Jenny leaned back in her deckchair and breathed in deeply. It was then that she became aware of the noise, the noise of Mr. Parker’s lawnmower trying to enter her brain. Jenny unclenched her teeth and opened her eyes. She exhaled forcefully. It was then that her gaze slowly wandered across at the crisp, white envelope lying on the garden table next to her. She picked it up. "To Jenny", it said in a familiar scrawl. She sighed heavily before ripping open the envelope and pulling out the card. A large cuddly bear, dressed in a tutu beamed a bright smile at her as though to say, "Isn’t life great?" Jenny pursed her lips as she read the bold caption, "I love my fairy now she’s forty!" She suddenly had an overwhelming desire for Uncle Stan’s Malt Whiskey.
Her thoughts drifted again to the newly opened present lying discarded inside on the kitchen worktop. She had left bits of crumpled, shiny silver paper lying in such deranged patterns around it that she was convinced it must have resembled a modern sculpture by now.
She stood the card on the table, its pinkness gleaming in the sun. She returned to her notebook open on her lap and to Thursday’s blank page. A rye smile appeared on her face as she picked up her pen. It jumped in her hand as across the paper she wrote, "Chips," followed by,"Oil."
Jenny looked at the card again and the plump, gloating bear. It took her back to when she was fourteen, and her role as one of the fairies in the school production of "A Midsummer Night’s Dream". Her husband Sean had never let her forget that performance. She cringed as she remembered the fact that in Act Four she had done an impromptu dance, due to her neglecting to visit the toilet in the interval, her birthday card being the latest reminder of this.
Rhythmically tapping her pen on her teeth she contemplated what to put next on her growing list. After a pause she wrote, "Matches," then, "Wood", sucking the end of her pen as though it was her favourite lolly ice. She found this quite satisfying as Mrs Aldridge, her old English teacher, had constantly reprimanded her for chewing the end of her pen. Even now Jenny could hear her, " There is more nutritional value in an apple!" spiel.
She was pleased that it was a crisp, dry day. "Perfect," she thought. She smiled ruefully as she wrote down, "petrol," still thinking of the discarded enemy lying in the kitchen. "A frying pan! I’ll show him a frying pan!" she said aloud. She leaned forward and searched in her coat pocket. She took out her purse. She counted out her change. Forty- eight pence. She sighed. Her little plan would have to wait.
"Damn!" she groaned and threw her purse down the garden. It hit one of the pink pansies before resting on the grass. "Good," she thought. "I’ve never liked those flowers, too prissy, too safe." . "Why does he think I like pink? I hate pink!" It had been her twelfth birthday party that had done it. Her mother had bought her that pink outfit. Jenny had worn it and put up with it. She had never been able to listen to any David Cassidy songs since, they reminded her too much of pink.
Gripping the sides of her chair she imagined what it would be like in the land of ‘if only’…She would be reclining on the sofa with a glass of Italian wine (with an unpronounceable name). She would be waiting for her beloved husband to return from work (he was flying the Hong Kong route today). She would feel a knot of excitement in her stomach as she thought about the meal in her favourite Italian restaurant. She would be looking down at her diamond ring and think of her husband. Suddenly she would hear a key in the door. "Darling, I’m home!" He would open the door and beam a loving smile at her, holding a bunch of flowers in one hand and an exquisitely rapped gift in the other.
"Jenny!" he would say affectionately.
"Jenny! Jenny! Jenny! She opened her eyes to see Sean staring at her with a puzzled look on his face, holding four cans of beer in one hand and a newspaper in the other.
"Sean," she said dreamily.
"Have you been drinking? You’ve not been at that whiskey again, that’s for special occasions," he said, peering into her face.
"Sean," she replies now with a note of disappointment. "You’re home early."
"No more cars to mend. I finished the gears on that Ford Escort this morning," he replies, opening a can of beer.
"Oh," mutters Jenny, stifling a yawn.
"Welcome back to earth. You got me present then?" He gestures towards the kitchen.
"Yeh," she answers.
"D’yer like it?" he asks nonchalantly, gulping down his beer.
"It’ll come in handy," she replies, gripping the sides of her chair.
"I thought so," he says now reading his newspaper.
"You must have left the flowers in the car," she mutters.
"Ay?"
"Nothing."
"So, what’s for tea? What about that Italian stuff erm…?"
Jenny smiles hopefully.
"Er yeh, that Chile Con Carne was alright you made last week."
Jenny sighs," You mean the Mexican Chile that was out of a packet?"
"Er…yeh," says Sean still reading his paper.
Jenny stands up and says, "Have you got any matches Sean?"
"Er…yeh," he hands her the box, "Has that cooker gone again?"
"No I thought we might have a barbecue."
"Are you not going to make use of the frying pan?" asks Sean.
"Oh yes," replies Jenny closing her notebook. "That is definitely in my plans."