This is a short story I wrote last year. It’s based on scraps of conversation I overhead while buying cushion covers in H&M…
It was near the cushions.
Their compact drama simmered in-among the soft-furnishings in H&M: he sitting on a low shelf while she stood over him. The urgency of her voice and the sharpness of her London-tinged delivery cut through the store music, despite her attempt to whisper.
“…cos I can’t force you. You have to want this…”
He shrunk back. “I know Ellie…” and then fell silent, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else.
“Look, the baby’s comin’ either way. You just have to decide whether you actually wanna be its Dad.” She paused; looking at him plaintively, “You’re a decent bloke. You know that?”
“I know… I think…” his voice was flat, “but… I mean… I wasn’t. This wasn’t what I was thinking. Like, I wanted to have a better job first – and you and me… you and me – we’ve only been together a couple of months.”
“Right. So I’ll just ask the baby to hang on a bit shall I?” Despite her anger her body language was pleading. “Chris-sake Jamie – it’s a bit bloody late now. I wasn’t planning on being a mum was I? But that’s what happens…”
“But it wasn’t supposed to happen! I thought it couldn’t, you know – while you was… it’s bloody not fair!” The anger and panic rose: “We haven’t even got a proper place yet – I’m not ready!”
“Jamie – bloody hell! It’s me that’s having the baby – don’t act like you’re the one with all the problems. I’m really gonna need you. But I can’t make you…” Her voice started to break, “I can’t make you stay if you don’t want it.” The store music reasserted itself as her eyes remained fixed on him. He was staring, almost hypnotised by the patterned cushion covers on the bottom shelf – palm trees with monkeys.
“Jamie…? I need you to decide…”
“Ellie – I can’t do this.” He felt something giving way inside and an indignant fury rose in its place “I’m sorry – I’m going… I can’t do this now.” With his hood pulled up like a shield he launched himself off the shelf and strode towards the doors. The cold of a wintery Kensington High Street evening stung his face and, imperceptibly, made him pause – but he clung tighter to the rage and pushed through into the crowd.
Unnoticed by all but the one child who happened to be looking up, the Christmas lights above him sparked and then vanished; their light erased from the sky.
Ellie stared at the floor, feeling slightly sick. Across the aisle, a row of display lights flickered and died. A member of staff headed over to investigate and Ellie hurried away, choking back her tears.
The pub was full…
…the voices, live music and clatter of glasses merged into a protective cacophony. Shielded from view by a heavily-lit Christmas tree, Jamie drained the last of his pint and banged the glass down in a growing crowd of empties on the low table between him and Dave. “I can’t believe she’s bloody pregnant… bollocks!”
Dave blinked in concentration – he’d had just as much to drink and was finding Jamie’s constant repetition was failing to bring any clarity. His preferred solution of simply getting another round in also showed no sign of lightening the mood.
“Come on mate – just move on. It’s prob’ly not even your kid…” He leaned back in his seat with some satisfaction at this astute observation: Dave had all the accumulated wisdom of a 19-year-old phone sales associate; and wasn’t afraid to use it.
Jamie stared across at his friend, wondering how he’d not noticed quite what an arse he was. Despite the numbing alcohol, the low-grade panic in his soul was starting to rise – the roar of noise seemed to be crushing, closing on him. Suddenly feeling dizzy, he rose and stumbled, pouring his fresh pint into the Christmas tree blocking his path. With a loud crack the music stopped and a clamour of shouts rose from the now dark pub. The sharp smell of burning electrics and spruce caught his throat as Jamie was jostled blindly towards the dim green exit sign.
Falling, gasping, out onto the wet pavement, still clutching his empty glass, he staggered to his feet. The road dazzled with the glare of headlights: time froze and raindrops shimmered in the air as Jamie spun away from the impact of the taxi’s bumper.
The whole borough seemed to be in darkness.
After fleeing the shop, Ellie had drifted through the crowds, trying to disappear. Finally, finding the large Gothic church warm and shimmering with Christmas lights, she’d slipped through the heavy doors, treading quietly past the side altars; the vaulted ceiling brooding high over her tentative footsteps. Although much longer, it seemed to her she’d sat on the floor for only a moment; drinking in the warmth and waiting while the shivering and nausea passed.
Just as she’d risen, the lights had flickered and the church was plunged into the echoing darkness in which she now stood. Momentarily frozen, she heard sirens outside, saw shards of blue light spinning past the stained-glass and became aware there seemed to be no other light seeping in from the street.
Turning back, she could just make out a large tiered stand carrying the remains of decades of burned-out candles. Feeling around, she located a box of unused candles and managed to wedge one into an empty slot.
Finding the lighter, she hesitated, her hand hovering at the wick. The simple act seemed to possess such weight.
The click of the lighter resounded, and the fat flame flickered warmly, sending shadows dancing into the corners. She caught her breath and felt warm tears welling in her eyes – this time she simply let them come and sobbed her sadness into her hoodie sleeve.
500 yards away…
…on the pavement outside the Elephant and Castle, Jamie’s eyes suddenly flicked open. He shouted feebly into the face of the relieved paramedic crouching over him… “Ellie!”
Don Lowe 