A Window Without A View By Julie Hubbard - February 2008

Dragging back the nicotine coloured curtains, Phyllis had absolutely no idea whether it was night or day.  The stream of brash morning sunshine abruptly let her know, sending her cowering  behind  heavily veined hands. 

Head pounding and feeling distinctly groggy, she squinted painfully from her watery grey eyes, observing the scene through  the large picture window.  From her viewpoint Phyllis could watch all daily humanity in action.

The usual hooded crowd, huddled furtively, trading their little wares in the alley way.  Children pushing children in doll like prams, swearing and cursing like soldiers.  Gangs of schoolchildren hurling each other into the rickety hedges and wooden fences or running out in front of cars playing chicken.  The sad balding piece of green oasis with a much abused cherry tree, hanging on grimly in spite of the children’s best efforts to snap it in half.

None of this had much impression on Phyllis anymore, her only concern was the trembling that had started up in her hands.  Never lying dormant long once was she was awake, she tried to ignore her bodies protests.  As always, the urge became stronger and her body  began to shake, it was a hungry beast, persistent and all consuming.  Phyllis had made a promise to herself but when the daylight hours started to bed in, it became too strong to resist.

Looking at the teak clock on the mantle piece Phyllis sighed and saw it was still too early, cursing she started to pace up and down the small living room.  Her eye was caught by  the photo frames arranged on a dust encrusted sideboard, trust them to start making me feel guilty again, this was when she was at her most vulnerable.

Forcing a false cheerful resolve she went into her kitchen to make some breakfast.  The sink was groaning with it’s load of dirty dishes and the white enamelled bread bin could only  offer up two slices of lurid green bread.  Blind to the squalor Phyllis grabbed a chipped blue mug from the pile and made a very strong black coffee, retching almost instantly from it’s bitter taste.

Then going into the bathroom she tried to freshen up.  Phyllis avoided the small cracked mirror above the basin as it hurt to much to see the truth.  So from memory she dotted two doll like rouge cheeks and put a slash of scarlet across her mouth.  Running her fingers through a shock of orange tinted grey hair and smoothing the sleep creases from her clothes she began to feel a little better.  The finishing touch, a blast of strong lavender perfume to cover all the other fetid odours.

Then the main daily ritual of hunting for money began in earnest.  It never ceased to surprise Phyllis the places that money could get to, every penny found was clasped

joyfully like a little golden nugget.  Going back to the living room window once more, Phyllis checked to see if the coast was clear.  The school run had now finished, the market ladies had caught their bus and the gangs had scuttled away.  Phyllis breathed a sigh of relief, it was time. 

Stepping out into the street Phyllis felt unsteady and exposed.  Nervously she kept turning around to see if anyone was about.  Never being able to deal with the accusing looks and small minded whispers, she still had some remnants of pride, it was the only thing left to cling to.  An unseen chill nipped on her paper thin bones and the sky above reflected her mood, with restless steel clouds gathering like an army about to strike.  Quickening her pace she soon saw the familiar sign and rushing up to the door, was greeted by the reassuring smell of stale ale wafting up from the thick red carpet.  The dark quiet nooks and snugs offered sanctuary to Phyllis and she felt safe in this refuge.  Derek the barman nodded  his greeting and started to pour out Phyllis’s usual tipple. 

The first sip was utter bliss, the heat from the liquor chasing the chills from her body.  The tremors abated and Phyllis began to relax.  Only ever needing to buy the first two whiskies, after that it was beg, borrow or put it on the ever growing tab.  Regulars of the Hare and Dog always bought her at least one drink.  There was  Don who had lost his wife four years ago and now frequented the pub on a daily basis and  Arnold with his little black terrier Meg.  They both understood Phyllis with a common link that they all shared.

After a couple more drinks, Phyllis was feeling much more like her old self, even her varicose veins which all but covered her stick like legs had stopped paining her.  The bar took on a warm fuzzy air, where everything looked so much better.  Soon it began to fill up with the lunch time ranks and Phyllis was in her element, telling impossibly tall stories, thriving on the attention and becoming more animated.  Surrounded by people Phyllis became alive, never noticing the sideways glances, the wrinkling of noses from the overpowering odour, or the discreet turning of heads to avoid eye contact.

After the euphoria, the inevitable come down would always kick in, Phyllis would fill up with sadness and the tears were always too eager to show.  The memories forever lurking in the shadows would become visible to her once more from the bottom of an empty glass.  She saw a young attractive woman, who after managing on her own with a family of six children for three years while her husband was away fighting in the war, had discovered her own independence.  A woman with foresight and vision who took on her own clothes shop with fashions brought back from London and who became very

successful.  She was looked up to by the other woman and spoken of in high regard.  Then he came into her life and everything changed.

Phyllis had not meant it to happen but she had fallen in love with another man.  His smile ignited her dormant desires and she could not resist him.  She had never felt like this before.  Trying to keep it hidden was a nightmare in such a small town where everyone knows everyone else’s business.  It was only a matter of time before they were found out. 

Her family turned against her, they could not understand, how their mother could do such a thing.  Her husband always a quiet reserved man, turned in on himself and could not handle the shame.  You see Phyllis had fallen for a young German  prisoner of war.  He did not stay with her long though, just long enough to squander all her profits from the shop. 

So Phyllis found herself reviled by friends and family they all turned against her.  Drink became her salvation, numbing the pain and blotting out the guilt.  Never quite managing to cope with the never ending nagging loneliness.  Day after day, year after year, it became a vicious circle, the more lonely she became, the more needy and desperate.  Her children became tired of the phone calls, to please come and collect their mother because she had fallen in some hedge, heavily inebriated in the street.  Their patience wore thin, their shame deepened and Phyllis would not admit she had a problem.     

Phyllis became aware of someone guiding her arm and gently lifting her out of the seat, Derek the barman led her to the door.

  “Take care wont you Phyllis”

Through a thickly blurred mist, Phyllis could just about make out his heavy face and struggled to walk through the door.  Walking as best she could, Phyllis made her way home, past the hooded gangs huddled in the alleyway, they did not bother her as they knew she had nothing on her of value.  She did not even value herself.  Slumping down heavily onto the tired sofa Phyllis resolved to try to sleep, normally this was impossible for her but tonight she felt weary.  It will be better tomorrow she thought, I will try again.  The moon shone in through the large picture window and just for a second her face became soft again and all guilt was washed away.

         

The morning sunshine brazenly poured in through the window unchecked by the lack of  curtains.  Lighting up  Phyllis’s serene face, beautiful and as frozen as marble.

The end.