Page 10 of The Promise of Tomorrow
Rory rolled his lips together, got changed into his pyjamas and sat in bed. He reached for his journal.
Wednesday 20th November
15-minute morning shower singing ‘Ocean Eyes’ aided by a 385ml shampoo bottle microphone.
2 checks by Elena that the front door is closed. Seriously, she needs to loosen up.
50-long-minute drive to work listening to a CD of her KILL ME NOW music.
Heart thumping more quickly than its normal 62 beats per minute, as Elena slipped and almost fell.
The expected gag reflex from her when I took out my gherkin jar and ate two, each one containing 0.035mg copper and 0.245mg iron – keep magnets away!
The daily pickle *joke* (using that word loosely) from Gary, asking if I’m pregnant.
0 words spoken on the way home.
As long as it took to cook a stir-fry for Elena to go missing without leaving the house.
THE MOST BORING 90 MINUTES OF MY LIFE (and that’s saying something, having sat in the lotus position for one hour, trying to meditate, as a *fun outing* on a quad biking trip to Cambodia), with 3 goals, 1 red card and 3 penalties.
2 expletives in Urdu.
1 celebratory coffee after City won 2 to 1.
1 radiator bled in Tahoor’s bedroom, that had 4 photographs of his wife on a chest of drawers, 1 half-empty pink perfume bottle on a bedside table, along with 1 well-thumbed women’s fiction novel. 1 purple sari hung on the front of a wardrobe. 2 pairs of slippers, 1 brown and large, the other floral and small, lay on the carpet by the radiator. On 1 pillow of the double bed lay what looked like 1 neatly folded, pastel nightdress, along with 1 little teddy bear holding a red heart.
0 of the football bravado as Tahoor stood quietly and ran a hand over the purple sari whilst I fiddled with the bleed key. I wanted to hug him, especially as the rest of the house looked less well cared for, with dust and a frozen meal carton on the kitchen unit, amongst a pile of unwashed cups and dishes, and crumbs on the floor in the lounge, which needed a good tidy.
5 minutes, near midnight, putting the world to rights with Brandy and Snap, as they lay on my hands and conducted my words by waving their baton-like front legs.
7
ELENA
Humming, Elena walked into the lounge and yawned before peering into the glass tank. She’d placed it by a wall, on a natural oak chest of drawers – away from direct sunlight but close enough to the radiator to keep Brandy and Snap warm. Elena had done her research by going into chat rooms occupied by stick insect owners, scrolling through their friendly conversations, whereas Rory would have searched for surveys and statistics that supported the best place to locate it. Like Rory, she’d never owned a pet – wanted to, maybe a dog or a cat, but as she got older, Elena worried she wouldn’t be around to look after it for its whole life. Although, she did secretly adopt next door’s black cat when she was little. Without the grown-ups knowing, she’d fed it processed cheese and played with it on the common near her house – until the terrible thing happened and she’d got talking to the stranger there. After that, she never visited the common again at night, and went through a phase of believing in well-known bad omens, like never to cross paths with a black cat, as she’d been doing; like running from a blue butterfly in the park, and being overwhelmed with fear when she accidentallytrod on, and killed, a ladybird. Young Elena sobbed the time she’d dropped and cracked a hand mirror, and told her dad off when he left shoes on a table. As for that afternoon a visitor had opened an umbrella in their house…
But Elena was an adult now.
She crouched down and spotted Brandy, with six legs intact and antennae so long they probably picked up messages from distant aliens. Stick insects might hold all sorts of secrets and answers to the big questions.
‘Will humans ever live in outer space?’ she asked Brandy. ‘Is there life after death? Most important of all, are Jaffa Cakes really biscuits?’
Footsteps sounded and Rory stood in the doorway. He wore tartan pyjama trousers with a navy-blue T-shirt, underneath a silk, cerise dressing gown. He’d taken to wearing it, to take off the morning chill, having found it hanging on the back of his bedroom door. He’d forgotten to pack his own bathrobe and acted as if silk was as warm as thick wool. Idiot. Elena had only ever put it on if a boyfriend slept over – a bit of glam in contrast to the usual dark grey, woollen one she’d pulled on this morning. Anyway, Rory being Rory, it suited him, and quietly she admired his indifference to fashion norms.
‘How about coffee? I’ve a new Mexican grind? It has notes of jalapeno apparently.’ He about-turned and headed for the kitchen. Rory had also bought chocolate croissants the day before, and they sat in the lounge, eating and drinking. Yesterday they’d driven to the office in separate cars as she’d had a cervical screening test with the nurse – Elena never missed health checks. Thank goodness Rory had done his weekly food shop, as the granola Elena usually enjoyed had run out, meaning it would have been plain toast for her breakfast.
Ah, Saturday. Bliss.
‘Got much planned today? If not, fancy a swim?’ he asked after the last mouthful of pastry. ‘There must be a pool nearby. I haven’t taken a dip since I did that underwater rugby session, back in August.’
‘It’s the middle of winter?’
‘Thisis2024, a couple of centuries since the industrial revolution began.’
‘I’m trying to reduce my carbon footprint and swimming in a heated pool won’t help that,’ she said breezily.
‘The pool will be heated regardless of whether you’re in it,’ he said smugly.
