The Mid-Way Point

Everyone loved rainbows. It was what people were taught as kids, wan’it? Rainbows are pretty. Rainbows are great. He watched it arch over the street before him. Sorry but rainbows don’t make any fucking sense.

            It shouldn’t be sunny and rainy at the same time.

            He couldn’t explain it, not exactly. But it was easier to tell an ex-wife news than a current one. Bad news, that was.

            He walked down Grace’s garden path.

            It was like a practice run, wan’it? See how best to say things. When she reacted badly, it didn’t matter because he didn’t need to contact her ’til the bairn’s money was due.

            React badly? He knew Eliza would cry, scream, kiss him, comfort him and ask for comfort. He turned the corner after the gate and headed down the road. She would cling to him and shake him, try to knock it out, dislodge it. He’d be offended if she didn’t ‘react badly’ to be honest with you.

            He rubbed his wedding ring up and down his finger.

            What if she left him?

            The drizzle subsided slightly. A man drove past in a car. Music blasted from the shitty Ford. The man yelled something at him, laughing to himself. Tom didn’t catch what he said, but it didn’t sound like the bloody Lord’s Prayer, he’d tell you that for free.

            Two months ago Tom would have put that twat in the fucking ground. He’d have put him in a bloody hospital bed. No one dared to backchat him, back in the day. Built like a brick shithouse. But he was less broad now, skinnier, more and more each day just slipped off him like icing off a cake, or toppings off a pizza. A skinny pale base. He hoiked up his trousers.

            He turned the next corner, and the next one after that, down the back lane. He could hear the sea. Not necessarily the sea itself, but the sounds you associate with it; the sounds that all get grouped together as THE SEA: wind, seagulls, arcades, ice cream vans, kids playing. Their meaning was engulfed under the surface, sculpted and muted by the waves.

            Seagulls were pecking each others’ eyes out over a mouldy Tesco sandwich.

He just wasn’t hungry anymore. And anything he did eat came straight out the other end in a sea of red.

The sea. Taking over everything.

Red.

The sky was getting red now. He thought of Eliza’s red lips - pursing and falling, screaming, pouting and getting all wrinkly, tightening around her teeth.

He checked his watch. It was later than he thought. He had less time than he thought. And he had only just reached the mid-way point.

A woman walked past him, walking her dog. The dog looked like it’d had it really, older than sin. She was practically dragging it. As she passed he got a faint whiff of perfume, something slightly citrusy.

Eliza’s hair smelt like lemons the day he proposed. He had been to the supermarket the night before and picked up some shampoo. She’d asked for grapefruit, apparently. Lemon, bloody lemon. Honestly Tom, one job!

She’d cried and held him, kissing his neck and pushing herself into him so that their bodies were almost fused together. An inseparable force. A single unit.

What would happen when one half left?

It was funny how similarly people reacted to tragic news and happy news. Tears. Always tears. They took over like a personal sea. People literally overflowed with emotion.

Tom hadn’t cried yet.

It was suddenly night time. A sliver of moon lit his way along the alley. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and pressed the button.

The screen lit up. 20.43. Four missed calls. He couldn’t tell her over the phone.

As he escaped the alley, blinded by the streetlamp, he ascended the hill towards his house. There was not a soul in sight.

He had always wanted to climb Mount Everest, as daft as it sounded. Something about the isolated achievement, accomplishing something huge completely alone. He imagined himself grabbing at chunks of icy rock, shivering with cold, and just as he begins to lose hope the ground curves slightly and flattens and he is filled with sudden energy. He begins to scurry and run. The wind blows in his face and snow lands in his mouth and melts as he laughs. He stands in the centre of the peak, only just large enough for him, and raises his arms in triumph.

He knew that probably wasn’t geographically accurate, but you know, it was a fantasy and all that. Just a fantasy.

This year I’ll do it.

Will ya now?

Yep. No more messing around. I’ll start a sponsorship.

Might wanna join a gym as well.

Sly sod.

Daft bugger.

Ha ha.

Alright then. I believe you.

Crackin’, so how much shall I put you down for, pet?

A bloody tuppence.

He stood staring at his front door. It loomed large above him, black with shadow. Slowly, he turned the key.

She ran to him.

In the early hours of the morning, as they sat at the dining table, their arms around each other, Eliza slowly wiped a tear from Tom’s face. Lipstick stained his cheek.

            ‘This will be your Everest,’ she said.