I woke choking, like someone was pushing down on my
chest. It was her thin arm, weighted with dreams. There wasn’t enough air for
the both of us and I had to get out. She smelled sour and sweet and she didn’t
wake when I pushed her away. Her moist hair tangled on the pillow. I gathered
up my clothes and escaped to the kitchen.
Beer cans, an empty vodka bottle, takeaway food
cartons overflowing with butt ends. It was like an oven in there with the sun
poking spiteful fingers through the frayed curtains. I ran the tap and gulped
down coffee-tasting water from a dirty mug. I was so dry I felt like I might
crackle and burn, and I smelled rank. I couldn’t remember whether we’d shagged.
We had probably tried, or pretended, because we were both lost, two lone flies
banging up against a window. I had to get out. I thought about leaving her a
text but there was nothing to say. I deleted her number instead.
Outside, I swayed in
the brightness of an ordinary day. There was a kite flying and a dog yapping
and some kids running. Two women from the next door caravan were sitting on
deck chairs talking. I sat on the steps and pulled my boots on. One of the
women was crying and the other one said, “Look Sue, honest to god you’re the
strongest woman I’ve ever known and you’re going to get through this.” I walked
through the caravan site past men reading newspapers and women stretched out on
sunbeds and some kids taking turns on a skateboard. The sun was low and fierce.
I felt enormous, like a giant striding through a toy town. I wished I hadn’t
smoked so much. I wish I’d drunk coffee before I’d left. I got into my car
which was airless as a coffin, and sat there. “What now?” I asked Cal.
“Let’s
break the sound barrier,” said Cal, from somewhere in my head.
I started
the car up, wound down the windows and skidded down the narrow lane. Birds
leapt from the hedges and branches bent and snapped and the car filled with
leaves and clouds of little seeds and broken petals.
About the author:
Catrin Kean is a scriptwriter who has worked for film,
radio and television. She was one of four writers awarded the Dennis Potter
award in 2000, and her film Gwyfyn
(S4C) won best a Wales Bafta award for best drama. She has recently started writing
fiction and her first short story, Dust,
was published in the Riptide Journal number 8.
Read more here:
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