Bombay SapphireSophia Hewitt That was a bit of luck. No-one carries cash these days, most I get is a kidney donor card and an Am-Ex usually. Fifty quid ... Ain’t had a proper drink in ages so treat myself to the best, that’s what I say. He examined the label on the bottle of premium gin he had clasped firmly in his hardened hands. Weeks of Special Brew had worked their magic; it took a fair while before he began to feel any of the desired effect, but slowly he began to drift. The sun was climbing high above Jubilee Gardens as he idly watched the pigeons at his feet stabbing mechanically at breadcrumbs. Jim allowed his eyes to travel up from his mismatched shoes, past the grime of his jeans and up to his incongruous sweatshirt which had ‘Comic Relief’ emblazoned across it. A copy of the Times caught his eye - tomorrow would be the tenth anniversary. Jim shut his eyes tightly and succeeded in blocking it all out, as he had learnt to do so expertly. Julia planted herself down on the bench and lifted her face to the sun. She breathed deeply and tried to put the row she had just had over the phone out of her mind. Is it too much to expect a degree of commitment? All I said was why don’t we have a joint account? I’m not talking about renaming the house "Daltrace". She bit into her mozzarella, tomato and olive ciabatta and drew on the straw in the carton of carrot juice. I mean, I know we don’t need to be tied together to stay together, but it would just be nice to know that I’m not the only one who never wants to buy another M and S Penne Nicoise for one again. God, I’m thirty years old, I’ve got the definitive "good job" and a mortgage and I could still feature on the problems page of Just Seventeen - now that’s what I call post-feminist ... And why is that tramp staring at me? That’s all I need! Jim was a good third of the way down the bottle now. He’d been sipping slowly, enjoying the warmth of the sun and the alcohol, planning where to pitch up for the night. Might even get away with staying in here if he hid behind the pavilion. He was not ready for the seismic shock that hit him when he opened his eyes. Penny ... At first he thought the sunlight and the gin were playing tricks with his eyes. He shook his head vigorously and looked again. It couldn’t be - why was this happening? It had taken months before he had stopped seeing her in his dreams and here she was sat on a park bench in front of him. I’ll never touch gin again, he resolved. Slowly he got up off the bench and went across the path.
My God, she even sounded like her. Surely no-one could look that similar? He reached out tentatively to touch a sleeve, almost to make sure she was real. Instinctively, she drew back. "Hey! What is this? I do have a rape alarm, you know, and I’m not afraid to use it!" "I’m sorry... You just... I thought ... you were someone I knew... Sorry." Jim moved off down the path and sat on another bench further away. He swayed slightly as he walked, but it had nothing to do with the alcohol. He was stone cold sober now and there was nothing he could do to stem the tidal wave of memories that came flooding back. A slide show of memories and events from their life together began to play before Jim’s eyes. He’d been her judo instructor and it had taken two months before he’d been able to pluck up the courage to ask her out. Disaster - he’d booked a table at the posh new sushi bar only to discover that Penny was a vegetarian. She’d eaten her own body weight in rice, insisting that they stay since he had made reservations. She’d accompanied his every mouthful with the sound effect of fish screaming. Jim smiled for the first time in years as he replayed that evening in his mind. Oh God, I shouldn’t have reacted like that. He’s probably on Methadone. How can I possibly know why he’s where he is? It was just a knee-jerk reaction. God, might as well buy my copy of the Daily Mail now. Oh shit, shit, shit! The first flat, the excitement of choosing furniture and curtains. The time when Penny thought she was pregnant and he’d pretended to be excited and positive at the prospect only to discover it was a false alarm. Then the dawning realisation that he was actually quite disappointed that he wasn’t going to be a father. This is terrible. I always buy a copy of the Big Issue and yet when I happen to come face to face with someone who lives on the street I immediately assume he’s a drug crazed lunatic waiting to jump me. I’ve got to get a grip - calm down. Jim fast forwarded through new jobs, moving house, holidays, tiffs and outright rows to more recent events. Penny had always wanted to go horse riding but he’d had a phobia about them since he was a child. However, finally he gave in and they booked a week-end in Wales. Everything had been perfect. Sunday afternoon rolled round and Penny wanted to squeeze one more ride in before dark. They were heading up the track as the fool on the motorcycle roared round the corner. Both horses reared up in panic and Penny was thrown into the ditch that ran alongside the path. It was just bad luck she’d landed as she had; she knew how to fall without hurting herself but she hadn’t had time to react. Jim had managed to stay on his horse so he wasn’t injured at all. He could see her propped up on pillows; pale, motionless and hooked up to all sorts of monitors and stuff. Keeping her alive, the doctors said - stopping her from dying was another take on it. She’d been so still. That was what he hadn’t been able to get used to. Penny alive, Penny normal had been so hyper - couldn’t sit through a whole episode of EastEnders without getting up. Only her eyes had stayed the same, she really had communicated with her eyes. She had been making the best of things, pretending it was all going to be all right when they both knew it wasn’t. Then slowly her eyes had begun to say different things, she had shut down, stopped trying. Until one night as he sat holding her hand, listening to the whirrs, clicks and beeps of the machines which had taken possession of his wife, Jim had come to a decision. He turned her head so that she was looking into his eyes and he asked her. "Shall 1, pet?" And he knew what she was saying as she gave him her eyes. He didn’t know what they all did so he just turned every switch and pulled out every wire, then he kissed her as he closed her eyes and he left. The melting pot of emotions that one act had created had never stopped simmering. Jim never let himself think about who or what he’d become (the booze saw to that), but ten years of evasion had just been overridden. Did he dare look again? It started as an irritating, tickling cough so Julia just swallowed more juice. Then she realised it was actually something stuck in her throat - an olive? Now it felt scary, she was losing control. Oh God, I think I’m really choking! Jim was beside her in seconds. He didn’t hesitate, he knew exactly what to do. He grasped her from behind with both hands and pulled tight, jerking her against him and after two or three attempts Julia felt it come loose and fly out. When it was all over they neither of them knew where to put themselves. Julia took a few minutes to recover; she knew he had saved her life - what should she say? She went with the obvious. "Thank you... I think it was an olive." Should she offer money? God, this was terrible. He smelt. She just wanted to go. Deborah would lecture her when she told her how she’d reacted throughout this entire episode. She could hear her now - "Call yourself a liberal?" Jim took a closer look at Julia. She was still Penny’s double, but it wasn’t such a shock now. Just uncanny. "You look just like my wife... She died." "Oh... I’m sorry. Look, I don’t mean to sound rude, but I really have to go. Um - thank you again. You really did save my life!" Julia gathered together her bag and her copy of the Independent and made for the Villiers Street exit. Jim stood and watched her leave. He’d heard what she’d said but she’d interrupted him. He finished his sentence. "I helped her die." It had taken him ten years but he’d finally said it, finally faced it. Did that help at all? Jim knew things had changed, he just wasn’t sure yet if it was for the better. He took a long, hard swig from his bottle and counted what he had left of his fifty quid.
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© 1999 Westminster Writers' Group. Last updated 02/07/99.