Last night in creative writing we were given a list of titles to pick from and had 45 minutes to write a short story. This is mine.
Shopping with Mary.
‘Milk, tea,
bread, eggs. I fancy a nice pork chop
for lunch, would you like that love?’ Bill sat at the kitchen table writing the
shopping list. Thursday morning the routine is always the same, bus into town,
post office to collect pension, do the shopping and then get the bus home to
make lunch. Bill pushed his chair back
from the table and it squeaked on the faded lino
‘sorry love’ he says, Mary hates
that he slides his chair rather than lifting it. He clears the breakfast things from the table
and puts them into the sink
‘we can do the dishes later, can’t
we princess?’ he says and smiles at Mary.
Mary doesn’t say much these days, although she was never much of a one
for chatter. That’s why Bill fell in
love with her. That friend of hers, Marjorie, was courting his friend Harry and
they suggested a double date. Marjorie
never stopped talking all evening and when Bill walked Mary home she had said
‘you must think I’m awfully dull
compared to Marjorie’ and Bill had confessed that he found Marjorie’s chatter
annoying. Mary had smiled then, a
beautiful smile that made her eyes twinkle.
Six months later they married and had celebrated their 55th
wedding anniversary in August.
Bill stood at
the sink as he rinsed the tea pot, Mary always liked a cuppa as soon as they
got back with the shopping – kettle on even before taking her hat off.
‘looks like a cold one today, dry
though, but I’ll make sure to get our gloves’ Bill dries the tea pot and puts it
onto the work top next to the tea caddy for later.
He went into the
hall and reached their coats down, he picked Marys hat off the shelf above and
paused. He looked down at her worn,
plum, felt hat and smiled ‘shan’t be
needing that today old chap’ he said to himself.
The bus journey
into town was uneventful, 15 minutes all told if the traffic was good. Bill and Mary always kept themselves to
themselves, not like some of them mind.
Some days it was like a trip to the seaside with the laughing and
chatting that went on. Today it was
quiet though, Mary preferred it that
way. She liked to look out of the window
and watch the fields roll by. As Autumn
had faded into Winter the countryside had been leached of colour, the sky, the
fields and the hedgerows blended together in varying shades of grey. Bill hated this time of year, he loved Spring
and watching for lambs, green shoots and the first day the sun warmed his face
through the window of the bus.
‘roll on Spring’ he said to Mary.
The Post Office
was only a short walk from the bus station, uphill, but as Mary liked to point
out better to be walking down hill with the shopping than up. She’d always been
a half full sort of girl and practical with it.
‘looks like there’s not much of a
queue today Mary love, not like last week.
Tax disc week, do you remember? Had to stand outside in the cold didn’t
we?’ said Bill as he pushed the door open.
The queue moved quickly and once Bill had the pension safely in his
wallet it was time to do the shopping.
The supermarket
stood where the old Fine Fare had been.
Bill used to like Fine Fare, for one thing they didn’t move everything around
at every whip and flip. He could be in
and out in ten minutes on a good day.
This place though, bread went from one end of the shop to the other
without warning, he spent more time hunting for stuff than actually putting
things into the trolley. Sometimes it
was enough to make him swear, but only quietly under his breath: Mary didn’t
like language.
‘eggs, bread, milk’ Bill read from
the list ‘tea, musn’t forget your tea now lovely. And how about a nice bit of batenburg for
this afternoon?’ Bill put the tea and
cake into the trolley.
‘pork chops! I nearly forgot the pork chops, losing my marbles I
reckon.’ Said Bill as he doubled back to pick up a tray of chops.
‘right then girl, I think we are done here, let’s get this lot aid
for and get home for a nice cup of tea.’
The bus home was
noisy. Young girls with babies and push
chairs, some of them didn’t look old enough, and the language! A couple of times Bill heard Mary tut and he
wanted to tell the girls that they didn’t ought to use language like that round
other people, but he didn’t Mary wouldn’t like a scene.
Bill pushed the
door open with the shopping bag and, with a groan, lifted the bags onto the
table. He reached over and flicked the
kettle on.
‘nice cup of tea before I put the
chops on’ he said as he unbuttoned his coat.
He went into the hall and hung his coat next to Mary’s. He stopped and ran his hand over the familiar
grey wool of Mary’s coat. He resisted the
urge to lift the coat down and bury his face in the collar. The last of her perfume was long gone. The wool now smelt old and slightly damp.
Bill walked back
into the kitchen and looked at Mary’s chair.
Mary’s empty chair. He sighed.
‘pot of tea for one’ he said.
