A Prisoner in my Attic

The alarm clock went off and I stretched under my duvet contemplating the day ahead. First things first, toilet, coffee, shower, get dressed and off to work. I have never really been a morning person and it always takes me a minute or two before the little grey cells kick into gear, usually assisted by several espressos. I swung my legs out from under the duvet and sat up slowly. I knew that if I lay back down I would go back to sleep. I got up on autopilot and walked to the door.

I grabbed the handle and pulled down, nothing happened, apart from a loud clunk on the other side of the door, leaving me stranded with the useless end of the handle in my bedroom and the business end on the other side of the door. I pushed against the door even though I knew it opened inwards.

‘This isn’t good!’ I looked around for my mobile. Damn, it wasn’t on the dresser or the bedside table. Then I remembered that I’d left it on the desk next to the computer. ‘Crap, crap, crap and crap,’ I shouted glaring at the door.

‘Come on, get a grip and think.’ I often talk to myself, especially during stressful times. My most urgent need was the unrelenting desire to empty my bladder, maybe then I could think straight. I scanned the room looking for something I could use as a temporary receptacle, if only I was a man I could aim out the window. My gaze fell on the beautiful cachepot my son had given me, along with the thriving purple Orchid nestled in it, for Mother’s Day.

I hesitated for a second before snatching the Orchid out of the cachepot, now pee-pot, placing it on the floor and squatting, the relief was instantaneous. I stashed the pee-pot under the bed, not wanting my rescuer seeing it. Then I started to pace the length of my small attic bedroom working through the different ways I could get myself out of this unforeseen predicament. It was surreal!

I could try shouting to someone in the office block opposite and see if I had any luck there. However, I could only just make out the rooftops of the buildings on the other side of the street and that was standing on my tiptoes. I pushed the dresser under the window and climbed up. At first, I felt embarrassed shouting out my attic window like a banshee but after a few pathetic attempts, I saw the head of a woman appear at her office window, one floor down from me on the other side of the busy high street.

Taking a deep breath, I shouted as loudly and as long as my lungs would let me, ‘Help’ I waved my arms in the hope of drawing attention to myself. The head disappeared. On the bright side, the window was now open, I shouted with renewed hope.

A couple of hours later, I was horse and the woman in the office still hadn’t pinpointed where the voice calling out to her was coming from, time to try something else. ‘Calm down,’ I tried to reassure myself feeling a bout of panic coming on. I sat down on my bed. I could hear my phone ringing on the other side of the door. Probably my lovely boss wondering where I was, she was bound to check in on me when she got no answer on my mobile. I just wasn’t sure when that would be.

Under normal circumstances, I would do anything to stay warm under my duvet in my comfortable bed. Today, all I wanted to do was get out of my bedroom. The only things on my bedside table where the book I’d just finished, my glasses, a radio-alarm clock and a half-full box of matches and I’m no MacGyver. I did have an idea though, if I used a match I could maybe push the three bolts out of their hinges and with any luck, pry the door open. At this point, I was desperate enough to try just about anything, including breaking my door.

It was a long drawn out operation and the match kept slipping which wasn’t helping matters, but I was determined. Sweat was beginning to drip down my back, and my thumb was hurting. Brushing my hair out of my face with my elbow, I repositioned the match, and continued to push the bolt out of its hinge.

After I’d removed the second bolt, my thumb could take no more. I wedged my fingers as far under the door as possible and pulled as hard as I could, using my feet as leverage against the doorframe, the door barely budged. After five minutes of heaving and tugging with little effect on the door, I gave up and climbed back onto the dresser to see if I could catch the woman in the office’s attention. If I leaned as far out the window as possible, I could see most of the street below and part of the pavement. No sign of the woman in the office but the window was still open. I called out as loudly as my sore throat would allow me.

To my surprise and joy, the woman appeared at the window and looked around. I leaned further out the window and screamed, ‘Look up, across the street… Help, I’m locked in my bedroom.’ I waved my arms around like a lunatic.

‘Please look up across the street. Help!’ More frantic waving, ‘I’m up here locked in my bedroom, please help me.’ I screeched putting emphasis on the e of me. The woman peered out the window, looking slightly concerned or it could have just been confusion, whatever it was it put fuel in my bellow.

‘Up here, across the street, please can you help me?’ I realised I was sounding rather desperate, but I kept seeing myself dehydrated and dying alone in my attic bedroom. After what seemed like ages, the woman leaned out her window and looked directly up at me. I waved at her just to make sure she’d really seen me. Sure enough, she waved back.

‘Can you please see if any of my neighbours are at home and ask them to contact my landlords for their spare keys,’ I shouted, ‘I’ve locked myself into my bedroom with no way out and no phone.’ It occurred to me that I was talking to fast for the woman to understand everything I was saying. ‘Did you get all that?’

The woman gestured for me to stop talking, ‘I’m coming over to you, hold on a minute please.’ She shouted. Five minutes later, she appeared on the small patch of pavement I could see from my vantage point. ‘None of your neighbours are home. I did call the Police who are trying to contact your landlords.’

‘Thank you so much.’ Relief flooded trough my body. Now all I could do was wait, and with the initial fear fading my arms started to hurt from tugging at the door, my fingertips had tiny splinters from the base of the door and the beginning of a blister was forming on my thumb from the match. I got off my bed and started pacing again. Every five minutes or so I would climb onto the dresser and look out the window before returning to pacing. If there was one thing I hated, about as much as being locked in my bedroom, was waiting.

The Police turned up 45 minutes later, I shouted down, explaining my embarrassing predicament again. The police officer informed me that he’d already contacted my landlords. Unfortunately, they were on holiday in Thailand. I couldn’t help but feel disappointed; this wasn’t going to be resolved quickly. The only plus, I no longer needed to pee!

The police officer had contacted a locksmith, however, one of the doors downstairs had a security key pad, and that door required the locksmith who’d originally installed it. So I was back to waiting.

I did discover something during my forced incarceration, it is one thing to wish for nothing to do, it is a very different matter actually having nothing to do. After what seemed like an eternity, I heard noises downstairs, followed by voices. I’ve never been so happy to have someone break into my apartment. After thanking the police officer and locksmith, the first thing I did was reverse the door handles, so that in the future the business end would be on my side of the door. Furthermore, I now always wedge my slippers between the door and doorframe and every night before going to sleep, I make sure my mobile is on the bedside table, just in case!

Chasing Shadows

Jenny stood against the wall, as she watched Paul lying prone on the kitchen floor, paramedics crouched over him trying to bring him back. Time ground to an abrupt halt when the taller of the two turned to her, head bowed, ‘I’m sorry love, your husband is gone.’

She woke with a start as the train pulled into the station, drenched in sweat and gripping her wedding ring. It had been two years and she stilled missed Paul everyday. Sometimes she wondered if she would ever feel happy again. In contrast to the morose images in her head, the scene that greeted her was worthy of a Hallmark Christmas card. The picturesque village of Glendale nestling in the snow-covered valley sparkled in the winter sun.

Aunt Beth, dressed from head-to-toe in red, reminding her of a sprightly robin, was on the platform jumping up and down waving excitedly. Shaking off the remnants of the dream, Jenny hauled her overnight bag, filled with Christmas presents, from the rack above, picked up her handbag and put a smile on her face before leaving the train.

‘My dear,’ squealed Aunt Beth as she wrapped her arms around Jenny’s slender frame, engulfing her in cashmere. ‘It is so good to see you. I missed you last year…’ She paused as her eyes misted over; giving Jenny an extra squeeze.

‘Aunt Beth, looking good as always,’ Jenny smiled, once she had extricated herself from the older woman’s embrace. ‘It’s great to be here.’

The older woman opened her mouth to say something but stopped when Jenny gently touched her hand. The two women stood facing each other in silence for a minute, their eyes expressing more than words could.

‘Come on, my dear, if we stand here much longer we’ll turn into snowmen or should that be snow-women?’ Aunt Beth prattled on, ‘I have a taxi waiting at the main entrance.’

As soon as they arrived at the cottage, Jenny was bustled into the cosy kitchen. She sat in the rocking chair by the AGA, watching Aunt Beth make the icing for her famous Christmas cake that was cooling on the counter. The warmth coming from the cooker, along with the sweet tantalising smells instantly taking her back to happier times, had a soporific effect on her. As she drifted off, she was sure she heard a small voice repeat several times, ‘it is okay to be happy’.

‘Wakey, wakey, Jen,’ Aunt Beth’s cheery voice roused her. ‘Come have a piece of Christmas cake and a cup of hot chocolate.’ Without waiting for a response she continued, ‘Afterwards, if you’d like, we could walk to the village, maybe, have a drink at the Perch. Would you like that, dear?’

Jenny rubbed her eyes as she got out of the rocking chair. ‘Must have dozed off for a second, sorry about that.’ She felt surprisingly refreshed and carefree.

‘More like an hour,’ chuckled Aunt Beth, ‘no need to apologise, you obviously needed it. So, would you like to go for a walk after? Clear the cobwebs so to speak.’

‘Sounds good,’ she smiled fondly at Aunt Beth, ‘I could use the exercise and the fresh air.’

‘I’m surprised, what with living in polluted London, that you even remember what fresh air is.’

‘Not always,’ Jenny laughed.

‘Oh, before I forget, I’ve invited Michael Turnavel to join us for dinner tonight. You remember Michael, don’t you? Paul’s old friend. He was at your wedding.’

‘Can’t put a face to the name,’ replied Jenny.

‘Never mind, you’ll see him later. Now eat up dear; you could do with some meat on your bones.’

‘You’ve just missed having someone to boss around,’ Jenny laughed.

She was still laughing when they set off at a brisk pace towards the village.

The Perch was bustling with villagers sharing the latest piece of gossip while enjoying a drink, before returning to their last minute Christmas shopping. There was a noticeable lull when the two women entered the pub. Jenny left Aunt Beth to find them seats, as she weaved gracefully in and out of the patrons on her way to the bar, unaware of the turning heads. A few minutes later, drinks in hand, she made her way over to a smug-looking Aunt Beth who had found them two worn Chesterfields next to the gas fire.

‘What are you smiling about?’ Jenny asked, as she sat down opposite Aunt Beth.

‘Just pleased that you decided to spend Christmas with this old lady’, Aunt Beth laughed.

‘You’re not old’, giggled Jenny taking a sip of her wine, ‘you’re wise, and I’ve always had a weakness for your shepherd’s pie.’

‘Thank God for my shepherd’s pie then!’ replied Aunt Beth as she rummaged through her handbag for her hanky. ‘Whatever the reason, it’s really good seeing you again, besides I didn’t really fancy travelling down to London. The crowds!’

‘And don’t forget the pollution.’

‘Goes without saying! Now tell me dear, are there any interesting men down in London?’

‘Aunt Beth!’ Jenny could feel herself blushing. She had not really thought about men in that way for a while.

‘Oh, don’t play coy with me, young lady. You’re a normal healthy woman with needs. The widowed part is just a side effect of life. Sorry, dear, don’t mean to sound harsh.’

‘I can’t believe you just said that. So tell me, why didn’t you remarry after Henry passed?’

‘I was much older than you were when it happened. Also, I had my sweet little Paul to keep me company and that was enough for me. Now don’t change the subject. You can’t tell me that no man has caught your attention in the last two years, not even a little bit?’

‘Aunt Beth! What are you playing at?’

‘What do you mean, dear?’

‘Now who’s playing coy?’

‘In all seriousness, Jenny, you can’t remain single forever. And I really don’t think that Paul would want you to either.’

‘I know, but I’m not ready yet,’ she muttered reaching for her wine.

‘Ah, so the question I should be asking is when will you be ready?

‘When I have an answer to that you’ll be the first to know,’ Jenny responded, brushing her red curls out of her eyes. ‘That’s the best I can do right now, okay!’

‘For now. But this conversation is not finished, not by a long shot.’

Jenny nodded her acknowledgement over the top of her wine glass as she gulped down the last of its contents. ‘Can I get you a refill?’ she asked as she stood.

‘That would be nice, dear.’ Before Jenny could protest, Aunt Beth retrieved her purse from her handbag and pressed a ten-pound note into her hand, ‘But this one’s on me.’

They left the Perch clutching each other for support, slightly worse for wear, having wiled away the hours sipping their drinks and making plans for the next couple of days. As they made their way down the lane, a golden retriever came bounding towards them. The owner, breathless and dishevelled, was close behind, desperately trying to grab hold of the dog’s lead. The last thing Jenny remembered before being knocked over was Aunt Beth gripping her and muttering, ‘Brace yourself Jen, this is going to hurt!’

When Jenny came to, she was lying on a leather sofa, in an unfamiliar, decidedly masculine room, with lots of natural wood, leather and a perfect view of the sun setting behind the village church. Feeling slightly queasy, she took her time sitting up. The door opened and the culprit of her current predicament trotted into the room, tail wagging.

‘Daisy sit,’ commanded the owner, following close behind. ‘How are you feeling?’ he asked. He was tall with chiseled features and dark brooding eyes filled with concern, currently directed at her.

‘A bit woozy,’ Jenny replied, gingerly feeling the large bump on the back of her head. The man seemed vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t put her finger on it.

‘That will pass. I’m so sorry about Daisy, she’s just a pup and…’

‘You’re still learning to control her?’ questioned Jenny smiling. Hearing her name, Daisy’s tail started dusting the wood floor as she looked from one to the other.

‘Bright and perceptive, quiet a combination,’ he smiled, green eyes twinkling mischievously. ‘By the way I’m Michael,’ he shook her hand. ‘I recently took over the doctor’s surgery in the village from my father.’

‘So, do you bring all your female patients to your house instead of the surgery?’

Seemingly unfazed by the sarcasm, he responded in kind, ‘Only those who come with their own chaperon.’

‘Hang on a minute, you’re Michael?’

‘I thought I’d just said that!’

‘No, I mean you’re Paul’s friend. You came to my wedding?’

‘That would be me!’ he smiled. ‘I knew Beth and Henry before Paul came to live with them. My father was their doctor.’

Just then, Aunt Beth walked in carrying a laden tea tray. ‘Here let me take that from you, Beth,’ Michael offered, as he placed the overflowing tray on the coffee table. ‘Quiet a spread you rustled up here,’ he winked.

‘What a gentleman,’ cooed Aunt Beth as she sat down next to Jenny, nudging her in the ribs as she settled herself. ‘Rare these days.’

Ignoring Beth’s unsubtle hints, Jenny petted Daisy’s velvety head. Now she understood their earlier conversation in the pub. Then it struck her, Aunt Beth had orchestrated this whole scenario, just in case the dinner wasn’t enough. What else had that cunning woman planned, the runaway dog? She stopped petting Daisy, and the dog decided that her tail was worth a chew as she ran around madly snapping at the appendage as she went.

Aunt Beth’s chirpy laugh brought her back down to earth. ‘Look at Daisy chasing shadows,’ then under her breath so only Jenny would hear her, ‘bit like you when it comes to men.’

She glared at the older woman, but Aunt Beth was not easily intimidated. ‘Michael will drive us home when you’re feeling better,’ she smiled innocently at Jenny.

She couldn’t decide whether crafty Aunt Beth had manipulated him, or if he had been in on the plan all along. Jenny had the feeling that either way she was in trouble, but if she was being honest with herself, she had to admit that he was gorgeous. Just the fact that she could think something like that caused her to blush again.

Later that evening, after Michael had driven them back to the cottage and Aunt Beth had tucked her up in bed, Jenny lay awake going over the events of the afternoon. She couldn’t help feeling a little guilty that she found the man attractive. Two hours later still tossing and turning, Jenny called her oldest friend Fen.

‘Jenny I think it’s fantastic that you still find men attractive,’ Fen gushed after hearing about Jenny’s dog adventures, ‘and to think he was just a train ride away. You know what you should do. You should invite him to spend New Year’s Eve in London with you.’

‘I can’t do that,’ Jenny tried her best to sound shocked. ‘He was Paul’s best friend.’

‘So?’ Fen continued before Jenny could respond, ‘Because you’re scared? I don’t think this has anything to do with his best friend status.’

‘What exactly are you implying?’

‘Nothing, absolutely nothing, but…’

‘But what? I’m not over Paul not by a long shot. I…’ Jenny felt a knot form in her throat as the tears welled in her eyes. ‘And now I’m sounding like a cliché.’

‘Sweetie, of course not, I know how much you and Paul loved each other. And I hate to be the one to say this to you but here goes anyway, it’s been two years and you need to move on with your life. Before you say anything I know it won’t be easy nothing truly worthwhile in life ever is.’

‘Very profound coming from you, need I remind you that Paul was more than worthwhile, and we didn’t have a difficult day.’

‘You know,’ Fen cut in, ‘if I didn’t love you so God damn much I’d be forced to hate you. What do you mean you didn’t have a difficult day?’

‘Just that, Paul and I got on all the time, so yes I guess I’m scared. I feel as if I had my one shot at real happiness and that I’ll never find that sort of easy relationship again. Damn how did you get me to admit that?’ Jenny sighed.

‘Lighten up, if you won’t consider inviting the gorgeous available man to London can I persuade you to spend New Year with me in Brussels?’

‘I promise to think about it. Is that okay?’

‘Jen you know me, I’ll talk you into coming if it’s the last thing I do this year.’

‘That’s what I was afraid of.’ Jenny laughed; she knew it would be useless trying to fight Fen. ‘But I can’t promise I’ll be any fun.’

‘I can accept that, just as long as you come to Brussels with me. Now get your beauty sleep. Love you sweetie.’

At two in the morning, Jenny was still wide-awake, brain going at warp speed. She had met Paul when she was twenty, on a cold October afternoon, in the National Gallery next to van Gogh’s Sunflowers. Corny as it sounded, from that moment she’d only had eyes for Paul. He’d proposed to her two years later on a balmy August evening in Hyde Park. It was the second happiest day of her life, the happiest being their wedding in Kew Gardens on a perfect afternoon in May.

They’d had twelve years filled with happiness, laughter and above all love. They had turned their house in Hampstead into a home and had finally decided they were ready to start a family. Then without warning she had gone from wife to widow. So she’d retreated into her work, the one place she had absolute control. Now faced with the possibility of new possibilities she felt shit scared.

After a fitful night, Jenny woke feeling more conflicted than ever. Her conversation with Fen had fuelled vivid dreams of Michael intertwined with Paul and an overwhelming sense of guilt. When she ventured downstairs, she found Aunt Beth, red faced but smiling, in the kitchen hard at work. She just had time to pour a cup of coffee before the older woman handed her a vegetable knife and pointed to the potatoes, parsnips, carrots and green beans ready for washing, peeling and chopping.

‘Sorry for the greeting my dear,’ Aunt Beth gave her an affectionate hug, ‘but we have a lot to do today.’

‘I didn’t sleep very well last night,’ Jenny yawned, ‘so I hope you don’t mind if I drink my coffee first.’

‘How come you didn’t sleep well?’ The older woman asked innocently.

‘You know coming back here, all the memories…’ Jenny fizzled off, lost in thought.

‘Maybe not such a bad thing,’ Aunt Beth commented as she turned back to the dough that she was kneading. ‘Now hurry up and drink your coffee then get cracking on those vegetable, please.’

‘So what’s with all the food?’ Jenny was curious.

‘Oh you know, just want to get a head start on the festivities before Michael arrives.’ The older woman was trying to evade the question.

‘Is all this food for tonight? The younger woman pushed.

‘And tomorrow…’ Aunt Beth was flustered.

‘You do realise that there’s just going to be the two of us tomorrow?’

‘Actually, that would be three of us. Remember Jenny, I told you yesterday, Michael is spending Christmas with us.’

‘Actually Aunt Beth you mentioned no such thing. What exactly are you up to?’

‘Just ensuring that we have the perfect Christmas, that’s all.’ The older women responded coyly.

‘Oh well in that case I’ll start peeling the spuds then.’ Still Jenny couldn’t help feeling that the crafty old woman was up to something.

‘Less sarcasm young lady and more chopping please.’ Aunt Beth smiled.

Christmas Eve was a big success, partly due to Aunt Beth outdoing herself. The dining room, illuminated solely by candles and the fire, was warm and inviting. The food was sumptuous and the cider was crisp and chilled to perfection.

After a couple of drinks, Jenny started to relax and enjoy herself. ‘So tell me Michael, why are you spending both Christmas Eve and Christmas with us?’ The question just popped out of her mouth.

‘Jen!’ exclaimed Aunt Beth.

‘Its okay, Beth. As you know, Jenny, Paul was one of my closest friends growing up,’ Michael paused taking a sip of cider. ‘When you got married, he made me promise…’ he cleared his throat, ‘he made me promise that if anything were to happen to him that I was to make sure that you were all right and moving on with your life…’

‘You mean… oh,’ was all Jenny could manage, as she fumbled with the hem of her skirt.

‘What did you think?’ enquired Aunt Beth, her jovial face now the colour of her cardigan.

‘Just that… I thought that…’ she tried again. ‘Oh never mind,’ she laughed. A weight lifted from her shoulders. It appeared that Aunt Beth was innocent of concocting an elaborate matchmaking plan, involving a handsome doctor and a runaway dog.

‘Are you okay?’ Michael, wearing his concerned doctor’s face, enquired.

‘Funnily enough, I think I’m better than okay!’ She turned to Aunt Beth and hugged her as tightly as she could. ‘Thank you,’ she whispered in her ear. She realised what Beth was giving her was something she been incapable of giving herself, closure.

Christmas went by in a blur of champagne, an abundance of delicious food, laughter and some tears too. After a sumptuous lunch, Aunt Beth excused herself and went to lie down. Jenny and Michael spent the rest of the afternoon sitting by the fire, talking about Paul and the crazy things they had done as teenagers.

All too quickly, it was time to return to London. Michael had driven them to the station saying his goodbyes by the car. Aunt Beth accompanied her to the train, hanky at the ready, as she hugged Jenny tightly. She made her promise to visit again soon, before she would allow her to board the train.

Jenny was oblivious to the changing vistas, as the train sped towards the hustle and bustle of city life. She was going over the events of the last couple of days. A sense of inner peace came over her as she realised that what she had been putting off for two years was, ironically, what she had needed the most. Paul obviously knew her better than she did, asking Michael to convey his wishes in person, finally giving her closure. Both Aunt Beth and Fen were right, she had to stop going through the motions and start living again.