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NOTES:
NEW WRITERS' SHORT STORY COMPETITION 2008/2009
THIRD PLACE
Please note: this work is copyright by the author and may not be used, copied or shared in any way whatso-ever without his/her express written permission. If you wish to be put in contact with this author, please contact us.
This story text appears exactly as sent in by the writer. No changes or corrections have been made; however, all stories to be included in the published Anthology will be edited for grammar and punctuation before printing.
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"Spare Room"
by Christine Taylor - High Wycombe, Buckinghamshire, UK
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Christine Taylor: Chrissy first began dabbling in creative writing during high school, where she and her closest friends would pass the time in boring classes by collectively writing weird and wonderful stories and parodies in their ‘rough-books’. This may have caused much dismay for many of their teachers, but at least their English tutors found it rather amusing! Nowadays Chrissy writes the odd story or poem to find escape from the madness and stress of Oxford University, where she is an undergraduate reading for a BA in Modern History. She has never had anything published, but writes for pure enjoyment. She also enjoys reading, horse riding and acting and she is invariably to be found singing, much to the frustration of her poor housemates!
COMMENTS FROM JUDGES:
NOTE: There was a lot of discrepancy in the judging of this story, and the two final judges did not mark it as highly as some of the other judges did; therefore we sought input from the other judges and are including their comments here (1 & 2):
1 & 2: This story was so true to life in highlighting the miscommunications that can occur based on people's assumptions. The fact that the husband wasn't a very good listener and then went back to not being a very good listener at the end of the story showed an author in control of the whole story. Whereas lots of other entries kind of petered out at the end or didn't resolve very satisfactorily, this one went full circle. We thought that the dialogue was excellent and that, in fact, the whole story was carried by the dialogue. With that element being such an important part, we both felt that the author did it so well that the other elements also deserved high marks in showing character, plot, content etc. The story was humorous and a ray of sunshine in a group of some pretty serious, sometimes even dark, stories. - The story was not only light hearted but it was memorable! It really stood out and is one of the VERY few that has stayed with me. It just had an air of authenticity to it. And it is the only one that made me actually laugh out loud! I loved it.
3. Perhaps a first (or early) attempt in this writer's progress at the talking-at-cross-purposes story. A little too obvious from the start. It could have been a period piece, but didn't make this clear.
2. A nice concept and quite well carried out, though a bit awkward and obvious from the beginning that this was cross-talk with a big misunderstanding coming. It also didn't need quite the exposition near the end that Fiona gives it. On the whole could have been better written and presented, less naive in form.
THE STORY:
“My dear,” began Mrs Fielding to her husband one afternoon, “I really think that now is the time to redecorate the spare room.”
“What’s that my loveliness?” asked the bespectacled Mr Fielding as he emerged reluctantly from behind his newspaper.
“The spare room, Charles,” his wife repeated, “I think we should paint it pink”.
“Pink....mm, that’s nice dear...” came the non-committal reply as he reburied himself into his article on the stock market.
“Pink would be best...You’re not listening at all, are you dear?”
“Mmm,” he replied.
“Charles!” said Mrs Fielding more loudly, which made Mr Fielding start slightly, put down his paper and readjust his spectacles, to better look at his wife.
“Whatever is it Fiona?” he frowned, “What is the matter?”
“I have been trying to tell you something, Charles,” she said nervously. She stood, straightened her skirt and moved to perch on the edge of her husband’s armchair, whereupon she looked straight in the eyes of the moustached man who was sitting looking perplexed within it.
“H-have you, my love? You know I never pick up on subtle hints so do just tell me straight out or we’ll be here all day,” he smiled apologetically.
“Very well. I have found a use for the spare room; it will be a second bedroom,” Fiona stated matter-of-factly.
“Another one, my love?” queried Charles, “but why do we need one?”
“My dear,” Fiona answered nervously, “I haven’t told you this before because I was afraid to. Afraid of what you’re reaction would be. But I can’t keep it from you any longer. I know we hadn’t planned for this and it’s a bit of surprise, but, well...things don’t always happen as we expect, do they? Life is unpredictable...The thing is- She’ll be arriving in a few months and we really need to be making preparations for-“
Charles stared at his wife for a moment, his jaw dropping slightly as realisation dawned. “You’re...” he said quietly, interrupting his wife.
“Yes.”
“You mean...”
“Yes, Charles, it’s going to be a big change, I’m afraid.”
“I can’t believe it!” he exclaimed under his breath.
“I can hardly believe it myself. It will be hard to adapt,”
“Hard?” mused Charles, pulling his wife into his lap, “Well, yes, I suppose it is. But you’re not saying you’d change it if you had the chance are you?”
“No, of course not! Charles, you really are being wonderfully accommodating about this. To be honest, I did expect you to be a little more...well... more concerned about it all”
“Well, of course I’m concerned, but that’s really not of any relevance is it? She’s coming whether we like it or not and she’ll get all the love she deserves. She’ll be part of the family, after all,” smiled Mr Fielding.
“Oh darling, you really are wonderful!” sobbed Mrs Fielding, curling up in his arms.
“There, there,” he said, stroking her hair.
“I’m sorry,” sniffed Fiona, “I’m very emotional lately.”
“That’s to be expected, I suppose,” he replied, kissing his wife’s forehead. “We’ll start decorating straight away. Have you told your mother yet?”
“Told my- yes, of course! She’s the one who suggested it.”
“Suggested it?”
“Yes. I think she knew that we were quite lonely here on our own,”
“Lonely-...You mean this was planned? Between you and your mother?” he asked in disgust, recoiling from his wife’s embrace “I thought you said this was unplanned? A “surprise” you said! Honestly Fiona, that was rather underhand of you! It really is the sort of thing a man and wife should talk about.”
“I’ve told you now though!” said Fiona, in dismay, “We’re talking about it now! Maybe I should have told you earlier but I don’t see how it would have made all that much difference... I don’t understand- you were being so reasonable about it a moment ago- what’s changed?”
“Everything! Now that I know this was secretly planned by you; that you deliberately brought her into our lives without thinking to consult me first, it really puts a whole new spin on it!”
“Charles, if you’re really unhappy about this we can always just decide not to have her!”
“Not to ha-...” started Mr Fielding in disgust, standing up suddenly. “Fiona I never thought to hear you suggest such a thing!”
“I thought it’s what you might want!”
“What I might w-! You honestly think that is what I would want?”
“She’s not your responsibility after all Charles,” shrugged his wife. “I quite understand that you might not want her around...”
“Now hang on just a minute!” proclaimed Charles, stopping dead still, his voice quivering, “what on earth do you mean by “she’s not your responsibility”? What are you saying exactly?” He shook with anger.
“Nothing, dear,” said Mrs Fielding, “just that she’s not your-”
“WHAT?” yelled Charles, hardly believing what he was hearing, blood rushing to his face. “How could you...? How...how...” he trailed off, all energy gone out of him suddenly. He slumped down on the sofa which his wife had recently vacated, and buried his head in his hands in despair. Mrs Fielding tentatively approached and placed a hand upon her husband’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. Charles moved away.
“It’s all right;” she said soothingly, “we’ll call the whole thing off. I’m just glad I got to see how you really feel about it before it’s too late.”
“Too late?” Call it off? How I really feel!” He stared up at his wife in disbelief, “What about how you really feel? I’m just glad I got a glimpse of that. This marriage obviously means nothing to you if you are willing to just betray me like you have! ...You know I never would have thought that you would...you would...”
“Betrayal?” questioned Fiona, thoroughly hurt by his accusations, “That’s a bit harsh don’t you think?” Tears now began to well in her eyes, “I was too hasty, perhaps. Too insensitive to your opinion, maybe. But betrayal goes a bit far Charles, really...”
“Of course it’s betrayal Fiona! What else is it? It’s betrayal in the highest degree!” yelled Charles, then all anger drained out of him once more and he felt utterly lost. “If you were that lonely, why didn’t you just say so?” asked Charles desperately, “Instead of listening to that conniving mother of yours and trying to create a ‘family’ without my input?”
“Conniving!” yelled Fiona, now thoroughly angry, “How dare you call her conniving! She needs a home, and all you can say is that she is ‘conniving’? Dad only passed away a few weeks ago- she needs family around her! So excuse me if offering her a home is classed as ‘betrayal’ nowadays!”
“I- What?” asked Charles, totally stumped.
“What?” asked Fiona.
“Your mother? ...As well?”
“As well as what, Charles?” Fiona sighed.
“Well, as well as, your...your child,”
“My WHAT?”
“Your...Your...You’re not...you’re not pregnant are you?” said Charles, realising that he had somehow got some wires very crossed.
“PREGNANT! What on earth are you talking about?”
“I- er...I’m not sure... I’m not sure anymore...You mean you’re not having another man’s child?”
“Charles! Where on earth did you get that from?”
“And you’re not turning the spare room into a pink nursery for it?”
“Charles! There is no child...no need for a nursery... no other man...where do you get these ridiculous ideas from?”
“But, but you said...she’s arriving in a few months...preparations...a pink bedroom and all that... “It’s going to be hard”.... “A big change”, you said...you’ve been emotional lately, you said... And then you said “we could not have her”; that she’s “not my responsibility” because she’s not mine! I mean really Fiona, what was I supposed to think?”
“Oh Charles, you idiot! My mother is arriving in a few months to come and live with us for a while! I thought... I just thought it would be nice if we did up the room since her and dad’s room has always been pink. And of course I’ve been emotional recently; it’s not that long since Dad passed away. When you suddenly got all upset about it I simply suggested we don’t have mum come to stay after all, since she’s not your responsibility- not your mother. Oh Charles, you goose...”
“Well, in my defence, you never specifically said you were talking about your mother.”
“You interrupted me Charles, I seem to remember. I assumed you had got the right end of the stick since we talked about my mother and her selling that big old house just this morning. You really never listen to me, do you?”
“Apparently not dear,” smiled Charles in relief, settling back into his armchair and picking up his newspaper again, “I’m just so glad it’s not what I thought.”
“So pink it is then?” asked Fiona.
“Hmm?” asked Charles who was once more hidden behind his paper.
“Rose? Or Salmon perhaps?” mused Fiona.
“...You know I hate fish dear, can’t you do your lasagne tonight?”
“Oh Charles, you really are impossible!”
Copyright (c) 2009 by Christine Taylor - do not reproduce
without the author's written permission!
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