DATE NIGHT

People in the office did a double take when I came in.

“Have you done something new?”

“There’s something different ...”

I was wearing make-up and had straightened my hair.  Normally I didn’t make such an effort.

At lunch Max smiled broadly; “Sally, you look hot.”

“You can’t say that,” I scolded.

His brown eyes were warm; “Why not?  We’ve worked together for years.  What gives?”

“Valentine’s Day.”

“Oh dear God!”

“I have a big date lined up, been preparing for weeks.  I went on a diet after Christmas, bought a Prada dress.  I’m going to look amazing and be amazing – I hope.”

“This is with your husband, John, right?”

“Of course!” I widened my eyes, shocked that he could think otherwise, “everything’s organised.  We’re going to that French place, Truffles, but first a dozen red roses are being delivered with some champagne and chocolates, pour moi!” I giggled, “I don’t know whether to have those before we go out or ...”

“After,” interrupted Max, “definitely after.  Where is Carrie going to be?”

“Staying with John’s Mum.  All night.”

“Sounds amazing,” his voice was as accommodating as his eyes, “I have to salute John, he’s gone to such an effort.”

“Oh no,” I said, “I did it all.”

“What?  Even the flowers?” Max sounded shocked.

“And we’re not allowed to talk about work.”

Later when I left Max I thought he looked sad, maybe he was on his own this Valentine’s Day.  I rushed home, John’s Mum was collecting Carrie straight from school, the house was mine.  I danced as I got ready, music blaring.  John and I hadn’t spent time in a restaurant alone together for ages.  I hoped he wouldn’t be late.  Five minutes after I’d finished dressing his key rattled in the lock and in he came.  We looked at each other, I started to smile, but he turned away and looked at his phone; “No talking about work.  Got it,” he was referring to my earlier text, “huh, the office has e-mailed.  Be right with you.”

I looked at myself in the mirror, I thought I looked good, my tight little dress, my hair all done.

The roses arrived with the champagne and chocolates.  I whooped with delight as I opened them.   

“Fucking hell!  How much did they cost?” John asked.

By this time the taxi had arrived to take us to our romantic destination.  John sat in the back, answering work e-mails; “I’ll be with you in a sec love,” he said at five minute intervals.

In the restaurant I had his full attention.  He muttered a compliment about my dress, then frowned at our surroundings; “It’s crowded.”

It was crowded.  Tables for two crammed next to each other so that it was impossible to have a private conversation.  It didn’t stop the determined couples though, they stared into each other’s eyes, giggled and whispered.  One couple were even kissing.  I flashed back to twenty years ago when I’d got on that train for a 400 mile journey that I didn’t come home from.  John was waiting at that cold northern station, his mouth had been hot and hungry, we couldn’t keep our hands off each other in the takeaway while we waited for our food.

I looked now at a stranger opposite me, clearly uncomfortable because he couldn’t look at his smart phone, unable to think of one thing to say to me because we couldn’t talk about work.  I didn’t know what to say either.  My phone bleeped.

“Excuse me,” I said.

It was a text from Max; ‘Hope you’re having a great night.  I bet you are being amazing x’.

I stared at it and thought of his warm brown eyes and deep voice.  I looked at the x at the end of the informal text and thought of Carrie.  My hands started to shake.

SEA DEFENCES

Nothing would grow on their land after the first time it happened. Then, just as the green shoots were appearing and everyone went about wreathed in smiles, it happened again. Mother went mad afterwards. Father tried to console her, said they'd buy some livestock and she'd laughed hysterically at him, mouth drawn back over teeth, a snarling expression.
"With what? And they'd live on what? Air? We never should have come here, I shouldn't even listen to you, you're a dreamer! Useless, useless, useless man!"
She'd got up with the dawn. Later they'd found the single set of footprints leading towards the sea, being erased by incoming waves.

Now the boy repaired the sea defences with his grandfather. The old man was still strong at seventy years old. He hauled sandbags as a man of thirty might, plugging gaps with them, carrying on tirelessly while all along the coast their neighbours did the same. He caught the boy staring at the dark clouds piling in from the west, the distant waves and the shivering sand. He clipped his ear. "No daydreaming!"
"When's Dad coming back? Why isn't he helping?"
"He'll be back in the morning with a sore head and no more money. He doesn't see the point in this. He doesn't think sea defences work."
"I think he's right. They didn't work last time."
"Not for the land, but they saved the house didn't they? Tide didn't come up as far as the first time. If we don't try, we don't improve." The old man slammed a sandbag on top of the wall with a frustrated air, then poked the boy's  forehead roughly, "in here's where you want your sea defences, if you believe the sea can win, it will."
The boy rubbed his head sulkily and turned away to look at the darkening sky.

The old man thought of his son and daughter-in-law, they hadn't been strong enough to face things through. He wondered if the boy would turn out just the same. The boy thought of his mother, would they find her body and which way would she be facing? Did she change her mind when the tide turned and the sand shifted? Did she struggle as the ground beneath her gave way and her feet began to sink? Would they find her facing seawards in peaceful acceptance or frozen in panic towards the salt poisoned barren land?

PAPER ROUND

I hate wearing my hi-vis vest, but Mr Andrews insists.  I grab the waterproof bag and get on my new bike, my best Christmas present.  I cycle along the pavement into the dark Friday morning.  If I can get the Standard delivered before Billy Norris delivers the Teedleside Review, I’ll be in Mr Andrew’s good books.  He may even give me a bonus.

Carlotta Nolan gets her kicks by dressing beside the window, light full on.  There she is; a stunner in beautiful lingerie.  She sees my bike lights and gives me a little wink.  I ring my bell.  There’s Billy Norris’ bike unattended in the dark, Billy is yards away struggling to shove a Review through a letterbox, I can hear growling - a dog has got it.  I pull my penknife out and gouge his front tyre, payback for when he twisted my handlebars that time.

I pedal to the Penfolds’ second home.  Mr Andrews says they paid silly money to live in it Fridays to Sundays, that people like them price locals out of the housing market.  It didn’t stop him from listening to them complain though.  Am I really noisier than a London bin man?  I’ll give them noisy!  I hurtle past their fence, rattling my bicycle chain along it, clang, clang, clang!  That’ll wake ‘em!  I giggle as I push their paper through their door, then off again, past their fence, clang, clang, clang!  Hahaha!

There goes Nervous Neville Fergus out to his car, jumping as I appear out of the dark; “Jim, you gave me a scare!” he says that every morning.  I pass him his paper and he thanks me before driving off.  As I start up the hill I’m nearly flattened by Marco the Builder’s white van haring round the corner.   He turns up straight after Mr Fergus leaves.  Mr Andrews says that Mrs Fergus looks happier these days, but progress on that conservatory is slow.

Mr Miller never speaks to anyone.  The garden is over grown, no-one sees his wife anymore and he never turns on the lights.  He’s in though, standing in the pitch dark hallway waiting to grab your hand as you put his newspaper through the door.  I park my bike and run like hell to the front door, I shove the paper through, there’s a bang on the other side and he snatches it from me, a cry escapes from my lips and I run back, hoping no-one heard.  They’d call me a right wuss.

The rain’s easing off as I reach the Post Office.  My old rival Billy Norris is there with his big brother, tall as he is wide, not in as good shape as he was sixty years ago when he gave me that hiding, but still ...  “What?” I say as I approach them.

“You bust my tyre Jim!  I saw you!” snaps Billy.
“I did not!” I deny strenuously.
“You’re old enough to know better than to lie!” Billy’s brother growls.
“It’s not fair!  I didn’t do it,” I whine, “I’m only here to collect me pension, I don’t want trouble.”  I shuffle past them and take my place in the silver haired queue.
I feel a sharp shove from Billy’s brother between my shoulder blades as we wait for our stingy annuities and young Mrs McManus looks up from the counter; “Play nicely you sweet old boys, I don’t want any trouble in here!”

THE LIVING

I marvel at how well preserved my corpse is. I can feel it decaying from the inside, but when I look in the mirror my body hasn't changed, so I go on.

It's painful being a walking corpse. There are sores where my heart used to be and they open at the slightest criticism. The foul smelling pus that pours out disgusts the Living. I clean the wound, flush the dead flesh down the toilet and carry on. I try to pretend nothing has happened but the Living remember.

The Living are getting on with things - bargains on eBay, redecoration, paint, carpets and DIY. They talk about weddings they went to and restaurants, of holiday destinations and television. They see my lack of interest as rude, but I'm preoccupied with trying to hide the stink of corruption permeating from under my baggy clothes. How I envy the living, their thick skins and ability to concentrate on the most trifling of matters. I can't remember what that was like. It was such a long time ago

You occasionally look for signs of life and it frustrates you when you can't even detect a heartbeat. You demand unfairly that I do something about it, you say the smell is getting to you and nobody enjoys fucking a corpse. I don't blame you my darling. I can remember love and I can go through the motions, but it isn't enough. You have learned the truth about the empty vessel that once looked as though it housed life and you can't get away fast enough.