Long past the stage of boredom, into the realm of mindless viewing, Beryl sat vacant eyed and watched TV.  It didn’t make any difference what was on, it was marginally better than staring at the wall.

 

“Please God”, she thought, “Please make today a little different to yesterday.  I shall go mad if I have to watch this drivel for much longer!”

 

Apart from the TV, which was turned down low, there was silence in the room and the shrill tone if the telephone ringing shattered the afternoon like thunder shatters the breathless heat of a summers day. 

 

Beryl leapt up out of her seat, suddenly afraid that this was Anth phoning to make sure she was at home.  He sometimes did.  He had caught her out a couple of times in the past, until she stopped going out at all.  She snatched the receiver up and babbled into it.  “Yes darling, I’m at home, I’m still here, I haven’t been anywhere.  I’ll be here when you come home”

 

The voice on the telephone patiently waited for her to wind down before saying “Mrs Beryl Cartwright?”

 

“Yes, that’s me” she said, suddenly weak with relief.

 

“Mrs Cartwright, this is Queen Elizabeth hospital.  Do you have an uncle named Thomas Wheeler?

 

“Uncle Tom?  What’s the matter with him?”

 

“He was admitted here last night.  He’s asking for you.  Can you possibly come in and see him?”

 

“What?  Today?”

 

“If possible.  There is some urgency.”

 

“But I can’t – I have no transport, no money.  I can’t even leave the house!”

 

“If someone came for you, would you come?  I don’t want to discuss this over the phone, but he is asking for you – seems to want to see you fairly urgently.  He is fairly weak, and VERY insistent.”

 

“I….. Oh dear……I’m not sure I……Oh hang it all, yes, If someone can collect me, I’ll come.”

 

“OK, give me your address, and I’ll come and fetch you myself.”

She told him the address.

 

“Right, I’ll see you in  -  oh – probably an hour or so”

 

“Please hurry, I’d like to be gone before Anth gets home.  I’ll not be able to come if he gets here before I leave.”

 

The phone line went dead and she hung up and walked into the bathroom where she washed herself.  She didn’t dare wash her hair, Anth would notice and be angry, but she would comb it through before she left.

 

In the bedroom, she looked into the wardrobe.  She cried a little tear at the sight of clothes she had not worn since her marriage a year before, and rejected suit after dress after suit.  Then she stopped to think.  There was no way on earth that she was going to be able to get home before Anth returned and he was going to be VERY angry anyway.  To add the crime of “dressing up” would very likely drive him into a fit.  In the end she settled for a jaded old tea shirt and a pair of jeans that were so patched that they seemed to be made up of nothing else.

 

She went back to the living room and sat, tense, in front of the TV.  The program seemed even more banal than before.  Eventually she got up and switched it off, spending the time pacing the floor instead.

 

Looking around the room, she wondered just why on earth she stayed there; it was such a depressing room.  Dark heavy curtains hung at the windows, and they had to be shut tight all the time.  The room was lit only by the pale glow of filtered sunlight, now that the TV no longer flickered its light into the room.

 

Wallpaper of uncertain vintage flaked and peeled in odd places and occasional anonymous stains attested to various edible substances that had been thrown at the wall during previous rages.

 

The floorboards would have been bare if it was not for the coating of dirt on them.  Beryl had fought hard, at first, to keep them clean, but a broom was no match for a sticky substance, and a scrubbing brush had never been forthcoming.  In the end, she’d just given up.

 

The one easy chair in the room was Anth’s and was forbidden territory – but only while he was at home.  Beryl spent much of the day sitting in it whilst she was alone.  When Anth was at home, she sat in the straight backed dining chair, next to the table in the corner.

The only sign of opulence in the room was the big colour TV set which dominated one corner of the room, much as its owner dominated one corner of Beryls life.

 

Footsteps outside the door increased her anxiety to fever pitch, but the gentle knock broke the tension.  Almost giddy with relief, she opened the door.

 

Outside the door was a clergyman.

 

Beryl gasped in amazement.  She was not quite sure who she was expecting, but it was certainly not a man of the cloth.

 

“Good day” he said, quietly.  “Beryl Cartwright?”

 

She nodded.

 

“I’m Reverend Rosewood.  We spoke on the phone a little while ago?”

 

“Yes.”  She said.  “How is he?”

 

“It’s not good news, I’m afraid.”  He answered.  “But come down to the car and I’ll explain on the way.”

 

They took the stairs down to the ground floor of the flats.  It was only one flight down and Beryl wanted to avoid the lift.  They went in silence, but once outside in the early spring sunshine, the Reverend Rosewood suddenly noticed the absence of a coat.

 

“Are you going to be warm enough?”  He asked.

 

“Thank you, yes, I’ll be fine when we reach the car.”

 

“There it is.  He said, a little shyly.  “Over there – the little black mini.”

 

Sure enough, it was little, it HAD been black and it certainly was a mini, but after that was said, the vehicle almost defied description.  It was obviously much loved, much patched, and much in need of a re-spray.

 

“I know she looks a little rough” the poor man said sheepishly, “But she’s a good car where it counts, and I’ve still got a lot of work to do on her.”

 

The seats were surprisingly comfortable, of the sort that seem to hug you and always seem to fit – no matter how large or small you were.

As they were leaving the carpark, the reverend said, in an apologetic manner, “Er, forgive me please for asking, but is there a reason for you having your curtains drawn like that?”

 

“That’s just the way Anth likes them, that’s all.”

 

“Oh”

 

“So, what’s all this about then?  What’s wrong with my uncle?”

 

“Oh yes.  Well.  It’s like this, you see.  Your uncle was admitted to the hospital last night in a very bad way.  A neighbor had been round to his house to see why your uncle had not been seen outside recently, and found him in his bed.  This neighbor thought at first that he was dead, but when the police arrived and broke in, they found that he was still alive, but very weak.”

 

“He came round this morning, and started asking for you.”

 

“What’s the matter with him?”

 

“I don’t really know.  You’ll have to ask his dr. about that.  There seems to be little doubt of the severity of it though.”

 

“It sounded, earlier, as if you thought that he was dying.  Is he?”

 

“I’m very much afraid that it looks that way.  I’m sorry.”

 

“Oh!   Look, I’m just a little puzzled here. I haven’t seen my uncle since my wedding, and we were not particularly close before that.  None of us were, he was always off somewhere oversees all the time.  I can’t think why he should want to see me.  Why not his own daughter?”

 

“That I cannot say – but I would hazard a guess that you will find out when you speak to him.  Meantime, have you ever seen such a display of daffodils at the side of the road?  I love their yellow flowers, like flakes of sun caught in the grass.”

 

They drove in silence, enjoying the early spring sunlight and the deep blue of the sky. Green gave way to concrete and the road was swallowed up in buildings as they penetrated further into Birmingham, until it seemed as though the sky had disappeared amongst them. 

 

They pulled onto the hospital parking lot, squirming knots of anticipation mixed with trepidation roiled somewhere in the region of her stomach.  She had not seen this mysterious uncle of hers since her wedding to Anth, and rarely before that.

 

Tom Wheeler had always been a mystery to her.  He spent far more time out of the country than he did in it.  Beryl had no idea what he did for a living – no-one ever said while she was around – just that he turned up two or three times a year laden down with exotic gifts and a few days later he was gone again.

 

What he could possibly want with her now was a complete mystery.

At least the possibilities roaming around her head stopped her from thinking about the prospect of returning home and facing Anth.

 

Her chauffer gave a rueful chuckle as he opened his door and climbed out (Quite literally – it was like watching him unfolding as he emerged from the tiny doorway and stood up.

 

Indicating the almost full carpark, he said

 

“It’s lucky that visiting is officially over for this afternoon.  We would have had to walk miles from the nearest parking space.  Come on, I’ll show you where to find him.”

 

They walked across the carpark towards the barren concrete building towering in front of them.  Beryl shivered violently.  The sun was getting low in the sky and an early chill filtered down out of the air.  There would be frost later on, but for now the air was chill and damp.

 

The Reverend Rosewood gently drew his overcoat around her shoulders.  “Why didn’t you bring a coat?”  He asked.

 

“I don’t have one.”

 

“Why ever not?”

 

“I never go out.”  She shuddered with something other than cold. 

 

“What, never?  You’re not agoraphobic, are you?”

 

“Oh, no, its just that Anth doesn’t like it.”

 

As she said that, something shifted inside her.  She realized how much she missed being out of doors, and how those few years with Anth had stuffed the whole of her potential into such a narrow, futile existence.

 

Then her fear took control again and with a sigh she gave in to the inevitability that nothing would ever change, and she would be a prisoner to his ego for the rest of her life.