The Boiler New

4th Sept 2017

I can't believe it's September already and the children  will be back at school this week . Where on earth did the summer go? 
It will soon be October and I hope to be part of the OctPoWriMo poem a day in October. Can't see how I'm going to fit it in just now , but deadlines are always good to get me going - and finishing. And I have done it before. But for now:

Something I wrote a while ago: 

The Boiler

Sighing, she hastily pulled her dressing gown round her, hurried from bathroom to bedroom and grabbed the phone.  It was the second time in as many months that the boiler had broken down.

“Mmmmm, you’ll be needing a new boiler,”   the plumber stood, screws in grubby hands, shook his head and took a sharp intake of breath.  His West Country accent, not local, was comforting and encouraging.

“ Can you not fix it one more time? I can’t really afford a new one,”  she pleaded hoping that she wouldn't have to fork out a large sum just now.

Left alone ten months ago after her husband of thirty five years died in an accident, Rachel felt vulnerable.

“No, mam, sorry, but I can do no more for this beast.  We've some good deals just now, though,” he wiped his hands on a cloth picked out of his tool box.

“Right, ah, ok...” she moaned  vaguely not wanting to deal with this now. She followed him downstairs putting an arm across her chest to hide the coffee stains, suddenly aware that her hair resembled a willow tree gone wild.

“Well, I’ll have to think about it,” she nudged him towards the door, knowing that she had to be out of the house in ten minutes. She'd have to leave this for later.

“ I could drop you in a brochure, if y’like..”

“Yes, do that, do that, thank you... ” slamming the door she ran upstairs. How on earth could she afford a new boiler, she thought, dressing anxiously, without washing. She brushed her hair, wondering who the woman was in the mirror looking back at her. How quickly the wrinkles multiply.  Briefly, she tried a false smile but that just confirmed that she had aged at least ten years in ten months.

The train for London, delayed by twenty minutes had standing room only.

“Due to over-capacity first class seating will be declassified.”  Rachel slouched in the gangway, gazing at fields, the monotone voice from the tannoy washing over her.

“First class seating is now available for all passengers,” the anonymous voice repeated.

She stood all the way to Victoria, deciding to walk, as usual, to the Evelina children’s hospital, part of St Thomas’s.  Although she had done this journey daily for months, she still found she needed that walking time to build herself up, increase her strength and bury, for the moment the poisonous guilt she felt.  After all, her daughter needed her. She had to be the pillar, she had to keep going through the muddy fog of ordinary. Yes, to visit was costing more money than she had, but what could she do? She had no choice.

Rachel stopped outside the door, drew herself up and took a deep breath before entering the room.

“Hi honey,” she hugged  her daughter. She  then bent over the bed to kiss her granddaughter, who was in a coma since that day when she and her granddad had decided to go shopping to  get a card for her grandmother’s birthday. 

Poem and Story

Day 28:  28th April, 28th Poem

For the prompt:

In The Shade

Cold, 

Like marble,

Having hot bath

And also for today, a story:

                                Birthday

             My grandmother would much rather be running the London Marathon, especially as this was to be it's final year. Having already taken part seven times before, it was one of the things she most looked forward to.
             But, instead,  today being her birthday and also the last time we would see her, she is having a party.
             "Grams , what about this one?" Bright pink lipstick in hand,  hair dyed purple and gathered on top of her head,she looks away from the mirror as I hold up her  red dress decorated with tiny gold butterflies around the top.
             "OK, yes, that's fine. Get me a cuppa please, would you,  dear?"
             "In a minute, I just want to help find shoes to match your dress"
              The truth is I want to spend as much time as I can with her before she leaves for good.
Before I can bring the tea back to the bedroom she is standing beside me in the kitchen.
              "Wow, you look great. Well, you always do, but today..." I turn,  fiddle with the cups and quietly wipe away tears  that I can't hold back.
              "I never told you how I met your grandfather, did I?" she sips her tea, enjoying a moment of wistfulness. I try to compose myself as I answer,
               "No, but you better do it now or I'll never know." So she did.
               A tale of young love enfolds and we are both surprised when an hour later the doorbell rings. Mum and dad have come to take us to the venue.
               As we walk into the Sianuthe Hotel, balloons, music and about one hundred and fifty people give us  a cheery greeting. Grandmother smiles warmly as she is escorted through the adoring crowd, to her table, where she sees her close family gathered.
             "Happy birthday, Mum and huge commiserations. I wish it could be different" Auntie Rathuna  throws her  arms around her mother sobbing, as the others mutter their agreement with her heartfelt words. Two more daughters, one son and  five grandchildren take their turn in similar fashion. I try to sit next to my grandmother, but that place has been taken, on one side by my father, the eldest and on the other by Nick, my cousin and the eldest grandchild.
             We enjoy the most wonderful meal , with excellent service and even better food.
             "I think that salmon was the best I've ever tasted" Grandmother says pushing  her empty plate to the side and carrying on her conversation with my cousin Nick. She is always interested in hearing about his research into the  new  drugs programme. She has been closer to Nick since his Dad went three years ago after they found out that he had cancer of the bowel.
             It didn't used to be this way. In 2015 when grandmother was forty, dad told me that people were looked after when they had  these sort of illnesses and nursed till they died a natural death . He also said that people often lived till they were eighty or ninety or even a hundred. I couldn't imagine what that was like, what kind of world it was then . I mean who would look after all those people.
              My grandmother has been lucky. Today is her seventy fifth birthday. The age people are allowed to live to if they are fit and healthy.  If they didn't interfere she would probably live many more years. Maybe she'd be one of those who lived to be a hundred. No, that's too weird.
            The meal  over we hit the dance floor where my  grandmother, who loves dancing, doesn't sit down  till it's over.
The end of the evening comes much too soon  for my liking. But it's the way it is. The way it has to be.     We say our goodbyes, waving at the car as dad drives his mother to the Gryndiomo Centre where they will give her an injection and she will die.

Notes:
Hotel name - Sianuthe - anagram of euthanasia
Gryndiomo - anagram of Dying Room

The above piece is a response to the news that the government want GP's to ask any older person, healthy or not, to sign a  "Do not resuscitate" form. We could be headed for a bleak world indeed.