Image: Envy © by Iza-nagi
Mary woke the next morning feeling the best she had in a long time. Her mornings had been up until now a matter of facing up to another miserable day.
Even though she was relieved Ray had gone she missed the comfort of having someone in the house.
But yesterday Vera had come over, and their chat had been liberating. She hadn’t intended to blurt out her life story as she had, but something warm and understanding about Vera opened a door within her to tell her story.
She was feeling for the first time unburdened, and it wasn’t that Vera had any answers it was more she had listened.
In the end with cups of tea drunk and Vera’s teacake given a good shake, the two women parted, embracing each other to cement their friendship. Vera like herself had suffered in a marriage that was only a marriage in name. Like her, Vera had been humiliated by Ernest’s affair and betrayal.
Mary for the first time in a long time thought of her ordered day and decided for the first time in a long while that she didn’t need to stick to a routine. This was to be her morning. She’d do as she pleased as Vera had promised to call if and when Ernest went out and have her over to continue their chat from the day before.
Mary decided it was a good opportunity to bake.
So after a quick breakfast, she set to work baking muffins and her favourite honey ginger biscuits. After all, she wasn’t going to turn up at Vera’s with nothing to offer.
With the biscuits and muffins made she boiled the kettle and made herself a coffee. By now the muffins were cooled, and she wanted to try one to see if they were as tasty as always. She’d mixed apple and raspberry into her muffins, and they melted in her mouth. Her one trait Ray had praised was her baking skills.
Thinking of that sent her mind back to when he left. She didn’t know she was capable of such anger and resentment, it seethed and bubbled inside of her, and as he drove off, oblivious to her pain, she plotted revenge.
It was a spur of the moment thing. In one corner of the yard was a small rose patch Ray had planted when they first moved in. It was a symbol, he said, of their love and commitment.
Taking a spade from the tool shed, she dug up every single rose and cast them into the green waste bin. Never mind the possibility of the thorns pricking and scratching her, with her gardening gloves on she worked at a frenzied pace fearful of thinking too much about what she was doing as she dug each offending rose from the ground.
With the roses gone she smoothed over the plot as if nothing had ever been there and thought a good healthy hydrangea would be just the thing to take her mind from what was there.
Apart from her attention to the roses the rest of the garden had pretty much gone to rack and ruin. Mary had grand plans in her head, and unfortunately, that’s where they stayed. She’d sit out in the garden, under the wisteria trellis, on an old garden seat, and think about it, but couldn’t bring herself to act.
‘Just another aspect of my depressive life,’ she would think to herself.
Her phone woke her from her thoughts, and she answered to find Vera giggling and offering her an invitation to come over.
Below are the links to the earlier parts if interested in the whole story.