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Location: Dublin, Republic of, Ireland

Saturday, 24 February 2007

From 'Nomadic Madness'

written by
susan abraham

...She awoke in the morning with the sobriety of a cold foreboding that draped its chill around her like an icy blanket.

She squeezed herself deeper into the pillows, hoping to gatecrash new dreams.
She dreaded the heavy emotions that awaited her. She knew she would have to spend the day writing letters. She lay in bed for a long time twirling her toes about.

Outside, the birds sang.

She bit her lip and thought carefully about what she would say. The gloom added the kind of despondency that made her body feel like steel every time she stretched her arms.

The trouble was she had excellent intuition.

First up, she would write letters to Eric, Lisa and another difficult one to Peter. All necessities. She hated writing letters though she loved a full mailbox. Of course. Didn't anyone, except for that mad Molly who invested in mushy extravagant cards like every other day was Christmas.

Intellect tossed its shadow at her like a cloud in the dark and soon she wrote furiously.

Dearest Eric,
I need to talk to you. Please understand, darling. Something important has come up. It can’t wait. Could I pop round for elevenses tomorrow. It’s important.

She deliberated about sending on a text message or even daring a ring. She wanted no contact until the appropriate time when all would be revealed. She hoped he would agree. Call, she scribbled hastily. She would be out all day but could he be a sweetie and leave a message on her answering machine.

She hesitated, then sealed the tiny envelope with a neat lick and paused. Without thought, she pressed it close to her breast with eyes closed, as if the soft flesh underneath would consent to conceal her secret. Catching sight of herself in the tall mirror, she looked the sudden picture of reverence.

She certainly didn't want the information revealed to anyone. She knew he'd be out the morning. She'd catch the tube to Holborn and drop it in his mailbox.

She had once stayed in an elegant little hotel roundabout but was offered with some consolation, the only vacant room in the basement. While slightly more plush than a motel's best rooms, it did not feel all that luxurious being discreetly tucked in the basement. The sound of footfalls had hovered above like the toppling of chairs.

She was glad she had her own place now.

It wasn’t much, a tidy little space in Middlesex, but it was a respectable neighbourhood and it would have to do. Never mind that the Jubilee line didn't always run on time and was especially disappointing at the weekends.

She had only just settled in and had not yet thought about buying a car.

She showered and changed with alacrity. There were errands to run today. Anything, to take her mind of things. How she wished she could soak in the bath, slipping into a carousel of bubbles as if they would magically alight into mini Christmas trees on her soft creamy skin.

She breakfasted on buttered toast that was just about burnt thanks to her distraction, slices of cheese, orange juice and finally, a rushed coffee.

All the time, her mind darted to a 100 different places of where she had to be and what she had to do.

She suspected he would not answer immediately but would instead respond sometime in the night. Make her sweat a little in the meantime, She had grown used to his ways.
She would sit quietly in the dark not picking up the receiver until she met him tomorrow.

Often, he would return like he had never been absent. For awhile, he would jolly her along, being loving and affectionate even when there was no need to be. She always determined that she would stall his text messages and telephone calls sometime and let him know a little of how the painful silence felt.

But she was too much the lovesick lady.

She would dash affectionate replies straightaway, return his calls without hesitation, and wait with bated breath for his heavy drawl which she loved or be punctual for lunch when he could return a date. They met often on Goodge Street, near where he worked, writing freelance advertising copy. He was studying to be an actor but that had now been reduced to evening classes. They would sit lounging in their favourite pub, basking on a sandwich and quick pint. ...

Copyright 2007 Susan Abraham

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