A Stop Along The Way

A Stop Along The Way

Olivia Smith

Blue Lagoon

We haven’t always been here but the white walls have, here for those who never wanted to grow up, who weren’t ready to go just yet. Some stay here a long time, some leave within a few days. It’s not really for us to say who stays and who goes. That’s decided by someone else and someone else was still deciding where to put me. We all had a life before this; some had a family, some none at all, family is something we try to forget, I sometimes wonder if mine has forgotten me. I don’t remember much of my life before I came here, I’d like to think it was a happy one; happiness now hard to come by. Not found in a birthday cake or the opening of a Christmas present, how could it be? When time stands still and celebration is spent.

                 When I first got here I feared the change. Now it leaves me unfazed, it is my home. If I could tell you how long I’d been here I would, but the clock’s hands were ripped off long before my arrival and the year has seeped from my mind. Perched on a bench I cock my head in the direction of a newbie, skin a sickly yellow and hair tied poorly into bunches, I nod my head in her direction, she welcomes my presence with a timid 'hello.' So young and afraid, she hurriedly looks around for her parents, she won’t find them here.

               'How are you today?' I politely ask, in a feeble attempt to abate her trepidations.

                'I’m feeling much better, thank you,' she replies.

               At least her parents taught her manners before she wound up here. I nod my head and walk away. I want to stay and show her the ropes but what good would it do? She needs to find her own way, she could be here a while.

I make my way to what would be the bedroom if it were to possess a bed, although I’ve come to realise why bother to have a bed when no one ever sleeps. Elmer is already there, playing with his wooden yo-yo, he doesn’t even look up. 'Elmer!' No response, I hate when he ignores me. 'Elmer!' Focused on the toy as it bounces up and down, up and down 'Hey Elmer, you should put on a coat, you’ll catch your death.' He meets my gaze then storms out of the room, I laugh heartily at his annoyance. Elmer doesn’t speak, I don’t know if he can’t or he won’t but all I know is Elmer got such a shock when he ended up in this place that a word hasn’t come out of his mouth since. At least that’s what the other kids say, Elmer’s been here a lot longer than me, you see. A lot of the kids are like that, shocked when they end up here. I guess it makes sense; one day you’re sat at home with a loving family then next thing you know you’re here; no parents, no relatives, no nothing, just a bunch of children waiting to be put in a new home.

Rumours go round every so often about where we might wind up, one place sounds nice, one place sounds awful. One thing’s for sure, I ain’t going anywhere anytime soon. At fifteen years old I was lucky to get in here, seems sixteen is the cut off. I don’t know where you go if you’re any older than that, not sure I want to know either. I say the less you know, the happier you are. I make my way to the garden, nothing grows but it’s nice to feel the cold air. It gets awful hot in the home, causing me to take my hat off, the other kids laugh ’cause there isn’t any hair on my head, not that that bothers me anymore, I got used to that a long time ago.

I hear the chorus of three young girls singing yet another round of ring a ring o’ roses. There used to be four of them singing but one left recently, it always got me down when people left but I guess that was the nature of this place, it wasn’t designed to be lived in forever, it’s just a stop along the way.

I saunter back into the home; full of so many other children. It makes me happy to have so much company yet it makes me sad to think the same fate has befallen so many others. I get my iPhone out of my pocket, not that it works here, more an act of ritual from my previous life than anything else. In hindsight I wish I’d brought something else with me, not that you get to choose, you just end up with what was on your person when you were taken. The same goes for your clothes, I hate being stuck in this gown, had I known I would have thought to change. Not that there’s much point thinking about this now, nothing’s gonna be any different just ’cause I wish it. If that were the case there’d be a whole lot of wishing going on around this place.

               If the truth be told I always figured I’d end up here, well maybe not here exactly but I knew I wasn’t going to be staying there for too much longer. It was my mother’s tears that had given it away. She’d said I was going to be fine, that I was going to stay with her but the tears told a different story to the one her mouth was telling. My dad told me to stay strong but I could tell he was crumbling inside. And my sister, well I don’t think she knew what was going on, it was for the best, innocent minds shouldn’t have to know the evils of this world. The doctor’s often ignored me, scared to give me answers to my questions. The nurses would feed me drugs as my mother fed me lies. Telling me it’d all be OK, telling me I’d get better any day now. Well at least I’m not sick anymore. None of us are, that’s the one good thing about this place. We might still look it, with balding heads and bust up bodies but we don’t feel it anymore, so I suppose I should be thankful for that. I think I spend more time thinking about the past than I do the future, there’s a certainty in the past that the future can never hold. It was so long ago that I can hardly even remember it now but some memories were built never to be forgotten. The time I walked through the meadow with my mother, the day my parents brought home my new baby sister, eating too much ice cream on my tenth birthday, the day I got told I was sick and lastly the day I died. These were memories I would always keep, no matter where I went next. This is the limbo of Infants and like I said this place isn’t for living. It’s just a stop along the way.

About the Author

Olivia Smith is an aspiring writer in her final year at Salford University, studying English and creative writing. English has been a passion of hers since a very young age and she has contributed to the Cafelit website on several occasions.

A Different Kind of Breakfast

A Different Kind of Breakfast

Olivia Smith

Double vodka and coke

Tapping my nails on the bar, one of them instantly snaps off. The bare nail now exposed, just sad traces of glue left clinging to it. Darren always says my acrylics look cheap, with football shirts and a beer belly being the only fashion statement he’s made recently, his style advice goes on ignored. I realise the girl behind the bar is purposely ignoring me, she’s a sad looking thing really, mousey brown hair and an outfit fitting for a librarian. In a thinly veiled attempt at getting her attention, I loudly clear my throat. She pretends not to hear. Every man in this place is looking at me and yet I have to go out of my way to get this virgin’s attention.

‘Excuse me, sweetheart,’ a saccharine smile etched on my face. She sidles over, head pointed to the ground. ‘I’ll have a double vodka and coke please.’ She stares back at me blankly.

‘Maam, its 9:30 in the morning.’

‘Fine and a bowl of cereal then,’ I sarcastically respond. Embarrassed, she pours my drink in silence, over compensating with the amount of vodka poured, I think I like this girl after all.

Sensing a pair of eyes boring into me, I turn round to trace their owner.  Across the bar stands a man; flashy suit, orange tan and veneers that threaten to blind. I politely smile; he unfortunately mistakes my good manners as an invitation to come over. Briefcase in hand, he may as well have ‘wanker’ scrawled across his face.

‘Hi,’ he remarks. Tired of him already, I make no efforts to acknowledge his presence. His eyes travel down to my chest; the ogling eyes making me wish I hadn’t put quite so much padding in my bra this morning. ‘How are you?’

‘Good,’ I force myself to reply. He quickly turns his head, presumably to check he’s not being watched.

‘How about you let me buy you that drink?’ My early morning alcoholism apparently not a turn off.

‘No, thank you,’ I reply. He produces a £50 note from his pocket and slides it in my direction. Sexual propositions practically a part of my daily routine at this point.

‘You know, it really is a shame you won’t let me buy you that drink.’ He thumbs the note that so offensively rests on the bar top. I stand up straight, towering over him in my six inch stilettos.

‘Dear, the only real shame,’ I whisper delicately into his ear, ‘is that your mother decided against your abortion.’ Mouth hanging open, he goes to say something then thinks better of it, promptly putting the money back in his pocket and heading to the door.

My phone starts to buzz; I read the message on the screen. It’s Darren saying he’s almost here. I feel oddly calm, maybe it’s my inner confidence shining through... maybe it’s the double vodka. Either way, I feel ready for what’s to come. In he walks; I can tell he’s attempted to make an effort, a checked shirt presumably purchased at Primark and jeans that, for a change, don’t have any holes in them, just a noticeable ketchup stain right down the front.

‘Hi Sweetie,’ I say, kissing him on the cheek. I lean in to kiss him again on the lips but the gesture is not returned. Staring at me, I can see him trying to quash his annoyance.

‘What are you wearing?’ he blurts out, catching me off guard.

‘What? You told me to make an effort for your parents.’ I say, attempting to defend my dress and heels.

‘No, that’s not what I said. I said don’t come dressed as a tart and here you are looking like a bloody prostitute!’

‘A high class one though.’ I joke, trying to change the mood.

‘Look, my parents are already having a hard enough time dealing with this. You don’t need to rub it in their faces.’ I can feel myself turning red under the mask of makeup I so generously applied.

‘I guess I could go home if you want,’ I say, staring at the floor, ‘I could get changed.’

Darren realises he’s upset me. ‘No, no it’s fine. You look cracking, it’s just me, I’m just nervous that’s all.’ He takes my hand and guides me out of the bar, I grab him tightly.

The taxi ride is silent, with the driver seemingly preoccupied, staring at us both in the mirror. I catch his gaze; he just smiles back looking somewhat embarrassed. As we pull up outside of the restaurant; I spot the breakfast buffet through the windows. ‘Maybe you could just wait here for a moment.’ Darren says, staring at the floor of the taxi, a discarded ten pence piece resting there.

‘And why would I do that?’

‘Look, just please. I’ll just go in, say hi to them and then you can follow. Please.’

I shrug my shoulders. ‘Fine then, I’ll just wait outside like some scruffy little dog.’

Darren makes his way inside. As I stand on the pavement, a deafening wolf whistle is sounded in my direction from a passing car; the blaring sound recently becoming the accompanying soundtrack to my life. Deciding Darren has had long enough to prepare his parents, I saunter on in. I can hear the clicking of my shoes against the floor. Sat in the corner I spot them, a fairly unfortunate looking couple to say the least. Darren’s father is the spitting image of his son, with the exception of a greying moustache and a slightly more protruding stomach. His mother, oh my, a plump little thing whose mere presence makes you feel a bit sad. The kind of woman you presume has so little intimacy in her life she classes visiting the gyno as a date.

‘Mr and Mrs Lloyd it’s an absolute pleasure to meet you both.’ I stretch out my hand for them to shake, ‘And can I say you both look lovely.’ A bold red lipstick and an ability to lie being a must have for any social occasion.

‘Mum, Dad,’ Darren chimes in ‘This is...’

‘Oh,’ Darren’s father awkwardly laughs, ‘I’m sure we can guess who this is.’ Unsure how to take that comment, I take a seat instead. Everyone shovels food into their mouths, grateful for the opportunity not to have to speak. I watch as Darren’s fathers eyes move up and down me, finally resting on my neck and staring intently.

‘So,’ I say, desperate to abate the hideousness that is this breakfast. ‘What is it you both do?’ They desperately look at one another, hoping the other will answer first, as the silence grows increasingly more uncomfortable Darren’s mother ends it.

‘Well, we’re both retired now, so not a great deal really. And what about you? Do you work?’

I pause for a moment, contemplating how to answer this. ‘I did yes, I worked as a nurse for many years but due to recent changes in my personal life they decided it was best to let me go.’ His parents don’t let their intrigue get the better of them. Both politely nodding but showing this is as much as they are willing to hear.

The four of us exit the restaurant, leaving behind half eaten croissants and prying eyes. We stand there awkwardly unsure how to act. I take the lead and grab Darren’s mother’s hand. It seems so tiny compared to mine as I cup it, delicately.

‘It was lovely to finally meet you.’ She smiles at me, the same fake smile that I too have mastered, so perfectly, over the years. We exchange pleasantries and move like puppets, social expectations being our guiding puppeteer. Darren’s father bobs his head at me.

‘Well it’s been good meeting you. In all honesty I’ve never met one before.’

‘He means we’ve never met any of Darren’s previous partners before.’ Darren’s mother interjects. I choose to dismiss the comment and promptly hail a taxi.

Later that night we start getting ready for bed. I take off my makeup, the wipes transitioning from white to a combination of peach and black. I observe my reflection, the strong jaw line and crooked nose. Rifling through my wardrobe I finally find an outfit to wear for the next day’s job interview. Darren walks in and sees the clothes on the bed.

‘Looks like a good choice.’

‘Looks like bull shit if you ask me.’ I can’t hide my resentment, I blame it on the clothes but I know my anger rests with the situation. The grey pants and blazer, a hideously dull shirt and tie. Darren puts his arms around me to cheer me up.

‘Let’s go to bed, ay? Big day tomorrow.’ We get in bed, his warm body cuddling into mine.

‘Good night Darren.’ I say kissing the nape of his neck.

‘Good night Martin,’ he delicately replies.

Author Bio

Olivia Smith is an aspiring writer in her final year at Salford University, studying English and creative writing. English has been a passion of hers since a very young age and she aspires to be a published writer.

Hollow

Hollow

Olivia Smith

Whiskey sour

Sitting in silence, I watch as the wax rises up and engulfs the flame. ‘Bloody candles.’  I go to take another uncomfortable sip of my drink but quickly realise my pint glass is empty. I fail to remember how many drinks I've had, I also fail to care. Carmen has yet to take a bite of her meal, simply pushing the food about on the plate, the mackerel fillet now stone cold. I ordered her usual glass of prosecco; it rests on the table untouched.  Peering around at the other couples, I find myself desperate to see at least one other person in as much hell as me. Some couples are laughing merrily, rejoicing in each other’s company, others are simply gazing into each other’s eyes, appreciating the romantic ambience of the restaurant. Carmen and I are staring at an unlit candle in near silence. It had been Carmen’s idea to come here, I’d agreed in the vain hope that it might help fix things between us. But it was just a meal, not a miracle.

Raising my hand, I click twice. This yields no response.   

‘Tony,’ Carmen pipes up, ‘you’re being rude.’ A piercing whistle escapes my lips, shocking the waiter and momentarily disrupting the loving couples, causing a forgotten smile to creep across my lips. The waiter shuffles over, a tall man with a ridiculous moustache.   

‘Can I get you anything else this evening sir?’                    

 ‘I’ll have another Stella.’ My eyes wander over to meet Carmen’s disapproving gaze. ‘What? I'm drinking for two now.’

Neither Carmen nor the waiter laugh, I've pushed it too far. ‘Sorry,’ I mumble. An exaggerated yawn comes from Carmen.

‘Can we please just go? I'm feeling tired,’ already throwing her napkin onto the table. I shrug my shoulders.                                                     

‘Yeah, I guess so.’

 A different waiter comes over with the bill. I open up my wallet and place a £50 note down before retiring to the men’s room. I know Carmen will add to the tip, her way of saying sorry for my behaviour. Sorry being a word heard all too often as of late.

The car journey is spent in silence; I've gotten used to this now. Carmen puts the radio on but I instantly turn it off. As I sit next to her in the passenger seat, I let my eyes close and wish for my brain to take me somewhere else. The car swerves slightly, waking me up. I probably shouldn't have let Carmen drive, not in her condition. Shuffling about in my seat, I struggle to retrieve the packet of cigarettes wedged in my back pocket. After a great deal of effort, I manage to grasp them and press down on my lighter. No flame emerges. I try again. I get just enough fire to light the cigarette. I take a heavy drag.   

‘Could you please put that out?’

Another heavy drag, the smoke filling up my lungs. Carmen winds down her window in an effort to expel the cloud of smoke that is engulfing the two of us. The thicker the fumes grow, the less Carmen can see. ‘Look, I don’t care what those things are doing to your body but there’s more than one person in this car, in case you’ve forgotten.’

I throw the cigarette out of the window and stare right at her. ‘Happy now?’

The key rattles about in the lock as I open the front door. I trip over the cardboard IKEA box that has been casually left on the ground. I had told Carmen to keep the boxes for when we return everything. I found her throwing away the receipts last night.  I remember our trip to the shop to buy all the furniture, it was only a few months back but it feels like a lifetime ago now. She’d been so happy, spending more money than we’d budgeted for, saying it deserved only the best. I’d tried to give it my best. I honestly had.           

‘What’s wrong?’ Carmen asks.

I've been staring at the box for some time now.

‘Nothing... it’s nothing.’

She gives me a suspicious look.

            ‘If you’re not too hung-over tomorrow, you might want to think about putting some of that stuff together. We don’t have much time you know.’

Dismantled flat pack furniture lay on the floor, the bars of the crib resembling that of a cell.         

‘Yeah, yeah. You’re right,’ I reply.

Carmen sits down on the settee, my duvet next to her. She looks so small and timid, like a lost child. I couldn't help but feel guilty.

‘I'm sorry.’ Carmen turns to look at me.

‘About tonight? Well so you should be.’ I shake my head.

‘No, not about tonight.’

      

We make love. I perform as though it’s my sexual début; clumsy and unsure whilst Carmen just lies there in silence – a far cry from our previous nights of passion. We are playing our parts, going out for meals, having sex, occasionally saying we love one another. To an outside observer they would never know. They would never know that seeing her like this kills me inside. I stand up naked and make my way to the door.                                                                                                                                                            

‘Good night,’ she calls after me.

The only response I can bear to give is the sound of heavy footsteps as I make my way down the stairs. 

      The house is silent, Carmen must still be asleep. I can still love her when she’s asleep. With her eyes closed, it’s like the past has never happened and the future is no concern of ours. With her eyes closed, we can be happy again. When she’s awake, I can’t understand her. The doctor had warned me about this, they said it was not just her body that was going through this ordeal but her mind too. It’s strange; there is almost an ugly beauty in the reality she has fashioned for herself. Giving herself creative license to repaint life, creating splendour where there should be pain. The only problem being that I'm still stuck in this life, I still have to cope with this reality. Cradling the memory of what once was but will now never be.

          Banging noises sound from upstairs; she must be awake. I make my way into the kitchen to make us breakfast. Carmen’s phone is resting on the kitchen counter; I stare at it intently before picking it up. I don’t know what I hope to achieve by looking at it, maybe a better insight into what’s going on in her head. I could check who she’s been calling, what she’s been saying; my thumbs rest delicately on the keys.

‘Morning.’ Carmen enters the room. I throw the phone back down, praying she hasn't noticed.

‘Morning,’ I beam back, my enthusiastic tone making her suspicious.    

‘What’s wrong?’

 I want to reply ‘everything’. ‘Nothing,’ I say, placing a bowl in front of her as she takes a seat at the table. She looks so small. My mouth feels dry as I go to speak. ‘You know, I was thinking why don’t we go on a trip?’

Carmen stares at the cereal in front of her. ‘I guess I have got quite a bit of time off work. I’d suggest visiting the family but I imagine they’ll all be wanting to come here soon enough,’ Carmen replies, cupping her belly.

My pained expression cannot be hidden.

‘I was thinking a bit further than that, like Spain or Italy or something. Let’s just get away, just get away from everything.’

Carmen stares at me. ‘Tony, why are you saying this?’ Her eyes glaze over. ‘You know I can’t fly. Not now. Not with everything.’

 I can feel cereal getting lodged to the side of my throat as I painfully swallow.

‘Yeah, you’re right. I don’t know what I was thinking.’

But that’s not true I know exactly what I was thinking.

If we could just get away maybe things would be different. We wouldn't have to think about what had happened, we could start to move on. ‘Anyway, hurry up with that.’ I nod towards the breakfast on the table in front of her, the spoon still clean. ‘We’ve got this doctor’s appointment in an hour.’

‘I know, I know,’ she says, rubbing her belly and smiling.

‘It’s important,’ I bluntly respond.

                                                                                                                                                    

 Strolling along the street we walk hand in hand, our marital disguise. I sometimes wonder what people think when they see us together. If they’re momentarily tricked into thinking we are a loving couple, that we’re living the dream, that we aren't hiding something.            

‘Carmen! Tony!’ my train of thought is interrupted. I turn round to see Melanie, dressed head- to- toe in a matching baby pink ‘Juicy Couture’ tracksuit, despite the fact she’s never done a moment’s exercise in her life.             

‘Oh my God, Melanie!’ A fake smile plastered across Carmen’s face. ‘It’s so good to see you.’ It’s really not. Melanie was one of those awful women who calls herself a housewife despite the fact she has three maids and no children. Melanie’s brown, leathery arms cradle my neck as she brings me in for a hug.                                        

‘Hi Melanie,’ this is all I can muster. We used to live next to her and her husband but it wasn't long before she traded him in for a richer model.                                                                                                     

‘Gosh, I can’t even remember the last time I saw you guys, it’s been forever.’ Her fake enthusiasm is repulsive.                                                                                                                                                                           

‘Well you know, obviously we've had a lot of stuff going on,’ says Carmen.

             I see Melanie’s expression change instantly.     

     'Oh my God. I'm so sorry, I’d completely forgotten,’ her eyes momentarily flicker to my wife’s stomach. ‘How are you doing sweetie?’

                                                                                                                                            

Melanie’s concern is about as real as the gleaming veneers that keep threatening to blind me.                                                                                                                              

‘Fine,’ I suddenly interject, ‘we’re doing just fine thank you.’ I see Melanie’s brain trying to process this, calculating the best way to pretend she’s a caring human being when in reality she’s just trying to extract as much gossip from us as possible for her next cocktail party. Caviar served with a helping of my marital crises.                                                                                                                                                  

‘Yeah, yeah, well that’s good to know. I mean, obviously I've heard things but it’s great to hear that you two are pulling through.’

This is excruciating. I look at my watch, despite the fact the hands haven’t moved in years, hoping she’ll pick up on this social cue. She doesn’t. Carmen takes hold of my hand, maybe to stop my unnecessary clock watching or perhaps to show just how unified we are.

 Or at least pretend to be.                                             

              ‘We’re doing great, just can’t wait finally to get to see our little bundle of joy.’ Despite the sheer amount of Botox that has been injected into Melanie’s head, I can still make out the puzzled expression that her face. Her eyes move over to me.                                                     

‘Your bundle of joy?’

I feel nauseous. I want her to shut up.                                                                          

‘Yes, Melanie, mine and Carmen’s bundle of joy.’ The lie burns my tongue and I can feel my wedding ring digging in as Carmen grips my hand even tighter. Melanie looks flustered, unaccustomed to not knowing what to say.                                                                                                                                              

‘Ah, yes, well. It’s just I thought that... you know, never mind, people are always getting their facts wrong, or I'm probably thinking of someone else, yes I’m sure that’s it. Any way sweetheart, it was lovely to see you both but I’m meeting Darrel for sushi so I must dash. Tah,tah.’ And with that she’d spun round in the opposite direction, leaving only the overwhelming scent of expensive perfume that had been a bit too liberally applied.                                                                                                                   

‘Let’s go home,’ I mumble to Carmen who seems oblivious to what has just occurred.                      

‘But what about the doctor’s appointment? You said yourself that it was important we go.’   

‘Another time. We’ll go another time.’

I hear the same beeping from the microwave as I do every night. Replacing what was once the call of Carmen’s loving voice, presenting me with a home cooked meal. Now it’s just indistinguishable brown mush served up in a plastic carton. I sit in front of the TV. Not really watching, just letting the noise of it fill the awkward space that has taken residence between me and Carmen. There are still cards on the mantel piece, a collection of papers covered in crosses or photographs of lilies. I hadn’t wanted to put them up but I somehow felt obligated, as though it would be a waste to just throw things away. We’d received so many when we broke the news to our family and friends; it helped me to see them. Carmen just ignored them, she was good at that.                             

‘Did you make me any food?’ she snapped. It was getting late, her meds tended to start wearing off around this time and she became irritable.                                                                                                      

‘No sorry, I didn’t think you wanted any.’ This happened every night, she’d demand I make her food then she’d just let it go cold, saying it made her feel sick.                                                                       

‘Of course I want food. Why would I not want food? You know Tony you’ve been acting really weird lately.’ I have to bite my tongue. ‘I’ve got to do everything for myself, do the washing, make my own dinner. Is it not enough that I’m carrying your child!?’

A wave of emotion overcame me. ‘You are not carrying my child!’ I throw my plate to the ground and storm out of the room, slamming the door behind me.

I sit in our bedroom on the floor, not really sure what to do next, angry with myself for what I’d said to Carmen, despite its truth. For some reason I decide to open Carmen’s wardrobe. Colourful garments hang gently down. Each item a memory of how life used to be. Dresses from when we used to go dancing, pencil skirts she’d worn to the office, her wedding dress covered in a sheet of plastic to protect it. I wish life too came with a sheet of protective plastic. These clothes now unworn. Carmen says they don’t fit her anymore. On the floor is the shoe box. I know what’s in here but still I can’t help but gaze inside, a sadistic pleasure. I take a peak, then mustering up more courage, take the lid entirely off. A small photograph of our wedding, a necklace of rosary beads, then the sonogram picture. It crushes me to see it. A black and white image of what could have been.

 ‘Tony!

  Tony!’ Panicked cries make their way up the stairs, ‘Tony, the baby’s coming,’ Carmen says, entering the room, her tired eyes looking drawn and her skeletal frame mocking her.

Bio

Olivia Smith is an aspiring writer in her final year at Salford University, studying English and creative writing. English has been a passion of hers since a very young age and she aspires to be a published writer one day.