Marks and Sparks by Rachel Dealtry

Character: Female, Northern, Fifties

I pick up the plastic globe off the chest of drawers; one of our grandchildren put it there. I notice as I lift it up the circle of clean polished oak that it leaves behind. I am a slut in the house.

BEAT

Housework to me is like the corn on my left foot - extremely painful, but nevertheless needs dealing with eventually. I study the globe for a while and realise that Ireland is only a tiny fingernail away from here, a tiny little fingernail away from me. Yet I am here and he is there and that fingernail between us feels as vast as the Sahara desert, and all the chocolate teacakes in the world will not make me feel any better about that.

Some days, I stand in the queue at Marks and Sparks and I wonder where it all went wrong. I look at the other women in there and I want to scream, it’s because no-body says what they are really thinking or feeling. I have very violent thoughts towards the counter clerks and I put them aside because it is not appropriate for a woman of my age to have thoughts like this.

I’m looking down the toilet and I can see yellow brown urine frothing in the bottom of the pan. I've told William a million times to flush it, but he doesn't listen to me. I walk over to the sink and fetch his toothbrush, his is the blue one, everything that William owns has been shopped for by me. I take it over to the toilet and I dip it into the froth, I then walk over to the sink and I place it neatly back into the holder.

William is unaware of my habitual urine dipping.

William is generally unaware of me.

I catch a glimpse of myself in the full length mirror and I remove my dressing gown, I look at myself good and hard. I like the curve that my spine makes at the small of my back and my      breasts are still in good shape considering what they have been through. It’s the middle bit that disgusts me, the way it hangs over the top of my pants. I grab it with both hands and consider slicing it off. If I sliced it off I will look younger again. I don’t feel like this, I don’t feel like this woman looking back at me. My body no longer fits together with my mind. 

This is painful.

Every Wednesday we eat haddock, boiled potatoes and peas. We generally eat in silence or we discuss our children whom we no longer gain pleasure from. I then go and do the washing         up and William settles himself down in front of the telly.

Today, I wipe down the sides, dry my hands with the tea towel and go to join him. His thick rimmed glasses are sitting awkwardly on his face. I am wearing a new floral dress which William does not notice. He’s engrossed in some quiz programme. I turn to him, very slowly, I take a deep breath and I say:

‘Would you like to see my vagina?’

BEAT

William just stares at the television set and his glasses begin to steam over. I get up and walk towards the window, I pull the curtains across and I lift up my dress to reveal my white cotton undies.

‘Want to see it?’

Silence prevails

‘Do you want to?’

The telephone starts to ring and William’s patting his forehead with a handkerchief. He gets up . . . muttering that it might be one of the children and I feel the blood rushing towards my face ‘LEAVE IT’.

He looks terrified and slumps back into the settee. I walk over to him and block his view of Countdown. I’m willing him to touch me. I’m begging him to reach out to me. A minute goes by and it feels like an hour. I do a one hundred and eighty degree turn and I run, I run to the bedroom and I slam the door nearly off the hinges. (Building) I lay down on the bed and I dream of being in Ireland, I dream of being with him and my body becomes ageless and my thoughts become fire and I realise that I CAN-NOT GO ON LIKE THIS. It has to stop.

BEAT

Tomorrow, whilst doing the weekly shop, I will pop a brand new toothbrush into my basket and when I get home I’ll just replace the old one.

~ END ~