Mary & George

“Mary, wake up, it’s time.” The voice was calm, crystal clear and loud. It jolted Mary out of her sleep in a flash. She immediately turned her hopeful eyes to the window, the curtains already tied back, as they had been for many nights now in anticipation for this happening, the heavenly glow she had been so wishing would appear, hovered in the night sky before her, waiting patiently. Mary’s eyes filled with the tears she had held back too long, as she stared in astonishment, joy and relief at the beautiful figure outside.

“Come on Mary. It’s time.” The voice, calm, crystal clear and loud again, this time with a notable tone of humour at Mary’s frozen bewilderment, gently reassured and coaxed her into showing some alacrity. Mary bolted upright, not needing to be told twice, and more unfortunately, not taking into account the fact her right leg was totally numb after being slept on, causing her to clatter straight to the floor. Much to her frustration, her right hand was suffering the same symptoms, as she made cack-handed attempts to grab herself back to her feet, knocking over a variety of perfumes and hairsprays and swiping an un-drunk cup of tea smashing to the floor. She winced at her clumsy fumblings and looked, pleading and apologetic, out of the window, expecting the heavenly light to be shaking its head in weary disapproval. It remained calm and comforting, Mary watched as it lifted a slender finger to its lips, reminding her of the wheezing brute lying like a beached whale on the floor at the other side of the bed, liable to be woken by her clattering about. She had forgotten he was even there in all the excitement. This was a revelation. Mary’s heart filled with great joy and an overwhelming sense of hope, as for the first time in so, so many years, the man who had such a stranglehold on her very existence had fallen so easily from her thoughts. Mary felt an amazing surge of liberation at this.

George had been Mary’s husband for 35 years of marital bliss. They shared the same soul, loved the same things and were practically inseparable. They didn’t go a single day in 35 years without seeing each other or without falling asleep together, totally in love. George was an extremely popular man around the town and would always proudly take Mary with him to the pub, where his other friends would leave their own wives at home so they could relax and be themselves. The others were never disgruntled at George bringing Mary, as they all felt she brought the best out in George. On the odd occasion when Mary was too tired to go out, or just didn’t feel like it, the others would ask after her, all feeling that George wasn’t quite as exuberant or funny as he was, when she was with him.

The bloated drunk lying on the floor in Mary’s room however, was not George. It was Bert. George had died five years ago, and with a crippling fear of being alone the rest of her life, and with youth a distant memory, Mary had latched on to Bert.

They had married soon after getting together at the Registry Office with a couple of witnesses Mary had never met. Mary had wanted to get dressed up and invite her friends, but was convinced by Bert that she was too old and fat and all her friends would think her pathetic, trying to be glamorous at her age, and would be laughing at her behind her back. Of course, Mary complied, the way she had done ever since, knowing the consequences if she didn’t. She had gradually been cut off from all her friends and had even been made to leave her job, after Bert accused her of being over-familiar with her boss in the pub, which also meant she wasn’t allowed to the pub anymore. She barely even let on to her friends in the street these days, too ashamed as to what she had become.

Mary pulled a small suitcase out from under the bed and started to fill it with items she couldn’t bear to leave behind, love letters between her and George from before they were married, photo albums full of their adventures and a variety of trinkets they had collected in their years together. She had no idea if she would even be able to take them with her, but she sure as hell knew she didn’t want them left with Bert. She pulled on a summery dress that Bert would never have let her leave the house in and slipped on the shiny, red high heels George had bought her one anniversary that hadn’t seen the light of day for a good few years, but had been kept immaculate. She quickly put on make up with only the glow from the ethereal being at the window for light, fearing the lamp may have agitated the sleeping beast. She stood and straightened her dress before taking the deepest of breaths and looking expectantly out at the heavenly figure. The glow slowly held out an open palm. “Come, Mary.”

Mary smiled and pushed up the sash window and clambered out awkwardly onto the ledge before standing up straight and calm, unaffected by the vast drop beneath her. “Reach out Mary, I will take you.”

Walking down the street was Mary’s old workmate Sue, who was on her way back from a night on the town with her friend. She soon caught sight of Mary up on the ledge, dress blowing in the wind, and began racing down the street screaming up at her.

“Mary no! What are you doing Mary? Mary! Get back inside!”

Mary looked down at Sue with a countenance more content than Sue had seen her in years and spoke calmly to reassure her. “Sue it’s fine, they’re taking me to George.”

“Who is Mary? Get back inside!”

Mary reached out to take the hand of the beautiful, glowing figure, losing her balance to the shrieks of the ladies below before steadying herself.

“They’re taking me to George, Sue.” Mary called down, sounding a little less sure of herself.

“Mary, there’s no one there love! Please Mary, get back inside! We know about Bert, we can get you away from him!”

Sue’s friend swayed, drunk from her night out, failing to take in the seriousness of the situation, adding a rather half-hearted “He’s not worth it, darlin’!” to Sue’s desperate cries of despair. “All the beatings must have gone to her ‘ead.” she offered aside to an exasperated Sue.

A deep, confused voice came from inside the room.

“Mary? What yer doin woman?”

Bert’s booming voice sent a shot of fear through Mary as she frantically pushed down the sash window and shuffled tentatively across the ledge, petrified of the brute grabbing at her. Bert began frantically pulling at the lock on the window and pounding his massive fists on the glass, screaming at Mary to get back in. Sue shouted up, this time at Bert.

“Bert! Stop it, you’re scaring her! Come and open this door! I can talk her back in!” It was no use, he was in a blind rage, oblivious to the ladies on the street, and continued hammering his fists relentlessly on the window, too drunk to work out how to open it.

Mary closed her eyes tight shut, in pure terror at Bert’s fuming rage.

The voice. Calm. Crystal clear, and loud above all the screaming, spoke softly again to Mary, “Come, Mary. I will take you.”

Mary opened her eyes with an overwhelming feeling of serenity, happiness and certainty.

Sue kicked and pounded at the door, screaming at Bert to let her in when she heard an almighty thud behind her.

She stopped kicking. She stopped pounding. She hit her forehead against the door and let it rest there as she cried a flood of tears whilst a snowfall of old photographs fell around her feet.

She looked down at a young George, suntanned and grinning, trying to steal a kiss on the cheek of a camera-shy Mary.