Across the Road by Pauline Howard, cappuccino

‘Lock that back door and get out of here,’ Geoff hissed as he hustled through to the kitchen.

            ‘But I’m in the middle of kneading this dough.’ His wife waggled her flour covered hands at him.

            ‘I don’t care. Just move it. That bloody woman is on her way over.’ But before any further evasive action could be taken, that “bloody woman” was letting herself in.

            ‘Hi, you two. Just thought I’d come and keep you up to date on the coffee morning,’ Julia beamed at them both, ‘Shall I put the kettle on, Jean? I can see you’re up to your armpits. I hope you’re making one of those for me too. And don’t forget you promised me a chocolate caramel cake. Oh, and Geoff, Ron is relying on you to help him put up the gazebo, ' she shot at his retreating back.

            Geoff just stuck up his thumb and hurried back to the den and his newspaper. He found it extremely difficult just to be civil to her. He would help Ron because he felt sorry for him. The poor chap’s whole life revolved around dancing to Julia’s tune!

            ‘Here’s a nice cup of frothy coffee for you Geoff,’ and Julia held it out so he had to put his paper down. ‘Must take care of the workers.’

            ‘Thanks,’ he said grudgingly and pointedly placed it on the side table and resumed his perusal of the paper. It was so obvious that he had no time for her, but she didn’t seem to notice or just didn’t care. She must have the skin of a rhinoceros.

 

‘What’s up Ron?’ asked Geoff as they finished spreading out the last stack of garden chairs, which Julia had requisitioned from various neighbours.

            ‘Oh, just a little tired that’s all,’ said Ron with a weary smile, ‘Might have been something I ate actually. I was up and down like a yoyo last night. Dickie tummy, you know.’

            ‘Not good,’ replied Geoff, ‘obviously didn’t affect the missus though. She looks raring to go.’

            ‘Oh yes, nothing stops one of her charity coffee mornings – short of death that is!’ The last part muttered almost to himself.

            Geoff gave the man a sideways glance, but the moment was lost as people were starting to arrive carrying various offerings. Another neighbour had been assigned to collect the entrance money but was not there yet, so Ron hurried over off do the honours.

 

‘Hey Jean,’ Geoff called out, ‘come and look. There’s an ambulance over the road.’

            ‘Don’t stand right in front of that window in full view.’ Jean admonished him as she came into the room.

            ‘Why not? There’s no one else to see. And anyway, I don’t care. I can stare out of my own front window if I want,’ he retorted.

            ‘Well, I hope it’s nothing serious,’ said Jean, but as they watched two paramedics came out, closed the ambulance doors and drove off. ‘Obviously no emergency then. I’ll get on with hanging the washing.’ She was just pegging the last bedsheet on the line when she heard Geoff calling her.

            ‘Quick, quick Jean. Get in here. Right now.’ Slightly out of breath she hurried in.

            ‘What?’

            ‘A black ambulance has arrived. Look, over there.’ He gesticulated with a pointed finger. ‘Two blokes have just gone in with a gurney!’ They stood in silence for several minutes then out they came, pushing the now laden piece of equipment.

            ‘OMG. She’s killed him. She’s bossed him to death!’

            ‘Now don’t be flippant dear, it’s very sad.’

‘Someone ought to report her. That’s the fourth one she’s seen off. Something very fishy there if you ask me.’

‘Well, no one is, so keep your silly ideas to yourself. Anyway, I’d better go over and see how Julia is and if there is someone we can call to be with her.’ And taking off her apron she hurried out the door.

Geoff was still standing gawping when Jean came back across the road. ‘What is it? What now? What does she want?’

‘You’re not going to believe this, but that wasn’t Ron in the body bag,’ said Jean, looking up into her husband’s bemused face.

‘Who then?’ and his eyes nearly popped out of his head. ‘Her?’

‘Yes. Julia. Apparently, she had a fall in the night and as they now sleep in separate rooms, he didn’t miss her. He found her at the bottom of the stairs this morning. Dead!’

Geoff slowly shook his head, ‘Well, well, who’d have thought it, eh? Poor old Ron. Must have been quite a shock.’ But – there was something niggling at the back of his mind.

 

About the author 

Pauline mostly writes short stories but also a little poetry. She is treasurer for South Poetry Magazine 

 

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A Piece of Cake

by Pauline Howard 

flat white

 

Right now, the thing I hate most is trawling round charity shops. Same cluttered rubbish, same stale smell, same aimless looking people. But here I am doing exactly that!

            ‘What do you think of this?’ Lulu holds a top against her ample bosom.

            ‘Ghastly.’ I snap.

            ‘Oh, come on, I think it suits me.’

            ‘It’s got a v-neck.’ I say, as if that is a valid reason why it doesn’t.

            ‘Well, I’m going to take it.’ She says hooking it over her arm, ‘It’s an absolute bargain.’

            ‘It’s only a bargain if you really need it.’ I say, ‘Otherwise it’s a waste of money.’

            ‘Don’t you like anything?’

            ‘No.’

            Lulu is not deterred. She carries on browsing. I stand with my arms crossed staring out the open door. It is open because of Covid, but the cold draft does nothing to relieve the fusty smell. In fact, I am now about to sneeze. A good excuse to leave. Outside I hop from foot to foot, it is not just freezing, the wind is blowing a hooley. My nose feels like it might drop off.

            ‘Let’s go for a coffee now.’ Lulu says as she joins me, ‘There is a very nice place just round the corner called Beanz.’

            As we push open the door, delicious smells assail my nostrils. This is more like it. We order and sit down. Lulu says, ‘You’re smiling now. You should keep that look. It suits you much better than a scowl.’

            I feel quite bad, is it really that difficult to be affable? I sit back as the waitress comes to our table with a tray bearing steaming mugs and two enormous portions of cream cake. 

About the author 

Pauline mostly writes short stories but also a little poetry. She is treasurer for South Poetry Magazine

Afterwards

by Pauline Howard

house wine

Jo checked the table one more time. It was a nervous thing. The table was perfect, it had been laid by the caterers. She knew this evening was important to Greg. He wanted to impress he’d said, show he was up to it all – whatever it all was. The girls were both out on a sleepover. The caterers were in her kitchen, so she’d really had little to do except get herself ready.

         ‘They’re here darling.’ Greg put his hands on her waist steering her into the hall. ‘Let’s answer the door together.'

          Jo thought this a silly idea, but made no argument. It was the guilt, she knew that, but no regrets. She would change nothing and she would wholly support her husband.

         As it happened it was for the best – his daft idea meant him being right behind her – because as the shock hit she leaned back against him and he hugged her possessively, completely misinterpreting her seeming act of solidarity. Greg made the introductions. ‘Jo, this is Sara, my colleague.’ Then he turned to the man with her. ‘And you have to be Mark,’ he added, ‘I’ve heard so much about you, I feel I know you already.’

         “Likewise,’ replied Mark as they bumped elbows, and Greg ushered the couple into the dining room.

         There were a few awkward moments as Jo showed them to their places at the table. Thank goodness there were only four of them, no one had to sit opposite. Greg had wanted it as informal as possible.

         Sara and Greg were talking shop, and Mark was having no trouble keeping up. Jo could have joined in of course, but she took the opportunity to weigh up the other woman and steady herself as she was still inwardly reeling from finding Mark on her doorstep. The realisation that she knew next to nothing about him. Sara and Greg obviously knew each other very well, as close work colleagues did she supposed.

         ‘How long is it since we’ve had a dinner party, darling?’

         Jo blinked and shuffled in her seat. ‘Well, it was some months before lockdown, so must be well over a year now.’ She had to pull herself together. She’d only just caught that from Greg.

         ‘All I can say is thank goodness we can invite people back into our homes. I’d quite forgotten how pleasant this is.’ Greg picked up the bottle of wine. ‘Can I top you up Sara?’

         Sara smiled and watched as the rich, red wine glugged into her glass and Jo sneaked a glance at Mark. His eyes met hers and he raised one eyebrow. She actually felt her cheeks flush.

         ‘Shall I clear the table ready for desert, Mrs Walker?’ Jo looked up at the gowned and masked woman, grateful for the distraction. She couldn’t help the thought that the woman looked more like she was about to operate than serve food.

         ‘Yes please.’ Jo replied. ‘Shall we ask … no, just bring everything in on the trolley would you please and we’ll go from there.’ She didn’t want to have to speak to Mark right at this moment. ‘Oh, and we’ll take coffee in the other room. Out of your way.’ She leaned back as a gloved hand reached for her plate and looking up through her lashes noticed that he was now watching the other two quite intently. She looked at them and then back at Mark. What was going on – what was she missing here? And as an inkling of realisation dawned, wondered where on earth they could go from here.

Hot Stones

by Pauline Howard

camomile tea

I grab the laundry bag which I sorted and put by the front door during one of my night-time forays. Harry Stubbs, the litigation partner, tells me there is an excellent shirt service right by the office. He uses it all the time. Apparently his second wife refused to do his shirts and he’s never looked back. Anyway, I can’t keep buying new, I must have over forty of them now.

I walk to the train station – one of the main reasons we picked this location to buy our first house – and my working day begins as I pull out my phone and scan through my emails.

‘I saw your Janey on my way in this morning, she had that just-laid smile. Didn’t even notice me until I got right in her face.’ A pair of glasses sitting on a bulbous nose in the middle of a bald dome and underlined by a moustache, peer at me through the open door – all other features are nondescript.

‘Not guilty, Charles.’ I try for flippant, ‘You may remember she’s not my Janey anymore.’

‘No, of course, but you know what I mean.’ He actually looks sheepish and quickly moves on. Idiot!

I sigh and rub my face. I had forgotten for a while. I was engrossed in this contract. Now graphic images of my ex and the arsehole fornicating are invading my concentration.

‘I’m going to get a coffee,’ I say to my assistant as I pass his desk, ‘can I get you anything?’

‘That would be great. And one of those iced doughnuts please.’ He digs into his trouser pocket and pulls out a little leather purse.

This irritates me today. ‘Don’t worry about that. You buy next time.’ I do not need a handful of change from this guy.

I lie on my back and stare at the ceiling. Street light filters through the silver birch that overhangs the back fence. I am hoping the ever-changing pattern will mesmerise me to sleep. I refuse to look at the clock. Reluctantly I swing my legs over the side of the bed and force myself up and downstairs. I am exhausted. I open and shut the fridge and kitchen cupboards looking for I don’t know what. I grab the TV remote and flick from channel to channel. I try the couch. I’m getting cold. Back to bed.

This has got to stop.

Harry Stubbs seems to be a mine of information, ‘You should get a hot stone massage, Max. It will soothe and relax. Make you sleep. Just make sure it is a male masseuse though otherwise …,’ he taps the side of his nose and winks, ‘Need I say more, eh?’ and he winks again adding a wicked, tooth baring smile. I have to chuckle, who would ever think that Harry knew about such things! But I can’t get away from the fact that he sometimes gets it right. So why not? Anything is worth a try.

I drop into the all-night store outside the station on my way home and scan the ad board. There must be something here. There, a small blue card, "Sam’s Studio – Thai and Hot Stone Massage". I tap the number into my phone and this woman excuses herself and takes down the card replacing it with one that says “Samantha’s Studio – Women only.”

‘Are you taking over from Sam?’ I look at her, finger still poised over my phone, ‘because if you are I would like to know where he’s gone.’

‘I am Sam.’ She glares at me. ‘I don’t do men.’ She looks me up and down and the corners of her mouth twitch, ‘However, for you I might make an exception,’ and she raises one very shapely, black eyebrow.

I am taken aback for a few seconds. Now I look her up and down and with my imagination running slightly wild I smile and say, ‘That would be great. Can you do this evening?’

           

I turn my shiny new key in the mortice lock and feel a quiet satisfaction at the sound and feel of the clunk. I open the door and the smell of paint and new furniture assails me. I sold everything along with the house. The forty-odd shirts went in the charity bag. I want nothing to remind me of those dreary days. And Jane wants her half of everything in cash, which suits me.

She broke up with the first chap in no time and I hear she has flitted from one to another ever since. I don’t want her to be unhappy but I am secretly wondering if she is getting her comeuppance.

I put the bags of shopping down in the kitchen. Tonight, I am cooking for Sam.