MY FAVOURITE REDHEAD
& Other Stories
Published by Jean M Bellinfantie at Smashwords
Copyright 2012 Jean M Bellinfantie
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
Thank you for downloading this free ebook. Although this is a free book, it remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be reproduced, copied and distributed for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage
your friends to download their own copy at Smashwords.com, where they can also discover other works by this author. Thank you for your support.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
CAROLYN walked slowly out of the room and into the small living room. She looked at the mismatched furniture donated by well-meaning relatives and moved on into the kitchen. The breakfast dishes were still in the sink, stained with the remains of egg and greasy from the bacon. The tea cups laid uphazardly on top of them. But it was still only eleven in the morning. She sat down at the kitchen table and sighed heavily. She was so tired and depressed, which reminded her that she had not taken her medication. She went to the kitchen cupboard and removed the brown bottle of tablets from the tins of baked beans and tomato sauce. After all, why not put them there? That was where she spent most of her time. She took two and made a mental note to take two more later in the day. Carolyn trudged aimlessly around the kitchen in her pink fluffy slippers, looking with indifference at the kitchen utensils. She ought to start making the baby’s feed,. She took the tin rom the cupboard and spooned some into a bottle. Oh, blast! She had forgotten to sterilise it. Carolyn threw the mixture down the sink and went to put on the kettle. While the kettle was boiling, she tried to sweep the kitchen floor, but it was too tiring and tedious. And one recurring thought kept going around her head. What was she going to tell Jack? The question itself frightened her. She rubbed her hands together and tried to think of an excuse. She was tired. It had become too much. But, really, no excuse was good enough. The whistle of the kettle brought her out of her thoughts. She hurried to turn it off. Now to make the feed for the baby. Having prepared it, she put the bottle in the middle of the table and left it to cool.
Carolyn went out onto the balcony, leaving the front door wide open and peered over the railings. God, how she wanted to leave this estate! She only lived on the fourth floor, but even that was too high. And who was that talking to Mrs Burrows? She strained her eyes to get a closer look, but all she could see was the back of a man’s head. Suddenly, Mrs Burrows looked up and waved at Carolyn. Somewhat alarmed, Carolyn backed away from the railings and bumped into someone.
“Oh, Carolyn, how are you?” It was Elizabeth.
“Oh, sorry, Liz”
“It’s alright. “Are you going down to the shopping centre later?”
“Shopping?”
“Yea, you know, like we always do” Elizabeth laughed.
Carolyn pulled her dressing gown closer to her. “I’m sorry, Liz, but I’ve got a bit of a headache”
“Didn’t Dr Grant give you something for it?” Elizabeth wanted to know.
“Oh, yes, yes, he did”
Carolyn stared past Elizabeth down the long balcony. She desperately wanted to get back into the flat.
“Are you alright, Carolyn?” Elizabeth asked concerned.
“Yes, of course” Carolyn managed a rather weak smile. She moved to the front door. “I must get back to the housework” she said. “You know how it is”
Elizabeth stared strangely after her. “Yes” she replied, as the door was shut firmly in her face.
Carolyn picked up a few magazines and a newspaper from off the floor and put them on the coffee table. She turned on the tv and watched the children’s programmes. When she had tired of those, she walked around the living room, plumping cushions and rearranging various ornaments. And photos. She picked up the wedding photograph of her and Jack, and smoothed it with her hands. Oh, he did look handsome there. And still was. She smiled lovingly down at the man in the photograph, caressed it again with her hand and returned it to the mantelpiece. He would be back at six. And wanting his tea. But somehow she did not think he would want it. She stopped smiling and could feel the familiar tears pricking her eyes. She put her hands to her short curly mass of hair and gave it some hard tugs. But what was going to tell Jack? What are you going to tell Jack? The voice in her head demanded to know. That she was feeling depressed? That was what Dr Grant had told her, wasn’t’ it?
“It’s only a slight feeling of depression, Mrs Millard” said Dr Grant reassuringly. “Every young mother living on an estate gets like that in a while” “How old are you?” “Nineteen, isn’t it?”
“Yes”
“Hmm, and what with young Jack here, he must be a bit a handful”
“Yes, but Dr Grant ….. “
“Now, I want you to take these”
“What are they, Doctor? Are they the same stuff that Jackie takes?”
“Jackie? No, Mrs Reed is on something else. This is valium, Mrs Millard”
“But isn’t it habit forming?”
“Well, yes, but if taken in the correct dosage, you’ll be fine”
“But, Doctor Grant …..”
“There’s nothing to worry about, Mrs Millard” “But, of course, if you’re having difficulties with it, do see me again”
“Yes”
“Hmm, young Jack must be about three months now”
“Two”
“Oh, yes”
She had watched him scribble something down on his pad, then he wrote her out a prescription and handed it to her with a smile as if to say; “You’re done. Next one, please!” So she could not have pursued the matter, could she? She could not ask why the baby cried so much, why she felt a horrible scraping in her head, especially when Jack came in from working on the building site, complaining about some new man who was not pulling his weight, and the foreman who was always on his back. Who was tired and hungry, and the last thing he wanted to hear were her problems? How her daily routine consisted of looking after the baby, her husband, and cleaning the flat. How everything seemed to be a never-ending circle. No, she couldn’t bother Dr Grant with all that! He had probably heard it all before anyway from the other mothers on the estate.
Moving into the kitchen, she saw the lone bottle on the table and gave a desperate sob. She ran towards it, and felt it, to find it cold. She angrily emptied the bottle in the sink on the breakfast plates, and finally left the bottle there too sticking out between the two floral greasy plates. She turned to the cupboard to take her tablets. In the sitting room, the clock said two-thirty. Time was going so slow it was unbearable. But she had to admit the valium did help. With zest, she piled some clothes into the washing machine and sat in the kitchen for another hour or so, just watching the clothes go round and round, listening to the swishing of the water in the machine was bliss. Other than that, and the ticking of the clock, it was peaceful in the small flat.
Carolyn woke up at ten to five. She guessed she must have nodded off. She got up from the kitchen table, turned off the washing machine, and went back into the bedroom. She bent to pick up a small white pillow which had been thrown to the floor earlier and approached the cot. She gently placed the pillow under Baby Jack’s head and smoothed the damp curls away from his forehead. He was such a beautiful baby! And so angelic lying there too. So peaceful. Laid to rest. She bent to kiss him.
“I’m sorry” she whispered.
She tucked him in. Already he felt cold and stiff. And there was such a stillness in the air which frightened her. She looked around and above her, trying to define it in her mind, when she heard the front door slam.
“Carolyn, I’m home!” shouted Jack. “Boy, did I have a rough day!”
~~~~
LISA was going into Fifth Avenue to do some shopping and so she dressed appropriately. Her long curling black hair was tied back with a red ribbon, her face adorned with a touch of make-up, a white t-shirt and the obligatory sneakers. She said goodbye to her Aunt and made her way to the subway.
The subway was hot and humid and Lisa waited impatiently with the other passengers for the train to arrive. This was her second week in New York and all she had heard about it had been true. It was busy, it was noisy, it was dirty. Everything except for the fact that she had met no-one. She had done the usual sight-seeing, but she had done it alone. Her Aunt was old and tired easily, so she had accepted that for the most part of her vacation she would be on her own; but how she longed for some company! She clutched her purse tighter to her person and decided to concentrate on those around her. At this time, two o’clock in the afternoon, there were not many people around. A young woman with her children; several individuals dressed smartly in suits, their heads buried in their newspapers; and one such man, tall and thin in a brown suit and carrying a suitcase watched intently as an attractive woman in a red dress and high heels sashayed pass him. Lisa looked too, envying the glances the woman was receiving, wanting them for herself, until she felt the whirling rush of the train as it hurtled towards the platform.
“Are you going into Manhattan?”
“Is it going into Fifth Avenue?”
He said it was, and she stepped onto the train with him. He sat down next to her and began to speak. Asking her where she was going and advising her on what stop to get off. He asked if she lived in America or if she was on vacation. Without thinking, Lisa answered his questions. He told her he was on a business trip and was going to Seventh Avenue in Greenwich Village. Would she like him to accompany her on her shopping trip if she followed him into the Village where he had a business meeting? He told her his name and she told him hers.
Lisa watched as the sign “Fifth Avenue” painted on the redbrick wall appear through the glass train window, the doors open and close, and hurtle onwards to the next stop and the next. She did not feel afraid. She told herself she was ready for some adventure, for this was New York, after all? So when they stopped to change for Seventh Avenue, she banished all doubts from her head.
“Wait here for me” he instructed before entering the tall office building.
“Can I come up with you?” asked Lisa.
He reluctantly allowed her to venture up with him in the lift to the eleventh floor, but he sent her back to the lobby to wait for him there. Lisa left the coolness of the air conditioned lobby and instead waited outside the building. She leaned against the stone wall of the building, feeling the July heat of the sun on her face. She felt relaxed and watched other people in a similar pose, idling on the streets. Lisa smiled as if in agreement. Yes, it was too hot to work. She turned her head to the left of the building and suddenly saw her ‘friend’ waving at as he came out of the other entrance. She walked towards him.
“Are you hungry, Lisa?” he asked, smiling brightly. “Come, let’s get something to eat”
In the café, he ordered a bacon sandwich and coffee and Lisa had a soda. He watched as she sucked the juice from the straw and told her how beautiful she was. Lisa did not answer.
The heat of the pavement struck them as they stepped out of the café. Her friend loosened his tie, muttering her hot it was. They walked aimlessly down the street, Lisa admiring the tall buildings, the free spirited people who whizzed past her on their roller skates along with the traffic.
“The man I came to see won’t be here until four o’clock” he began. “We should spend the day together. We’re both visitors to New York and I would like to go back to Canada and say that I met a very pretty girl here in New York and that we spent some time together”. Lisa stopped walking. Was she hearing right?
“I think I should go …. “ she started, but he continued.
“There are lot of girls in the hotel where I’m staying, Lisa, but I don’t want them. I want to spend time with a nice girl like yourself. Do you understand? I haven’t got much time; the man will back at four o’clock”
Lisa was rooted to the spot. She had naively thought that he just wanted her to spend the day with him. Perhaps later to go shopping; have dinner? … She thought of her family back home in England and how shocked they would be if they knew how reckless she had become. But here, it didn’t matter. She could become anyone here, do anything, and anyway she could not deny that she was interested in the outcome of all this. And she was strangely flattered by his attention. He was not unattractive, and yet he was not handsome either. He was tall but thin, brown skinned with dark hair. And she knew that he was indeed a businessman, and the good natured way he had treated her convinced her that he was not a madman. She did not know what to do next, so feigned ignorance.
“I don’t know what you mean, Jimmie”
“Come”
He began to walk away and Lisa followed. She held back a little when she saw him approach a stranger sitting on a crate. The man got up and pointed some distance down the street. Jimmie returned to Lisa.
“Come, my friend has a room”
Like a mechanical doll, Lisa followed him up the winding stairs of the apartment block until they came to a green door. The man opened it. The room was tiny, but clean. All it possessed was a single bed covered with a grey blanket with twin white pillows and a dormitory style closet.
Not bad, is it?” Jimmie beamed, looking at her for approval. “Very clean, don’t you think?” Lisa remained silent. “She needs to use the bathroom” Jimmie nodded to the stranger.
The stranger took Lisa to the bathroom and left her there. She locked the door. Was she supposed to do something? She had not asked to go. Nevertheless, the used the toilet, washed her hands, and examined her face in the mirror. She looked the same. She released her hair from the red ribbon and combed her fingers through her hair. She remembered the girl in the subway in the red dress and smiled to herself. He had not chosen her, and she wondered why. She secretly hoped that he had fallen a little in love with her …. enough to stay. She tied her hair back with the red ribbon and opened the door to be slightly surprised to see the stranger waiting directly outside. He escorted her back to the room. Jimmie stood there naked except for his white socks. So this is what it’s like, said Lisa to herself.
Out in the blinking sunshine, Lisa and Jimmie walked the streets back to the office building where Jimmie had his appointment. This is weird, thought Lisa. She felt no different; not dirty, not cheap, not nothing. Yet she felt an affinity with this man. When they reached the building, he told her to wait outside for him. When his meeting was finished they would go shopping in Fifth Avenue. As she sat on a low wall a couple of steps away from the building, she began to fantasise about the shopping expedition. She imagined them strolling down the streets of Fifth Avenue, visiting Macy’s, Sakes, Bloomingdales, and all those expensive department stores. She would causally choose an outfit and he would admire her and pay the bill at the counter. People would think they were lovers, or husband and wife, and think kindly; “How lovely to have such an attentive husband!” or enviously; “I wish I had a man like that!” She rested on the stone wall and began to smile at passerbys as she went through her dream scene by scene.
It was five o’clock and people streamed out of the office building on their way home from work. For a while there was a constant stream of workers descending down into the nearby subway until they began to dwindle when dusk began to fall and a different set of people began to emerge with the darkness that followed. Lisa put her hand to her head to brush way a falling lock of hair and realised that she had lost her ribbon. She could visualise the red strip of ribbon lying forlornly on the grey blanket in that tiny room, having been flaunted and admired and was now discarded and abandoned. The way she felt now. She looked out onto the road, the passing traffic getting busier and the headlights of the cars appearing brighter as they dissolved into a single blur as the tears blinded her eyes and rolled down her face. She swallowed and straightened up and then she too slinked down into the subway.
~~~~
HE had begun to take notice of her, the following day when she appeared in front of the building opposite. She was wearing a dark green jacket with matching short skirt, and was holding a cigarette smoothly between her slim fingers, flashing her abundant mane of spiralled red hair from left to right as she looked nonchalantly down the street.
The day before he had not taken much notice of her. After all, it had become the norm now for office workers who smoked to take five minute breaks (sometimes stretching into fifteen minutes, if they could!) outside their respective office buildings in accordance with the non-smoking rules that now permeated office life. Standing outside the opposite building across the road, sometimes she would glance at him, but never for more than a minute or two. Then she would let the smouldering cigarette drop to the pavement and smartly stamp it out with her elegant foot ensconced in matching green shoes.
For the next two days, Barry noticed she would come out to have her smoker’s break at the same time as him. Three o’clock on the dot. Now, she would look at him for longer than two minutes. Just the passing of pedestrians and rushing traffic broke up the stare. Barry could feel himself fascinated by this woman. He was too far away to know the colour of her eyes, but the red mane of her hair was like a magnet. Those long, slender legs of hers excited him, as he watched her take two steps to the left and two steps to the right, before extinguishing the cigarette and disappearing inside the building.
It was ridiculous he knew. But Barry was looking forward to their three o’clock breaks every day now. He would wake up thinking about it, be doing his crossword on the train and would be holding the pencil mid-air, just dreaming about his redhead. He had to meet that woman! He had to talk to her!
As usual, she was there at three o’clock at the dot, and as usual, she lit up a cigarette. Barry watched her for a couple of minutes as he dragged on his, then without thinking he threw the half finished cigarette down, moved towards the pavement, and when there was a break in the traffic dashed across the road, only to catch a glimpse of a well turned ankle as the redhead darted into the building.
Damn! Barry did not know how many times he had cursed himself. Three o’clock came and went, but he never saw the redhead outside the building again. He had frightened her. Scared her off. You fool! Now he felt down all the time. Felt an empty ache in the pit of his stomach. He just could not stop thinking about her. And then it happened. As usual he was working late, and he was the only occupant in the office at seven o’clock that night, when from the corner of his eye he saw light flood into one of the rooms in the building opposite his own. And there she was! He immediately recognised that flash of seductive red hair. She had on a dark red suit and white blouse and strode purposely through the office floor. Barry immediately jumped up from his desk and ran to the window. She had seen him, and he almost collapsed with joy when she gave a little wave. He watched as she seated herself down at a computer terminal and began tapping away. He did not know why – intuition, perhaps? But he rushed back to his desk and stared at his computer screen as an e-mail message flashed up before him. He opened it and read a simple “Hello”. Barry laughed like a man possessed as he seated himself down and responded. He couldn’t say what they talked about. Silly things. Crazy stuff. But she was talking to him and he was talking to her.
When they had finished talking, he felt he had known her forever! He stood up to see her standing next to the window. She had taken off her jacket and was standing there in a sleeveless white blouse, just staring at him. He watched perplexed, but felt excited at the same time, waiting ….. waiting for what? She put her arms above her head and ran her fingers through the curls of her long red hair, teasingly winding them around her neck, caressing her throat, touching her breast, before stopping abruptly. Barry waited. He could feel his breath becoming short as he pressed his face even closer to the glass window. Could feel his trousers tighten around his groin. And then she tossed backed her hair, laughed, blew him a kiss, and turned away. He watched with anticipation as she picked up her jacket from the back of a chair and saw the lights go out. Immediately he dashed from the office and ran down two flights of stairs before becoming out of breath, and having to wait on the lift to take him to ground level, but by the time he reached outside into the cold evening air, she was nowhere to be seen.
It was only when Barry was called into the director’s office that he knew that whatever it was, it was connected to the redhead. He answered their questions as best he could, but was still dumbfounded when the police insisted he knew more than he was saying. It appeared that exactly two million pounds had been siphoned from more than one major account holder during the night, and since he was the only one working on that floor they wanted to know what he had been doing. He would feel too embarrassed and, yes, a little stupid to have to say that he had been ‘chatting up’ a woman by e-mail, so he did not mention ‘his’ redhead. But two days later, when the embezzlement of the funds became City news and the photofit picture of his favourite redhead flashed across the tv screens of London, he could recall their conversation on the e-mail, the little innuendoes, the flirtations, the divulging of office secrets. And so he shouldn’t be surprised, should he? He should co-operate, shouldn’t he? But all Barry could give the police were dumb, perplexed grins, and the inane laughter of madman.
~~~~
As I look through the window I can see you leaning against that old elm tree. Suspended from the hanging branches was the old swing. I smile. I can remember the fun we used to have with that old swing. Higher and higher and higher. I laugh now. Yes, my sweet, I can remember. I watch you as you sit on the swing and slightly rock yourself. I smile again. I feel like running out there and grabbing hold of the thick rope, holding on to that wooden seat and pushing you. And we would be laughing. Then you would say that’s it was my turn now. We would swop places, me pinching your arm, teasing you. And you? You would be pushing that swing as high as you could to frighten me, so that it would be your turn again. But I was never afraid because I trusted you. You’re looking at the grass now. It has caught up with the other long blades of grass. A chance it never had before because we scuffed it up with our swinging and equally scuffed shoes. All the grass in the garden is long now. Such a huge garden. It’s slowly turning to dusk now. I look up at the sun becoming a hazy red glow in the sky, then I look back down on you.
You’ve stood up now and I watch as you move from the swing to the opposite tree. I see you touch it, your fingers caressing the wood, and I remember. And frown. I remember carving ‘I hate Julian’ in a moment of anger. We’d had a quarrel. One of many I have to admit. And we fought as children usually do. Kicking and screaming. I had to run into the house to tell my Mother but had returned to carve that bitter inscription on the tree. And had completely forgotten about it. Oh, how I regret it now! I see you turn to look up. At me? I grip the edge of the curtain. No. A figure runs up to you. Her familiar dark hair swinging about her. You embrace her and kiss her. Holding each other by the waist, you go towards the swing, and I can feel my nose begin to burn. You allow her to sit on the swing, and my eyes begin to fill with tears. Then you push her gently. Slowly at first. I can imagine the uplifting sensation of being swung towards the sky. You’re leaning towards her now. To whisper a secret? To kiss her behind the ear? Now the swing is swung higher and higher. Your head goes back in laughter. The tears fall down my face as I feel for the wheels and turn myself away from the window.
~~~~
A LIKING FOR LEMONADE AND PORT
When Corrine told Darryl about Andrew he just stared. Not really in disbelief, but more in pity. Pity for her? Or himself? Darryl clenched his fists and dug them into the depths of his pocket. ‘He looks like a failure’ Corinne thought meekly. Totally helpless. Would he change his mind? He turned his head away and walked slowly to the polished Queen Anne cabinet. “God” she heard him mutter under his breath as he poured himself a gin and orange. “Drink?” he asked over his shoulder.
“Yes, thanks” she answered politely, then added: “You know what I like”
“Yes, I do, don’t I” he said, almost scornfully.
He handed her the lemonade and port, standing over her, watching as she at first gingerly sipped at the drink until her moth became accustomed to it, and drank it down. She paid no attention to his continuous staring.
“You still like that taste?” he asked, quietly.
“Yes” Corinne replied, equally silently.
Darryl sighed. “So, where did you meet the great Andrew Rexley?” he asked, bitterly.
“At the skating club” Corinne told him. “When I had first started, as you already know, I couldn’t’ skate at all. Andrew taught me. And it just grew from there. He’s a marvellous instructor”. Darryl glared at her. In her seaweed green eyes to find any trace of shame or humiliation. But they held no secrets. Her eyes were pleasantly clear and innocent; and he felt angry. Bitterness and hatred. But most of all he felt cheated. Cheated of her love, her affection, her tenderness and favour. Once he had all this, but she had taken it away. Grudgingly and almost implacably, leaving him with a silent emptiness. He swallowed down the rest of his drink, almost choking himself, and turned toward the Queen Anne cabinet.
“You drink too much, Darryl” Corinne said.
“By God’s bread, woman!” Darryl yelled at her, releasing all his fury and resentment. “You sit there talking calmly and coolly about your secret love affair, but you still care about my health? You make me sick!”
Corinne sat there. There was no sign of emotion in her face. “I’m leaving tomorrow, if that’s alright with you” she said calmly. He wanted to crumble. He was the loser. Always the loser. Why should Andrew get her? He could tell her a whole list of things about Andrew Rexley that would smash whatever pretty image she held in her mind of him. He felt totally rejected and the hatred grew. Even though deep down, he knew he still loved her. Still wanted her.
Corinne watched with distaste as Darryl drank himself silly. What had she done to deserve this drunkard husband of hers? Blessed was the day when she had met that exceptionally fascinating man. Here was someone strong. Someone to lean on when she felt weak. He gave her a feeling of importance. That she was special in this world. Oh, yes, she had heard all about his other past love affairs. But that was the past. The future was theirs. Or was she kidding herself? That Andrew would succumb to being a one woman’s man. But she couldn’t back out now. She just couldn’t. She looked at Darryl. How weak he was at times. Why did he let everyone tread on him and confiscate things that were rightly his without a battle. Including her. Maybe he didn’t really love her. She signed a wistful sigh. “I love you, Corinne” she heard him say, quietly. She stared up at him. He was leaning against the cabinet. “Don’t leave me, Corinne” he continued. She sat there in the chair staring down into her empty glass, right through where she could see the reflection of her expensive black dress. “I love, Andrew” she said simply. “Yes” he whispered, already defeated. He walked to the door, hesitating, as his hand touched the door handle.
“I don’t know what you want, Corinne, I really don’t. If you could only tell me” he said, painfully. “You know I love you, but I guess love isn’t enough” He opened the door and left without turning back.
Corinne rose and went to the familiar cabinet. She poured herself a stiff dash of scotch and gulped it down. She never did like lemonade and port. Too weak for her liking. Like Darryl. And, yes, he was right, she thought viciously. Love was certainly not enough. She and Andrew had something special. More than love. Priceless. Precious. They would never lose that special something. Whatever it really was. That special something she had Darryl never had. She poured herself another glassful of scotch. Poor Darryl. He will meet someone else. Someone who liked his revocable ways. And lemonade and port.
~~~~
###
Connect with Me Online:
Twitter: http://twitter.com/mignonwriter
Facebook: http://facebook.com/mignonwriter
Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/mignonwriter
Discover other titles by Jean M Bellinfantie at Smashwords.com:
Sisters ….. together https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/119512