I had a home once. With warm fires and warm people and
friends and hot food. And a cat, and children. And problems with neighbours.
Village pub characters knew me, and I was always torn between
their welcome, and the given one at home.
But it was all false. Built on sand. Built on an acquired attitude,
acquired because it was required in order to be able to compete. Make money,
forget about earning it. Quiet periods in
some other pub, on the way home from work, when I could be me between being one
person at work and another one entirely at home.
Will my wife be an angel or a devil when I get there? Synthetic
when the former, insufferable when the latter.
But my children loved their
home.
One winter, it began to snow. And that peculiar silence fell
across the village. A sense of expectancy. Or was it more like a balm on
sunburned skin? Or Christmas eve perhaps. As though all those competitive spirits had
suspended the game for a few hours, to watch and consider each other for once.
The cat flap flapped, and in walked Sam. He paused, shook
one paw daintily before proceeding to his righteous place in front of the blazing
fire. One child read quietly in the corner, whilst the younger, three years
junior at six, played with his cars, lining them up across the carpet in a
precise grid, only to smash the
resulting matrix to pieces by hurling his rubber dinosaur at them. Sam took his
place by the fire, and I sat on the floor watching them all.
My wife appeared. Both children stopped what they were
doing. The cat stopped purring. She stopped, and stood still in the doorway, and
sighed. In that moment, in that warm room in that warm home, something of the
frozen chill outside invaded and touched us all. Something of the future
invaded the present, and in hindsight, made it worthless.
'I want a divorce.'
Dancing orange firelight played amongst the fractal mirrors
of frost on the windowpane, and the world felt colder still. My younger son
threw one more dinosaur.
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Pink dawn light fluoresced though steam rising ever so
slowly from the frozen surface of the canal. A solitary bird uttered a note and
fell silent again. Smoke oozed from the stack on a nearby narrowboat. A heap of sacks in front of me stirred and
Angie's face, red and blotchy, appeared from one end. I moved to speak but my
beard was frozen to the bench and I had to busy myself freeing it.
A low and watery winter
sun appeared, only to emphasise the sagging bellies of low grey cloud hanging
over us. By eight o'clock, it was snowing. Big, wet lazy flakes drifting down
of their own accord through the quiet air, not driven by any cause or need. I
lay there and watched them, and the
yellow windows of the narrowboat. Other boats sat further down the canal, each
fainter than the other, becoming more grey as mist rising gently from the water
obscured the view. In the background, dark hills sat squat and watching.
Angie produced a bottle of whisky from underneath her sacks
and offered me some. She was a good old
girl. Heart of gold.
The smell of bacon drifted over from the narrowboat. The whisky felt good, slipping down warm and softening the world. A noise came from the boat, and a cat appeared. It paused,
and then jumped ashore, tail pointing contemptuously upwards at the glowering
sky. Its paws left perfect prints in the snow as it walked by.
Very nice. Pictures of then and now are painted so clearly in just a few short paragraphs. Nice echoes in the second part from the first: the cat for example, and perhaps the whisky (was drink a contributory factor to thee break up?)
ReplyDeleteI really enjoyed this.
Graham
Agree. Nice piece. Love the image of the pub as halfway home, the place where he could truly be himself. The understatement of the moment when he speaks his true mind. The snow as a metaphor for the cold that has seeped into their relationship. The lazy snowflakes. Also the idea that perhaps he's happier in a frozen bench than in a frosty relationship with a frozen heart.
ReplyDeleteSorry! That was BG. Doing on phone and keeps jamming
ReplyDeleteI enjoyed this a lot. I felt his isolation and thought maybe you could push that further. I like the stark contrast of the way the world changes for him after the dramatic climax. Also loved the re-appearance of a cat. Would like to know what the cat was doing ~ was it mocking/sympathising or was the cat just being a cat? Look forward to discussing at the group, R
ReplyDeleteWell I'm glad you all liked it. I was starting to panic at one point 'cos I couldn't think of anything to write. And as usual, just starting something and letting it go, creates something, almost without forethought.
ReplyDeleteYou may have guessed that some of this is autobiographical, which always helps if you can't think of something to invent I suppose.
It's interesting how you've all drawn conclusions.. extended what's been written. There wasn't intended to be a connection between the whisky and the break up. Merely that a whisky first thing in the morning might be typical of someone living like that.
And I'm not sure he is happier in the second section, although he might be more in control in that he no longer has to pretend. Of course his perspective is different now as he's on the outside of home life.
The cat is actually a key component of the whole story. It joins the first and second halves in all sorts of ways, not least by providing a poignant reminder for the bloke, as a cat plays an almost identical role in both his past and his radically different present. And it still belongs to a life he has no access to anymore. And it serves to throw into relief the lives of the people around it - I know it's not the same cat, but it may as well be - and its nonchalance, and the fact that both cats enjoy a good life regardless of what the stupid people are doing, says something about the pressures and stresses we create for ourselves.
But its easy to analyse after the writing. I wasn't thinking all this when I wrote it. And the cat thing literally came as I wrote. Seemed like a good way to finish.
I do think this is a better way to run this blog. I might even have another shot at it if anything comes to mind. D.
Hi David, I love this and think it is the best thing you have written so far, it contains so many shades of warmth and cold. Yes, I agree, I think this is a better way to run the blog, especially if it's going to result in a decent amount of feedback. Sally
ReplyDelete