Newbiggin by the Sea Creative Writing Group

  Ian Wilkes stood at the kitchen sink staring out of the window. The sun was a bright disc in the sky, bathing the earth in light. It seemed that the sun had chased all the shadows away and there were no dark corners for fear to hide in. But in Ian’s mind the shadows were predominant. He gripped the workbench tightly turning his knuckles white with strain and it felt like a hand was clutching his heart.

  That was when he first heard the noise, he had to strain to hear it but just like a gentle, rhythmic beat of a heart it sounded in Ian’s ears.

  Outside the world carried on with life, it slid by not knowing, or not caring about the feelings of a few individuals.

  Ian and his wife, Jane, had lived in this street for over a year now but still he knew little of the lives of the people that also liked here. He had been too busy with his work as a joiner and his first year of marriage to fully get to know about his neighbours, maybe that would change now, after what had happened.

  Wilkes raised his hand to his face and scratched his chin, the three day’s growth of beard made a scraping noise that seemed loud to his ears in the small confines of the kitchen, his hair felt lank and greasy from not having been washed for the same length of time and Ian himself felt grimy and unclean. He would have to take a shower but for some reason he just couldn’t bring himself to. There were more pressing things on his mind.

  A car drove up the lane and Ian lazily watched as it silently made its way to the end of the road and turned left out of view. He said,” At least someone is getting on with life.” Whatever they are doing or where ever they were going, life is carrying on.” I’m in some kind of limbo.” Then, taking a deep breath he turned from the window and its scene of normalcy and went into the living room. The flat was the first floor of a converted house, with two bedrooms, living room, kitchen and a bathroom. It wasn’t much but it was enough for him and his wife, and he thought they were happy living there but the first year of marriage had been hard on them. They were both stubborn and it took some time before things had begun to settle down.

  He heard the noise again, like someone knocking, but it sounded far away, maybe coming from downstairs, but at the same time Ian thought it would only get louder or, closer.

  Jane had so often said that she would never leave him, but that had been a lie and now here he was wandering aimlessly around the small home they had tried to make together. He had lost count how many times he had walked from room to room, smelling the lingering scent that was pure Jane. Unable to stem the floe of memories, Ian surrendered himself to the stream of thoughts which invaded his mind, smiling at the good times, frowning at the remembered arguments. Remembering making love in every room, laughing at silly little things like playing cards or board games, joking about things that had happened at work and of people they knew. But he also remembered the fights and arguments, which now seemed so trivial, but at the time were so important. In the end they couldn’t remember how the fight had started or what it had been about, but he could remember the passion that went into each fight, the same passion that went into the making up afterwards.

  As Ian wandered around the flat, memories followed him, simple things that brought a smile to his face and other memories that caused a sharp stab of pain. He could hear the laughter; feel the soft touch of Jane’s fingers against his cheek. He screwed his eyes up tight to try and block out the sensations, but it was no good, the feelings were there and no matter what he did nothing could be done about the steady stream of thoughts. She wasn’t coming back and he had to face the fact that his marriage was over, gone as if this last year and the two years before meant nothing. It was over, finished.

  The knocking came again, getting louder like a portent.

  Back and forward he walked as if in a trance around the flat. How could this happen? Was he not a good husband? Feeling angry now he went into their bedroom (it would always be their bedroom) and sat heavily on the bed. Jane’s full length mirror in front of him, and as Ian stared at his reflection he became increasingly angry, angry at Jane, angry at himself and the even, the world. The more he looked at himself the tighter wound he became; the emotional barrage seemed to be growing stronger with each thud of his heart. And as his heart beat faster and faster in his chest it threatening to burst free of the cage it was in. The same could have been said about Ian’s mind as thoughts, feelings, memories and all the emotions which filled his head stirred themselves into a soup that boiled and bubbled away like lava in a volcano. His countenance looked horrific, his jaw clenched, mouth twisted as if in pain, his eyes mere slits as he sat glaring at his reflection. Tears rolling down his cheeks leaving wet trails on the skin. “How, how could Jane leave him like this?”  He thought, but from his mouth he uttered a strangled cry of pent up anxiety. If it wasn’t for that man Jane wouldn’t have left him alone.

  This time the knocking was much louder, more insistent as though someone was hammering on the door downstairs.

  That was it. Ian could take no more of the noise, he stood up from the bed his head swimming and he momentarily went dizzy from going from sitting to standing so quickly and also from the pressure and rage building inside him. As he passed the living room he caught a brief glimpse of something moving, a small shift of colour but nothing more. He stopped in his tracks breathing hard; he steadied himself against the wall and slowly turned around. He didn’t want to look and for some reason he wanted flee, just run blindly into the street and never come back. But he couldn’t. The taste of fear was rising in his throat, making him swallow but his mouth was dry. His breath was ragged and each gasp was as painful as a needle stabbing at his chest, his hands were shaking and the palms were clammy. Ian tried to take a deep breath to fortify himself for what he was about to do and eventually he managed, the air filled his lungs, calmed his mind and steadied his hands, but only just. Ian’s racing heart began to slow. He didn’t know why he was so scared or why all of a sudden he was so afraid. He had to see what had caught his attention. He closed his eyes and stepped inside.

  Jane stood there looking as beautiful as ever. Her luxurious brown hair hanging down past her shoulders and with the sun light coming through the window it caused a corona to shine around her head making her look more angelic than usual. Her eyes were like a doe’s, large and soulful and were a deep chocolate colour that even though they were dark in colour, they shone liquidly in the light. Her mouth was full and inviting to kiss; her pale skin glowed in daylight, blemished only by a band of very faint freckles across her small nose. Jane’s body was small and firm clad in a simple red dress, she liked to look good and to Ian she always did, even first thing in the morning when her hair was a mess and she had that far away look in her eyes that meant she was feeling half asleep. He carried a photo of her in his wallet, snapped one morning as Jane had emerged from the bedroom, she hated it but it has always made Ian smile. Today Jane just looked stunning.

  The initial shock began to wear off and anger rose in its place. Ian’s hands balled into fists, he clenched his teeth to keep the words of anger and frustration inside but he could feel it was a losing battle.

  “What are you doing here?” Ian nearly spat the words “How?” he felt on the edge of an abyss looking down into the depths and there was nothing but darkness to welcome him there. “I can’t believe you’re here.” He finally managed to say, it seemed that time had stretched and became longer.

  “I knocked. You didn’t answer so I came in, the door’s open.” Jane’s voice sounded like music, it had always had an effect on Ian especially when she said those two words “I do.” The memory of that day flooded into Ian’s mind making him reel. It wasn’t a grand occasion but it was enough for them. Ian remembered the sight of Jane when she first entered the registry office, he remembered how stunning she was, how she smelled and the taste of her lips when he kissed her. She was perfect. Then at that moment Ian realised his memories would play cruel tricks on him like this for years to come, maybe the rest of his life.

  “You, you can’t be here, it’s not right.” Ian stammered, the words croaking over his dry mouth. “Why are you here, to torment me, rub salt in my wounds is that it?”

  “It’s not like that, I wanted to see you. See how you’re doing” Jane said

  “How do you think I feel? You left me remember? You promised me, you promised you would never leave.” Ian was becoming angrier; it strained and boiled inside him until it threatened to explode.

  “I’m sorry.” It was all she could say. And as Ian watched her, small tears shone in her eyes. Even through his rage he wanted to take her in his arms, hold her, comfort her and forgive her. But he couldn’t, it was impossible, so he sank to his knees, he felt somewhat defeated.  “So why are you here?” Ian’s voice sounded small.

  “I told you. I wanted to see you. I still love you.”

  Ian let out a sharp laugh “If you meant that, you wouldn’t have gone, you wouldn’t have let that… that man do what he did. You wouldn’t have left…” his voice trailed off.

  “Sometimes it’s not that simple. It felt like the right thing to do; it was my decision in the end. I was the one who let go” Jane looked deeply at Ian trying to make it through to him, to find the soul she had fallen in love with but he had buried it deep, it was there but even in this short separation he had managed to build a wall around his heart. She would try and make it right.

  “What can I do to help you Ian? Can I make this right?”  Jane was pleading she had crouched down and was looking directly into Ian’s eyes, she could see the pain, it looked like shards of broken glass were tearing away inside him. She could sense his turmoil and the passion that had so quickly turned to anger.

  “Come back to me.” Ian’s voice was a whisper.

  “I can’t.”

  “But you’re here, now, just don’t go back.”

  “I have to go but I’ll stay as long as I can.”

  Ian picked himself up off the floor sat in the old armchair then pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes and tried to squeeze away the tears, to push out the sadness he could feel inside.

  They sat in silence nursing their wounds. Ian sat in the chair, he felt dazed as if he had been wrapped in gauze, it made everything faint and out of focus. How he longed to gather Jane in his arms and make love to her, tell her that all will be right and proper again, he knew that that was just a dream reality, he wouldn’t be allowed to hold her, love her again and that broke his heart even further.

  Jane sat on the floor her hands resting in her lap and her head slightly bowed. Ian wondered if she felt the same as he did. Had she made things worse by coming back? Had she twisted the knife? He stared at one point on the carpet hoping to be able to see the answers.

  Suddenly Ian got to his feet and made for the door.

  “Where’re you going?” Jane asked.

  “I’ve got to get out of here I can’t stay here with you. I need to get out. You being here has me in a mess, I feel so betrayed.” Ian said his voice flat and emotionless.

  Jane said. “I don’t have to go just yet; can’t you wait here with me until I…you know have to go back.” Ian looked at her she seemed thin somehow insubstantial. “Looks like you’re ready now.” He said and even though it hurt him to say it he added “You can let yourself out.”

  “I’ll come back.” Jane whispered.

  Ian closed the door gently behind him. The day had become close and stuffy despite the sun burning in a cloudless sky.

  Pausing to put on his dark glasses he took one final deep breath before setting off and he said. “She’ll come back, in time she’ll come back.” This was the first time since they had been separated that Ian had been outside and he felt the anxiety rising like a churning stream. But he had to do this, he had to go outside. Grabbing the gate with a trembling hand he pulled and the barrier to the world swung open with a screech of its rusting metal hinges.

  Once in the lane Ian felt a surge of nausea, could he do this? Did he really want to face the world? Too late now, one of his neighbours, Mrs. Jackson,  had spotted him and waved a cheery hello, it was luck that she was busy talking to a woman standing at her gate, no doubt one of the busy-bodies’ cronies. They could stand there for hours gossiping away.

  As Ian walk up the lane he heard, very quietly as if the person didn’t want to be overheard, the voice of Mrs. Jackson say. “That was Ian Wilkes. His wife was killed two days ago. Hit and run, the police are looking for a man in a red car apparently, haven’t caught him yet, or so I’ve been told.”