A new short story

Heads up, everybody. I've a new short story on the lookout for an opinion, and better still, Blogger took it without protest. I'm sorry to the fans of my fantasy short story, The Apprenticeship of Lady Death, but this is not the sequel. The sequel requires me to be in the right frame of mind for a certain amount of humour.

It isn't a fantasy at all. It's a slice of life. I'm not too pleased with the scene setter, but after that (which was written way back in early summer), all the writing is more recent and I'm immensely pleased with the finished product. My apologies for any mistakes I make in English living or behaviour.

Tell me what effect it has on you, please. If any.



Gwendolen

There was a woman on the street corner, all alone under the orange glare of the lamps. She held a cell phone tightly in her right hand, and a large, cumbersome traveling bag in her left. The faint murmur of the river was audible. By day, that detestable sound was masked by street life, and she hated late summer nights, when it could creep indoors and mock her.

But tonight would be the last time... She was finally escaping it. She flipped open her cell and read the most recent text message she had.

"Gwen,'' it said. "Call came thru. New job. Leave Wed. Meet 2:30 on the corner. Luv U. Tom."

She shifted uncomfortably and unwillingly looked at her watch. 3:48AM it declared. Gwen was finding it difficult to breathe. He was sometimes late to their meetings. But he always came. Always.

She picked up her bag and pocketed the cell. But she stood a moment longer, wanting in the worst way to hear an approaching car. Dying for it. She could live anywhere, do anything, as long as Tom was coming for her.

But no sound disturbed the river. He wouldn't come. All for naught, she thought in a daze. And head spinning with exhaustion, Gwen stumbled back the way she had come.

********____________________********

In the kitchen, she took the note she'd left on the fridge and shoved it to the bottom of the wastepaper basket.

In the living room, she put her cell on the coffee table - its usual place.

In the bathroom she stared at herself in the mirror. By common standards, she was an unremarkable woman. Short and a bit plump, with dishwater blonde hair in a ponytail. Her eyes were hazel, fine enough. But she was a colorless individual. She wondered what Tom had seen in her, even for a short while. And wondered if he was laughing at her yet.

She put her bag in the walk-in closet down the hall. She'd unpack later.

Then Gwen crept into the bedroom. Roger was a heavy sleeper, quite unlike her. She envied him that talent. She only stayed long enough to grab her wedding ring from the dresser, and then she returned to the living room.

Gwen deleted all of Tom's text messages and his phone number before settling on the couch and attempting to get some rest. But instead she found herself staring into the dark, too tired to prevent her mind from wandering…

********____________________********

At fourteen, she'd looked about the same. She'd sat in the schoolroom of her father's large Thames-side house, a dejected figure.

"No. No. This one's right... Almost, but still a poor attempt. Wrong and wrong again. Can't you read? Or are you unable to grasp a simple concept? No... No. No. NO!" Here her father crumpled her Latin test paper and dashed it aside. "Why the devil can't you learn this? Can it be I've raised an imbecile? You never try. I feel I've put more effort into your education than you have. You must realise it is your best hope of leading a decent, uncommon life..." Here he paused. "Look at me when I speak to you, please."

Gwendolen jerked her head up automatically. "Now," he said, "how old are you again?"

"Fourteen, Sir," she whispered.

"Fourteen... With this record, you'll never reach Oxford. You'll have the privilege of being the first Weydon-Smith to be considered an academic failure. Thank God you'll marry... But you damage yourself as well, girl. What prospects exist for a common dunce? Don't presume to rely on my generosity; I've spent it all defying my friends’ advice about you. I spared the rod, and kept you home from a banal world. Had I known what a disappointment you'd be, I would have sent you to boarding school; let them waste their time educating your thick, ungrateful head. I can only be glad I saved my money."

She leapt from her chair in anger and humiliation. "Stop saying I'm stupid. I'm not! You know I'm not!"

He looked pleased at her show of pride, but only said "then prove it. Do this again," and he pointed at her desk, "and come down to supper when it's completed. Try to correct those mistakes." He made to quit the room and she started to cry at the thought of the futile hours ahead. He halted in the door.

"Only fourteen and you've already learned the art of feminine hysterics. Well I'm glad you're capable of learning something."

"You probably wish I'd been a boy!" she shouted.

"Gwendolen, don't be a fool. You make a wretched girl, but as a boy you'd fare even worse." Her father chuckled at his words and shut the door as he left.

********____________________********

"My parents say there's so much violence in London these days. You're lucky not to be in public school, Gwen," said Pamela seriously. "Only a week ago, those two boys got into a knife fight, and now, there's like, been all these drug busts, so they say... And we all got searched this morning, so my Dad says, it's time to quit school and move, so they've been sizing up these little towns with lower crime rates, you know? So I might," she gave a happy skip on the sidewalk while Gwen stared at her in disbelief, "I might, just might be in Cheddar or Swindon or Gloucester... You know, they're gonna get someplace a little more community based, a bit countryish. I'll write anyway. Shame your Dad's such a freak against technology, 'cause my handwriting sucks..."

And indeed it did. Gwen struggled to answer her friend's letters, but there was precious little to say. Their contact became sporadic, and it was a relief when it stopped altogether.

********____________________********

"Father?" Gwen asked at dinner one summer night.

"Yes?" As usual, he was reading and eating at once. He set aside Goethe's Faust in German, and spared her a glance for the first time since meal began.

"I...well, I'd like to travel. Why don't we ever leave Riverside?"

The question bored him and he returned his gaze to his plate. "Why should we? There's no pressing need, is there? I've already seen the world; it's a tiring place. Oxford, Glastonbury... Europe. And Cambridge. My friends are here, my house is my home, I have my books and studies... You're just restless. It will pass. Don't dwell on it. Sixteen is too young to be out there on your own anyway."

That was the end of the conversation.

********____________________********

Gwen met Roger in a pub. Her father disapproved of pubs. ("I'm a sober man and always have been," he said when she first asked his permission. "But do what you like, Gwendolen. I can't stop you, but I can pray I taught you common sense, at least.") So she was there to notice him, thanks to his flat accent. He smiled when she asked about it.

"Mum's an American," he explained. "I picked up a lot of her accent. I'm Roger Black," he offered his hand," I'm new to the area. You?"

"Gwendolen Weydon-Smith. So what do you think of the Riverside?"

"Oh yeah, well it's great, isn't it? Charmed to be here."

Gwen looked politely disbelieving and changed the topic to where he'd come from. And from there to his hobbies...

"Oh, I'm not much of a reader. Really. I'm a film sort, as it were. Ever seen Kind Hearts and Coronets?"

"No... You probably won't believe this, but I don't have a television. Or a computer."

A pause, then, "well that's alright. You've just saved the best part of your education for last."

********____________________********

Though Roger's list of associates soon branched out, he retained a simple affection for Gwen and they often had lunch together. He introduced her to electronics. She regaled him with stories of her upbringing and education, which he found wonderfully funny and eccentric. "If I'd known how well read you are," he said absently, "I'd have been far too intimidated to say a word when we met."

Gwen was taken aback. "My father always thought me a hopeless learner."

"Well, he must have set his standards far too high. Compared to me and my kind, you're like an Oxford don. What, are you ashamed of that?" for she had just cringed. She shook her head and he continued. "By the way, when do I get to have dinner at your place? It sounds like quite a show, like dining with royalty almost."

"Don't you find that off-putting?"

"Should I?"

"Yes."

"Not intellectual enough for the old man, am I? Well then, what do you say if I take you out to dinner instead?"

********____________________********

The doorbell rang. Gwendolen froze in the act of brushing her teeth. She could hear her father going to answer it. Roger was early.

By the time she got downstairs, her father and her date were squared off in the hall. Roger was looking extremely flustered. Her father turned to her with disdain. "Gwendolen. Is this young specimen taking you out to dinner?"

"Yes, Sir." She didn't look at either of them. In for a penny, in for a pound, she thought. "And a film."

"Have you been out with him before?"

"Yes."

He nodded. "Please excuse us," he said to Roger. She followed him to his study and shut the door. "Be seated, please." She sat down across from him and waited for his lecture. He remained standing.

"I trust you're keeping an eye on your reputation, Gwendolen. Frankly, I'm disappointed. Pubs... Handsome, witless young men... I should have anticipated it, of course. But I hoped you'd have the taste to choose a deserving set of in-laws..."

"Do you think intelligence is better than integrity, Father?"

He almost smiled. "Good rejoinder. I take it he has been looking out for your reputation then, even if you haven't. Will you be marrying him?"

She nodded. "If he asks me."

He sat down and predictably reached for a book. "May I enquire ... Is Mr. Black a traveling man?"

Gwen stared at him, opened her mouth to speak, to voice fury at his audacity... and said, "he's not from London, no. But if you dare presume that I'd marry him for...and to get away... It's not important..."

Her father appeared quite immersed in Pliny, but as he turned a page he said, "please do us a favor, and don't lie, girl. You'd marry him in a second if it let you leave this house. You want him to rescue you, save you from the mundane. But he can't rescue you from what's going on in your head, Gwendolen. That's not on his list of priorities, I'd stake my life on it. By all means go marry him, move away, see the sights, have a kid. Live as you please once you're Gwendolen Black. You have my blessing. But don't hold false expectations. He isn't waiting with bated breath to cart you off to Rome, God knows.

"You've been more cheerful recently; I suppose he's the reason... You're dismissed, Gwen. Go enjoy yourself."

She dashed away, leaving him without a goodbye.

********____________________********

They were married in November. The church service was small, dressed down and dour. Which was unsurprising, Gwen thought, being as the priest, Father Henry, was a friend of her father's. The Black family, and numerous friends had all turned up for Roger. On her side, there was only her father, he being her only living relation. After giving her away, he spent the remainder of the wedding party aloof, calming ignoring his in-laws. Gwen did her best to make up for his reticence, but it hurt her nonetheless, and she let him know.

"Well you needn’t look at me like a whipped dog, Gwendolen," he said. "No man can change his nature." They spoke in low voices so as not to be overheard. "Still," he added, helping himself to a tray of black olives, "I suppose this can be considered your fifteen minutes of fame. You're everybody's darling today, it appears. I'll make an effort." He smiled, with a note of apology, or so it seemed to her, and drifted off into the crowd.

Roger and his older brother Percy came up to her. "Hello love," said her husband. "I was wondering where you got off to. Is the old man bothering you?" he added, following her gaze. "Gwen?"

She shook her head as if to clear it, and walked away without answering. She could hear Percy say to him, "I'll be straight with you, Roddy... You're going to make an odd couple, that you are. I wish you luck."

Roger made no reply. Not everybody's darling, Father, she thought.

********____________________********

Following the excellent dinner party there were speeches from seemingly every member of the Black family. These ranged from Amanda Black, the American mother, bursting into tears and saying this was the happiest day of the year for her; to Percy leading them in an ambiguous toast. "To health, wealth and happiness," he said coolly. Roger's cousin Olivia, a twice over divorcee, was the only Black who said nothing; though she stood up frequently to use her camera.

The last speech came from Roger's friend Neil Buchan, the by then tipsy best man. "I'm sure we all wish them happy days and happier nights, from here to eternity, forever and ever... and ever and ever... And may they be blessed with a wide circle of friends, good health and a better job. May my good friend Roger, and his charming, well-to-do wife, live and prosper. And may we all remember this day as one of the happiest this year has bestowed. Amen."

There was applause from everyone as he sat down. Then he turned his beaming face to Gwen's father, who had joined in the clapping with less and less enthusiasm, and said jovially "there now, we've all had our turn. You ought to have yours. Up you get now, and have your speech. If it's longer than Livvy's, you're a hero!" Olivia rolled her eyes as the others laughed. Gwen's mouth was suddenly dry.

Her father stood up and said without preamble, "I think we can all safely attest that this would have been a happier day for us had my wife been here to see it. But as it is," he gave Gwen a pained glance, "I must make do. I assure you all I will never forget this day as long as I live." He raised his wine glass, untouched till then, and said, "to Gwendolen." He downed the glass, grimaced at the flavor and returned to his chair as if nothing had happened.

********____________________********

Roger rented a larger flat to take in his wife. Though she was chagrined to still be in London, Gwen resolved to make the best of it for the short term. New possibilities were now open to her. She got a job, learned to drive and had been given admission to a fully modernized world. With all these changes made, her restlessness evaporated as if it had never been. She and Roger spent Christmas with his family in St. Ives.

"Oh to hell with London," she said, only half-jokingly, on their last night. "Why not forget the rat pack and just stay here? It's so much nicer."

Roger didn't stop packing. "Pleasant for you, but impractical. One mustn't forget, love, that I grew up here. Returning is hardly an option at this point. Besides, all our friends are in London..."

"Couldn't we move somewhere else?"

"Most likely, but why? I thought we were doing rather well."

"Because it... it bores me, is all."

He left off packing and came to sit beside her on the bed. "I think I see the problem, Gwen. But try to look at it logically. Traveling is expensive. Moving is expensive. What we need is to be practical, even stringent. So far, I'd say we've been very lucky. Two decent jobs, a flat that's not too grotty, and good neighbours all around us. We're doing great. You don't like London, alright, but that's no reason to lose your head. I can't guarantee we'll move this year or the next... But we'll make it our long-term plan, alright?" He smiled at her with such sympathy that she had to look away.

"Yes Roger. I understand."

********____________________********

So life continued in much the same way. They got another flat, closer to the Thames, and then they had a baby - which led to another problem.

"What, do you mean you aren't even going to tell him she exists?" said Roger, not seeming to understand what a simple thing she was asking. "Gwen, for God's sake, I know you weren't close, but he's your father. He'd want to know."

"I will not have my daughter judged and found wanting by that spiteful old man," she said quietly. "Jessica has your entire family for relatives; she certainly doesn't need a grandfather. Besides," she added suddenly, "she's been born to a pair of dunces, and doesn't even have the honour of Weydon-Smith as a surname."

"My God... Gwen, he's not going to disown his only grandchild..."

"Why not? He disowned me fast enough." She left her chair and grabbed her car keys. "I'm going out."

He beat her to the doorway. "No you're not."

"I don't want to have this conversation, Roger. Let me go!"

"You're upset. I'll not have you navigating London traffic in this state."

"I am not in a state!"

Jessica began to cry and Gwendolen matched it with her own petty tears. Roger hugged her briefly, "alright, we'll say no more about it," and then went to take care of his daughter.

Gwen sank back into her chair, and closing her eyes, wished that it would all just go away.

********____________________********

She started spending her time with Tom Carey, a man who made his living doing European photography for calendars. He clearly had a great enthusiasm for the job.

"I'm trying to convince Mick (he's my boss you know) to do a calendar of little known places. You know, everybody and his brother photographs London, Big Ben, the Changing of the Guard, Stonehenge and Parliament - that's all one gets if you want England. A tour guide of monuments! It bores the pants off me, if you want the truth. How you Londoners bear it, I'll never know. No, what I want is to find the prettiest little towns in England, the dribs and drabs nobody really sees. Give the public something different, and hope the intrepid ones follow your footsteps and discover all those beautiful, forgotten places... So I'm pressing really hard for this, and hopefully he'll get so sick of listening to me, he'll cave in just to shut me up."

"Does that work?"

"Well it has before. I've gotta run though. Deadlines are approaching and I'm gonna have to be out on the Moors soon. If the weather doesn't cooperate I'll have to shoot the whole damn thing in black and white. It's got to look evocative, but not rainy. Needs to have really amazing cloud structures too. So says Mick. He's a real perfectionist, drives everybody mad, no one more so than himself. I could tell you some stories sometime..." He shoved his arms into his raincoat, tipped the barman and went out into the rain without a goodbye. Gwen watched him go with a blissful smile on her face.

********____________________********

Roger shook her shoulder gently. "Gwen? Gwen, wake up. There's shopping this morning, remember?"

Gwen opened her eyes and sat up. Where was she? She shook her head and brushed her hair away from her face. She'd been leaving... last night with Tom, she was going to leave the Riverside... She looked at her wedding ring and blushed with anger and shame. "I'll get cleaned up," she said. "You want to be going by 9:30?"

He nodded, and she went swiftly away.

When she came to the kitchen, Roger already had breakfast halfway to the plate. He pulled out a chair for her, then went to pour Jessica's cereal for her. "What do you say?" he asked in singsong.

"Thank you, Papa," she replied.

"See, that wasn't so hard," he said, ruffling up her black hair. Gwen smiled a bit, and a minute later the bacon and eggs were done.

"Heads or tails?" she asked when the meal was over.

"Oh, I think I'd like tails this time. It's been a while. Unless you want it?"

"No, I'm fine with heads."

So Gwen took the car keys and Roger got in the backseat with Jessica and they set off to get groceries. A steady stream of chatter and nonsense came from the backseat, and Gwen began to feel a little bit lighter. It was a warm, sunny day and traffic wasn't too gruesome. While carrying the groceries, Roger got the trunk for her. They found the speaker set they were looking for, and got a good deal on it without much fuss. Jessica behaved very nicely in public, so they took her to the nearest pet shop and let her look at the hamsters for a while. When all the errands were over, it was getting toward lunchtime.

"So are you feeling better?" asked Roger cautiously in a spare moment.

She was alarmed. "What do you mean?"

"You seemed very down and out this morning. Was the Thames bothering you again?"

She didn't answer for a moment. "The Thames always bothers me," she managed. "It's been a beautiful morning, Roger. Let's go home now."

They got in the car. Thank you, she thought. Thank you, Roger. I didn't deserve it. You don't know what I've done. You just don't know. Oh God, what have I done?

And she wanted to turn around right now and tell him, confess everything, watch him forgive her, and earn redemption. But she started the car instead. He wouldn't listen, wouldn't believe. I didn't want to leave you, she thought. It wasn't you and Jessica, it's the River and this whole damn city. I was going to leave and never come back...

She knew this street, had been shopping here ever since she'd married Roger five years ago. She knew what she'd hear if she rolled down the windows, knew all the sights, even fancied she knew all the people she could see. She longed for the countryside, longed to move away and raise her daughter in a better environment than this. But they never did get it all planned out, all the funds mapped out... It had been talk and plans and New Year's Resolutions and wishful thinking.

Gwen realised there was silence from the backseat. Roger was tired, she thought. And Jessica all talked out for once. She switched on the radio, eager to hear something other than her thoughts. A woman's voice filled the car, crying out how brokenhearted she was, how her man had gone and left her, and the forecast was nothing but rain... It was a soul station, playing something morose as usual.

I'm sorry, so, so sorry Roger. I love you. I never meant it to turn out this way. Forgive me, please. But how could he? How could he forgive her something he didn't know about? It would devastate him to learn what she'd done. Destroy the family, and trust would never be there again. Gwen's eyes were blurring, she couldn't find the button to turn off the music. She slowed down and waited for her sight to clear.

Then she sped up. A guilty conscience forever, she thought dismally. I'll never have what I really want. I thought I'd be gone this morning, far, far away and never looking back. Tom promised me...

"Gwen, slow down. This isn't a race," Roger protested from the back.

He never promised anything. It was me making all the promises. I was Grotesque. No wonder he left me. I never deserved him. And never, ever deserved Roger. What did I do wrong? How'd I get here?

The car was noticeably accelerating. Gwen paid it no heed. She ran through all of last night's memories again. I wish I'd gone to Oxford, she thought.

She remembered what he said, "this would have been a happier day for us had my wife been here..." Her mother, Maria Weydon-Smith. She had been an excellent driver; never got a speeding ticket, or even so much as a parking fine. She'd treated cars like rolling bombs. But she'd died in one anyway, stove in by another driver, one who wasn't so careful... But Maria had left her husband and daughter at home, not in the backseat...

It might have been better for us if we'd been with her.

She took her foot off the gas pedal, shuddered and took a breath, then hit the break. A police car pulled up next to them. Gwen rolled down the window and made her apologies. The policeman gave her a ticket, lectured her in a polite way, made sure she understood how out of line she was. Gwen continued to apologise profusely, assuring him it would never happen again. Satisfied, he went back to his vehicle and continued on the rounds.

Unwillingly, she turned to look at her husband. Roger's face was pale, his knuckles white, his eyes aghast. She made a decision, took the keys out and unbuckled. "You drive."


FINIS