by Nina Watson
Rain pelted the walls of Bramble Cottage, and the windows
were barely holding onto the panes with the ferocity of the wind blowing
through them. Wendy looked worriedly at the tempestuous weather outside and huddled
even deeper into her man-made fort of blankets and cushions on her sofa. Her
husband Michael had gone out hours ago to get emergency food supplies on
Wendy’s orders, for fear that they would have to take refuge at home away from
the horrors of the storm, and she was beginning to hyperventilate over the
thought of her husband drowning in a puddle. Waddling into the kitchen in her
duvet ‘toga’, Wendy stirred the saucepan of beans she had left on the hob with
a dejected flick of her wrist. Resigned to the fact that she was now totally
alone, that storm Kevin had stolen everything from her, she glumly stared at
the stale hunk of bread covered in burnt beans about to go in her mouth. The
weather would probably cause a power cut soon and Wendy hadn’t the foggiest idea
where her fuse box was, or, what a fuse actually did. She could see it now;
stray cats yowling from their perches in what they thought was a derelict home,
her beautifully upholstered armchairs tattered and barely standing and Wendy,
sitting by the mysterious ‘fuse box’, eating tuna from a tin and still trying
to figure out the instruction manual. Oh the shame, the horror, the terror!
With a silent tear rolling down her cheek, Wendy chewed and chewed on that
crusty bit of bread.
**
Leaves hit him in the face with a wet slap and Michael tried
miserably to swipe them away. His galoshes were clearly not up to standard as
he was accumulating a lovely community of river-dwelling insects between his
toes and his trench coat wasn’t faring well either. The Tesco ‘bag for life’,
however, was very well equipped at looking after the groceries, and the cheese
biscuits (which according to Wendy were completely necessary) were still dry as
a bone. He had passed a few lone rangers on his expeditions to the shops and
they had all given each other an assuring nod as if to say, “carry on champ,
you can do this. Think about the grief you’ll get at home if you give up”.
Well, Michael was on that same homestretch now and the sight was a sweet one,
only slightly marred by the deafening gurgle as he waded through the river,
formerly known as Greenpine Road. What Michael didn’t see, however, was the
little pothole at the bottom of the puddle he was struggling through. As he
felt his ankle twist, his arms flail wildly and a mangled cry escape from his
mouth, his only thought was to protect at all costs that bloody ‘bag for life’.
**
Wendy woke with a sudden start, the thud of a door and the
meow of a cat rousing her from a restless sleep. Out of habit she reached to
the left side of the bed to shake Michael awake also, but her hand was met with
cold air and she made a mental note to follow up on the missing persons report
she had tried to file hours ago. A note of fear ran through her as she latched
onto the idea that a crook had taken advantage of the terrible conditions, and
was currently trying to steal her fine china sheep figurines or, perhaps even
worse, her favourite Swarovski beads that she had only just ordered from QVC.
Remembering that it was 2018 and that this was the age of empowered women,
Wendy quietly unplugged the lamp from the bedside table and held it out in
front of her in the most menacing manner she could muster. Halfway through
padding down the stairs Wendy heard a loud rustle, a squelch, another loud thwack
and a low grumble. Utterly confused and scared (and still convinced that the
robbers had hand grenades) she ran into the kitchen with a garbled wail,
blindly waving the lamp in all directions. The pink macramé lampshade connected
with a very soggy Michael, and Wendy opened her eyes to see him rubbing the
spot on his forehead that she had just hit and clutching for dear life on to a
bag of shopping! “Oh, Michael darling!” She cried as she flung her arms around
his neck, “where on Earth have you been?”
“Out down shops, like you said. Quite wet out there ya’
know.” Michael slowly began peeling of the layers of clothing that had stuck to
him and began wringing them into the kitchen sink. Wendy took the shopping bag
from Michael and began to unpack as he flung the fifth twig from his hair out
of the back door. “Michael, for God’s sake, you forgot the Brie!” Wendy said
exasperatedly with her hands on her hips, “Well, you’ll just have to quickly pop
out again tomorrow and get some. Honestly, I said buy the essentials and you
waltz in here with hardly anything!” Michael decided to not try and get rid of
the water blocking up his ears; he much preferred the muffled falsetto of his
wife’s nagging that way.
Comments
Post a Comment
Comments with names are more likely to be published.