The Brick - next draft by Peta

The Brick 1479 words

“Hello, hello, are you there Mr Hawthorn? I can’t hear you!!”

Maisy’s voice cut through the peace and quiet like a knife’s edge. Despite the early hour, Jerry Carruthers had drifted off on the garden bench. His wife’s acid tones brought him back to the here and now. Straightening up, he gathered the morning edition of the Daily Tribune which had fallen across his lap. Through the back door of the house Jerry could see Maisy talking on the cordless phone. He could see her stubby fingers with red painted nails clutching the phone in one hand and a lipstick tainted Marlboro in other. She held the handset close to her ruby red lips which contorted with each strangled word. Impatiently, she started to pace the long hallway. The relentless clicking of her shoes on the wooden floor echoed through the early morning silence. Her hair was wrapped tightly around velcro curlers and stuffed under an old hairnet. The well-worn floral house coat ballooned around her as she strutted purposefully back and forth. Although he loved her, he had to admit she looked a fright. She was also clearly very upset.

“Mr Hawthorn?? You promised you would have Mother here by 10. Where is she Mr Hawthorn?”

Moments later Jerry heard a deep crunch as Maisy slammed the phone down into its cradle. An all too common occurrence these days he reflected. She needed to lighten up but there was no telling her. Jerry heard the familiar stomp of heavy heels as she marched towards the open back door.

“Jerry, where the hell are you?”

The fly screen door crashed against its frame as Maisy stormed out of the house, hands on her more than ample hips. A cloud of cigarette smoke floated in her wake.

Jerry took cover behind his paper and prepared for the onslaught he instinctively felt was imminent.

“What do you think you’re doing, eh?”

“There’s no time for sitting around, reading the paper and drinking cups of tea. Mum will be here soon and we’ll have to leave straight away. We’re already behind schedule. That bloody Mr Hawthorn. Mum should have been here ages ago.”

The tirade continued. “He told me his son is bringing her over. “Very reliable” he said. Reliable my arse. I knew you should have picked up her up. If only you would listen to me some times. But no. You know best. Why the hell do I bother! Tell me that, eh?”

“Calm down Dear.” Jerry said in what he hoped to be a soothing voice.

“No point getting your knickers in a knot. I am sure she’ll arrive soon and we’ve plenty of time. Why don’t you sit down for a minute and relax. Stop getting all worked up.”

“Worked up?? Worked up?? I’ll give you worked up if she’s not here in the next 5 minutes.”

Beads of perspiration clung to the not so fine hair crowning Maisy’s upper lip. Her face had turned beetroot red. Her poor heart must be pumping overtime, Jerry thought. One of these days it will just explode. He had a fleeting vision of Maisy spread-eagled in a garden bed, body bouncing as he administered CPR. I really should book in for a first aid course, he thought.

“Yes that’s right just ignore me as usual.” Maisy admonished mistaking his daydreaming for apathy.

Maisy turned on her heels and head back into the house. Jerry drew a deep breath and exhaled with a sigh. He carefully raised himself out of the rickety old bench and followed after her. The cool interior of the house was a welcome relief from the rising temperature outside.

“What can I do to help you out, love?”

Maisy turned and looked at Jerry with distain. As her pumped up lips moved ready to speak, the shrill call of the door chimes echoed through the house.

“I’m coming, I’m coming. Hold your horses.” Maisy yelled as she galloped to the front door. Jerry followed like an obedient puppy dog. The heavy oak door was no match for Maisy’s impatience as she threw it open.

“Who the hell are you?” Maisy demanded aggressively.

From behind Maisy, Jerry was surprised by the sight of their visitor. He was a big unit, a biker. His bare arms were heavily tattooed with ghastly colored depictions of women and wild looking animals. A leather jacket hung over one shoulder, a satchel on the other. Behind him Jerry noticed a very large motorbike parked on the front lawn, maybe a Harley, he wasn’t sure. Jerry clenched his teeth and bit his lip. The neatly manicured lawn, mowed to perfection, was Maisy’s pride and joy. The gateway to her castle, its care was her only physical pursuit. This was unlikely to go well, he thought.

“Mrs Carruthers is it?” Was the reply when it came.

Maisy pulled her shoulders back, as she stood akimbo in the doorway.

“Correct.” Maisy answered curtly. “And who might you be and what do you want?”

“I’m Bob. I’ve come to deliver the brick.”

Bob opened a satchel and pulled out a large rectangular object which he extended towards Mrs Carruthers.

“The brick?” Maisy said as she looked in puzzlement. She raised an eyebrow and stared at the outstretched article. It was wrapped in what appeared to be butcher’s paper.

“I’m sorry. Who are you again and what is this?”

“Bob. Bob Hawthorn, Mr Hawthorn’s son.”

“Mr Hawthorn’s son? Oh my god, so this is …..”

“Your mother’s remains.” Bob interjected nodding. Maisy’s jaw dropped. She let out a gasp and wobbled slightly.

Jerry moved forward to support Maisy. As he reached for her elbow, she lost her balance and fell inelegantly forward into Bob where he stood at the bottom of the steps. With the unexpected force of her weight, Bob reeled backwards. It was a frenzy of floral dress and leather jacket as arms flailed about, legs and torsos twisted uncomfortably. Jerry rushed down the steps and tried to separate the two squirming bodies.

“Get your hands off of me you big oaf.” Maisy yelled hysterically.

“I was just trying to help Darling.”

“Not you, you idiot, him!”

Bob, who had been trying frantically to release himself from Maisy's vice-like grip, gave up and shrunk back into the grass. Further struggling was pointless.

Jerry assisted his uncooperative wife to her feet. Her hairnet and curlers were in disarray. Strands of her over dyed hair fell randomly loose. Free of Maisy’s not inconsiderable person, Bob hoisted himself back to his feet and retreated to his bike.

“You’re crazy.” He muttered as he gathered up his belongings strewn across the front garden. With one vicious kick his machine burst into life and Maisy burst into tears.

Jerry looked after Bob as he accelerated across the lawn grinding a deep groove through the buffalo grass, disappearing at high speed. Placing a loving arm around her shoulder, Jerry tried to comfort the blubbering Maisy.

“I was rather expecting something more ceremonious for mother. An elegant urn or something. Not a bloody box. Mother would roll in her grave – if she had one. What on earth will they think at the memorial service?” She sniveled.

“It’s the way they do it these days Dear. More secure, less accidents, which, as it turns out, is a good thing. Otherwise the goldfish would be nibbling on your mother’s ashes as we speak.”

Jerry smirked and stifled a giggle. Maisy looked up at him, her faced contorted with confusion. She followed Jerry’s gaze to where the brick had settled at the bottom of the shallow fish pond, a casualty of the tussle with Bob.

With Maisy verging on hysteria, Jerry waded into the pond and retrieved the box. The wrapping was a sopping mess but Jerry was thankful to discover the brick-like box was indeed watertight.

“Come on love.” Jerry said as he handed over the box. “We’d better get cracking. You mother’s memorial service starts in an hour and there’ll be no show without Punch!”

A short while later Maisy emerged from the house in all her finery, a determined look foxed firmly across her freshly made up face. Jerry was relieved to see the dark storm had lifted.

“You look lovely Darling.” he said with all the enthusiasm he could muster as he helped Maisy into the front seat of the idling automobile. Expertly Jerry maneuvered the car out of the narrow driveway and down the road.

Maisy grabbed his arm, nails biting into the flesh, “Stop!”

Jerry reacted immediately slamming on the brakes. The force hurled them forward, stretching the seatbelts to the limit. Jerry looked anxiously at his wife. Her face was contorted with fury.

“Where’s Mother?”

Without a word or hesitation, Jerry threw his arm across the back of the seat and reversed at high speed towards the house.