London, then…

Searching the table for his keys. His bag is by the door and again he pats his jacket pockets.
Her shout from their bedroom, ’What’s the matter?’
‘Car keys. You don’t happen to…’
Her laugh, ’The bowl on the cupboard. Will you phone me when you get there?’
He stops by the bowl and sure enough, his set of keys, ’Jennifer, of course I will and I’m sorry it’s this weekend.’
‘That’s okay, I know Pam wants this done and you’ve been dragging your heels on it, so I think you‘d better get to it.’
He picks up his bag, shoving the keys in his pocket, ’Hey!’
‘Hey yourself.’ A giggle from her as well.
‘I love you.’
‘Yeah, I love you too.’
He opens the door, slinging the bag over his shoulder. A slight pause wondering if he’s right to leave her, ‘Jen, you will be alright, won’t you?’
‘Will you go? Maggie is calling about six so yeah, I’ll be fine.’
‘Sure?’
‘Shut up and get going and don’t forget to call me.’
He salutes her from the door, ’Yes ma’am.’

Craig Sullivan, published author, takes the lift down to the car park. He’s on his sixth novel, ’Flowers.’ And in trouble with it.
The series began just over four years ago, a simple enough romance thriller, it didn’t particularly sell well, but when the follow up was published, it pushed sales of the first through the roof and Pam, his agent who’s never shy in her use of words, was delighted. She almost had an on the spot orgasm when the third came out, possibly the best story in the series so far, the fourth and fifth took things a little slower, but sales were still strong and reviews were mixed, but had no ill effects on sales whatsoever.
There was even talk of a movie series, but so far that’s remained talk. Something called ’negotiations’ kept cropping up.
The doors open and Craig adjusts the bag again and walks to his car.
Pam had arranged this weekend, for him to get away from London for four days and get this bloody book taken care of. Her words and not his.
He was reluctant to leave Jennifer, and he had looked at getting a ground floor apartment instead of one on the eighth floor, but Jennifer liked it, she was used to where everything is and she’d scolded him for being a fuss pot.
Why wouldn’t he fuss around her, or be fussy for her. Why not?
Craig looks up at the apartment block, a shake of his head, car keys in hand and a slow walk away.
Just a weekend, he tells himself, it’ll be worth it and when he gets back, he can take Jennifer away somewhere and have no work to do at all.

Her bath. Jennifer turning off the taps, her fingertips touch the edge of the bath, turning and checking the towels are on the rack. Stepping away and taking her gown off, she groans, forgetting to clip up her hair.
A large plastic grip is held between her teeth, as the smaller ones are shoved in place, just lightly grazing her cheek with one. The big plastic one is attached, at the back of her head, now she can get in, relax and have some quiet time before Maggie gets here.
Thinking that she’ll have to get something done about her hair and the phone starts ringing.

Last words. How could they be the last words? What was Craig doing? Jennifer wipes her eyes with a paper tissue that felt so soft but now seems to scratch at her skin.
Behind her, Maggie sits quietly, the occasional sniff from her, but she’d had her screaming and shouting and looking at her dead brother, now standing with him and holding his hand is his wife, Jennifer.
The last time they’d talked when he was at the door and he was going away for the weekend, this was for his book. His bloody book and she’d listened to explanations from the medical staff and Craig just didn’t make it.
Sounds so simple, doesn’t it?
An accident and in the click of their fingers and Craig is dead and that’s that.
Jennifer cries, telling herself how cruel she sounds, but it’s that feeling and she drops his hand, wanting to run away and hear that door slam behind her.

…’don’t forget to call me…’

Before, before, before…

‘So how’s he coming with the book?’
Jennifer shrugs, ’I don’t know. He hasn’t talked to me about it.’
A slight scraping as a mug is put on the table, ’It’s dragging on a bit, Jen.’
‘Pam, it’s nothing to do with me. You know how Craig works, unless of course you think it is me?’
Pam laughs, ’No, but the house is getting a little impatient.’
‘Are you sure it’s them and not you?’
‘Well, okay, a little bit of both.’
Jennifer leans forward and picks up her mug, ’Do you want me to talk to him?’
Fingernail clicking and a soft breath, ’Give him a few more weeks and we’ll see how he’s getting on with it. Then perhaps you can have a word in his ear.’
The coffee is just warm now, Jennifer takes a drink and carefully puts the mug down, a sound from her right and she moves her head, ’Are we ready to order?’
Pam sighs, ‘Yeah, I think so. You?’
‘Yeah, I like the sound of the prawn salad.’
They place their orders and Jennifer listens to the swishing sound as the young woman walks away.
Pam coughs, ‘So are you still working?’
Jennifer nods, ‘Yeah, Craig did ask me to pack it up, but I need something to do, I can’t be a housewife, just not me at all.’
‘What about kids?’
‘What about them?’
‘Don’t you, er… don’t you want any?’
Jennifer sighs and clicks her tongue off her teeth, ‘That isn’t something we’ve talked about. I wouldn’t want to, not in the apartment, we’d need to get a house.’
‘What about the place you’ve got in the country?’
‘No, that’s too isolated. Craig would worry too much and that might stop him from writing anymore.’
Pam laughs and picks up her mug, ‘Perhaps after he’s got flower finished.’
‘What’s the real rush here, Craig finishing his book or him getting me pregnant?’
‘The priority is his book, not being rude, but they want to keep the momentum rolling and it’s never been higher, but I think you’d make a great Mum, so let him get flower put away and then you two can get busy.’
Jennifer laughs, “get busy“, it’s not as if they don’t, but it just hasn’t happened yet. Truthfully, if she was to get pregnant, she’d be delighted. The apartment would be a little awkward but they could adapt or get a house.
The question of kids hasn’t been talked about, not skirted around either. Simply not mentioned, but Pam, as open and as blunt as ever, has. She just wants to be an aunty, and Craig and Jennifer seem to fit the bill nicely.

Jennifer switches the kettle on and moving along the hall to the spare room, she gently knocks on the door, a soft laugh, quickly followed by Craig’s, ’Hello.’
She pushes down on the handle, opening the door and hears the gentle hum from his computer, ‘Would Mr. Sullivan care to share a cup of tea with his wife?’
Craig looks at the screen and rubs his eyes, ’Yeah and a very timely break too.’
She moves behind him, placing her hands on his shoulders, ’So may I ask how it’s going?’
‘Not bad. Just filling in the blanks.’
‘Pam’s pushing you know.’
Craig nods, then touches her hand, ’Yeah, I think she’s worried about her commission.’
Jennifer slips her hands away, stepping back a little, ’Tea, Mr. Sullivan.’
Craig stands up and stretches, ’Yes and thank you very much.’
‘Okay, so what’s the word count so far?’
Craig’s gentle laugh, ‘Word count?’
‘You said you had a target so what is it?’
‘It’s not the quantity Jen, It’s the quality,’
‘Oh, not that many then.’
‘No. I’d say about forty three.’
‘Thousand?’
Now his laugh is almost a roar, ’Nowhere near that. Double figures, Jen. Double figures.’
‘Jesus, no wonder Pam is pushing.’
One of his nice little coughs follows, ’Er, aren’t you making tea?’
‘Yeah, and it’s straight back to it after.’
Craig takes her hand, walking towards the door, ’Hey, I was thinking…’
‘Well, don’t let me stop you.’ Jennifer giggles, giving his hand a little squeeze.
‘Easter, I was thinking about taking you to Brighton for a dirty weekend. We could be Mr. and Mrs. Smith again.’
‘You know, I like these romantic notions of yours and I really like your thinking. Should I pack the fishnets and stiletto’s?’
‘We might not have time for those.’
Jennifer pretends to sulk, ‘Oh, can’t we have a little role play?’
‘I was thinking more about the foreplay.’
Now she pretends to look shocked, ‘Oh that’s naughty!’
‘Do we still have those handcuffs?’
Jennifer’s a step away from the kitchen, ‘Yes, but can’t we have tea first?’
Craig puts his hands on her hips, slightly pushing her forward.

Now…

The weekend that never was and instead, Pam had laid on a weekend where he could get the book taken care of and in that, he’d had an accident and perhaps, in some way, this was Pam’s fault.
A stupid thought, but one of Jennifer’s that for a second almost found a voice, but all it was, was an accident and that’s all it ever will be.
His funeral was quiet, family and close friends and the weather had turned horrible as the day went on.
Later at the apartment and a large case on what was their bed. Jennifer packs the basics and taking time off work and have a few days at the cottage and maybe when she comes back…

The before school meeting. Standing in front of Derek Johnston’s desk and listening to his breathing. He sounds nervous and a peculiar smell off him, like nutmeg or cinnamon, Jennifer smiles, thinking that he’s had porridge for breakfast.
‘The education department…’
Oh, here he goes. This’ll be either more cuts and something new added to the curriculum or more cuts and heads on the chopping block and if the school loses any more staff, the kids will have to teach themselves.
‘they’re looking for redundancies. they’ve asked me to put forward names.’
See, it’s never anything good, is it?
‘So I suppose my name’s on it?’
A slight shuffle of papers, Derek’s breath has a hint of honey about it, ‘Yes, but not just yours.’
‘How many of us?’
‘Seven.’
Jennifer laughs, a shake of her head, ’Are they mad? What do they think runs this school, fresh air?’
‘Cuts, Jen. Like everything else, a lack of funding.’
‘That’s ridiculous. How are we supposed to do our jobs?’
Derek shifts in his seat, ’There’s talk of a merger. To close us down and fold in to Camberwell Secondary.’
‘That’s even worse! Camberwell can’t cope with what they’ve got already. Where are twelve hundred supposed to go?’
‘This isn’t about that. The notices are going out today. I thought I should be the one to tell you.’
Jennifer grips her stick and turns for the door, ’Thanks and I have a class to teach.’
‘Jen, I am sorry.’
‘Yeah…’ a soft sound in her voice, ’me too…’

Counting the steps up to the next floor, Jennifer loses count and trips over the top one, a rather loud ’Shit!’ as her stick shoots out of her hand. Letting herself get addled over what Derek had said and she lands on her knees. On her hands and knees trying to find her stick and feeling embarrassed, annoyed and everything in between. It hasn’t started out a good day and probably won’t end up a good day either.
Her fingertips touch the cord on her stick and she pulls it close. Using it as a prop to get up and she brushes her knees down and gets to her classroom.
The room suddenly becomes quiet as she lays her stick on her desk. She stands in front of the pupils and scratches her head, a little smile, ’Okay, gang. Where were we?’

The break for lunch and an envelope is placed in her hand. Jennifer slaps it on the table. From behind her, she can hear Rob Lomax grinding his teeth, his habit that hasn’t changed in the three years she’s known him, now though, there’s a groan as well. Sitting close by is Marian, about to start maternity leave, she might bring that forward a bit, if she got a notice as well.
Low voices and not very happy people. Jennifer shrugs and picks up her mug, her stick sliding off the arm of her chair and slapping against the floor.
‘It is with deep regret…’ Charlie Simpson’s voice and he then starts laughing, ’do you like the way he phrases that? Jesus, he’s so full of shit.’
‘Hey, Charlie, if they get rid of you, you can take up fishing full time.’ Barbara Harrington’s voice comes across as quite sharp sometimes, but this sounds softer.
‘What about you Jen?’
‘No, I don’t like fishing.’
‘I was talking about the notices.’
Jennifer shakes her head, ’I think it’s a mistake, but I can’t do anything, so we’ll have to wait and see.’
‘You could retire. You’ve got Craig’s insurance and the other stuff from his publishing, so why don’t you?’
Something that she had thought about and perhaps Charlie‘s right, she could sell the apartment and just get out of it, ’Yeah I suppose I could. I was thinking about moving to the cottage and hiding away out there, but I think boredom would get to me.’
‘You, bored?’
‘Stranger things have happened, Charlie.’

(To be continued…)