Silk Stockings

“Well that was shite. Bloody carrots were stewed. Again! You really are a waste of fucking space. I suppose there’s nothing else.

Should’ve gone to the pub….”

Maisy stopped listening. She had become good at that. Disconnecting. She sat in her chair and concentrated on her sewing. Her stomach rumbled, but she ignored that too.

She sipped her tea and thought of Sam, her grandchild, laughing, her beautiful son, Jacob and his wife Sophie. And she was in their white, oh so white, bright house, with their floor to ceiling views of sea and sand.

“Where is my beer? You forgot the beer!”

She had zoned in at just the right moment. Quickly, she fetched him can and placed it carefully on the on his lap table. He turned up the television and peered around her. The game had come to an end but there were still interviews with the players to get through.

“Bloody rain. He bellowed over the commentary. It looks like i’ll have to walk to the pub and get wet.

You’ll need to pick me up. Make sure you’re by the phone…….”

She looked at him. What had she ever seen in him? Had she ever love him?

The phone rang and she hurried to answer it. She passed the phone to him and set upon clearing the plates and washing up. She put this leftovers on a side plate and placed them in their ancient fridge. She would eat them for supper later.

Sam was giggling in the sand. His fat pudgy arms were flapping like a duck practicing its first flight. Water was lapping at his toes and every time, the chill of it caused a squeal of delight.

He appeared showered, reclothed and perfumed. She was sure that she hadn’t seen that shirt before and commented on it. Yes it was new, what couldn’t a a hardworking man buy a new shirt once in a while. He wasn’t going to let himself go unlike some he knew. And why should he treat himself occasionally? She had smiled and agreed and packed him off with enough money to buy his mates several rounds. and then returned to her sewing.

Coronation Street was terribly exciting. Liz’s affair was elicit, exhilarating and sent queer feelings in her loins. It was all too much and cross with herself, she had turned the box off and finished darning the elbow of her favourite jumper, to the tick of the her grandmothers clock.

An image of her grandmother came to mind, sitting in this red velvet armchair darning her silk stockings. Maisy, still a little girl, had been fascinated with the mushroom shaped darning block. The feel of smooth mahogany and the sensual texture of the silk sliding over it.

After her grandmother had died she had kept darner, had used it often and enjoyed the connection of its past. What had her grandmother always said? Oh yes.

You can always fix things.

The question then is,

Are they worth fixing?

“You’re quite right,” she said to the empty room, “Thank you Grandma.”

In a flash, she had picked up the phone and dialled. To her delight her son seemed truly pleased that she would be visiting.

“Err no Dad?” And she had told him that she would ask him. If Jacob had been been surprised,he had said nothing.

Maisy ate her supper cold from the fridge, She buffonned her hair and even put a bit of lippy on. She donned her patched jumper and carefully locked up the house. She would surprise him. She would start something new, she’d decided. She would go to the pub early, she would have a drink with him, he would see her, fall in love with her agin, joke. They would fix this marriage, one stitch at a time.

It was raining, hard. The sky black and angry, heralded the impeding winter. Maisy however was in the sunshine. On the beach with her family. her grandchild, her child, her husband and they were drinking cocktails and the baby was drumming his spade on a bucket. And he was calling her.

She parked the car, the miniature umbrella wasn’t up to the job and just crossing the road was enough to fill her shoes with water and soak her togs from the elbow down.

The pub was a warm glow and she moved towards it like a dream.

She reached the door and stood aside to let some of the punters out. As she waited she looked in the window. The pub was busy. It took a while to locate him. He was not at the bar, but at a table. He was not alone. He was not with one of his mates. He was very close to his companion. He was smiling, that silly smile, a smile she rarely saw these days.

Maisy turned around and headed back to car. The sun was was in her eyes. It made her eyes water. But Sam was calling her and it was time she answered his call.