eyes and saw the most beautiful building set in glorious gardens.

She made her way to the front of the bus where Pete helped her down the steps. “There’s someone waiting for you over there,” Pete whispered in her ear. Mabel saw a young man sitting on a bench holding a bunch of carnations. She gasped and ran to him. He smiled and stood up to greet his beloved wife.

It's Your Time

by Jenny Edgerley

Baileys with ice

Death checked her reflection in the mirror. She adjusted her necklace and pushed a stray hair behind her ear. Satisfied, she made her way to her first meeting of the day, Daffodil Care Home on Roman Street. She liked these visits. The residents were always pleased to see her, many of them having waited a long time for her arrival. There was always a story to tell before they left their life. 

Today, Death was visiting Mabel. Mabel was 86 and had lived at the care home for twelve years. She had been patient waiting for her turn, watching so many friends leave before her.  Mabel was feeling every one of her years and had become so tired of her meaningless life. 

When Death arrived, the receptionist didn’t notice her, which was just how it should be. She was always hidden in plain sight. She often thought how amazed people would be if they knew how close they had been to Death. Death made her way to Mabel’s room and gently knocked on the door.

Mabel greeted Death warmly. “Hello dear, come in, come in.”

“Good morning Mabel. How are you?” Death asked.

“Better for seeing you, my dear. I’m assuming you have come for me at last?” Mabel asked expectantly.

“Yes, I’m here for you. I hope that’s ok?” Death asked, guilt pricking her conscience as it always did.

“Oh yes, dear. More than ok. I’ve waited for a long time to meet you so I’m very pleased to see you at last. I’m ready to go now, dear, I’m so tired and my health isn’t what it used to be. I’ll be less of a burden to my family if I’m not around,” Mabel said tearfully. “Tell me dear, what happens to me now?”

When Death had finished explaining, Mabel said “Can I ask you a question before I go?”

“Of course,” replied Death. It wasn’t unusual for people to have questions at this stage.

“Why do you do it? You are such a lovely young lady. There must be a better life for you than this?” asked Mabel with interest. Death was surprised. No one had ever asked her such a personal question before.

“It’s my calling and always has been. I do it because I want to make a difference to the end of people’s lives. The time of passing can be very frightening, and I try to make it as peaceful as possible. I think I am very lucky.” A single tear fell down Death’s cheek. “It doesn’t mean it’s always easy. I have witnessed horrific things over my time, terrible tragedies, heart-breaking events but I’m always there to make passing a safe and calm experience regardless of the circumstances that brought us together.”

“I remember when my Doug passed. He had been in such pain for weeks but during those precious moments before he died, he was so peaceful. That was you, wasn’t it?  You were there with him?” asked Mabel.

“Yes, he was a lovely man and so grateful. You're right. He was in pain but us meeting meant the pain left him. He was ready to pass but heartbroken to leave you behind. He asked me to take you too so you could stay together but I’m afraid it doesn’t work like that. We are here for as long as we need to be. We only meet when it's your time,” answered Death fondly.

“And will I see him again when it’s over?” asked Mabel, with tears and hope in her eyes.

“You will. He has been waiting for you all these years,” said Death. “And now it is your time. Close your eyes, Mabel and hold my hand.”

“Thank you dear, thank you so much” replied Mabel faintly as she faded away.

After a few moments, Death stood up, leaned over and kissed Mabel on the forehead before silently leaving the room, heading to her next meeting.