“Mary? MARY!”
Mary gripped the side of the kitchen table. She’d been feeling so very tired recently, and now there were the pains in her chest.
“Coming, mother!” she called weakly.
She stayed there for several long moments, running a hand through her greying hair, breathing deeply, recomposing herself. The water was boiling on the stove but she didn’t go over to it, at least not until she felt strong enough.
When she did, she dropped an egg in the water, flipped the egg-timer over and took from the table the tea that she’d already poured.
The cottage’s wooden stairs, which Mary remembered bounding up as a child, were now like a mountainside to her. She grabbed the hand-rail to the right and half climbed, half hauled herself up the daunting obstacles, all mocking twelve of them, the cup and saucer rattling in her left hand.
Her mother was sitting up in bed. Mary placed the tea on the bedside table
“What kept you?!” the old woman demanded.
“Sorry, mother. I wasn’t feeling so—“
“Never mind that. You know I can’t get up. I need the pan.”
Mary slipped an enamel bedpan under the sheets and looked the other way while her mother relieved herself.
“I brought you your tea,” Mary said, making an effort to sound kind. It had little effect on her mother’s mood.
“What about my egg?!”
“I’ll get that shortly. I can’t bring it all up at once these days.”
Her mother scoffed and shook her head.
“Don’t give me your sob stories. I wish Susan was still alive. She looked after me properly.”
“I try, mother.”
“Well you don’t try hard enough if you ask me. Now go and get my egg.”
“Yes, mother.”
Mary turned and made to leave.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
“To … to get your egg.”
“What about the bedpan?! Do you want it to spill and soak my sheets?”
“No, of course not. Sorry, mother.”
“I should think so, too.”
Mary retrieved the bedpan and placed it on the floor at the foot of the bed.
“You’re going to empty it, I hope!”
“I’ll get your egg first.”
“All right, but six minutes, remember! I don’t like it runny.”
“Yes, I know, mother.”
“And another thing.”
Mary’s shoulders drooped.
“Yes?”
“This isn’t working.” She pointed to the telephone on the bedside table.
“I know,” said Mary wearily. “I’m not sure I’ll be able to get into town today, though — it snowed last night and the lane … well, you know the lane. That time last winter when we were cut off for over a week, remember?”
“Of course I remember. I haven’t got dementia yet you know. But anyway … I don’t care if it’s tricky, get yourself into town and tell them to fix it. We can’t be stuck out here in the wilds with no way to contact the world!”
“Yes, mother. So … I’ll go and get your egg.”
“And make it snappy. I’m famished.”
Mary made her way carefully down the stairs and got to the kitchen just as the last grains of sand were dropping through to the bottom of the egg-timer.
She lifted the pan and turned off the gas ring. The egg-cups were in the cupboard above the sink. As she stretched to get one, the pain returned to her chest, making her gasp. She grabbed hold of the edge of the sink and tried the deep breathing that had helped before.
A second, stabbing pain ripped through her. She groaned, her arms flailing about her now, seeking and failing to find support. She slumped against the table, pushing the teapot off with a crash and crumpling to the floor like a rag doll.
“What’s happening down there?” came the angry voice from upstairs.
“Mary? MARY!”
But Mary, motionless on the cold, grey tiles, would not be answering this time.
Nor, indeed, ever again.
Sadly so real to life. Excellent story.
Thanks very much, Connie.
(Just so that it’s clear, though – the mother here is the exact opposite of mine, who was a beautiful, sweet and gentle person.)
So short yet so satisfying. Tension is perfect. Easy to dislike the antagonist especially with reference to the other daughter. i wanted Mary to walk out the door and leave the old bat to fend for herself, maybe even accidentally leave a burner on with no flame! Easy to relate to the protagonist. Simple spot on dialogue. I don’t think the last line is needed.
I liked the twist.
Thanks, Ralph.
Thanks very much, S.
In fact, with Mary’s dying, the mother is going to be in quite a pickle (bedridden, snow, no phone …).
Yes, the last line was an afterthought (to make sure we know Mary is dead – see above). But maybe you’re right, that it’s superfluous.
Phil, I so look forward to reading your “NUGGETS”….(term I use for your short stories, and for mine, a well…)
Your versatility is refreshing…
Thanks for the kind words, Dorothy – very pleased you like my stuff (probably not all of it, but that’s ok 😉 )
Very nice character sketching , and crisp dialogue. It kept me interested all along. Nice finishing too though as a reader I didn’t want Mary to die but to give mother a lesson you had to kill the darling.
I think the last line is not needed.
Good job Phil. Dita.
Thanks for the read and the lovely comment, Dita – and nice to see you here!
Yes, that last line … (see comment to S. above).
I wonder what Susan died of! Probably exhaustion! Lovely story, really enjoyed it. Subtle but effective. Looking forward to reading more of your stories.
Thanks for the positive words, Sharon.
I think poor old Mary had a bit of a weak heart, and the grind of her daily existence made it weaker, to the point of …
I like the dialogue which allowed me to picture the scene, that of a crabby, ungrateful mother and a meek, bullied daughter.
The end is just perfect.
I think you’re picturing it as I intended, Lilian, so I’m pleased about that.
Thanks for the kind words.
I thoroughly enjoyed this story. Love the beginning and ending “Mary, MARY.”
Mary’s exhaustion is palpable and easy to empathize with.
Thank you, Phil, for providing 6 minutes of delight.
Thank YOU, Jane, for the read and the kind comment.
Phil,
A tip of the hat to you!
One cannot help reaching the end, and not be touched by a profound sadness, of what could have been, of many unsaid sorrows and squandered chances.
Yes, it’s a sad end to a sad life. Not a happy story, really, but that’s … life for some people.
Thanks for the lovely words, Danie.
Phil, Another one of your stories I enjoyed so much, I liked the simplicity of this story. Sincerely as always
Thanks to you, as always, William. Your encouragment is much appreciated.
That’s a good story.I could feel the frustration turning to anger then suddenly sadness.
Thanks very much, Godfrey!
Very descriptive-it gave me a clear description of the characters and the scene. Can’t wait until your next one!
Thanks very much, WR.
(Next one in a month’s time! 😉 )
I really like your short stories!! I know that some are having this life challenge. So sad!
Thanks, Pamela!
Yes, it can be a difficult time (but just to repeat what I said to Connie above, this story doesn’t reflect my own mother, who was a wonderful human being.)
A felt this was an engaging story, yet a little melodramatic. I immediately felt a great sympathy for Mary, and, naturally, hatred from ‘the mother’: no name automatically created detachment. In this way, I felt I was taken through a specific series of experiences to a pre-determined conclusion. In any case, you are a vastly more competent writer than I.
Thanks, Adran!
Yes, you’re right – it is a bit melodramatic, to get the reader on the side of the daughter and against the mother in as short a time as possible. If I ever decided to extend it, I might choose to make it a little more subtle.
(Not so sure about your last point, though!)
Good story.
Thanks, Danny!