7 minute read
Short Story
story
MR WRONG BY TINA FAULK
When Henry came into my neighbour Sally’s life I knew from the moment I met him he was wrong for her. Sally is a sweet, kind woman though perhaps a bit vague and forgetful at times. She’s been on her own for well, as long as my family moved next door, so, what, five years.
You get to know a person in that time.
I knew Sally as well as know, well, almost everyone in the street. Who uses their noisy leaf blower on the weekend, who has a dog, whose kids have to leave early for sports on Saturdays. You know the kind of thing.
Henry had a dog, one of those small, yappy monsters. Don’t get me wrong, I actually like dogs, mostly ones like the big boofy choc Lab two doors down the street. Bailey is a real dog. Bailey he likes to snooze, which I understand. I do quite a lot of napping myself.
But Henry’s dog was a pest. Hairless, which most dogs aren’t, and a snappy biter, the way most small terrors – yes, I know it’s terrier, but I call ‘em terrors, because they often are. This one was a terror. Capitals. No, I didn’t want that kind of terror living next door to me.
Anyway, I noticed Henry turning up regularly on weekends to take Sally out. Usually it was a day trip, because she’d pack a lunch basket. I notice these things, because well, you do, don’t you? I spend a lot of time in my garden, just listening. And watching. When I’m not napping. That way, you really get to know what’s happening around you, don’t you think?
And then suddenly, everything changed. I didn’t understand what was going on at first, and then I did. People stayed at home and there were much fewer cars on the road outside my house. Even the leaf blower stopped working for about three weeks. Children stopped going to school and everyone seemed to be buying up big from the local supermarket down the road.
But Henry didn’t stop visiting Sally. He and his yappy dog moved into Sally’s. I didn’t realise it had got that far. Poor Sally, she was never really very assertive and in this situation, she really needed to be.
Henry was doing a lot of sitting in Sally house. And now I knew what was happening. Lockdown. Everyone spending time at home. And the terror in the garden next door to me. Well, before Henry and his terror could really dig themselves in at Sally’s very comfortable townhouse, with its pretty rambler roses and herb garden, I knew had to do something.
It didn’t take long. All I needed to do was slip in and sit down in Sally’s sitting room, in the chair Henry usually sat in, when he and the terror had visited. Also the sofa, for good measure. And Sally’s mum’s tapestry footstool, with the nasturtiums. Ditto the window seat.
And then I waited for them to come back after their shopping expedition, loaded with food, food for the terror, and yes, rolls and rolls of toilet paper.
It only took about 40 minutes for the sneezing to start. Sally was worried, of course she was, and Henry, between sneezes, his eyes watering, kept telling her that no, of course it wasn’t Covid, it was his allergies playing up. He didn’t understand, really, how it could happen this time of the year, it was only usually in spring…
The next couple of days the sneezing got worse. Worse and louder. Sally was beginning to get some slightly hostile looks from the neighbours and Henry was making daily trips to the chemist for antihistamine medication. Romance died in a welter of allergic reaction sneezing and watering eyes.
When Henry finally decided to leave, I think Sally was secretly pleased. She’d realised he was a difficult, demanding man, and hadn’t really, truly, admired those tedious bush walks.
She helped Henry, still sneezing, pack his car with his possessions and the terror hanging his head out of the window. I watched them drive off from where I was, sitting in the sun. Sally smiled and gave me a friendly pat.
“Of course you didn’t have anything to do with it, did you?” Who, me? Of course not, I could have told her. I’m only the next door cat.
“Ed - Apologies to Tina for running this last month and crediting it to another writer”.
TVO IS ON THE HUNT FOR STORY SUBMISSIONS
No more than 1500 words.
Please contact editor@thevillageobserver.com.au
ALL OF THE WRITERS FEATURED RECEIVE A $40 VOUCHER
FROM HUNTERS HILL STORE
100
WORDS
Send in your ‘100 word’ contributions to: editor@thevillageobserver.com
The music had been so loud. The kids, fighting in the back over control of the Bluetooth, jamming up the volume til her ears were bursting. “Turn it down” she’d shouted but they couldn’t hear over the terrible volume. She’d already had a headache, after the news of impending staff cuts. She didn’t love her job but she would prefer to have control over her exit. How to tell Mark- another exit she’d prefer to control. She turned to yell at them, her children fighting in the back seat. And now wrapped around a tree, the car an ugly quiet.
SARAH GULLOTTA, LANE COVE
Chopin’s nocturn music levitated through the mansion like thousands of colourful helium balloons drifting into azure blue skies. Sarah’s fingers glided eloquently across the piano keys in preparation for tonight’s Chopin concert. Husband Richard, engrossed in the Sunday paper, seemed oblivious to the music levitating in the background. Suddenly a loud, bombastic, commanding bark drowned the gentle piano music. Richard dropped his newspaper and stood up shouting, ‘What is going on down there’? Sarah had discovered in dismay spoilt family pet Mozart had proudly chewed up all her manuscripts! “Luckily you’ve made copies for tonight’s concert darling,” said Richard, bewilderedly.
Karen Paull
Community Chaplain
Home
“Welcome home!” is our standard family greeting when one of us has been missing for a while. It signals warmth and a sense of belonging. It may be followed by questions about what has occurred beyond the home, bringing interest and involvement in each other’s lives. Whatever type of experience it’s been, there is likely to be reassurance that there is now comfort, familiarity and a sense of normality returning, within this special place, home. These days it doesn’t require a family to make a place ‘home’. The most dominant household size in Sydney is two people, followed by one person households (22% - 2016 Census). However, larger households have been on the increase, a reversal of previous trends, possibly signalling a lack of affordable housing for young people. Clearly home is not just about our fellow occupants, but has something to do with a sense of our place in the world. When we moved from Adelaide to Sydney, placing our treasures from the past into the new place helped it to become home. Indigenous people relate very closely to the place where they were born. People who have migrated often have a strong sense of back ‘home’, where childhood memories were created, sensory experiences were conjured and nuances of culture deeply understood. I wonder what happens when this place of identity is forcibly and frequently changing? If we don’t own our home, we can be moved along by the owner, so we are unlikely to emotionally invest in that place and its surrounding community to the same extent. I wonder what effect lacking the nuances of ‘home’, where there is no consistent place and, in some cases, no consistent housemates, does to a person over a period of time… This is the situation of so many of our young adults today and many not so young, too. Sydney Alliance is pushing for tens of thousands of new, low-cost, rental homes to be made available across Sydney. Lane Cove Uniting Church will be joining them to see how Lane Cove will contribute to this solution. Contact me (details below) if you would like to show your support for this initiative. The old saying expresses it well: ‘Home is where the heart is.’ Let us be very thankful if we live in a home where we belong, experiencing familiarity, predictability and comfort. Together, let us assist others to gain this stability for their lives too.
