Nearly

(Some of my flashes have been doing quite well recently in out-of-the-way places. But a few fuller stories are beginning to make a noise in my head again. I am on the home stretch of two projects - this Port Brokeferry thing, and another project that may find its place here in the future. For now another PB piece and the end is just that bit nearer.)

AS LONG AS DOCTOR KERR IS PAYING

They have driven along the coast. Sunday instead of Saturday. That hasn’t happened before. But then everything will be different from here on in. That’s what he thinks. He has written the letter, in pen, and the words all sitting in their place on the lines of the page, but the words all loop and swirl – hard enough for Marjory to read and she has been reading what he has written for years. Marjory typed it up and he signed the bottom and it was sent in like that, his penned copy filed away.

‘I regret to inform you of my intention to resign.’

Marjory has pulled off the road and parked her morris traveller where they can take in the sea, spread out before them. And if he closes his eyes the sea is all there is, like the car is become a boat and they are adrift on the water. They have both wound the windows down and they are drinking tea that Marjory poured from a flask. They will get out and walk in a while. For now they are just sitting, listening to the breathy rush of the waves and the small wind whispers in the grass and the noise of Doctor Kerr breathing through his nose.

‘And what of this?’ says Doctor Kerr.

Marjory does not know what he means. She leans forward and looks out of the window in case there is something there that he refers to. The beach is empty and the sand brushed flat like it is new.

‘What of what?’ she says.

‘I don’t know how many years it’s been. Indeed, I can’t remember what it was before. You and me, driving to a quiet place, and a walk to stretch the legs, and sometimes lunch in a place where we are not known and people looking at us, thinking we are man and wife though you are younger. What of this when there is no working week to escape from?’

Marjory knows he is worried. He did not speak on their drive and that was not how it usually was. She knew he was thinking things through. All the changes that were just a stone’s throw ahead of him. Maybe he was regretting the sending of the letter. And wondering now what he would do with his time when it was done. And how the days, weeks and months would be mapped out. And maybe who would make his cups of tea through the day and fetch his stick from where he had misplaced it. They were like husband and wife, that’s what she thought sometimes.

'What of this?' he says again.

‘Depends who’s buying the lunch,’ she says, trying to make light of it. And she grins at nothing at particular.

And Doctor Kerr does laugh. And he cradles the plastic cup in his two hands and tastes the plastic in his tea.

‘But seriously,’ he says.

Marjory pats his leg and tells him not to worry. She says she will still be around. He can’t be cleaning his house without her help and he’s too old to be learning to cook. And Saturdays or Sundays they will go out for a drive the same as always.

‘I’d miss this,’ she says. ‘And my days will need to be filled too. We’ll face this together, Doctor Kerr.’

He clicks his teeth together and nods his head. ‘Together,’ he says.

‘But about those lunches and who’s paying,’ she says. ‘I think we should talk about that.’

He laughs again. They both laugh.