Copyrights reserved by the author. If you are in doubt, please click on 'Copyrights' and read the details. Double Exposure by The TaleWagger My eyes fill with tears and I stupidly offer the box for him to check the address but instead he looks at his pad. "Sergeant Buckton, 23 Sharpstone Drive", he confirms. I feel faint again. "Your husband?" he asks. I breathe-in deeply and then close my eyes and fight to gain control of myself but I know that I have lost the battle. "Are you all right?" he asks. At last I managed a few words: "Please wait a moment." I rush indoors, I need time or I’ll make a complete fool of myself in front of a stranger. I pour myself a glass of water, take one sip and sit at the kitchen table. I stare intensely at the box's label. It’s for him! It’s for John! My poor, sweet, dear, dead, John! My vision blurs and, as I put my head between my hands, the tears flow uncontrollably for several minutes only to be interrupted by the doorbell ringing. I grab some tissues and hastily dab my face. I don’t want go to the door again, as my eyes were sore and almost closed, but I must. With a faltering voice and in short stumbled bursts I try to apologise. I am emotionally drained and the tears flow again, I feel faint again and he guides me indoors. We sit on the sofa. I wipe my eyes and with the help of deep breathing managed to continue. Tears pour down my cheeks and I mumble a little bit about John‘s death. I am slowly controlling my emotions. "I'm sorry," I continue. " I've made a fool of myself and I've kept you waiting." Embarrassed, I lie that my delay in returning is because I’m curious to see the contents of the box and add that I will be all right and have a friend nearby if need help. We say a few more words and sit silently for a moment as I gather my composure and then suddenly I remember what I was doing before he arrived. "Oh dear, Pat! I was on the phone to her when you arrived. I must go, thank you. Goodbye!" I wipe my face and see him out, accidentally slamming the door in my haste to dash back to the telephone. "Hello Pat!" I gasp down the line, hoping she was still there. She is! Good. "Sorry about that Pat, you must think I'm awfully rude. It was an unexpected delivery. Do you mind if I call you back later about tonight? I'm a bit confused and emotional at the moment and I‘ve left Emma in the garden." She agrees. "Thanks a lot Pat. Call you later then, 'bye." I ring off and look in the mirror. My God! I look awful! Christopher mustn't see me like this. The reflection in the mirror is of how I might expect to look in ten years time, not now. I’ve aged ten years in ten minutes! Drastic action is needed to redress the balance in the war against wrinkles. A shower, fresh make-up and a brush of the hair will not be the solution, but it will have to do for the now as I have to check on Emma. I rush to see how she is and find her fast asleep, cuddling her teddy, in the Wendy house. She’ll be all right for a while. I shower, although I would have preferred to have had the luxury of a long soak in the bath, and start to dry my hair. When I switch the hairdryer off, I can hear the phone ringing downstairs and go to answer it. It is a man's voice, the deliveryman with the cold, grey eyes! He says that he forgot to get me to sign for the box and left his pad and pen behind in the lounge. As we speak a shiver goes down my spine, I don't know why, as he has been nice enough to me. There's just something about him though, perhaps it’s just a woman's intuition, or the thought of looking into those eyes again but fortunately I do not have to, as I agree to take his pen and pad to the office. I finally finish rejuvenating myself, and I’m reasonably presentable, so I boldly descend the stairs to enlist the help of a cup of tea and take a dose of my medication to calm my nerves. As I enter the kitchen the box grabs my attention, so I pick it up and stare again at the label. I have mixed emotions, hoping for something good that I can cherish, but shiver, as I fear the worst. The label seems to stare back at me as it confirms that it’s addressed to Sergeant J.S.Buckton, my Sergeant J.S.Buckton, my one true love, the father of my children! The memories flood back of our first meeting and then our first date: the trip to Cromer. Ah yes! That trip to Cromer when he proposed to me. It was a cloudless August day and the sun shone down on the fields of golden corn waiting to be harvested. We were young and in love, so very much in love! I hear a key turn in the front door. Oh dear! Time has rushed away and Christopher is home already! Mild panic takes over. I am not prepared to let him see the box until I know what it contains. My mind is in a whirl. Quick, put it away! Somewhere! Anywhere! The top cupboard will have to do for now. "Hello Mum!" he calls out. "I'm going round to Steven's 'til teatime." The statement finishes as he reaches the top of the stairs. Most conversations with Christopher these days are, for the main part, carried out with him on the move. "All right Christopher," I reply, "but be back by six." Christopher is a normal healthy teenager, eager to cram a day into every hour. His hopes and ambitions stretch before him and his brain is far too busy to concern himself with my problems. It would be unfair to expect him to understand the traumas that I have been through recently, as it is bad enough that he has lost his father, although I have lost a loving husband, my soul mate. It is obvious, even to me, wrapped in my cocoon of woe and self-pity that he too has taken it badly. Only since our return to England has he shown any signs of reverting to his old happy-go-lucky self. It would be wrong of me to involve him with the mystery of the box until I am sure that there is nothing in it that will cause him anguish. Besides, how can I explain, or expect him to understand, why my emotions have been so overwhelmed by the arrival of an unopened cardboard box? I call out to Christopher: "I'll cook us something nice for tea. Don't be late." A few moments later, with a 'Back at six then Mum, 'bye!' he is down the stairs and away. Afraid to open the box, in case Christopher suddenly returns, I start to prepare the tea. I hope that it will stop me worrying about the box but it is to no avail. I wash the salad and I think about the box. I go to the refrigerator and I think about the box. I lay the table and I think about the box. No matter what I try the box is ever-present in my thoughts, but then it comes to me! That's it! How could I be so foolish, it's from John's old regiment, documents I expect. They've had a sort out and are returning papers that they no longer need. I take the box down from the cupboard and gently shake it. No, it certainly isn't papers! I can tell from the slight movement within that it probably contains a single, solid item. I place it on the table, take the carving knife from the drawer and sit motionless trying to gain enough courage to attack it. I hold the knife like a knight holding his sword as he sallies forth into battle. However, my battle is with myself, and the longer I stare at the label on the box, the weaker I become. The name burns its way deep into my memory, deep into my soul. SERGEANT J.S.BUCKTON. Once more my eyes fill with tears and my vision is blurred as the box dissolves in front of me. All I can see is his smiling face, all that I can feel is his tender touch and all that I can smell is his aftershave! My hand releases the knife and the sound of it bouncing off the table and crashing onto the tiled floor breaks the trance. The wounds of the past are still open and my emotions are still bleeding out. I must gain control of them before attempting to open the box. I dab at my eyes with a tissue and sigh. I have lost this skirmish but I am determined to win the final battle! I put the box back in the cupboard and close the door, desperate for my medication and a cup of tea before doing anything else I put the kettle on and go into the garden to check on Emma and get a breath of fresh air on this hot June day. Four year-old Emma is still fast asleep after exhausting her energies on a make-believe tea party for her family of stuffed toys. In the garden, the glow of the late afternoon sun is making the many flowers crane their heads to the sky, as if giving thanks for the fine weather and I tell myself that this is just what I need to pick me up; a sunny day, a cup of tea and a chat with my flowers. The smiling faces of the beautiful flowers, Nature's colourful daughters, always manage to comfort me in these times of need. They are always prepared to listen to my problems without worrying me with theirs, and a problem shared is a problem halved. I go back indoors make my cup of tea, take my tablet and relax on the patio for a while. I gain strength by breathing-in the many pleasant scents that float around in this peaceful backwater that I love. As I sip my tea, my thoughts are of the many times during this summer, and the last, that I have sought refuge here. It has been my shelter from the dark clouds of despair, self-doubt and anguish when they threaten. The sudden loss of my beloved John seems to forever fill my thoughts. Now, among the dancing rays of sunlight and the bright yellows, blues and reds of my little children, we are a happy family. The bad times seem long gone and I cannot be sad and lonely in this haven of delight with them around me. The telephone rings and pent-up frustration with myself, as much as anything, causes me to explode. "Damn! Can't I get a moment's peace today?" The phone continues to ring. It seems that the box and the phone are battling with each other for my attention and, begrudgingly, I go indoors. "Hello! Oh, it's you Pat! I'm sorry, I forgot all about calling back." "Yes, I would like you to baby-sit tonight. It’ll do me good to get out for a while." I seek to justify my unusual actions to Pat and hope that she hasn‘t thought me rude, as we have become very close friends since my return from Germany. She has spent many hours with me, consoling me in my many dark moments and laughing and joking in the better times. Her re-assurances, that I would learn to cope and build a new life as a single parent, have been the foundation of my hopes for the future. "Pat, something has happened to me which has knocked me out of my stride; a box has arrived addressed to John." "Yes, it's nearly two years now, but you know how I still feel about him." "I know. I can't for the life of me think why anyone should still be sending something addressed to John. It puzzles me, but at the moment I haven't got the courage to open it." "No, thanks all the same but I must tackle this myself, in my own time, or I will never be able to cope. I can't allow myself, ever again, to get into this state of mind." Pat offers a few more kind words of support, tells me she will be coming round just before seven and we ring off. I go to the kitchen, desperate for a cup of tea but the one that I have started is now cold. I put the kettle on again, wake up Emma and sent her upstairs to wash and get ready for tea. I take a tablet with a glass of water. I can hear Emma playing in her bedroom and decide to sneak a few quiet moments reading on the patio. I go into the lounge to get my book and notice the deliveryman’s pen and pad. I pick up the pen. 'Umm! It looks a good quality one', I muse. 'Must remember to return it tomorrow.' I wander back to the kitchen and, as I pass the cupboard with the box in it, I automatically look up. The door is ajar. How peculiar, I could have sworn that I’d closed it! I stop and reach up to shut it, but instead some strange power takes over and, before I realise it, I am sitting at the table with the box in front of me. I sit dominated by its presence until the sound of boiling water breaks the spell. I make my tea and the next thing that I am aware of is sitting back at the box with a paring knife in my hand. My eyes glaze over as I stare at the label. A strange power seems to flow from the box to my brain and starts to manipulate my thoughts. I slowly drift into a foggy void. AND THEN JOHN APPEARS! At first it’s only his face. He smiles his usual broad smile; it fills the whole of his face and has that irresistible built-in impishness that could charm the wings off an angel! He’s back! He stands tall and firm as a rock in his full regimental uniform. He is here, in my kitchen! His cap is planted securely on his close-cropped head and his medal ribbons spread proudly on his thrusting chest. The three white stripes on each arm point authoritatively skywards and he is a truly commanding sight. It is enough to turn any woman's head and make her weak at the knees! Only I know that behind the macho image, there was a gentle loving husband and a caring father who, at the birth of his baby son, had been reduced to tears of joy and a feeling of inadequacy. I long to hug him but I am rooted to the spot. He is dead but now he is here! How can that be? Am I under the control of the box, am I just daydreaming or is it my anti-depressant medication working strangely? Perhaps John has been watching over me and has returned to give me his strength. I feel better already, and try again to hug him, I rise from my chair but he has gone, even quicker than he appeared. I shake my head in disbelief and it returns me to reality. I feel strangely calm, not scared, or embarrassed, by what has happened. I may not see him again but I know that John is with me, and together we will be strong enough to tackle the mystery. The future will be different from this moment forth. I put the knife away, there’s no rush to open the box as John and I will now decide when that will be. I sit down at the table to finish my drink and reminisce. The tragic accident, that had so cruelly taken John from me, has not extinguished the flames of love that had flared sky-high from the first moment that two innocent teenagers met, those many years ago. The trials and tribulations of Life had fed the flames, creating a fusion of bodies and minds that will ensure that as long as one of us is alive, the other will always exist, if not in body, at least in loving memory. My mug is empty, time is moving fast and I can sit with my thoughts no longer, but wait! Why not seize the moment and open the box now? No! Christopher will be home soon. I replace the box in the top cupboard but this time I feel that it is our decision. We are in control! I call out: "Emma! Put your toys away now and help me get tea ready, please." **** The clock on the wall shows five fifty-eight as Christopher bounds in through the back door. "What we got to eat Mum?" he asks. "I'm starving!" "Emma has helped me to cook a pizza, with lots of different trimmings," I reply. "I've done yours with chips, but you can have it with salad if you prefer."   Click to Continue

Home Page

Copyrights