Thursday 22 May 2014

INTO THE STORM


Caroline came hurtling down the corridor; “Ali!  You can’t go!  I won’t let you!”
I said nothing, but she talked on.
“The storm’s coming and the route you’re taking is heading right into it!  They say don’t travel unless absolutely necessary!”
“It’s necessary.”
“Don’t go on your own.  Let me come or Gina.  Have you spoken to Gina?”
Gina had said don’t go.
“You can’t manage on your own,” insisted Caroline, “you can’t do it.”
“I’ll be fine,” I stated, “look outside, the sun is shining!”

There was a low growl of thunder as I walked past the grim office buildings to the car park.  I could see the black clouds piling in stark contrast to the blue sky.  People always exaggerated, they’d forecast an immense storm, but nothing major would happen.  I drove to the motorway.  It was busy at first, but as the day darkened, the clouds packed in and the fat rain pelted windscreens, the cars peeled off.  They took this junction or that, heading to the comfort of home, family, food and wine.  I continued, windscreen wipers at highest setting, taking comfort from the presence of a BMW ahead.  As I crossed the bridge, a huge gust of wind nearly tore the wheel from my hands; I fought for a few seconds to right the car, to get it in a straight line.  The BMW slowed right down, hazard lights on.

It became difficult to see through evermore relentless rain.  Now and then the thunder would drown out the warning voices on my radio.   The BMW was slowing, we were being flagged down.  I opened my window, the cop looked in; “Where you going?”
I told him.
“The river’s about to burst its banks, you can’t ...”
I just drove off.  All week I’d been hearing ‘you can’t’, ‘it’s impossible’, ‘you’ll never make it’, ‘you can’t do it alone’. I was sick of it.

No more BMW and the Police hadn’t followed ... Suddenly I wished they were here, Gina was always calm in emergencies and Caroline would be joking by now.  I had to prove to them that I was strong though, because they’d never believed in me.  I had to face the storm.

Suddenly I became aware that it wasn’t puddles anymore, I was driving through deepening water.  I couldn’t turn back, it was only five miles to my destination junction.  The cop had said the river had burst its banks.  Well, how bad could it flood on a motorway?  I kept in a low gear, but after three miles the engine just choked and died.  Out of the window, I could see the water had risen up past the tyres; it was seeping through the floor.  My feet were wet.

I sat there for some time, thinking about how weak I’d been and how strong I’d have to be now.  It didn’t occur to me to go back.  I thought of how you’d be waiting for me at the other side, just as I remembered you, the man I fell in love with and it was only two miles to my destination ...

I opened the door; the water was thigh high and freezing.  I plunged through it, the rain on my face, the sky all dark, not a chink of light or a hint of the storm easing off anywhere.  I held my bag with my phone, my keys my purse aloft.  I felt the strength of the current, trying to drag me in another direction.  I continued on my way, into the dark and cold.

Sunday 11 May 2014

LAMP


You stared at the lamp when you came back, almost as if lost for words.
“Isn’t it wonderful,” I said.
“It’s something,” you agreed. 
I wondered if you wanted it moved to a more central position.  I wasn’t sure how I’d make it stand out better, in the lounge you had so tastefully furnished in your minimalist style.  Those matching chocolate coloured sofas, the beige carpet and soft focus photographs in medleys of browns and creams.

 
Every time you went into the lounge you’d glance at the lamp.  You once asked me if I wanted to attract both magpies and bees and how I laughed.  The lamp has sparkly glass beads in all colours on the stem and the shade has a stripy floral pattern in pinks and purples offset with tufts of magenta lace and a pretty yellow fringe.  It brings a touch of me to our new house.
 

One day I heard you yell and rushed to the lounge.  You were sitting by the lamp, nursing your toe.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“I tripped, fell into the lamp and stubbed my toe on it.”
“But you could have knocked it over!”
“The base was too solid.  It swayed a bit, but wouldn’t tip over.”
“It saved you from crashing into the wall,” I pointed out, my love for the lamp doubling.

 
You usually leave switching on the lamp to me, but one time you flicked the switch and screamed – an electric shock!  I sent it to the shop to get examined.  It was gone for days, but they could find nothing wrong.  I bought new, brighter bulbs for its homecoming.  When you entered the lounge, you put sunglasses on, making me laugh.
“It’s like those people who put Christmas lights outside their houses,” you muttered, “but all the year round.”
“I know,” I agreed, “Christmas every day!”

 
The night of the burglary was dreadful.  You’d taken me to my favourite restaurant and when we returned the Police were there.  They’d seen torchlight through the windows and had caught your best friend Anthony trying to get the lamp out the back door.  You cried so much that night while I held you in my arms.  “I can’t believe they caught Anthony,” you wept.
“I can’t believe it was him either,” I said, but I could.  When Anthony had first seen it, he’d said; “Nice lamp,” in a snarky tone that could only be jealousy.


We were lucky to survive the fire.  You woke me just in time for us to escape through the back door.  We watched the fire crew tackle the blaze from the garden.  Afterwards, it turned out there had been something wrong with the lamp after all.  I was surprised I didn’t notice that the outer wire had been pared down.
You put your head in your hands and I hugged you; “We’re safe, that’s the main thing.”

 
Well, I wrote to the shop and complained.  They were very sorry, paid compensation and sent us a gift on the day we moved back into the house.  A replica of my beautiful lamp, with a certificate saying it had passed a safety test.