ladyofriverrun

[ladyofriverrun]

Breakfasts || Margaret and Brian Drabble

He could smell the bacon and eggs and he could smell the the scorched smell of gently toasted bread in the air, and he frowned as it reached his nose. It had been a long time since breakfast smells had filled any of his homes a moment before he got up. Since his divorce many years ago now, breakfast didn’t happen until he was up to make it himself. Yet, only a few days into having a new person in the house, and he could smell hot breakfast foods upon waking.

Margaret. It couldn’t be anyone else. Frowning, he got up from the bed and made his way towards the door and padded towards the kitchen, and found Margaret, already dressed, make-up and hair already done, and working upon the stove as though she had always been there.

��Well, this is a surprise,” He said in greeting, for lack of anything else to say. It had taken everything he had to convince Margaret to accept his invitation to stay with him, and she had barely spoken more than three words to him in the three days she had been here….yet now she was making herself at home…making breakfast. He wasn’t certain what else there was to say to that.

“I like to be up early,” Margaret said simply, her expression solemn as she continued to cook the food. “I like to be up early, I like to be ready, and I like things to be done. People would be surprised how much they can get done if they wouldn’t laze around until late morning to do it”

“I can understand that,” Brian nodded, stepping forward further into the kitchen, his eyes ever on Margaret. She once told him she wasn’t very interesting, but he couldn’t think of anyone who had ever interested him more. “But you didn’t have to make breakfast….you’re not under any obligation to do that. I could have–”

“Got some cereal?” She asked with a disapproving look. “I saw what you have in your cupboards….” She shook her head as she focused on the bacon. “In my day, men didn’t go about the day on a bowl of brand cereal. Breakfast was a meal and you did it properly" 

When she said ‘in my day’ it was another reminder that they were born of different times. Like when she talked of the Depression, when they had been in the restaurant, he was reminded that this woman shouldn’t be here. Yet, he couldn’t make himself care.

"Is this you making sure I’m fed?” He asked. He was teasing and he smiled at her, but she didn’t return it.

“For today” was all she said. She didn’t admit the reason she had began cooking had not been a display of gratitude, nor a display of being efficient…but merely a task which distracted her from the thoughts of her family which haunted her mind.

[ladyofriverrun]

Baby Steps || Margaret/Brian Drabble

She hadn’t intended to bump into her son; in truth, she’d been avoiding her family whenever she went about the town. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to see them, she did, she missed them so much some days it felt as though it physically hurt her, but to see them glimpse her and walk in the other direction would hurt even more. Whether she deserved it or not, she didn’t want to suffer the reminder of all she was now barred from. She missed Jacob most of all. They’d always been so close, even before they died, and his excited shouts of ‘Grandma!’ had always made her feel as if everything the Langstons had put her through was worth it if it meant having this little boy in her life. But now she didn’t even have that; even if Jacob forgave her, wanted to see her, she doubted Lucille or Henry would allow it. And so she avoided them.

But she hadn’t seen Fred come out of the hardware store, though he must have seen her leave the library for he had waited, watching, until she had bumped into him. Literally. 

“Frederick,” She said simply in greeting, lifting her chin a little, meeting his gaze in defiance, as though daring him to say his worst and walk away. Only he didn’t. He asked where she was living, he asked how she was, he asked her into Twain’s. She had refused, he had insisted, and she hadn’t the willpower to refuse a second time. 

+++ 

“Look, Ma, why don’t you just come stay with me for a while?” Frederick asked, not for the first time in their conversation of cockroach dotted coffee. Margaret hadn’t touched her food. “There’s the room–”

 "No,“ She shook her head. 

"Henry will come around eventu–" 

"No,” She insisted firmly. “I won’t go where I’m not wanted” I won’t have both my sons hate me. “I’m perfectly fine where I am, Frederick" 

"With the investments guy? The guy who was trying to swindle us? Who you warned was trying to swindle us?” Fred looked unconvinced, and when he looked at her with that scepticism, that challenge, she thought she could see herself in her son.

“No,” Margaret found herself saying in Brian’s defence, “That was his Grandfather. That wasn’t him. He’s made….he’s made himself clear on that matter" 

"Has he?” Fred was still unconvinced and Margaret met his gaze, strong in her convictions, though something of uncertainty flickered there. 

+++ 

Margaret was reading upon the sofa when Brian came home. Her legs were crossed neatly and she held the book with a rigidity that made him wonder whether she was truly reading the words at all. The way she did not even flinch at the sound of the door opening, the way she did not even voice the most cool of greetings, suggested she was merely staring at the page. Though for what reason he couldn’t say.

 "New book,“ He said, breaking the silence. She’d had a new book every other day and was beginning to think she was becoming quite the regular at the library. 

"Yes. It is” Margaret said, the pause between the two sentences seeming to imply a multitude of issues of which Brian was not privy to. She turned the page of her book and the sound of paper on paper ripped through the room. 

Brian sighed as he hung up his coat and walked towards the couch and looked at Margaret quizzically. “Have I done something wrong?" 

"No. You haven’t done anything….” She carried on reading her book and Brian felt he had very much done something..or perhaps he hadn’t done anything and that was the problem. What had he been expected to do? Margaret barely spoke to him though they were sharing the same house, so how was he supposed to know what she expected? If she expected anything at all. “Fine,” He finally said, deciding it was best not to pursue the matter and he walked in the direction of the kitchen. “Do you want some coffee?" 

"Where did you say your Grandfather went?” She asked in reply and he froze, turning to look at her. She closed her book and removed her reading glasses which at least signified she was preparing for full conversation. He just wasn’t certain it was one he wanted.

 "I told you, he’s staying with my Mom and Dad….out of Arcadia" His parents were getting old, heck they already were old, a voice in the back of his mind reminded him that Margaret had been born long before his own Mother, but they had been the good Samaritan in accepting the undead Addison back into their home.

 "Why didn’t you have him stay here?“ Margaret asked evenly, "It’s his home town, you are his grandson. He lived here before and you didn’t, yet you stay while he goes…..” Her chin boss lifted a little as though she found the matter perplexing, “Why?”

 "Just because you’re related doesn’t mean you get on,“ Brian explained honestly, "I run a business, and I like it to flourish and I like things to be done my own way” He flashed Margaret a smile, a genuine one, but it wasn’t returned. They rarely were now. “We didn’t….click” He finally concluded, which was the truth. His Grandfather was obsessed with the Langstons, but Brian wasn’t going to put his own investment company under the bus for the sake of a grudge against people who had been dead over forty years. 

“You seemed to get along well enough when you were trying to ruin my family,” Margaret challenged, and the look in her eyes was so icy that Brian found it hard to meet the gaze. He had never been in any doubt that this woman could be a frightening thing when she wanted to me; he just didn’t wish to be on the receiving end.

 "I stopped the moment you asked me to,“ Brian reminded her. 

"You stopped because I threatened you,” Margaret countered, standing up out of her seat. “You stopped because I threatened you and if I hadn’t you would have run my family into the ground without a second thought. You would have seen my grandson left with nothing" 

"No,” Brian insisted firmly. He had to be firm; this was a woman who did not react well to weakness and he had to be strong, he had to meet her, he couldn’t back down, “Margaret, I stopped because you asked me. You think that threat really would have worked? The Langstons still have power here in Arcadia, but it’s been a long time since that influence went any further. No threat you had would have affected my business in anyway. I stopped because you asked” Margaret didn’t say anything, she merely stood there, and he knew then that something he had said had struck her. 

She squinted at him, suspicion in every line. “Why?" 

Brian almost laughed and a smile traced across his lips as he spoke in amused disbelief. "Because I like you, Margaret. I liked you then. Is that really so hard to believe?” Something hesitant flickered in Margaret’s expression which told him it was…at least for her, and he frowned in concern, thinking perhaps Margaret was a much more precarious situation to deal with than he had previously thought. She came off so constantly strong and resilient, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t vulnerability there. “I like you Margaret,” He repeated, “And, maybe it’s a pipe dream, but I like to think that one day you might actually like me. I’m not after your family, I don’t want to ruin them…honestly, they don’t really mean a whole lot to me” Whoever had committed the atrocities against his Grandfather and his colleagues were long dead; the Langstons that remained held no guilt for those crimes, so what was the point? “But I would like to know you. I like you" 

Margaret still looked suspicious, and her arms were folded across her chest almost protectively, but eventually she nodded silently, though her lips were still pursed and tensed. He took this as some sort of muted and minor encouragement and as her blue eyes flickered over him, a thousand thoughts dancing in the gaze, he had an insatiable curiosity to know what precisely she was thinking. Instead he merely said, "Coffee?”

[ladyofriverrun]

Firsts || Margaret, Henry, Brian Drabble

Henry looked down at the pile of books in his hand, double-checking he had all of Lucille’s library books in hand. If he forgot even one, he’d have to make the journey all over again and even though it wasn’t exactly a long journey, he’d rather not waste the time. Since dying, nearly a year ago now, he’d come to appreciate how little time people had left, how precarious life was. Sure, you could get it back at a moment’s notice, especially in this town, but nothing was certain. He wanted to be with Jacob, with Lucille, he didn’t want to be making triple trips to return forgotten library books. 

As he got to the desk however, he started as he saw a familiar figure behind the desk, hair in a severe ponytail, glasses on as she squinted at something on the library computer. 

“Ma?” He asked, in spite of himself, in spite of not wishing to say another word to her ever again, and sure enough the woman looked up, an expression of shock and surprise parting her lips slightly, though it was a moment or two before any words escaped them. 

“Henry,” She said simply, still stunned. It seemed so long since she had seen him, so very, very long, and she missed him so very much. Fred paid visits, and she loved them, even the ones which were so brief they lasted less than five minutes, but she had two sons, and it was as though only one acknowledge she existed. It felt as if Henry thought she might as well be dead. And yet here he was, stood before her, books in hand. She took off her glasses and walked towards the counter.

“What are you doing here?” He asked, looked confused and annoyed by her presence and she immediately guarded herself against the hurt and pain, building the wall once more, as her expression turned neutral and professional. 

“I work here, Henry” She said tightly, holding her hand out for his books.

“You work?" 

"Yes, I am capable of it, remember?” She countered, snatching the books from him when he wouldn’t hand them over, and she began to scan them into the system. She hated the electronics of this. It wasn’t like the scanner they’d had in the seventies…this was some new thing, with a touch screen. Brian had had to help her with touch screens. She had not appreciated him laughing when she had got it repeatedly wrong; it had felt as though she was being made a fool of, and though Brian had insisted he hadn’t been mocking her, the feeling hadn’t ebbed and so her hatred of touch screen remained. 

“But the library?” Henry asked, frowning even more, and though Margaret tried to fight it, an indignant rage began to build a little inside her. He looked so like his Father, and since her Return she seemed only to find that he had inherited more than looks from Warren Langston, for their natures sometimes bore an uncanny resemblance. She reminded herself this was Henry and not Warren to who she was speaking, but still her words came out biting.

“Well, it’s not like I have a factory I could help run, is it?” Another book scanned through. “Not that you would allow me to work there if there were…” She added in a murmur and she felt Henry roll his eyes, even if she didn’t see it. 

“I’m ready to go if you are,” A voice suddenly interrupted, “I know I’m a litle early, but Barbara assured me you could….” Brian trailed off as he reached the desk and his eyes found Henry. Clearly something was going on here and he could tell by the thin line of Margaret’s lips that it was nothing good. Inwardly he sighed, for he knew his planned dinner with Margaret would no longer be the pleasant experience he had planned. Margaret held onto bad moods with the fierceness of a tornado. One you didn’t want to get in the way of. “Hello, Henry”

“What are you doing here?” Henry challenged, looking at the man in disgust. “I thought Fred told you to leave”

“No, he told me I wasn’t to attempt any more business dealings with the Langstons, otherwise he would be forced to press charges,” Brian countered, remembering the conversation with the younger Langston. A quick confession to both plot and Grandfather had earned him a reprieve from any legal complications, but he had been left in no doubt that Fred was a force not to mess with. He got that from Margaret. “He said nothing about leaving town”

“And what are you doing here anyway?”

“He’s taking me out, Henry,” Margaret informed her son firmly, already logging off from her till now that the books had been scanned to the returns. 

“Taking you out?”

“Taking me out,” Margaret repeated, “A date”

“A date?”

“I raised a man, not a parrot, Henry,” Margaret said in a tone she had used with him often in his childhood and she was pleased to see he stood up straight and bowed his head a little as he had done as a boy. He still respected her, somewhere in there, and perhaps he still loved her. Perhaps there was hope yet. 

“Are you ready…?” Brian asked cautiously, “I can wait if you two want to….”

“I have nothing to say,” Henry said firmly, glaring at the both of them, display of respect gone as quickly as it came and Margaret sighed. “Nothing that hasn’t been said already”

“Fine,” Margaret nodded, but her eyes were sad as she looked at Henry, silently pleading that he forgive her, that he accept her, that he let her go to him and be his Mother once more. “Have a wonderful day, Henry” She concluded, before walking around the counter to Brian and when he put his arm around her shoulders, she felt a little bit more guarded from her grief and anger and remorse. And as Brian gently led her away, arm still protectively around her, she realised this was the first time in all her life, both before and after death, that someone seemed to have put her concerns above that of another and it stunned her. She was fifty five years old….how could she have lived fifty five years and never before known such a thing? How pathetic….she looked up at Brian and consciously decided to give this ‘date’ thing a true and genuine try. What had she to lose any more?

[ladyofriverrun]

Masks || Margaret/Brian drabble

After a month of sharing the same house, a routine seemed to have developed between them. Despite having nowhere to be so early, Margaret was always the first to rise, and though Brian rose early for work himself, he would always find her dressed, with hair and make-up done, and he began to wonder if she slept that way. Yet, that began to make him think of her sleeping, which made him think of her in bed, which was a direction of thought which would do him no good. Especially when all he seemed to receive from the woman was silent glares and curt sentences. 

Every morning, she would be making breakfast, though he was under no illusion that she made it out of some expression of gratitude or affection. She did it because it was what she had always done; she had always made breakfast for someone and it seemed that even with death, some habits never changed. He always accepted the breakfast with a thank you and she would reply with a curt nod, before beginning cleaning the kitchen. Her breakfasts were always heavy, and he was beginning to think he was starting to put on a little weight. Perhaps he would have to stop having his lunches if Margaret kept insisting on such  a ‘manly’ breakfast. 

Yet, despite this routine there were occasional, small discrepancies. Such as the time, there had been no bacon and so she had given him extra eggs. Yet, after exactly five and a half weeks, there was a large discrepancy. Brian had a very early meeting which required a very early rise with the dawn chorus and he found himself awaking to an absence of breakfast smells. He was up before Margaret; a first in itself surely. 

Though when he heard noises from her bathroom, he realised that while she was perhaps not yet in the kitchen, she was certainly up. So this was how early she rose. He had to admit he was impressed; he had every urge to go back to sleep, yet Margaret seemed to wake without problem. Then again, the Returned didn’t seem to really sleep as much as the living did they?  

He made his way into the living room and stopped abruptly as he came across Margaret heading in the opposite direction. She was in a satin dressing gown, and her hair was unbrushed and her make-up not yet applied, and, with the absence of costume, there was something utterly vulnerable and bare about the woman before him. She seemed even smaller than she already was, and there was no hardness around her lips and eyes. It was an open face which spoke of the girl he had seen pictures of. The girl with the pigtails and the frill trimmed dress. 

“Good morning, Margaret,” He said, smiling openly, and she said nothing, only stood there and he thought perhaps she felt the vulnerability which he could see. 

“Good morning,” She eventually said, and though he could see the wall building, it wasn’t as strong as it usually was, and her gaze flickered away for the briefest of moments before finding him again. “Since you’re up early, I suggest you make your own breakfast” She added, “I’ll be in my room”

And with that she was gone.

Had he been able to see through walls, he would have seen Margaret leaning against her bedroom door, her eyes closed, her frame shaken and bowed, as though the entire weight of the world had come to rest on her shoulders and her breaths came deep and heavy. She wouldn’t leave her room until hours after Brian had left. 

But he couldn’t see through walls and so he made breakfast. 

He left some on a plate for Margaret, a glass of orange juice beside it. 

[ladyofriverrun]

Cancer || Drabble

With the job at the library, though it wasn’t exactly a full time job, nor one that used her mind to it’s full capacity, nor even stretched her very far at all, it did at least allow her to have her own money. When she came back she had lived on her family, and had never questioned it; the house was hers, and the money they had had been left by her, so why should she question using it? But with Brian it was different; this wasn’t her house and it wasn’t her money, and she didn’t want to be living on anyone’s means but her own. The library job allowed that. 

Though, while she must now pay taxes the law stated she still couldn’t vote; the dead can pay their way but they couldn’t vote for how the money was used. It made no sense to Margaret but she had picked enough battles since she Returned and she was reluctant to have another, even if it was with the government. 

When she came home from the stores in the heart of the town, she immediately began unpacking her items upon the kitchen counter. Some things were for the kitchen cupboards, but most were for her own bathroom cabinet. Different bottles and tubs of all different colours and shapes and sizes, all rattling with their contents. She was still unpacking when Brian walked in. She didn’t look up, but continued with her task. 

“Good afternoon,” She said with her usual polite, yet no less reserved way and he returned it with a warm smile he knew she wouldn’t mirror. “You’re home earlier than usual….” She commented, though whether this was of genuine interest or merely habits of politeness, one couldn’t tell. 

“Well, I was done for the day and….” His eyes fell upon the contents on the counter. He frowned in confusion. “Are you sick?”

“No,” She answered simply, “Why would you ask?”

“It’s just….that’s a lot of vitamins”

“There is nothing wrong with remaining healthy,” She replied tightly, folding up the paper bag once everything had been unpacked. She put the bag neatly away in a draw with several dozen others. He couldn’t convince her to throw them away no matter how hard he tried. 

“That’s great but…these are a lot, Margaret. I don’t think you even need these ones,” He said, picking up a red tub with a blue label which promised any number of health benefits. 

“It doesn’t matter what you think,” Margaret replied, her voice tightly controlled as she met his gaze with a steely one of her own. “I have them, because I wished to buy them. It’s my money and I will not be told how to spend it, Brian”

“I’m not trying to,” Brian rushed to defend himself, “But do you really need all of these?” She didn’t answer him, but began to gather them together, one by one, presumably with the intent of taking them to her bathroom cabinet. He frowned at her, trying to gauge the meaning behind her expression, but she was as unreadable as she always was. But he knew something was amiss. “What’s this about, Margaret? It’s not exactly like you can die…at least not for long,” He added, trying to make light of the situation, though the moment he did, he knew it was the wrong tactic. Margaret did not respond well to jests; she seemed to presume some sort of mockery was being made. 

“Death is inevitable, even for the Returned” Margaret said firmly, unsure how she knew that but knowing it all the same, “But I’d rather not get ill if you don’t mind” She continued gathering together the vitamin bottles.

“Like you were ill last time…?” Brian said knowingly, starting to get the picture now. 

“Brian….” Her tone was a warning one

“You were ill for a long time–”

“Brian, let it go” She told him firmly, something of an anger coming to her now, but he continued on anyway, as he tried to recall what he had been told. 

“It was…ovarian cancer, wasn’t it?”

She slammed down the few bottles she had picked up and the sound rattled through the kitchen audibly. 

“Do you know how…lost you feel when you have cancer?” She demanded, “How helpless? When you’re told that the tumour they found can’t be operated on, that you’re just going to….waste away slowly, bit by bit? That you’ve nothing left to do but die? I celebrated my grandson’s birthday knowing that I wouldn’t see another. I watched myself waste away in the mirror, before they finally took me to spend my last weeks in the hospital. I remember the coma…you can’t move, but you see and hear everything. I could see my son, my grandson and all I could do was lie there….helpless, wasting,” She remembered the feeling so well, how small she had felt, how broken, how her strength had slowly faded to nothing, how she had sunk further into her bed until that moment….when it had all rushed away, letting go. Recalling the coma, recalling the cancer, made something shudder inside her, and the warning heat of tears reached her eyes, but she blinked and stood a little tallr, her chin raised, her gaze defiant and the tears were gone. “If you had known that, you would want to avoid it too”

“Margaret–”

“If you’ll excuse me, I need to put these away. I don’t want them cluttering the kitchen”

[ladyofriverrun]

Wedding Night || Drabble

Though it was dark as ebony in the night outside, though everyone was afely tucked into their beds and the wedding party long since departed, though nothing but night birds and night creatures awaited beyond the door of her new home, Margaret didn’t care. She ran down the stairs, hearing every creak echo loudly in her ear as she rushed forward, her night gown barely tied over her night dress as she ran bare foot towards the front door. She grasped the door knob with a frantic urgency, before tearing the door open, not bothering to close it behind her as she continued to run forward. She hurried down the front steps of the veranda, away from the house and came to halt at a yew tree, leaning against the trunk, before covering her face with her hands.

 Then, and only then, did she cry as she sunk to the floor, not caring fro the soil beneath her feet, the dirt which would muddy her cream night gown. She cried loudly though she did not think it would wake any of the Langstons within. 

Other Langstons. She was a Langston now. She’d left Margaret Anderson when she said her vows.  She had never been truly courted beyond some childish love affairs when she had been younger, and she had, of course, been a virgin. She had known next to nothing about sex…no girls her age really did. No good girls knew anything about it, and Margaret had always been a good, well-behaved girl. But she didn’t have that ignorance now; Warren had taken that when he had taken her virginity. 

It had been horrendous. She had accepted she would have to do it, but it didn’t make it anything less sickening. He was almost forty, old by her account, almost as old as her Father, and he was sweaty and he had drank more than she should at their wedding party, and she could smell the whiskey on his stale breath. He was a stocky build and his weight had pressed upon her in the bed. He’d been clumsy. Stumbled. Shoved and pressed and thrusted and it had hurt. She had felt when it had begun to hurt and she had cried but Warren hadn’t comforted her. She didn’t even think he realised. When he was done he had just said ‘That wasn’t so bad, was it?’ before turning over and giving into sleep. 

She’d felt cheap, used, dirty, and she hadn’t been able to sleep. Not that Warren had noticed. She had sat there on the bed, eyes wide open, thinking it over and over and over. She had seen the small patch of blood on the sheets. Her blood. And then she hadn’t been able to bear another moment in the room. She had run. She needed to get outside. She needed air. 

As she continued to cry, tears streaming down her face, her eyes and cheeks turning red, her dark hair getting wet and clinging to her face, she rubbed at her arms and pulled at her dress, scraped her hands along her legs. She hated herself. She felt unclean, dirty….as though she’d handed over something she could never get back. She continued to cry. She looked back at the house and couldn’t bear the thought of going back inside.

 She stood up, crying still and ran towards the edge of the garden and onto the dusty road beyond. Her bare feet began to feel cold in the night air, but she paid no mind to it. She just kept walking, walking, until she found herself in the centre of town. Where was she going? She couldn’t go back home. She wasn’t even sure she wanted to. Her Dad had made her do this….if she went there he would just send her back. Where could she go? Where could she run? She wanted to run. Run far away. She began to cry in heaving sobs, taking deep, gasping, panic-filled breaths as she wiped furiously at her cheeks, drying the tears on the back of her hands. What was she doing? There was nowhere she could go. She didn’t know anything beyond Arcadia. 

She looked down at herself and noticed her feet were bare. Not even slippers. She couldn’t run away without shoes. 

Sniffling still, she gathered herself and began to walk back the way she had come. Her pace was slow, yet steady and eventually the large, imposing, Langston home came into sight. She walked along the garden path, onto the patio, through the door she had left open, and closed it behind her. She walked to the kitchen and filled a small bucket from the back with water, and washed her feet as best she could manage. Once they were clean she walked up the stairs to Warren’s room. She hung her dressing gown up on the back of the door and silently climbed into bed. She lay there, her eyes not closing as Warren continued to snore beside her, unaware she had ever left. 

[ladyofriverrun]

Brian/Margaret Verse

After the incident with Rachael’s baby, in which Margaret, for Jacob’s sake, turned against her own convictions and helped her family save Mother and child, only Fred seems willing to give her a second chance. Henry still refuses to have her live under their roof, and after all that had happened, even Jacob seems to have turned away from her, a fact which breaks Margaret’s heart more than anything else. Lucille only encourages the distance between grandmother and grandson, having always disliked their closeness, even before they died. 

With nowhere to go, Margaret feels she must perhaps leave Arcadia, or accept Fred’s offer for the cabin which lies a mile out of town. However, there is one other person who extends a hand to her; Brian Addison. 

When first he approaches her, she immediately dismisses him. He had attempted to destroy her family, and though his grandfather had not deserved to die, he had sought to seek vengeance on her children and grandchild, a fact she would never understand, nor accept, nor forgive. Yet, Brian is persistent. He wants to help; where else is she going to go? Who else will she turn to? She claims she’s survived before and she will again without his help.

He accepts her decision, but confesses how he was instantly smitten, that when she walked into that kitchen in her son’s home, all thought of his grandfather’s plans went right out of his head. He likes her, genuinely and truly, that was never any ploy. His Grandfather didn’t want him to date her at all, he was angry that he had, but he didn’t care. He liked her. He wants to help her. He has a guest room; isn’t that better than wherever she thought she might wander to? 

She almost says no, but she’s always been a woman of sense, and he is attractive, she won’t deny that, and she enjoyed their time together until she found his true intent. So she agrees. She stays with him. Separate rooms, they even wake at different times and have breakfast separately. Very little conversation is had. He sees the habits she has which are the habits of a lifetime, he sees things which speak of the time that she was truly born, beliefs and opinions that remind him she’s a woman in her eighties, not her fifties, that she’s the walking dead, but he doesn’t care. He flashes her smiles when he sees her, and slowly she starts to return them. Her hard expression is slowly replaced by a softer one and eventually they begin to have breakfast together, conversations. 

She smiles. So does he. He’s delighted the day he hears her actually laugh; something open and free and unexpected. He’s pleased he’s the one who prompted it. They eat their dinner together, they read upon the couch together, they smile, they get one another drinks, they are seen in the town together. Fred notices his Mother is seen smiling a lot more. Henry finds it suspicious, Fred just thinks she’s having the life she’s never had. He thinks perhaps he understands their Mother more than Henry ever has. 

Eventually, Brian asks her to dinner…not at the table, not in the house, but out, in a restaurant, like before. He prepares for her saying no, but, after a pause, she nods and she says yes.  The dinner dates become regular, once a fortnight at first, but then more frequently. He finds he’s spending more than he should on fine dining. But he thinks she���s worth it. The kiss she grants him when they return home proves he’s right, and he only stands there in the main room when she goes into her bedroom and closes the door behind her. Small steps but they feel like leaps. 

In the morning, she’s made him breakfast and talks openly, shares more. It becomes a habit. He wakes up to breakfast every morning. He wonders if this is a habit of days gone by. Making breakfast, up before everyone else. 

It’s been a very long while since he was someone’s boyfriend. It was worth the wait. 

[ladyofriverrun]

Amy || Drabble

She had been here a week, no more, no less, exactly to the day, and every day since Brian had convinced her to come had been exactly the same as the others. She had risen early every morning, as she always had, and she always made breakfast because making breakfast was better than sitting, doing nothing, and hearing nothing but your own, dark thoughts, and then Brian would leave for work and she would be left alone in the house. She would clean, because she had always done, and it was better than sitting, twiddling her thumbs. She occasionally wandered into town, but she had seen Lucille with Jacob on her first wandering, and seeing him turn away from her hurt too much for her to wish to venture into town again any time soon. 

She was just cleaning the dining room table, rubbing the cloth in circle motions so as not to streak the varnish, when she heard the knock at the door. She paused, frowning, before putting the cloth to the side, brushing down her clothes for any stray dirt and dust, stood up straight and made her way to door. 

When she pulled it open she found a woman stood upon the doorstep, looking as surprised to see Margaret as Margaret was to see her. 

“Oh,” The woman said ineloquently, but Margaret remained silent as she looked at her. The woman was tall, made taller by heels. expensive heels. Blonde. Dyed blonde. Greys threatening at the roots. Margaret would place her at about fifty-five, maybe a little older, maybe a little younger, but undoubtedly in her fifties. Her coat was blatantly Dior as was her handbag. 

“Can I help you?” Margaret finally said politely. 

“Erm…maybe,” The woman laughed a little, “I was told this was…Brian Addison’s new address?”

“And it is,” Margaret replied simply, looking the woman over once more, “Is that who you were looking for because he…” She shook her head a little, a careless half-shrug that seemed to suggest she had very little interest in the conversation. Which in truth, she didn’t, but she had interest in knowing who precisely this blonde woman was, “…isn’t here. He’s working”

“Oh so he does live here….” The blonde nodded, “And you are….?”

“I believe it is the person who knocks on the door who introduces themselves, not the one who answers it,” Margaret spoke as if to a child. Did no one learn basic etiquette, the most basic of rules?

“Oh…erm…sure…” The woman frowned, “Amy Addison”

“Amy Addison?” Margaret frowned and shrugged once more, “I don’t know that name” Something told her this woman wasn’t Brian’s sister.

“I’m his wife. Ex-wife,” She quickly amended, “And you are….” She looked at Margaret questioningly. 

“Margaret Langston,” she replied with a polite smile, tightly placed and never reaching the eyes. 

“Oh. And you–”

“If you’re looking to speak with Brian I suggest that you come back later. When he’s at home” Margaret said, cutting the woman off. 

“Oh, well. …it’s erm…” Amy hesitated, “Well, it’s financial things really,” She pulled an envelope out of her handbag, “Out of the blue I get this and Brian really needs to see it…if you could give it to him and get him to give me a call”

Margaret stared at the envelope for a moment before finally taking it. “Of course”

“Thank you…..” Amy continued to frown in confusion at Margaret, trying to work out who precisely the woman was and why she was in Brian’s house. Were they dating? She always thought Brian didn’t have time for relationships; it had been one of the many reasons for their divorce. “He….knows my number…so….erm…I guess I’ll…I guess I’ll go”

“Have a wonderful day,” Margaret said politely, offering no encouragement for the woman to stay, and as she closed the door, Amy was left feeling very confused, while Margaret felt only disconcerted. And she wasn’t entirely certain why. 

[ladyofriverrun]

Amy Part 2 || Drabble || Brian and Margaret

It was dark when she heard the door latch move, when she heard the keys in the door and knew that Brian was back. As she continued to slice through carrots her eyes glanced over sharply to the unopened letter on the side which Amy had left behind. She watched the inanimate object silently, still slicing, as she heard Brian shuffle through the front room, placing bags down, hanging up his coat, all the sounds which had become familiar in such a short time. Sometimes when she heard his coat being placed on the rack, it would remind her of her Father-in-Law when he would come back to the house and it would send a cold shiver down her spine. She hated that sound then. Warren may have been a lazy drunk, a wasteful man she had hated more with each passing day, but he had no venom in him. Not like his Father. His Father had been a piece of work and Margaret had always known it. She had always been on her guard around him, and the sigh of relief she had breathed when he died had been palpable, she was certain. She still felt occasional pain in her wrist from when he had grabbed her when she had been only nineteen. Henry had only been one year old and had cried, breaking the moment. She sometimes wondered what would have happened if he had hadn’t.  

She continued to slice carrots, before adding them all into the simmering pan of stock, as she heard Brian inevitably walk towards the kitchen. She was uncertain whether he was led by his nose or by some duty to check she was still here. Maybe he thought she would disappear one day as she had made others disappear. He did stare at her often as though he thought she might suddenly cease to exist before his very eyes; she didn’t bother telling him that that wasn’t likely. As much as she believed the Returned shouldn’t be here, as much as she believed she did not deserve this second chance, that there was something wrong with all of them, it was a difficult thing to choose oblivion, to willing cease to exist, to forget everything and accept that you may become nothing. Margaret had spent all her living days fighting against oblivion, she had felt it surrounding her when she lay in her coma, and she was not so willing to invite it to her now. Whether she liked it or not, whether her family liked it or not, it seemed she was here to stay. She would need a job. She would begin looking tomorrow. Not a day wasted. 

“Wow, smells great,” Brian said, as he always did. She wondered whether he had ever eaten any decent food since he seemed to think even the simplest things she made smelled fantastic, and he ate them with a fervour of a little boy who had never been fed. It was the one moment when she watched him instead of him watching her. There was something very innocent about him in those moments; it made her curious. 

“It’s just soup,” She said simply, “I found some herbs in the garden. Though they were horrendously tended; I doubt you even knew they were there….” She murmured in minor disapproval as she began to wash the bay leaves. 

“No, erm, no, I didn’t,” Brian said, licking his lips in an effort to keep back a laugh at her evident disapproval that a herb garden had been neglected. She had such an odd opinion on everything. He looked around and his eyes fell on the letter. “What’s this?" 

"It came for you,” Margaret said, chopping at celery now, though her eyes cautiously glanced over to Brian while he was distracted. 

“There’s no post mark" 

"The sender dropped it off personally. She wanted to ensure that you got it I suppose” She added, shrugged with a casual air which was clearly forced and effected. 

 "She?“ Margaret nodded. "Called Amy. She said she was an ex-wife of yours" 

"The only ex-wife,” He said, feeling that Margaret was implying he had dozen others hidden away. He frowned at the envelope as he pulled out the letter and began reading the contents. No wonder Amy wanted to drop it off in person; you wouldn’t want to risk losing this in the mail.

“She’s very pretty,” Margaret said, still chopping.

 "Hmm?“ Brian was busy reading. 

”…Not a hair out of place…“

 He looked up then, frowning at the comment, particularly as it seemed to him that Margaret’s hair was never out of place either. What an odd thing to say. "She always as very together about everything, yeah…” He nodded, still frowning a little. Margaret slid the knife through the celery still, making little coin slices of the vegetable. 

“Yes, she is….” She agreed, though Brian felt as if the agreement was not a good thing. 

“Erm…” He laughed a little nervously, “I feel like I’m missing something here? Did something happen?” Had Amy made some comment about the Returned? Everyone knew about them now, after all, and not everyone was accepting….but Amy had never been the type to make nasty comments or hard judgements. 

“No, not at all,” Margaret said, offering a polite smile which didn’t reach her eyes. “She was perfectly pleasant. A lovely girl” A woman really, older than Margaret, even though Amy was technically younger, but she wasn’t quite willing to say ‘woman’. Girl would suffice. 

“A lovely girl….” Brian repeated, biting his lip a little at the laugh which bubbled in his throat. 

Margaret nodded. “I’m surprised she’s not still your wife. You certainly seem amicable enough for her to drop by with letters unannounced” She commented lightly, though the implication was anything but light as she turned the heat up on the pan a little and began to stir the ingredients. 

Brian thought he knew then what was going on in Margaret’s mind, at least a little, but he had to admit he was surprised.

“It was an amicable divorce,” He admitted, “There weren’t any petty fights in court or anything like that. We both wanted different things, so we went different ways. We work better as friends then we do as a couple and I prefer looking forward rather than backward” Margaret didn’t say anything, but merely looked at him, a mere glance, before returning to her kitchen tasks. 

She didn’t comment on the matter of Amy for the rest of the evening, but she actually offered him a smile as she served up the soup (she always served no matter how much he insisted that he would do it. Old world mentality, he supposed, and wondered if she would ever break those habits of a lifetime, whether he could get her to break them) and seemed a little less tense. He felt a little hopeful. 

[ladyofriverrun]

Jacob’s Birthday: 1980

It was only a small little birthday party, Margaret would have had one much bigger if Lucille had allowed it, but Jacob seemed happy enough with his friend Tom as the only guest outside the family. They played hide and seek for the longest time while the adults got the food together, or rather while Margaret got the food together and instructed everyone on precisely what they had to do. Thank God Lucille didn’t argue with her on that point or the entire birthday dinner might have been a food disaster. The cake was one Margaret had baked of course. Lucille had, at first, insisted otherwise. I can bake the cake, Henry, Lucille had said, turning to Henry as she always did when she hoped to win an argument. Why she never made an argument on her own merit, Margaret would never know or understand. Yet it hadn’t fallen in Lucille’s favour for Henry had merely shrugged with a ‘Let Ma make the cake for him. He’ll love it, Lu’ and that was that. Margaret had done her best to hide the smile of satisfaction, but she knew a little of it had shown threw. 

Jacob had, of course, been very delighted with the cake, and Margaret had stood behind him, hands on his shoulders as he blew out all the candles and made his with to the sound of applause and singing. Yet , now, as the evening began to draw in, bugs hitting gently against the window, she pulled her grandson gently aside into the privacy of the hall, a smile on her face.

 “I have something for you, Jacob” She told him as she crouched down so that she was just a little below his eye level. 

“What?” He asked with eager curiosity and she pulled out of her pocket a little copper pocket-watch, clearly old, but remarkably well-maintained. “What is it?” he asked. 

“This belonged to my Father,” She told him, “Your Great-Grandfather. He had it since he was a little boy and when he died it passed on to me. And now it’s yours” 

“Why isn’t it Dad’s?” Jacob asked with childish innocence and Margaret smiled reassuringly. 

“Because I want you to have it. For your birthday” 

“But you already gave me a present” 

“I know, and I’m giving you another. Your great-grandfather would want you to have it and I want you to have it. It’s yours. Do you promise to keep it safe?” He nodded seriously and she smiled widely as he took it from her gratefully and she pulled him into a tight hug, before letting him go as she stood up straight once more. “Now go on, go play with Tom before he has to leave. And be careful with that watch” She added in gentle warning and he nodded eagerly before dashing off with his prize held tightly in his hand. 

[ladyofriverrun]

Nightmares and Daydreams || MargaretxBrian Drabble

She was in the hospital bed. The lights beaming down upon her from the hospital ceiling, bright in a colour of a sickening yellow, it hurts her eyes, and she blinks trying to make the pain of the light go away, but it does nothing to help. She can’t cover her eyes with her hands because her hands won’t move, they lay dead beside her, atop the sheets. She can’t move anything. She can blink and she hears the doctors say that she is awake, that she can see, but she can’t see much. Only those lights above her. Why don’t they turn the lights off? Why doesn’t Henry tell them to turn the lights off? They’re so bright. She tries her hardest to move, but nothing does. She can’t even turn her head, can’t move the smallest finger on her right hand, nothing. Her entire body refuses to obey her thoughts and even breathing takes every ounce of energy. 

She can feel her whole body pressing heavily into the bed. She can’t bear it. She can’t bear not being able to move. Her whole life she had felt trapped, but now it was really true. The cancer. She thought the cancer had gone away. Maggie had said the cancer had gone away, so why was it back? And why had it happened so quickly? When had they taken her to the hospital? Was that why no one was turning the lights down? Henry wasn’t here like last time. The room was entirely empty. Not even Jacob. No one. She was just alone in the room and she couldn’t move. No, she had to move. She had to. She tries to move her hands, tries to lift them, tries to lift her feet, her legs, her arms, her head, she tries to cry out but even her mouth won’t obey her. No, not again. She couldn’t go through this again. Anything but this. She had to get someone to notice her. To help. Someone. She couldn’t just lie here again. She couldn’t– 

“Margaret. Margaret. Margaret. Wake up. Margaret” Margaret could feel hands on her arms, and as she opened her eyes she realised she was sat upright and the bright lights were gone. In fact the room was dark. And it wasn’t a hospital room. This was a bedroom. Not her bedroom. Not at home. No, at Brian’s. Of course. Brian. She’d been here months and months now. Of course. Of course. No hospitals. She was in bed. She quickly moved her arm, just to confirm she could, and realised the odd noise she could hear was her own breathing, coming fast and shallow. She swallowed and tried to slow her breaths and made no move to push Brian away when he drew her closer, hands moving from her arms to enveloppe her in a secure embrace. She was shaking, she realised and tried to stop. 

“I think you were having a nightmare” He told her, but she shook her head. Nightmares were made up, not real, they lost their horror when you woke up, lost their power. But that hadn’t been a nightmare. That had been a reality for her. Two weeks she had lay like that, seeing everything, hearing everything, but unable to do anything, only fading with each passing day, weak, helpless, trapped. She never wanted to feel like that again. If the cancer ever returned she would find the strength within herself to make herself Disappear. She wouldn’t go through that again. She wouldn’t. Fear turned to tears as she felt herself begin to cry, a rare thing, and something she did not indulge often, but as in the dream, her body would not obey her commands and she continued to cry, finding comfort in Brian as he kept his arms around her, and she allowed his gentle, soothing hushes.

 They had been dating for a little while now, the first stages begun, but beyond a kiss upon the cheek and other such old-fashioned propriety, this had been the closest they had yet been physically and feeling as she did, she was ashamed to admit she didn’t want him to leave the room. She was scared going to sleep would only bring the coma back. So when he moved to let go, she grabbed hold of his arm a little, holding hm there. She couldn’t bring herself to ask, couldn’t bring herself to openly admit she needed comfort, company, that she felt…weak, but to her relief Brian understood her silence and as she lay back down on the bed, he lay down beside her, she under the covers and he on top of them, though he kept one arm about her, a reassuring feeling, a reminder that she was here in this room, healthy and not in a hospital bed in the final stages of ovarian cancer. 

When she awoke in the morning and the sun streamed through the smallest gap in the blinds, she found they were still lay together and in the cold light of day Margaret felt embarrassed by her behaviour, and, yes, by the vulnerability of it. She moved, lifting a hand in order to remove his heavy arm from around her, but paused mid-way, finding the warmth comforting. She had never lay like this with anyone, certainly not with Warren, and she had never been courted long enough by any boy for them to be so close as this when she was a young girl. It was an odd, innocent intimacy and one entirely new to Margaret. She paused a little while long, before allowing his hand to remain about her. She lay her head back down upon the pillow and permitted herself to move a little closer to the warmth of Brian, and those the covers still divided them, she was curled almost flush beside him. 

Feeling both cosy and relaxed, it was all too easy to fall back into sleep, and when Brian woke, he was surprised to find Margaret lay so close to him that her dark brown hair was tickling his cheek a little. She had turned over in her sleep, and was now facing him, almost nose to nose, and he could feel her warm breath on his face. He looked at her for a moment, marvelling at how the mask fell away completely as she slept. There was no guarded look, no pointed glare, no knitted brow, no hard lines about her mouth. She looked peaceful and he thought he could see some of the young girl he had seen pictures of. Reluctantly, he removed himself from the bed, cautiously so as not to wake her and made his way to the kitchen. 

It was the first time since she had moved in that he had made breakfast instead of her. It was also the first time he had risen before her. And, perhaps most importantly, it was the first time Margaret Langston had ever allowed herself breakfast in bed. Brian didn’t have the heart to tell her when she had a scattering of toast crumbs in her hair. 

[ladyofriverrun]

Birthdays || Drabble

She had never really celebrated birthdays. Not for a long, long time. 

“Brian, I don’t really see the point,” Margaret said dismissively, continuing with her cleaning of the living room. The pillow on the sofa which she had plumped several times already was subjected to another bashing before she put it down once more. “I’m dead” She added, as if that reason should put an end to the argument. How did a dead person celebrate their birthday? Birthdays, traditionally, stopped after death; that was the way it worked. Just because she was…Returned, didn’t change that. Brian seemed all too eager to forget she was exactly that; a dead woman walking, and she could as easily disappear tomorrow as she had appeared over a year ago. “Margaret,” He said, trying to reason with her, trying to laugh it off, but she wouldn’t accept it. She stopped in her task and put one hand on the sofa, leaning forward a little as she met his gaze head-on, determined to make her point firmly. 

“I’m dead. I died in a hospital bed in 1981″ She could see his reluctance to hear it, and she felt a little bad for seemingly hurting him so, but she kept onwards, determined. “when you were twenty three. I turned fifty four that year; I died a few months later. I don’t get to turn fifty-five” 

“So you want to stay fifty-four forever?” Brian asked, a small smile teasing at his lips as he tried to make a slight joke of the situation but Margaret was not relenting. Not a single quiver of a smile appeared on her face. 

“Let it go” She ordered him. 

“Mar–” 

“I said let it go, Bria” 

But Brian couldn’t let it go.

 +++ 

She found herself in the park. She hadn’t intended to wander to this particular part of town, nor to this particular bench, yet her feet had led her here and here she sat, eyes looking around her, but seeing nothing, lost in memories of the past rather than the events of the present. She had never really celebrated birthdays when she was alive. She had celebrated her birthdays a little girl, with small little parties with a few friends and occasionally a little cake. She had celebrated a few birthdays as a teenager, but her seventeenth had been her last. She hadn’t wanted to celebrate her eighteenth, she had been too busy with Henry on her nineteenth, and by the time she had turned twenty she had ceased even hoping to mark the occasion. Warren never gave her gifts for her birthday and her Father could never afford them, and her Father-in-Law always said this life of ‘privilege’ and ‘luxury’ was gift enough. By the time she had had Frederick she hadn’t want to think about her birthdays at all, for each birthday marked another year past which felt like another year of a sentence served. A sentence she could never escape. She wasn’t even sure her sons knew when her birthday was; she had never told them as children and so they had never bought her cards, never bought her presents, and that was how she had liked it. She hadn’t celebrated her birthdays in life, so why would she want to celebrate them in this living death? 

Yet, a part of her, would have liked for her sons to ask when her birthday was, for them to bring her some flowers, a homemade card. Yet, since 1945 no one had bought her a single gift, nor made her one, except a man thirty years her junior and almost ten years her senior. A man she was being sort of courted by. Sort of. They’d been ‘dating’ for a few months….she wasn’t sure what that made him. It was then that Margaret realised how truly lonely her life had been all these years. She had had a whole family around her and et she’d always been lonely. She still was, and she was so used to it, she wasn’t sure how to make a change, how not to be lonely. 

+++ 

When she finally returned to the house, she had reconciled herself to the fact that Brian had meant well with his gesture and his little gift (which she had neglected to open), but she silently prayed that when she walked through the door that he wouldn’t bring it up again. She just wanted to forget it. Forget her birthday, forget the forgotten birthdays, forget her death, forget the fact she had become the very thing her Father had once killed. Yet, when she did walk through the door, she found not only Brian in the room, but also– 

“Frederick?” She asked, frowning in confusion. 

“Ma,” Frederick replied in that way he had since he was a boy that made him sound as though he wasn’t quite sure how he’d arrived in a certain place. “Brian Addison came to see me today…”

 “Frederick, he’s right beside you; don’t say his name as though he’s a witness you’ve left at the station” She dismissed impatiently, walking further into the room, but Frederick’s next words stopped her before she had reached the door to the next room. 

“He told me it’s your birthday”

 Margaret turned around sharply, eyes glaring at Brian before turning to look at her son with the same icy gaze. “He had no right, Frederick.” 

“To tell me it’s your birthday? Ma, you realise how insane that sounds?” Margaret didn’t really care if he thought it sounded insane; she was finished with this conversation. “I brought you a gift” Frederick added, and stepping aside, revealed a Jacob hidden behind him. “He’s only got an hour and then Henry says I have to get him back”

 “Jacob,” Margaret gasped when she saw the little boy, and almost didn’t have time to prepare himself for the hug her grandson gave her. “Jacob…” She repeated, holding him tightly. 

Perhaps celebrating birthdays was not such a bad idea, for Jacob was the best give she could ever have received. And the pearl earrings from Brian were quite ice too. 

[ladyofriverrun]

Birthdays 2 || Drabble

Turning fifty-six had not suffered the same battle as turning fifty-five had. Margaret had not argued that a dead woman did not have birthdays, she did not claim her last birthday would be her fifty-fourth, she did not refuse to open the little gift from Brian, she did not reject Frederick’s well-wishes and she looked forward to Jacob’s visit. Even Maggie sent a card, which while given to her by Fred rather than Maggie herself, was still more than Margaret had expected from the other members of her family. More than she felt she deserved. Henry still didn’t send a card, but she hadn’t expected one and so that didn’t hurt as much as it might have done. She and Brian had been seeing one another for over a year now, and she supposed she couldn’t deny that what they had was a relationship of a romantic fashion, and she couldn’t deny that he showed her things she hadn’t ever experienced before; the most prominent among them being the ability to just freely enjoy herself. In all her life…not since she was nine years old had she had that. 

Unbeknownst to Margaret, Fred had been slowly working Henry down, convincing him to visit his Mother, to at least drop off a card, and unbeknownst to Margaret Henry had finally been won over. Henry pulled up around the corner from Brian Addison’s house, an expression of displeasure and distaste on his face as he looked at the building, but nevertheless he began to make his way towards the garden and towards the front door…yet the sound of laughter stopped him. Laughter from the back garden. His Mother’s laughter. Deep and throaty, it wasn’t a sound he had ever heard often. He could count the amount of times on one hand. 

Curious, he walked around the fencing of the garden until he caught sight of his Mother and Brian. The scene before him was one he could not have predicted in a million years. Brian Addison was obviously teasing Margaret about some thing or another and she was refusing him, firmly, though she was still laughing. Henry watched in bewilderment as Brian, laughing and smiling himself, picking Margaret up, placing her tiny form over his shoulder in a mock fireman’s lift. Margaret tried her hardest to be disapproving, to order him to put her down, but that laughter won her over again, and all reprimand fell from her lips as Brian carried her inside, both laughing like teenagers. 

Bewildered and utterly disapproving of what he had seen, Henry left without remembering to drop off the card and immediately confessed all he had seen to his brother. Fred wrinkled his nose and shook his head as he sipped his coffee “Henry, I don’t want to know what Ma does in her own time” 

“It’s not right….” Henry insisted, “He tried to bankrupt us, his Grandfather was….and she’s dead–” 

“As are you” Fred reminded him.

 “Ah, well that’s different. Lou and I– we were always married, and there was only a day before I…you know…Returned. Ma’s been dead over thirty years; he’s younger than us for crying out loud” 

“I told you she was lonely” 

“So this is my fault?” Henry demanded and Fred shrugged in answer, a smile on his lips. 

Henry did try to drop off the card again, he even debated knocking on the door and giving it personally, but he heard the laughter from within the house, and grimaced, pushing the card through the door instead, before hurrying off to the car. 

[ladyofriverrun]

Labels || Margaret and Brian Drabble

“What do you mean?” Margaret frowned, her look allowing him no escape from the question, nor an escape from the awkward explanation and reasoning he would have to give in answer.

 “You know, when people have been dating for a long time, they do tend to put a label on things, you know…” His words were punctuated by the breath of a laugh that spoke half of confusion and half of amusement. Margaret squinted suspiciously, wondering if the amusement was at her expense. 

“Is that what we’ve be doing?” She asked, “’Dating’?” 

“Well, what else would you call going for dinner and kissing on porch steps and walking you to your room?” He still hadn’t gotten inside the bedroom. Women over the age of 25 didn’t often tend to be as, well, chaste as Margaret seemed to be, but they’d been dating for six months now and not even a hint of anything more than kisses. It was like she was some young, virginal girl with her first boyfriend. 

“I don’t know,” Margaret replied, “I’ve never done it before” 

Maybe she was like the young, virginal girl with her first boyfriend, Brian realised.

”You’ve never dated before?” 

She shook her head dismissively, before meeting him with a little challenging gaze, her chin lifted defiantly as though daring him to make a mockery of her. “Why would I? I went to tea dances with boys when I was a girl, but nothing more…there weren’t many boys I could see and I was only thirteen when I was told I was going to marry Warren…we never ‘dated’…we just had meetings that always involved his Father and then we were married” 

“And when he died…you never dated anyone after him?”

 “Why would I?” 

“For company? For fun? Because you liked someone?” Brian suggested, bewildered at how someone could have lived their lives, lived over five decades without a single date. He especially couldn’t understand how a woman like Margaret had managed it; hadn’t men being knocking on the door the moment Mr Langston was dead and buried? 

“I had the factory to take care of, and Henry to teach, and then there was Frederick with that girl…I didn’t have time for ‘dating’ and I didn’t want it” She folded her arms and gave him a nonchalant look. Or as nonchalant as she could manage. “I had more important things to think about. Why would I care?” 

“Well…what we’ve been doing, that’s dating. That’s seeing each other. And it’s being going on for a while now so….are we…seeing each other? In a permanent way?”

 “Brian, what are you asking? Stop hovering around the question and just ask it” 

He couldn’t help but smile at that. Her straightforward manner, her impatience, her frank speech; even when she was confused, even when someone of her vulnerability was bared, she wanted to hurry up and get on with it. It was no wonder that factory had flourished under her rule, and crumbled into dust after her death. If the Langstons had any sense, they’d have her take it over again, run it in her name; it’d be on it’s feet again in no time. 

“I suppose what I’m asking is are we just two friends who are dating…or are we a couple?”

 “A couple?” 

“Yes, a couple”

 Margaret’s eyes flickered to the side, clearly thinking, debating the answer to the question she had only half understood in the first place. Her eyes looked back to him, before flickering away once more and he couldn’t help but smile again as he took a step closer. He liked think that was what she had looked like as a young girl, standing there, eyes flicking back and forth as rapidly as her thoughts, contemplating her answer in steady silence, refusing to give anything but the right answer. Eventually, she spoke.

 “You want to put a label on it, on…this…dating?” 

Brian replied by pressing lips on hers, hands coming up to cup her cheeks, fingers reaching through soft, dark hair, and he felt the familiar feeling of her arms slipping about his neck. He knew without looking that she was standing on her tiptoes a little, because she always did, and as her arms wrapped about him, he let his own slip down to her waist, drawing her closer. It was a familiar position now and a familiar taste as tongues entwined and lips brushed together, soft and rhythmic, natural instinct rather than thought, and when they parted, she sunk back down to the flat of her feet and the flush had risen to her cheeks which always seemed to make her look a teenage girl again. 

“Well, I suppose, if that’s what you kids are calling it” She finally said, surprising Brian with both her agreement and her teasing choice of words. 

[ladyofriverrun]

Hiding Part 1 || Drabble

She had come here so often as a girl. Back then it had been a place for games and fun and playtime and laughter. She remembered laughing so much when she was very young. When he had been four and five and six and seven, no matter what troubles her family faced, no matter how little money they had, no matter how much they struggled to put even a simple soup on the table, there had been laughter. A simple life, in a simple farmhouse. Simple…the life of a very poor family, but it had been happy. 

When her Father became foreman at the Langston factory when Margaret had been only seven, there had been celebration and dances in the house. They had laughed and cheered as though they had been given a million dollars. The Langstons were helping Arcadia back on it’s feet, spreading the wings of their fifty-year-old factory, fighting the Depression, pushing forward, creating jobs for the whole community. And Mr Anderson, Foreman would be paid a cut above the rest for such an important job. They had celebrated that job. Yet with that job, the laughter had slowly ended. 

Margaret still played in this barn, till danced and hid with friends, but then the fire happened. She wished she hadn’t been there, she wished she hadn’t gone to see her Daddy where he worked, she wished she hadn’t intended to walk home with him..perhaps if she hadn’t seen those men burn, if she hadn’t seen the formidable, cold-eyed Mr Langston push her Father away, if she hadn’t seen him command they let those men burn, if she hadn’t seen him make a murderer out of her Father…perhaps a lot of the pain she had suffered all these years would never have happened. 

She had hid in the barn for a different reason after that. She hid whenever she saw Mr Langston, she hid from her Father, unable to look at him the way she once had, unable to see him as the God-like hero he had once been in her eyes. And then she had hid from the men. The men who had burned. The men who Returned. The demons. Yet, it was as she was hid amongst the haystacks that she had heard the men, the mob, and the people had dragged the demons inside, dragged them in before her and she saw them shot before her eyes. Execution style. With a shotgun which tore their bodies to pieces with one bullet. Blood had stained her cotton dress that they had been forced to burn it. She had loved that dress. 

She had vowed never to hide again, for people always found you. She had vowed not to be weak, not to be frail, she had joined the men in hunting down the Returned, she had stood beside her Father, supporting him, as he was forced to kill again and again. A little part of him breaking every time. She would not be weak, because he needed strength. And she had not fled or hid when those men made themselves disappear. She would never hide away again, she had vowed once more. Until her wedding day. She forgot her vow not to hide. She forgot that people always found you. 

That had been the last time she had hid…until today. 

She was sat upon a haystack, hidden out of view by a dozen others, and she was alone. It seemed fitting. Why would there be anyone here but herself? Her entire life she had felt as if she were walking alone, fighting alone, living alone. Surrounded by many, but always alone. Why should this second life be any different? She had hoped she would find comfort and company in her children. But Henry had been so like his Father that she had been too preoccupied with teaching him, training him, keeping him from becoming like Warren that she had never had the freedom to just…enjoy him. And Frederick had always fought against her so any hope of closeness there was quickly destroyed. Especially when that girl came onto scene. Barbara. All trouble seemed to start with Barbara. Even now. 

Jacob had been her first true joy, the first thing she could enjoy without any other concerns, with any other duties or worries or preoccupations. Jacob had been wonderful and beautiful from the day he was born, not a hint of Warren or Warren’s Father in him. He had looked so like Margaret’s own Father from the age of two, and Margaret and loved him with her entire soul, and had been surprised and delighted to find her grandson loved her just as much. Jacob had always been closer with her than he had been with either of his parents. Margaret hadn’t cared how much it seemed to upset and annoy Lucille. She cared only for Jacob; they had a special connection and with Jacob she never flt as if she was living a life alone. God, but she was grateful she had died before him. She had suffered so much pain in her life, but that one would have been unbearable. 

And now she didn’t even have Jacob. She had thought, after the incident with Rachael and the baby had settled down, that Jacob would be happy to see her again. She had only acted out of love after all, she had only acted out of fear and worry for her grandson. But the family still turned her away, that didn’t surprise her (it surprised her less than Frederick’s lenience had)…but she had thought Jacob at least would understand. He hadn’t. He had buried himself in his Mother’s arms, hiding from Margaret as if she was some scary…demon. 

Two hours ago she had been in town, and she had been in one of the little grocery stores which dotted the street, and she had seen him. She had called to him, smiled at him, but he had only stood there, and when she walked towards him he had told her to go away and had run over to his Mother, who had only reiterated the message that she was to stay away from Jacob and the family. She had left her groceries in the cart. She had taken the car which Brian had lent her, and driven out to the edge of the town, finding herself at the barn.

 She didn’t remember walking inside, or closing the doors, she didn’t even recall sitting down. What was the point? Why was she here if all her family hated her? What was the point if she didn’t even have Jacob? Why couldn’t she make herself disappear? She wanted to hide away forever, she wanted to hide from the world and hide from the pain and hide from the loneliness. But you can’t hide forever and someone always finds you. The barn door creaked open and Margaret looked sharply, eyes finding the newcomer stood in the doorway, letting the sunlight stream through. 

“What are you doing here?” She asked immediately. 

To be continued.

[ladyofriverrun]

Hiding Part 2 || Drabble

“What are you doing here?” She asked immediately, quickly standing from where she had been sat dejectedly upon the haystack, brushing away the pieces of straw from her black coat, attempting to make herself presentable once more, to erase any brief glimpse of vulnerability the newcomer might have seen. 

“Looking for a stolen car. Looks a lot like the one parked outside,” Fred replied, walking forward with the same angled habit her own Father had always had. He looked quit  abit like her Father, she realised now. He hadn’t looked like him when he was younger, but now he was older…almost fifteen years old than herself, he did look like her Father. His looks had always been more Anderson than  Langston. Unlike Henry who had somehow grown into the spitting image of Warren. 

“Oh for goodness sake, I didn’t steal anything,” She replied impatiently, “Brian Addison lent e the car so I could buy some groceries” 

“Yeah, but according to Mr Addison that was four hours ago” Fred pointed out, continuing to walk forward, closing the distance between them, but Margaret did not back away, choosing instead to stand her ground defiantly.

 “Are you here to arrest me?” She challenged. She imagined her sons would like nothing better than to be able get rid of her and to throw away the key. She’d probably be put on something as demoralising as suicide watch just to ensure she didn’t do some supernatural break-out like they had at the facility. She closed her eyes at the memory, inwardly cursing that she ha reminded herself of that ‘break-out’. She hated remembering that she had died twice, as though with each Return she became less the person she had been , less real, less human. She had committed suicide, and if her actions in her first life hadn’t yet banned her from heaven, killing herself just to break out of a prison would certainly doom her to hell now. Maybe that was why she found it so difficult to let go, to disappear; she was afraid of what would await her. 

“No, I’m not here to arrest you…believe it or not, Ma, I was worried” 

“Well, I don’t believe it,” She replied, turning away, turning her back on her son. It was no less than he would expect from her, she was sure. She was therefore quite surprised when she felt Frederick walk over to her, standing beside her. 

“Ma, what are you doing hiding in barns? What is it with this place anyway?” He asked, remembering that it had been to this exact barn that she had brought Jacob. He and Henry had expected the worse of Margaret that day, but something of her confession, both in the barn, and on the road a they waited for the people from the facility, had made him understand his Mother a lot more than he’d ever been able to in the past. God, he thought it might have even made him sympathetic to her. He felt sorry for her. He wanted to help, God knew why and God knew how. 

Margaret looked at him out of the corner of her eye and said nothing for the longest time. She was uncertain as to whether she wanted to share the information with him. She had shared most of it with Jacob, but Jacob never judged her, at least he never used to…Frederick had never doe anything but judge her. Almost from the day he was born it sometimes felt like. And yet, what did she have left to lose? “It was my hiding place” She told him and Fred frowned. “Hiding? You mean like hide and seek? You used to play here when you were a kid?” 

She shook her head. “To hide from people, from things. I hid here on my wedding day. I sat right there,” She nodded at the far corner, “In my wedding dress, and hid, praying they wouldn’t find me. And when they did….I begged. I begged my Father, I begged your Grandfather, I even begged Warren” Fred was deathly silent as he listened to his Mother recount this memory, though he wasn’t certain whether she was telling it to him really, or just telling it to herself. “I was seventeen and he was thirty-eight. Lazy, he smelled of whiskey and he was sweating in his suit. I begged them not make me marry him…but begging doesn’t get you anything in this world, neither does crying and feeling sorry for yourself. The only way to get anything is to do it yourself, to go ahead and do the hard work, do the dirty work. You were never afraid of hard work, Frederick, even as a boy”

 “And who were you hiding from now?” He asked softly, ignoring everything else she said, knowing that if she had hid in this barn before, then it was the reason she was here now. But what was she hiding from? Brian?

 “Hatred” She replied, and her chin jutted outward and he thought perhaps he saw tears in her eyes but she blinked and they were gone. “Hatred?” He was even more confused. “You all hate me,” She explained, “Of course you do. Why wouldn’t you? I haven’t done anything to deserve anything else…and now Jacob hates me too. I saw him in the store….” And he couldn’t get away from me fast enough, she thought sadly. Jacob, her one supporter, the one person who had never judged her, now hated her just as all the rest did. 

“Ma….” Frederick sighed, “Ma…we don’t hate you” 

“Yes, you do,” Margaret insisted, turning to meet his gaze head on. “I see it. I know it” 

“No, we don’t. I don’t hate you. I get mad at you, I hate some things you do, yeah, but I don’t hate you. And neither does Jacob. He’s just…the thing with Rachael…” He shrugged his shoulders and sighed, “It’s going to take time…” 

Margaret shook her head, not believing it, and moved to turn away again, but to her great surprise she felt arms wrap around her and before she knew what was happening her youngest son was pulling her into a hug. Frederick never hugged her. He stopped the moment he turned seven years old; she hadn’t had a hug from him since then. And yet here he was, pulling her into a hug, so much bigger than her, his chin resting on top her head, and holding her safely, supportively, comforting her. It took a moment, but eventually she wrapped her arms around him too, hands grasping his back, remembering when he had been so small, remembering when he could sit in her lap, and she cried. Silent sobs that shook her shoulders but made no sound. 

“I don’t hate you, Ma…”

[ladyofriverrun]

Lost, Found, Unwanted || 1

“Brian, if you keep opening the oven, it is never going to cook,” Margaret reprimanded as Brian, for what was the sixth time, pulled open the oven door in order to peer in on the pot roast which was slowly cooking away. Pork chops were the primary ingredient alongside a collection of both white and red onions, new potatoes, carrots, parsnips and turnips, all cooking in her own secret sauce she had developed back when she had been only nineteen. The smell was undeniably delicious, but Brian was so apprehensively checking on the pot, that he might as well be one of her boy when they were young.

 “I’m just checking on it,” Brian said with an embarrassed grin and she shook her head as she continued to add the finishing touches to the cheery pie which had recently come fresh from the oven. 

“It doesn’t need checking on. It’ll be done, when it’s done” She told him, though a shadow of a smile cross her own lips, as she sprinkled icing sugar across the criss-crossed pastry of the pie. She nodded in approval at the dessert, smiling a little more. She was smiling more often recently, more often than she had in a very long time, certainly since before she died. She and Brian were…on track with something, ‘dating’ he called it, though she refused to say anything as childish as ‘girlfriend’ or ‘boyfriend’, but she supposed it was something similar. Frederick visited regularly now, and often brought Jacob with him which was a delight she couldn’t describe, and Maggie had even visited once…slowly but surely things were coming together. Although Henry still hadn’t budged. She never received any calls from hi, and he never waved to her when she saw him in town, and aside from that one birthday card…nothing. Give it time, Frederick said, and so she would. She just hoped she had time. Who knew how long the Returned would remain here? Or whether the cancer would come back? Or she would disappear? Or die for good? Who knew any of it…. 

Possibly because he saw her dark expression, brooding and filled with melancholy thoughts, Brian suddenly appeared behind her and placed a kiss on her cheek, close enough to her lips to encourage  her to incline her head so that their lips met. She was becoming far more adventurous lately,more forward, more comfortable with their status as a couple. It was a god damn relief as well as a pleasure. The sound of the phone ringing interrupted them and Brian smiled. 

“One of us should probably get that, I think” He suggested, and as a moment ago she had been playful and sexual she now became abrupt and formal. She flipped so easily and abruptly from one emotion to another that he sometimes found it hard to keep up. She brushed her hands on her apron, wiping any remnants of kitchen crumbs from her fingers before picking up the phone. While she was turned way Brian checked the pot roast once more. 

“Hello, 6720″ She answered with the phone’s last four digits. 

“Ma” The voice on the other end replied and Margaret immediately tensed. 

“Henry?” What is it? What’s wrong?” Why else would Henry suddenly feel prompted to call her, to speak with her, unless something was wrong. Frederick? Jacob? 

“You need to come over” 

“Why? Henry, what is it?” 

“It’s….you need to get here. As soon as possible” And with that he hung up, apparently having conversed with his Mother as much as he could manage. 

“What is it?” Brian asked in concern, walking over. 

“That was Henry…he says I need to come to the house” 

“Did he say why?” 

Margaret shook her head, tension filling every part of her body, as she untied her apron and began to hurry for her coat. Brian had the sense to turn the oven off before he dashed after her. 

“I’ll come with you” 

“That’s…I don’t think that’s a good idea” She reasoned as she put on her dark wool coat, though she did not stop Brian when he reached for his own jacket. 

“So I’ll wait in the car if they don’t want me. Besides,” He added, “You don’t have a driving licence” 

“Oh that’s such a ridiculous…I’ve been driving since I was eleven” She grumbled, before walking out the door, bringing a little smile of amusement to Brian’s expression. 

The drive was a tense one, with perhaps a little over the speed limit, and every minute of the journey Margaret wondered what on earth it could be. All she could imagine was Jacob. Had Jacob died? Gotten sick? Disappeared? She kept silent and looked out the passenger window as Brian drove, feeling consumed by her own thoughts. 

She did not speak as they both got out of the car. She did not speak as they walked up the garden path to the Langston house. She did not speak as she knocked on the door. Nor did she speak when Lucille opened it. She only stepped through the door silently, Brian following on behind her (Lucille giving him a look as he did so). She did not speak as she saw Henry step out from the living room, only looked at him with a questioning gaze.

 “Ma….it’s…it’s another Returned” She squinted suspiciously, still not speaking; she felt as if her voice had escaped her. Yet, when the man stepped out from the living room also, that lumbering man, in his late sixties with thinning hair and a sweating brow and wide gut, just as he had looked when he had his heart attack, her heart sunk and her voice returned to her as she took the slightest step back. 

“Margaret” The man said in greeting.

She swallowed. “Warren”