Summer Lost

 

A hot wind shook the edge of the wild. The lawns were parched. The washing line bowed under the weight of the week. A robin pecked at the mill worms Sandra left him when she hung the clothes. Her kids had escaped the nest, they had grown and had kids of their own. She lived with Frank. He sat inside watching T.V. It was a gorgeous afternoon, right there on the edge of the wild. The wind shook the beeches at the boundary of the fields. To shut yourself up on an afternoon like this was wrong. She knew it was wrong but remained loyal to her husband.

            Inside was stale. The brown curtains cast a brown light over everything. The carpets were lost under years of filth. The arm rests were blackened with cigarette ash. Frank sat in his chair a meter from the T.V screen. Sandra sat on a two seater to the right of Frank and she had to crane her neck to watch the T.V. There they spent their days. When he was hungry she cooked his meals. When he was dirty she washed his clothes, and scrubbed him in the bath before she took hers. They shared the water to save on gas. During the brightest light of summer, they sat in the dark, Franks eyes were old, he couldn’t see the T.V if the sun shone in. Sandra took the washing out once a week and saw the world she missed. She never lingered in the garden. Frank didn’t like to be left on his own. He wanted her by his side. He had fought in a war. He wanted to have her by his side, even if the only words he spoke to her were “Get us a cup of tea Sandy.” Frank had a temper. He used to hit Sandy, he had stopped hitting her in his old age. She felt the blows he gave her years after they were thrown. She served him, as her mother had served her father. That was the way it used to be. Men didn’t cook or clean, they didn’t raise a finger inside the home. The work they did was done by the time they stepped over the threshold.

 

Sandra was old, but recently she had felt it in her every movement. Even breathing felt difficult. Sitting up, getting up, walking from the kitchen to the living room was as draining as running for a bus. And when she sat down to get her breath she lit up a tailor-made cigarette. She coughed and wheezed for a minute before she calmed her lungs. There was a pain in her chest that never ceased. It grew harsher each day. Paracetamol didn’t touch it. She had a fear of doctors and hospitals, and bore her pain without complaint. Frank was oblivious to her suffering. He demanded his breakfast lunch and dinner. She used all of her energy to get it for him. Her days were long and when the last of the dinner had been washed up she took her rest. Her day was finished. Relief swept over her. All that was left was the journey from the sofa to her bed. She felt like an early night. She hadn’t the strength to get up. She waited and rested her eyes.

 

She slept on the sofa that night. I the morning Frank woke her up.

            “Sandy, I’m hungry.”

            “Alright.”

It took all her strength to rise and put the pan on. Eggs and bacon, and a round of white toast. Then a large mug of milky tea to wash it down. The T.V went on. The curtains were drawn. They had been drawn for decades. Outside a pure sunlight burned. It shone into the brown tattered curtains. After breakfast Sandra sat down. He called for his lunch and Sandra managed it. She fell into her chair. The strain of lunch tired her out. The pain in her chest throbbed with each breath. She swayed when she got up to clear his plate. The plate slipped out of her hand and smashed on the kitchen floor.

            “Sandy, what’s all that noise?” said Frank.

She kicked the mess out of the way. She made her way back to the sofa. She was tired and closed her eyes.

When Frank got hungry he called for his next meal.

            “Sandy where my Dinner?”

She didn’t reply.

            “You deaf girl?”

Sandra didn’t move.

            “Not talking to me eh, suit yourself lazy cow.”

He got up and went to the kitchen. He found a packet of chocolate biscuits. He ate the lot then fell asleep in front of the T.V. When he woke he turned to Sandra.

            “I’m off to bed.” He waited. She didn’t reply. “Still not talking to me eh? Bugger off then.”

He took himself to bed and left her. In the morning he found Sandra where he left her. He thought nothing of it. She had been sleeping a lot lately.

            “Come on Sandy get the bacon on.”

She didn’t reply. “I’m getting sick of this,” he said. And turned on the morning news.

It was Sunday. Their eldest son always came round for a roast dinner. He turned up at eleven o’clock. He found his mother dead. She had been dead since yesterday lunchtime. She had sat beside Frank in the stillness of death while he yammered on at her. The ambulance was called but it was over. Frank had been suffering from Parkinson’s and Alzheimer’s. He didn’t register the magnitude of death. Sandra had succumbed to her cancer and she was at rest. No longer would she have to serve her husband.

 

After the funeral they brought Frank back to the house. He sat in his chair and turned the T.V on. When everyone had left he asked Sandra for a cup of Tea. He could still see her.