Caught in the Web - Chapter Eleven

So, Ok, Ive been very lazy for the past few days and have only posted writings that have been done long ago.  And I have no excuse, just can't seem to get my head into being creative on the page.  I have nearly finished my new knitted jacket though, and have been trying to learn lines for the new play - Our Cousin Will - which the playwright - Mr. Trotter, keeps amending - to make it even better, of course, which means that I have loads of paper copies and some new lines to learn every few days or so.
So I am still being creative but in different ways.

Anyway, for those of you who are following my novel Caught in the Web, here is chapter eleven:

Chapter Eleven

'This should keep you busy.'  Mike handed Karen a worn folder stuffed with papers, some faded and brown at the edges.

'Thanks.'  She took the file from the Charge Nurse and sat down to read.  She'd hesitated to ask about Evelyn again, but Mike was happy to let her take time out to find out more about any of the patients.  The ward was quiet this morning.  Most of the patients were off the ward engaged in their various activities.  The notes were difficult to read, the ink faded and the handwriting hard to decipher.  Nevertheless, Karen was soon engrossed in Evelyn's tale which was unfolding from within the worn pages.

Evelyn's room was never completely dark.  Every time she opened her eyes there was light.  It shone through the thin curtains during the day, and from the light in the corridor at night, always forcing its way into her life.  Evelyn never opened her door to see what lay beyond the room she'd been put in.  She was vaguely aware of faces peering in at her from time to time.

She couldn't remember how long it was since the pain had stopped.  Everything in her life was completely hopeless now, but she didn't really care any more.

She wrapped herself in a blanket of numbness.

Evelyn - 1950

'Evie, you coming up the park tonight?'  Kathy was calling cross the street.

Evelyn stopped scrubbing the steps and looked up.  'I’ve got to look after Joe till six, then get the tea ready for Mum and Uncle Bob.'  She sat on the gleaming steps for a moment.  

'After tea, then,' called Kathy.  'Come on.'

'Alright then,' Evelyn agreed.  'I'll be there by seven.'

'See ya there,' Kathy waved.

Evelyn stood and admired her work.  The garden was neatly filled with flowers and shrubs, the steps up to the door the crowning glory of the facade of the little terraced house.  Her heart lifted a little at the thought of getting out for a while later.  

She carefully carried the bucket of soapy water down the alley-way to the back of the house.   Joe was in the back garden playing with his soldiers, digging miniature trenches amongst the potatoes and carrots that Uncle Bob had planted.

'You be careful with those carrots, Joe,' she called.  'Uncle Bob'll tan your hide if you ruin his veggies.'

'I'm only playing,' Joe grumbled.  'What's for tea?  I'm starving.'

'Pork chops.  I'm just getting it on now.'  She went into the scullery and began peeling potatoes.  The room was dimly lit from the window which looked out onto the communal walkway at the back of the row of houses and the wash house, complete with boiler and copper basin for heating the water for the weekly wash.  Hanging outside the door was the old tin bath which was only used on Sunday evenings when it was filled with boiling water for the family to bathe in one at a time beside the open fire in the parlour.

Evelyn busied herself in the scullery and soon the aroma of cooking filled the house.  Before long she heard the sound of the church clock at the bottom of the street chiming six.  The table in the front parlour was laid ready for their tea.  A bowl and clean towel was waiting in the scullery, a large pot of water simmered on the gas stove ready for Uncle Bob to wash off the grime from the foundry where he worked for ten hours a day. 

Evelyn quickly slipped out of the back door and called up the garden to Joe.  'Tea's ready.  And wash your hands when you come in.'

Joe was at the butler sink in the scullery, and Evelyn was stirring the gravy when the door opened again and Mum and Uncle Bob came in, laughing together over some private joke.

'Hello kids,' Mum smiled at them.  'Oh, it's nice to be home.  That smells good.'

'Hello, Mum, Uncle Bob.'  Evelyn poured hot water into the bowl waiting on the kitchen table.  'Tea's about ready.  I'll keep the chops warm while you get washed -  I just have to mash the spuds.'

'You're a good girl, Evie.'  Uncle Bob squeezed her arm.  She glowed under his praise.

'Can I go out after tea?’ she asked.  

Her mother glanced at her uncle.

'Please, Mum.  I'll do the washing up first, and put everything away.'  

'What do you think, Bob?'  Her Mother looked anxiously at him.

'Why're you asking me?  She's your daughter.'  He turned to Evelyn.   'Where are you going anyway?' 

'To the park with Kathy.  Just for a while,' Evelyn pleaded.

'I know she's my daughter,' Mum said.  'But I wouldn't go against you, Bob.  As long as she's in by dark, then?'

'Uncle Bob?' Evelyn asked.

'Go on then.  But behave yourself,' he relented.  'And make sure you're in before dark, like your mother said.'

It was past seven when Evelyn finally escaped into the summer evening air.  The sun was still shining as she walked through the gates of the park and she could see Kathy waiting for her on the swings.  There were other youngsters around, some on the see-saw and others on the roundabout, their laughter floating on the air towards her as she walked across the finely mown grass.

'There you are.'  Kathy swung herself gently, spinning around with her feet on the ground.  

Evelyn sat on the next swing feeling a lovely sense of freedom.

'Sorry.  I had to do the washing up before I could get out.  Have you been sitting here on your own all this time?'

'Susan had to go in,' Kathy said.  'I'm glad you’re here.  I was getting fed up with being the only girl and too embarrassed to walk past that lot.'  She giggled, nodding towards the group of boys who were on the roundabout performing acrobatics.  'Look at that lot of show-offs.'

Evelyn looked across the playground at the boys.

'That's Jack and Alan.  They live down Gordon Road, don't they?' she said.  'I don't know the others though.'

'That's Micky - the one in the blue shirt.  And I think the other one's called David.'  Kathy paused.  'Oh my God, they're coming over here.  Don't look.'

Evelyn could see them walking across the playground out of the corner of her eye as they tried to pretend that they were in deep conversation.

'Hello girls.'  It was Jack speaking.

'Hello Jack - Alan.'  Evelyn looked them up and down.  When her eyes reached  David’s she felt her face burning.  She flashed him her brightest smile and looked away quickly.

'What are you two up to then?'  Jack asked.

'Nothing.'  Kathy answered for them both.

'Fancy coming for a walk with us, over to the railway lines?' Jack smiled.  'Come on, we've got some fags.  We won’t be seen there.'

'I don't know.'  Evelyn was unsure.  'I have to be in by dark.'

'It's not that far.'  Kathy was obviously keen.  'Come on Evie.  It won't be dark for hours yet.'

Evelyn glanced at David and her mind was made up.  'Alright then, I'll come.'

They set off across the park, climbed over the style and were soon walking towards the bank of the railway line across the field.  Evelyn felt the swish of the long grass against her bare legs as she walked.  When they reached the other side their way was barred by a wire fence held in place by concrete posts.  

The boys were over the fence in the blink of an eye.

'Come on girls.'  Jack was holding the top wire up with one hand, his foot on the bottom one, leaving a gap for the two girls to step through.

'You should have made them climb over the top, then we could've looked up their skirts,' Micky laughed.

'Don't you be so mucky!' Kathy retorted.  'I'll tell your mother.'

'And I'll tell yours you've been on the railway bank.'

'You wouldn't!' Kathy protested.

'And smokin' fags,' he continued.

'Yeah, well, I'll tell your Dad,' Kathy snapped back.

'Oh, stop it you two.'  David grabbed Evelyn's hand and pulled her away.

They slid down the bank to the railway navvy's hut which was half hidden by bushes, and soon were crouching behind it, leaning their backs against the hot concrete wall.

'Give us a fag then,' Kathy said to Jack.

'I've only got one - we'll have to share it.'

Where d'you get it from?' Kathy asked.

'My Dad left his fags in his jacket pocket,' Jack laughed.  'I nicked one when he was out the back working in the garden.'

'He'll kill you if he catches you,' Alan said.

'He won't catch me though, will he.'  Jack held out a battered Woodbine and straightened it out before placing it between his lips.

'I bet he counts them,' Alan said.  'My Dad does.'

'Well I don't care if he does,' Jack insisted.  'Do you want some of this or not?'

'Course I do,' Alan said.  'You got a light?'

'I have.'  David produced a box out of his pocket and struck a match.

Jack leaned towards the flame and soon the cigarette was alight.  He inhaled with a flourish and leaned back against the wall  blowing the smoke out through his half open lips.

'Great,' he sighed.  He puffed again on the cigarette before passing it to Alan.  One by one they each took a lungful of smoke.

Evelyn felt her head becoming dizzy.  It wasn't the first time she'd smoked.  Everyone around here did.  She knew she'd look stupid if she was the only one who didn't.  She remembered the first time, when she'd choked and had a coughing fit.  Now she was used to it and enjoyed the floaty feeling it gave her.  She relaxed and stretched her legs out in front of her, the warmth of the wall seeping into her back. 

Alan and Micky got up and wandered off along the bank.  

'There's wild strawberries along here,' Alan called.  'We should've brought  something to put them in.'

Evelyn closed her eyes.  She could hear their voices floating on the evening air, but she was too comfortable to move.  She felt the touch of a hand on hers and opened her eyes.   David was lying close by her side.  She turned her head and looked straight into his eyes which were looking back at her.  His fingers stroked her palm.

'What are you doing?' she giggled.

'Don't you like it?' he whispered back, his lips close to her ear.

'I might.'

'Well, make your mind up.'  He paused. 'I think you do.'

'I don't even know you,' Evelyn protested.

'Well, I want to know you better.'  He snuggled into her neck.

Evelyn stopped trying to protest and turned her face to his.  His lips were gentle on hers as he kissed her.  It was the kiss of someone who had kissed before, not the usual tight-lipped kisses that boys had given her in the past.  She felt herself melting inside as the desire for him flickered into life.  The kiss went on and on, and when eventually they came up for air, Evelyn gasped for breath.  Embarrassed, she turned her head to see if Kathy and Jack were still there.

'We're going back now.'  Kathy stood, brushing the grass from her skirt.  'You coming with us?'

'Yes, I'd better be getting home.'  Evelyn said.  David pulled her up and they climbed the railway bank towards the fence where Alan and Micky were sitting.  Soon they were all walking back across the field towards the park, Evelyn and David  trailing along at the rear hand in hand

'Oh, my God!  It's your Uncle Bob!'  It was Kathy who first saw him waiting at the edge of the park, glaring towards the happy group.

Evelyn pulled her hand away from David's and grabbed hold of Kathy's arm.

'Sorry David,' she apologised.

'Can I see you again?' he asked.

'I don't know.' 

'I'll be in the park tomorrow,' David said.

'Shush.'  They had neared the style and Uncle Bob was within hearing.

A silent group climbed over as he stood aside watching each of them step onto the smooth grass of the park once again.  Evelyn looked at him, smiled tentatively and bowed her head.

'I was just coming home,' she mumbled, walking ahead of him towards the gate of the park.  Soon they reached the back door to her home once more.

Evelyn was lying in her bed.  The room was dark - she could hear the sound of her Mum snoring in the next room.

It had been a tense evening.  Uncle Bob had said nothing to her when they got in from the park.  She had felt his eyes on her, but each time she looked up he'd looked away.

She cast her mind back to the moment when David had touched her hand.  She smiled to herself in the dark, dreaming of his soft lips and the lovely smell of his Brylcremed hair which still lingered on her hands.

The creaking of her bedroom door startled her.

'Who's that?' she whispered.

The figure moved quickly to her bedside.  She recognised the silhouette of Uncle Bob as he stood beside her.

'Shush,' was his answer.  'You don't want to wake your mother, do you?'  He sat on the bed, his hand reached out to touch her hair.

'What are you doing?  What do you want?'

'You've been with that boy.'  His voice was hoarse.  'I just want to talk to you, without your mother listening in.  Tell me what he did to you.'

'Nothing,' Evelyn spluttered.  'He did nothing.  Go away.'

'Did he touch you?' he hissed.

'No.  Of course not.'  Evelyn was indignant now.  'I'm not like that.'

His hand reached towards the covers but Evelyn was held them tightly up to her neck.  He gripped her hand.

'Let me have a look.  I'll know whether he touched you or not.'

'No,' Evelyn pleaded, but he was too strong and pulled the sheet from her in one swift movement.  He clamped one hand across her mouth.

'Now don't you wake your mother,'  he breathed.  'I'll tell her I saw you behaving like a whore.'  He roughly pulled up her nightdress with his free hand.

Evelyn froze as she felt his hand between her legs, his fingers probing her.  She muffled a painful scream beneath his other hand which was still tightly held against her mouth.

'You've been at it with that boy,' he panted.  'Did you like it?'

Evelyn tried to shake her head, to deny it, but he was holding her too tight.

'I'll show you what a real man is like.'  His coarse breath was hot against her neck as he forced his way into her.  Evelyn stopped struggling, too afraid to move as he thrust into her again and again.

When it was over, he just got up and left the room as quietly as he had come in.  Evelyn lay still for a long time, the tears wet on her cheeks, until finally the light at her window told her that it was morning.

The Cobbler's Daughter

The Cobbler’s Daughter

It’s so cold and dark - the darkness competing with the cold to penetrate my very bones.  My hands are numb and cannot feel the buttons on my boots as I fumble to dress myself.  Hurry!  Hurry!  I panic as I tumble down the attic stairs trying in vain to make no noise as I fall.

I run through the welcome warmth of the vast kitchen - breathe in the aromas of delights I will never have in my belly - into the damp chill of the scullery, my domain.

‘You’re late,’ snaps Betty, the under-parlour maid.  I know she’s got it in for me.  I duck my head out of her reach but she hasn’t taken a swipe at me this time.

I quickly gather up my tools in the wooden bucket and stagger back up the stairs to the main entrance hall.  I stand for a moment and can feel the silence of the house - still in darkness - just the ticking of the grandfather clock a heartbeat of the centre of this monster I live in.  

Shaking myself into action I start the day’s work of cleaning the fireplaces and lighting the fires.  A warm feeling of anticipation of what the day may bring seeps through me.  Today is special - my half day off.  As soon as I’ve finished my work here I can take the afternoon off - just as long as I’m back by six o’clock to scrub the floors below stairs before going to bed.  Head down, I work hard at my polishing, keen to get away before three.

At last it’s time to go.  Peeling off my cap and apron I don my black bonnet and cape, slip from the kitchen and soon I’m walking down the black path that leads to the village.  As I pass the church I hear the sound of pigs squealing from the back yard of the Post Office opposite the church.  Mr. Faithful must be slaughtering again - fresh pork for sale tomorrow!

I walk on down West Street until I reach our home, a low thatched cottage with tiny dormer windows.  Through the side gate and down the garden path - I make straight for the workshop.  As I enter my father looks up from his work - a leather shoe in one hand, a hammer in the other.  The smell of leather and glue fills the air - a lovely homely smell.  His eyes light up when he sees me but I can see behind the light a troubled shadow.  We exchange greetings - I kiss him fondly on the cheek.

‘What’s the matter?’  I ask.

‘I’ve blotted me copybook with the squire,’ he replies.  ‘He came in here with a pair of boots needing mending and wanted ‘em done by Sunday afternoon.  Well, you know I never work on the Sabbath so I told him they won’t be ready until Monday.  Well he had no choice, being as his regular cobbler is in London and it would take twice as long to get ‘em there and back.  Then when he comes to collect them I told him the cost was half a crown.  He didn’t like that - said he could get ‘em done in London for two shillings.  So I says “take ‘em to London then!”

‘He went off in a foul mood at that and today I gets this letter from the agent telling me my tenancy’s terminated - with seven days notice!  After three hundred years of my family living here!  I can’t fathom it.’

I can hardly believe it either and we spend time talking in circles - trying to work out what we can do about it.  How can someone who calls himself a Christian put out a man who’s worked and lived all his life here - he who was crippled when he was a small boy working in the Squire’s wood mill.

Two hours later I begin the walk back to the House - my heart heavy.  There’s nothing to be done I know.  Father will have to move out and there’s nowhere to go.  All our family are dead but me.  Father says that at least I have a roof over my head and he’ll be alright whatever happens.  I know what that may be - the only thing left for him - take himself to the Workhouse.  There at least he’ll have food and shelter and with his skills as a cobbler he should be able to survive.

Will I ever see him again?

Gran

I had a Gran in the old days
When Grans sat in chairs by the fire
And brewed tea measured from the caddy
Then poured from teapots into china cups
Which rattled on saucers and everyone took
'Two sugars please."

I had a Gran when all Grans had grey hair
And knitted big and baggy jumpers
Or crocheted rugs they wore on knees
And told you off with a twinkle in their eye
When you forgot to mind your Qs and Ps.

I had a gran in the old days
When you only shopped in the High Street
And bought potatoes by the pound,
A nice piece of beef from the Butcher,
"Two herrings for Mrs. Simpson, please"
From the Fishmonger
Then carried them home
In the finger-slicing string bag.

I had a gran in the old days
When tables were draped in chenille
And mantlepieces wore fringes framing coal-blacked fires,
The kettle singing on the hearth
And paper bags of gigantic toffees
Hid away in knitting bags.

And a visit to the toilet
Was an expedition down the garden path
Overlapped with uncut grass
That wound its way around your ankles
Leaving you cold and wet from the feet up
And the creaking door -
Entrance to the cobweb-laced dark and aromatic room.
You prayed the door wouldn't shut too tight
Or swing open wide whilst you hovered above the pit
Filled with monsters
Smelling like death itself.

Then back to the cosy fireside
And a plate of sizzled sausage and mash
With a special treat of tinned peaches
Sweet and yellow
Smothered in Carnation milk to follow.

Now I wonder
As I sit in front of my laptop
In my centrally-heated home
Where all the Fireside Grans have gone.

Rocky Mountain Morning

Running water and frost in my hair
Sweet birdsong in tall pine trees
Dark and lightly tipped yellow ochre.
The sound of wood splitting - kindling.
Soft footsteps of deer and the call of the
Black-Jack Crow squawking in the crisp air
Cracking across the green valley.
The night black Star-struck stillness
Fades into dawn's first shades of grey
Then seemingly changes into vivid hues of green
Each day fresh as never before seen.

Humming birds humming, hovering
Sun - tipping the mountain
Pouring like hot custard
Melting the shadows into bright sweet desserts
Too good enough to taste
The crisp breath still in the air
On the lakeside walking -
Still dizzy with mountain's height in my bloodstream -
Reluctant to travel on
Yet keen to wander the lakeside paths
On my first Rocky Mountain Morning.

Caught in the Web Chapter Ten

Another chapter of Caught in the Web.  Now available in paperback from www.completelynovel.com as well as on Kindle via Amazon.

Chapter Ten

A week had passed since the party. 

Karen was in the  kitchen making coffee whilst Peter sat at the kitchen table, watching her over the morning paper.

'I thought we could do something later.'  She took two mugs from the shelf.  'Maybe go to the cinema, or for a meal, or something?'

'Oh, you want to go out with me, do you?'  

'Of course.'  Karen felt the chill in the air between them.

'Why would you want to go out with me?'  He turned the page and shifted in the chair.

'Oh, Peter.  Please.'  Karen looked down and noticed a hair in the sugar bowl.  'If this is about the party, I really wanted you to come with me.'

'You still went without me though - when you knew how I felt about it.' 

'You go out with your friends all the time.  I don't mind.'  Karen retrieved the hair and watched it float to the floor.  She poured hot water into the mugs.

'That's different,' he said.  'That's work.  And my friends are normal.'  The paper rustled in indignation.

Karen slammed the kettle down.  'What's that supposed to mean?'

'All those men doing nursing!'  He cleared his throat.  'What are they?  A load of poofs?'  He crossed his legs and shook the paper.    

'That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard!'  Karen spooned two sugars into his cup and stirred it furiously.

'And anyway,' he continued.  'You have to be a bit weird to work with mad people.'  He folded the paper.  'I mean, look at you.  I expect most of them are like you and don't know their own minds.'

Karen noticed the sugar she'd spilled on the work surface.  'Is that really what you think of me?' 

'You'd be nothing without me.'

'That may have been true when we first got together.'  Karen swept the sugar into the sink with her hand.  

You're still pretty useless.'  Peter said.

'You really think that?'  She passed the coffee to Peter.  The hot contents slopped over the edge and ran down the side of the mug.

'You haven't proved me wrong yet.'  He took out his handkerchief, wiped the mug, placed it on the table in front of him before carefully folding the coffee-stained cloth and stuffing it back in his pocket. He picked up the mug and took a sip.

'Well maybe this is the time to tell you I've made a decision,' Karen blurted out without thinking.  She took a deep breath.  'I'm going to apply to train as a nurse.'

Peter slammed the mug down on the table, coffee spilling over the rim again and forming a brown puddle on the table.

'Oh, please!' he sneered.

Karen took the dishcloth and dropped it onto the table in front of him.  'I’ve got the forms already.  I was going to tell you later today.'

'Well, I think you've just proved to me how stupid you are.'  He furiously wiped the table with the damp cloth.  'You are definitely not doing this.  How long’s the training?  Three years?'  He paused for breath.  'You know we want to start a family, and now you want to do this.  Well, it's a big NO.  Understand?'

'It's really important to me.  I want to be able to do the job well - to help people in the best way I can.'

'Oh, just listen to you.'  Peter threw the dishcloth into the sink.  His breath stank of coffee as he leaned over her.  '“I want to help people.”  You can't even help yourself, and you certainly do nothing for me.'

Karen took a step away from Peter.  'Maybe that's true, but I am going to do this.'  She tried to sound calm.  'I'd like you to support me through this, but if you can't, I'm going to do it anyway.'

'What about babies?'  Peter reached for her hand and took a step closer.  'When do you think you'll be ready for that then?'

'I need to do this first.'  Karen looked past Peter at a crack on the wall behind the kettle.  'There’s plenty of time to start a family.'

He pushed her hand away.  'Don't hold your breath on me waiting for you to work through your selfish whims!'

'I don't think it's selfish to want a career,' Karen wiped her hand on the back of her dress.

'You sound pathetic.'  Peter was halfway up the stairs.  He paused and turned.  'I'm going out,' he announced.

'What about later?  Do you want to go out this evening?'  She felt the panic rising.

'I hardly think I want to sit opposite you when you're in this mood.'  His hand gripped the bannister.  'You just spend some time thinking about what you want in your life and what's more important to you - our marriage or your work!'

'Are you asking me to chose between you and nursing?'  Karen felt a throbbing in her left temple.

'Typical of you to twist what I'm saying,' he said.  'I think I'm being reasonable.  We were happy before you took this job on.  It's only since you started at that - crazy house - that things have been bad between us.  You used to be a good wife.  What's got into you?'

'I still am a good wife,' Karen was shaking.  'I still love you, and I'm always there for you.'

'Except when you're at work, or out with your work mates.'

'I only went out once.’

'And I'm nipping it in the bud before it's too late.'  He was shouting now.

'What?'  Karen asked.

'You heard.'  Peter was leaning forward and had taken a step down the stairs. 'I don't want you having friends at that place.  They're a bad influence on you.  If you insist on working there I can't stop you.  But you come straight home from work in future.'

'And what will you do if I do go out with my friends?  You can't stop me from doing that either.'  Karen turned back to the kitchen.

'I'll have to come and fetch you, won't I?'  He took another step down the stairs and leaned over the bannister towards Karen's back.  'I don't think you want a scene in front of your friends, do you?'

Karen spun around to face him.  'You wouldn't dare!'

'Don't push me.’  His voice dropped.  'I'll do what I think is right.'  He reached to bottom stair and moved towards Karen.  'You're my wife, and you’ll do what I tell you.'  He paused, looking straight into her eyes.  'Or else...'

'You're threatening me,' Karen gasped.

'Just telling you how it is.'  He turned and swept back up the stairs.

Karen was seething.  She realised she'd probably said too much. When the front door slammed behind Peter a few minutes later relief washed over her briefly.  Then tears of frustration began to course down her cheeks as she realised she could never win.

An hour later Karen was sitting in Margaret's kitchen drinking more coffee.  Margaret, her only support as a mother-figure but also Peter's Mum.  Karen wondered what had made her think that talking to Margaret would help but didn’t know anyone else she could confide in.

'How are you getting on at work, then?' Margaret asked.  'Is it hard working with all those mentally ill people?'

Karen looked around the room that still felt like home.  'Actually I love it,' she said.  'Sometimes it gets a bit difficult, but I think I'm learning how to deal with the hard bits.'

'What are the patients like?' Margaret drew her chair closer to the table.

'Some of them are hard work,' Karen smiled.  'But you can't help liking them.  They have their own little ways.  You have to be able to see the funny side of things.'

'What's wrong with them,' Margaret asked.  'I mean, why are they locked up?'

'All sorts of reasons,'  Karen said.  'I'm still new to it, but I'm getting to know a couple of the ladies a bit more.  One of them was looking at a Christmas card the other day that she'd been carrying around in her bag.  It was from her daughter.  All faded, like she'd had it for years.  How do people end up in places like that?'  She paused.  'What was going on in her life before?  What happened to her so that she ended up there.  I don't know.'

'That's sad,' Margaret said.

'In her notes it says that she was admitted with melancholia,' Karen continued.  'That's what they used to call depression.  But lots of people have depression now and just get treated with tablets.  Some don't even go into hospital.  She just seems like a sad, lost, old woman to me.'

'How old is she?' Margaret took a cigarette from her packet.

'In her forties.'

'That's not old!' Margaret spluttered.  'I'm in my forties!'

'Sorry,' Karen laughed.  'It's just that she seems so old, that's all.  Not like you at all.'

'Yeah, well, if I was locked up for years in there, I'd probably be like an old woman.'  She lit the cigarette and took a long drag on it.

'I don't think of you as an old woman,' Karen smiled.

'I should hope not!'  Margaret blew the smoke into the air away from Karen.

'There's another one that I keep thinking about.  It's strange - she seems familiar to me and I feel a weird connection but every time I go near her she completely freaks out, screaming at me to go away.  She's not like it with the other nurses.  Just me.'  Karen sipped her coffee.

'Maybe you remind her of someone.'

'I thought that.'  Karen sighed.  'You know, I always wonder what happened to my real mum.  I know you've been good to me, and I couldn't wish for a better mum than you, but it's always there, that wondering...'

'You don't think that she's...?'  Margaret hesitated.

'I'm going to read her notes next time I'm on duty,' Karen said.  'I've just got this feeling.'

'Right.'  Margaret paused.  'Just don't get your hopes up about finding your lost family.  I don't want you getting hurt, that's all.'  Margaret reached for her hand. 

'I'm not getting my hopes up.  It's just that there's something about her.  I need to know.'  She squeezed Margaret’s hand.

'Alright,' Margaret smiled.  'Are you staying for lunch?'

'If you don't mind.’

'I wouldn't ask you if I minded would I?'  Margaret stood up.  'Another drink?'

'No thanks.'  Karen took a sip of cold coffee.

'How are things with you and Peter?'  Margaret reached into the cupboard for the coffee jar.

'Alright.'

'I know he can be a bit prickly sometimes,' Margaret said.  'How is he taking your work now?  Has he come round to it?'

'Not really,' Karen sighed.  'He doesn't like what I'm doing at all.  It's difficult.'

'He does love you.  You know that don't you?'  Margaret poured hot water into her mug.

'Yes, I know.  And I love him but I want to take this up as a career.'  Karen felt the pulse in her temple beginning to throb again.  'I want to do my training.  I’m happy at work and I could be happy at home but he just doesn't want me to do it.'

'Are you unhappy at home?'  Margaret sat back down at the table.

'That's not what I meant.'  Karen regretted saying so much. 'I am happy really.  It's just that I want to train as a nurse.  Don't you think it's the right thing to do?'

'Yes, of course,' Margaret assured her.  'If it's what your heart is telling you to do.  But it will be difficult if Peter...'

'I know,' Karen interrupted.  She paused. 'But I am going to do it.'

Margaret looked at Karen over the rim of her coffee mug.  'He wants you to start a family doesn't he?'

'I do too.  Eventually - but not yet.'

'Well, I'm here for you if you need to talk,' Margaret said.  'Only...'

'What?'  Karen's eyes flashed.  'You have to be loyal to Peter, don't you?'

'He is my son.'  Margaret looked away.

'I know.'  Karen's voice was hard.  'And you're not my real Mum.'

'I didn't mean that.'  Margaret shifted in her chair, leaning towards Karen.  'I want to be a Mum for you.  You know, when you two got married I was so pleased.  It meant that you could be a real daughter to me.'

Karen stood up.  'But I'm not.'  She moved to the sink and turned.  'Blood is thicker than water, they say.'

'I want to be there for you just as much as for Peter.  But it's difficult being stuck in the middle.'

'I understand,' said Karen.  'You've been fantastic to me.  I couldn't ask for more.'

'Give us a hug then.'  Margaret stood up and opened her arms.  Karen fell into her embrace and felt the safeness of Margaret's warmth.  She brushed away the tear that had brimmed over her closed eyelid and took a deep breath in.

'Thanks, Margaret,' she whispered.

Ode to the Potato

Your skin is like a new potato
Fine and smooth.
Your flesh - slightly pink
But sometimes you have a birthmark
Purple-tinted
Like a bruise -
Or even once,
When left discarded there,
You were a sickly shade of green.

I like to hold you
In my hand -
Wash your delicate new skin,
Caress you,
Gaze into your sightless eyes
And wonder how you feel
About the diversity of your
Gastronomical uses.

The Garden Chair

Two stark
White
Naked legs
Thrust upwards
Point at the sky like a rocket launch.

Your other legs
Buried
In the rumble, tumble mulch
Of last Autumn's leaves.
You sleep -
Dreaming of warm and busy days to come.