Chapter 5

Parking the car in front of the house she got out holding the milk and the newspaper still rolled was tucked under her arm. She looked tired and worn down. The man she loved had lost his son. The man she left her own family for, once so full of life for her and his work, now nothing more but a former shell of his existence, like the shed skin of a snake.
The cold droplets ran down the glass of the milk bottle slowly, her fingers cold to the touch, but steady they were. Making her way to the kitchen she placed the bottle of milk on the counter, the newspaper followed and finally she let the keys slip from her fingers once more into the dish that waited for them. Picking up the old blue kettle she poured water into it, and placed it on to the old stove. She retreated back to the table and lent against it facing the kettle. She started to weep.

A few minutes had passed and the kettle started to whistle its sweet tune. She wiped away the tears and started to make the coffee. she got out a couple of mugs and filled them with some ground up coffee and a little sugar in each. George made his way down the stairs, the steps creaking making a yawning sound as he did. His grey hair all shaggy and he clung onto his rope crossing it holding it tight to his chest. His naked feet made soft slapping noises as he walked along the cold stone kitchen floor. She stirred the coffee and left it to settle in the mugs, the golden bubbles resting in the centre. He sat down but only for a second before scratching his stubble and got back up placing some bread into the toaster.
‘Two slices?’ he asked her. ‘No I’m good thanks’.
He placed two in for himself and returned to his seat pulling the newspaper towards him.
‘I thought you were going to leave?’ he said whist browsing the front page, opening it he continued.
‘I saw all the bags packed, you did that fast’.
She poured the milk into the mugs and stirred furiously. ‘They’ve been packed now for a week now, i was going to leave you before but-’
‘What? The death of my son-‘ The my in his sentence had a sharpness to it ‘That made you stop and think, oh that poor bastard, I’ll stay and be the good wife, comfort him a little’

Without hesitation of thought of any kind, her hand picked up the open bottle and threw it across the room, turning to him as she did, tears streaming down her eyes. ‘I am the good wife’ her voice shaked a little at the anger that poured from the words. They were both stunned by this sudden display of anger. But she carried on. ‘I’m sorry you lost your son, I am. But I have lost a lot more than that, I have given up so much to be here now with you. With the man I loved’
His face changed from shocked to confused. ‘The man you loved?’ he threw the paper to the table and rose up. ‘You don’t love me anymore?’ ‘I’ve never loved you, not this’ she said pointing towards him. ‘Not this drunken mess, this angry bitter man’ He scoffed and turned away from her but she moved forward and continued. ‘I’m in love with the man that is kind, that kind sweet man that had so much passion and lust in him’. Then nothing, nothing but the sniffling sound she made as she wiped away the tears. He too started to weep.

‘Where has he gone?’ she said softer now ‘Where is that man, that is loved and loving? The man that would write poetry pure to the soul. That smiled and joked.’ He started to fold over the chair. ‘The man that loved to play’
His body fell to the floor and he sat there, his face buried in his hands. His words almost unattainable as he cried. He cried for his son, he cried for his marriage, he cried for his work and he cried a hateful cry towards himself. Oh how he hated what he had become. She was right; he’s not the man he used to be. Her voice became even softer and she crouched beside him. ‘I’m leaving tomorrow, i need some time alone, I think we both do’

Her hand rested on his shoulder and her head touched his. He turned and kissed her hand ‘I’m sorry’ he said. Those words she had been waiting to hear come from those lips for so long. She was shocked by this but didn’t let it show. But she realised she had broke him, he was here on the floor shaking. Maybe this was the turning point, this is where he will change. She didn’t want to leave him, but she couldn’t stand there anymore watching him drink is life away, but she was going to leave him, and she knew it was cruel.

~

Chris was wearing a bright blue work shirt, and smart black pants finished off with black work shoes. He was kneeling down with a pad in one hand pen in his mouth and with his free hand he was pulling stock forward. In his head counting, he wrote down the stock and the number in his head and continued to do so throughout the store. Customers would come to him asking for advice or direction to the item they want. If they didn’t come to him he went them, with those pretentious smiles on his face, and sweetness in his voice that made him sick inside. He hated people coming to him when he was shopping and he hated this even more, being one of those people.

Co-workers talking, amongst themselves, working when needed. He always thought that the store he worked in had a hurried feel to it, he could never really describe how, but the colour of the walls, a pale peach slightly dirty from dust and years, the floor worn the low lights that hung down, no natural light at all. The store would always be warm, have a sticky atmosphere to it, and in summer would make everybody sweat a bitter stench that would hang in the air for hours, no air conditioning to fight it away. Also at the back of the store was a small lift making it easier to bring stock out into the store.
Pushing the ‘Down’ button an echoing noise shook the thin metal door and softly retreated. As with the lift he made his way downstairs, the stairs old wooden things that creaked with every step. He made his way into the storeroom, a large open room, concrete walls and flooring. It was cool down here, cool and refreshing. A clash and shudder as the lift stopped, the mechanical hissing noise that he was able to hear also stopped.
Checking through the pages on his notebook he pulled the stock that was needed and returned to lift to the shop floor, once more following suit, up the old dusty stairwell.

Routine can be a great thing. Routine is how some people like to live, allows them to stay in control, feel god like in there ordinary days. They wake up at a time they desire, they eat when and what they want to eat and have always eaten. The wear there clothes, colours and styles matching there personality, smartly cursing through the day in a constant routine, start work, have coffee break with their work college (likable as a person, but not known enough to call a friend) talking the same old crap, back stabbing, joking, comforting or confronting. The routine continues they work, then dinner discussing the same discussions agreeing in the right places. Get home, eat, relax, sleep and start the same old routine again the next day. Chris was not one of these people, and for this his job was draining every bit of lust for life.
The shop had closed and he made his way to the coffee shop, the notebook would hopefully be there waiting for him behind the counter, but more so than that he hoped Donna would be there too.

The notebook was his escape from routine full of thoughts and ideas, wishes and memories, the book was a full of papers torn, worn and loose. There where plain pages mixed in with drawings and sketches of people, his friends smiling. There where pictures of people, likely strangers sitting reading books, newspaper, drinking coffee and smoking.

The pages stitched into the notepad where littered with words running along the lines, these words formed sentences and these sentences formed paragraphs. Some pages had lists, others held fragments of ramblings that would have oozed through his mind sipping his coffee. Words crossed out, words circled. Some pages had poems of no real meaning, other poems talked about love, war pain and others where humorous. To him this wasn’t just a notebook; it was his soul displaying his sanity and his emotions.

The rain was light and the wind lighter, the pace in which he walked faster than usual his hair bouncing as did the bag he had hanging from his shoulder. The streets where busy, and although the night sky had not completely taken over the streetlamps displayed there colours to the world. The rushing sound of cars and the splashing sound of the small puddles that were shaken from there slumber, the chatter as people walked by was a minuscule sound as he wore his headphones, listening to the music, fast and loud this was the fuel that drove him to walk the speed he was.

That thing he hated so much had crept up on him again as he thought to himself ‘Mondays, she always works Mondays’. He pulled down the head phones and let them rest round his neck and opened the door, he was facing the counter stepping in the bell pronounced his entrance, and she turned to him. He smiled making his way to the counter, she smiled pulling back some of her hair, leaning on the counter. ‘So the usual?’ she asked
He slapped the counter in tune with his fingers (just something he does) ‘You bet’. Money was exchanged and she started to turn reaching out for a mug. ‘Oh, and one other thing, there isn’t a notebook behind the counter by any chance?’
‘Notebook?’ turning back to face in.
‘Yeah I left my notebook here on Friday by mistake, completely forgot to pick it up’
She smiled that ever so sexy smile again, the one where her tongue pokes out between her teeth just enough for her to look innocent.
‘Brown leather?’
‘Yup yup’ he said the excitement in his eyes gleaming like a star that’s just been born.
‘Sure, I’ll bring it you with your drink’ With that she returned to her job, reaching for the mug and he made his way to the small table he always sits (routine creeps up on you all the time).

Chapter 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7

Chapter 4

Hours had past, the rain had settled into a light drizzle, drifting softly with the aid of the breeze. The bus he was sat on, empty. With his headphones on he awoke from his little slumber, the sky was breath taking. Colours of greys and blacks, mixed with patches of clear blue skies and the heavenly light spilling through the dark heavy clouds. He couldn’t help but feel warmed and moved by the vision, taking in a deep breath. Rested and relaxed, he scanned the empty bus thoughts going through his head, just simple things really, events of the day conversations between himself and Dave. He was rejoicing in the fact that he still had one more day to relax before going back to work. And the girl, Donna. He’d always look at her when he was in the cafe he couldn’t not, she was sexy. It wasn’t just her looks, but the way she carried herself, the way she moved around the room moved from table to table with such grace smiling so calm, so warm and so innocent. He would always smile at her, but nothing more. A small nudge on his shoulder as a passenger walked past him, sitting herself behind him. For a second he was confused but returned to earth from staring into that ever so simple space. His stop was just a few minutes away, he jumped from his slouched position and sat up straight, scratching his face and licking his lips. Looking round the bus again, passengers where scattered around.
Jesus how long was i zoned out? He thought to himself.

Ringing the bell, and placing the bag around his shoulder he walked down and off the bus. He loved the fact that his house was so close to the bus stop. (Though who wouldn’t, i mean it’s just convenient right?). Crossing the road he opened the small rusted gate and walked to his door, pulling the keys from his pocket, spinning them, the gate crashing shut behind him.It wasn’t until he was rested on the sofa, with a book in his hands that he realised. ‘Shit’ he said rolling his eyes and letting his head slump forward into the book. ‘Shit! The Notebook’, he had forgotten to ask for the notebook. The cafe was closed on Sundays, so there was no chance of getting it until Monday afternoon. ‘Jesus Christ, you really are a dumbass sometimes’ he said laughing folding the corner of the page and throwing the book onto the coffee table. He picked up the cup of tea and finished it off.

After reading the book for several more hours the door opened, there was a small thump sound, as his house mate dropped his bag onto the floor beside the door, stretching and sighing as he did so. He made his way into the main room and let out another sigh as he let his body fall onto the sofa, sitting beside Chris. ‘How do?’ Chris said resting the book open on his chest. ‘Good man, good’. Simon was taller than Chris, and his physic a little more masculine, his hair long and black tide into a ponytail, a look that suited him. He rested his feet on the coffee table ‘So how’d it go with the ice queen?’ Simon asked scratching his beard. ‘She really wanted to tear me a new one ’.They both smiled at each other ‘Well I hope to hell you tore her one too?’ Chris throwing the book onto the coffee table, sitting up replied with a little too much enthusiasm ‘Hell yeah’ Simon laughed slapping Chris’s leg. ‘Come on, I’ll get a few pints in and you can tell me all about it, I could do with a laugh’

~

Sunday night, a man and women were shouting arguing with aggressive flare. Rain falling hard upon the window screen, droplets dancing off while others simply, and gracefully ran down leaving streaks that where illuminated by the streets lamps. A flourish only to be cut off by the finale of the wipers, erasing all on the glass, as to start fresh, the glass the canvas for this display of movement.
As quick as it started, the arguing stopped. The woman driving and her knuckles white has she held the wheel. Her husband now slumped in the seat, drunk, as always. The suit he wore, black and his shirt was half open exposing the hairs on his chest; some had a colour of brown the rest grey. His tie limp, loose around his neck. His hair was medium length, grey and started to dance wildly as he open the window slightly. ‘No way in hell you’re smoking in this car’ she said to him sharply as he pulled out a pack of cigarettes, her face always facing to the road ahead. There was no sound from him, not even a sigh he just simply placed the pack back into his jacket pocket and closed the window.

The drive was long and it started to show, her eyes getting heavy and her posture softened, she slouched. The dress she wore was black and she wore a thin white belt, her hair at the party was tied up, and the pearl necklace she wore, from the waist up she was a spitting image of Audrey Hepburn, though she was a lot shorter. Now though her hair was loose and long, hanging over her shoulders, her long fringe brushing a cheek as the warm air wheezed through the vents. She drove on some more. There were no words spoken between them. There was no need. At the traffic lights he placed his hand softly on her leg, and patted it even softer. She turned to him; he was smiling a sorry-full smile. The red light caught his hand, shaking ever so slightly. She rested her hand on his and smiled back to him. There were no words spoken, they weren’t needed. A soft amber light coloured their hands, then green. She moved her hand and he moved his, she drove on. It was a long drive and not a single word was spoken, they weren’t needed.

At the house the man washed the drowsiness from his face, with some cold water. The woman followed walking into the kitchen and let her keys slip out of her hand into a bowl on the table. The kitchen was quite large, well kept. The cupboards had simple white doors on them, the handles where round wooden knobs the colour of them oak, matching the wooden counters and benches. There was a small fireplace built into the walls above one of the cupboards, this was lined with white and brown tiles, these tiles created a border around the rest of the room. The woman took two glasses from the side of the sink and give them a quick wipe with a tea towel, she then handed it to the man, he wiped his face dry and as he did so, let the woman pour some cold water into the glasses. Placing them on to the kitchen table she sat down, he turned the tap off and sat down beside her. They raised the glasses and began to drink. They hadn’t spoken, there wasn’t any need.

It was late morning, and the woman drove down to long driveway that led from the large farm house. She drove from it into the local village. She was dressed in jeans and a black fleece her hair drifted back as the cold breeze blew. Opening the door to the shop she greeted the owner, an old man of sixty or so ‘Morning Howard’. Howard in turn nodded a gentile nod towards her. ‘Morning Carol’ She made her way to the back of the shop and grabbed some milk. Making her way back to the counter Howards voice called out to her ‘How’s George doing, not seen him for a few days now?’ She placed the milk on the counter, and Howard placed a rolled up newspaper beside it. ‘He’s fine’ she said giving money. ‘He just needs some time; it’s hard for a parent having to bury their own child’ Howard spoke no words as he handed her change, he didn’t need to his eyes said it all.
Chapter 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7