Sue Townsend - The Woman who Went to Bed for a Year

Eva asked, And your lady friend, is she still alive?’

‘Oh yes, I still see her once a month. We do not have a sexual relationship now She’s quite frail. I pay her twenty-five pounds to talk and be held.’

What’s her name?’

‘Celia. I’ve longed to say her name aloud to somebody who would understand. You do understand, don’t you, Mrs Beaver?’

Eva patted the duvet next to her, and Stanley sat on the edge of the bed and took her hand. They both heard Brian and Poppy’s voices as they came through the front door.

Brian was saying, ‘Committing suicide would do you no good. We’re not asking you for the ultimate sacrifice, Poppy.’

Poppy said, ‘But he was looking at me in such a horrible way.’

Brian was on the stairs now, saying, ‘He can’t help but look at you in a horrible way. He’s got a horrible face.’

Brian was disconcerted to see Crossley and his wife holding hands, but nothing would surprise him now. The world seemed to have gone mad.

He said, ‘Poppy is asking for money. She wants to visit her parents over Christmas.’

Eva said, ‘Give her what she’s asking for. I want her out of this house. And Brian, Mr Crossley will be spending Christmas Day and Boxing Day with us.’

Brian thought, Well, I’m not sitting opposite the ugly bastard.’

Mr Crossley said, ‘I’m afraid I’m terribly dull company, Dr Beaver. I wish I was more gregarious. I do not know any jokes, and most of my stories are rather sad. Are you sure you want me as a guest?’

Brian hesitated.

Eva looked at him.

Brian said quickly, ‘No, of course you must come. And don’t worry about the jokes – there will be jokes in the Christmas crackers, and paper hats and little trinkets we can talk about, so there won’t be any of that English awkwardness. We’ll be a jolly crowd. There’ll be two sulky autistic teenagers, my mother – who is the most argumentative woman I know – and my mother-in-law, Ruby, who thinks that Barack Obama is the head of Al Qaeda. And me, of course, who will no doubt be in a filthy temper, having never cooked Christmas dinner before. And then there’s my wife, the issuer of your invitation, who has done bugger all to help this Christmas and who will be stinking in her pit above our heads as we eat.’

Brian’s speech was greeted with silence. He had forgotten what he came in for, so he went out, closing the door with exaggerated care.

Eva swung round in the bed and lay down with her head flat on the mattress. She said, ‘He exhausts me. Poor Titania.’

They both laughed.

As Mr Crossley turned away from the light, still laughing, Eva saw for herself the shadow of a handsome man.

He said, ‘I must go now, Mrs Beaver.’

She pleaded, ‘Please come and join us tomorrow I plan to get drunk in the afternoon and smoke many cigarettes.’

He said, ‘That sounds quite irresistible. Of course I’ll come.

When he opened the door to leave, Brian was skulking on the landing.

After Stanley had politely informed Brian that he would be coming for Christmas Day, Brian followed him downstairs, hissing, ‘You hold my wife’s hand again and I’ll have it off at the wrist.’

Stanley said quietly, ‘I know your sort. We had one or two in the squadron. Big mouths, braggarts. They were always the last in a scramble, always the first to come home. Hadn’t engaged with the enemy, but did have a lot of bad luck with sudden and mysterious lack of visibility, radio malfunction and guns jamming. Cheated at cards, rough with their women and all-round total shits. Goodnight, Dr Beaver.’

Before Brian could think of a reply, Stanley had put his hat on and left.

The icy pavement shone in the lamplight. He held on to the walls and fences as he slowly made his way to the safety of his own house.

Early on Christmas Day morning Eva woke and looked out of the window to see snow falling from a navy-blue sky. The house was silent. But when she listened carefully, she heard the hot water circulating around pipes and radiators, and the faint creaking of the floorboards as they made the slightest of contractions and expansions. There was an intermittent bird noise emanating from the eaves. The bird was not singing but making an irritated squawk: ‘Clack-ack-ack.’

Eva opened the sash window and craned her neck backwards, looking for the bird. Snow settled on her upturned face before melting instantaneously. She saw a blackbird with a yellow beak and one gimlet eye. The other eye had gone, revealing a bloody socket.

The blackbird flapped its wings and attempted to fly, crying, ‘Clack-ack-ack.’ One wing was distorted and would not retract.

Eva said, ‘What’s happened to you?’

Brian Junior came in, running his fingers through his hair. ‘That blackbird has a very annoying alarm call.’

Eva said, ‘It’s lost an eye and has a damaged wing. What shall we do?’

Brian Junior said, ‘You do nothing and I do nothing. If it’s badly injured, it will die.’

Eva objected, ‘There must be something -’

‘Close the window, snow is falling on your bed.’

She closed the window and said, ‘Perhaps if I brought it inside?’

Brian Junior shouted, ‘No! Life is hard! Nature is cruel! The strong overpower the weak! Everything dies! Even you, Mum, with your gigantic ego, even you can’t escape death!’

Eva was too shocked to speak.

Brian Junior said, ‘Happy Christmas!’

Eva said, ‘Happy Christmas.’

When he’d gone, she pulled the duvet around her while the blackbird continued its mournful cry.

‘Clack-ack-ack.’

Brian had prepared for cooking his first Christmas dinner by studying the various timings and advice in the cookery books he had bought Eva over the years. She always referred to them as ‘Delia’, ‘Jamie’, ‘Rick’, ‘Nigel’, ‘Keith’, ‘Nigella’ or ‘Marguerite’.

After extensive reading he had designed a ‘fail-safe’ computer program, which he intended to follow with a stopwatch in one hand and various implements in the other – for beating, basting, paring, cutting, draining, stirring, peeling, mashing, opening, pouring and blending. He had told his guests to arrive at 12.45 p.m. for drinks and the exchange of pleasantries. He wanted them seated at the dining table no later than 1.10 p.m. for the starter of avocado and lavender soufflé.

He was sorry that Poppy had gone to Dundee to see her dying parents. He had hoped to impress her even further with his culinary achievements over Christmas. She had left the night before, wearing Brian’s fifty per cent cashmere overcoat, taking only a small bag and leaving the rest of her mess all over the sitting room. It had taken Brian an hour before the room was presentable enough to use over Christmas.

At mid-morning Brianne came into Eva’s room wearing the silk pyjamas with a tea-rose print that Eva had paid for and Alexander had ordered online from his phone. The whole process had taken under five minutes.

Brianne had done something good with her hair, and her face looked less severe.

She said, ‘These are the loveliest pyjamas! I don’t want to take them off!’

‘Alexander chose them,’ said Eva.

‘I know. Isn’t he the nicest man?’

‘You should thank him when you see him.’

‘I already have. He’s outside with his kids. I invited them for dinner. Aren’t they the cutest kids ever, Mum?’

Eva was surprised but pleased that Alexander was here. She said, ‘Cutest?’ That’s not a word you use.’

‘But they are cute, Mum. And they’re so clever! They know reams of poetry and all the capital cities of the world. Alex is so proud of them. And I love his name -Alexander. He really is Alexander the Great, isn’t he, Mum?’