BITTER ALMONDS. A Short Story.

Emily looked forward to Saturdays. She had her pension secure from the bank where she now had to go to collect it and her week’s household chores completed. It was the day when Mark popped by for a cup of tea and a chat. He was so kind to the old people, always doing errands for them and even filling in forms for them if he had the time. Quite often he made the time and always felt good to have been of use. Emily knew when he was about long before he rang her bell. She always heard him whistling.

“Try not to be too late in love”, pleaded Sarah, his wife of just over three years. “You know what you get like. I’m beginning to think you’ve got a secret admirer on your round”. “I have,” Mark admitted. “She’s over eighty and loves me to bits”. “Well tell her that next time you snore she’s welcome to you. I’ll even throw the bed in as well so you will be comfortable together”. Mark grimaced at the thought, kissed Sarah and went off to work. Why she got up with him in the middle of the night was a mystery to him but she said it was because they never saw as much of each other as she would like during the week because she worked. On Saturdays after he’d gone she could crawl back into bed with the papers. When their first child came along that would all change of course.

Emily opened the door to him, purse in hand and paid him his money. “I’ve got the kettle on”, she said: “Yes I can see. It goes lovely with that jumper”, he quipped. Emily laughed uproariously at his joke and he followed her inside for his morning cup of tea. She told him to sit down and brought out some letters for him to see. Often he read her correspondence and filled in any relevant forms and occasionally made out cheques for her now that her eyes were so bad. “Mostly rubbish Emily. No wonder the rain forests are coming down at the rate they are. All this paper!” She nodded sagely and offered him more tea. He smiled and said he ought to go and gave her the change from her ten pound note and was gone. That was the climax to her Saturday. It was all down hill from now on especially as there was no “Corry” on Saturdays and no “Archers” either. She’d stopped buying the papers now that she could hardly read them and instead she just listened to Radio 4.

Not far up the road was the unfortunately named Ruth Ellis. She looked forward to Mark’s visits as well since she was another older lady who was lonely and lived on her own. He had another cuppa in her house too since he didn’t want to offend her and they chatted about the weather and silly things like that. She was excited today since her son Graham was due to come over from Australia for a visit. How she missed him as he was her only child, not that he was a child now – No he was six foot six and had two little children of his own. She’d not seen them before and was looking forward to it. She wished so much that he hadn’t emigrated. She was thinking very seriously about going to join them out there. He was always suggesting it, Telling her that she’d love it out there.

When Mark got home he started to tell Sarah about his “old girls” when suddenly she began to complain of stomach pains. “Surely it can’t be the baby”, he said. It wasn’t due for a few weeks yet. She began to time the pains though and found them coming regularly so he drove her to hospital. The baby came early but apart from that was fine. He was so happy, knowing he’d have loads to tell his “old girls” next time he called for his money. Emily especially would be anxious for every minor detail and urge him to leave nothing out.

She asked him in as usual and made him his first cup of tea – The other he would have at Ruth’s and maybe even meet the famous Graham. Perhaps it would soon be the last time he’d see her if she really did decide to go to Australia with him. Mark couldn’t help thinking what a brave thing it would be to do for a woman of her age. Emily got him to write a cheque for her to the Gas Board as she still insisted on calling it. He had long since given up trying to persuade her to pay by Direct Debit. “I much prefer the old ways” she would say. “All those computers – Suppose they go wrong and take too much money? How will I get it back again”? He laughed, posted her cheque for her and went on to Ruth’s. It was while he was there that the mobile he always carried round with him went off in his pocket. He answered it and heard a sobbing Sarah begging him to come quickly, to come now and to come prepared for bad news.

“Shall we pop to Brighton today mum”? Graham suggested. Brighton had been the place where he was born and he hadn’t seen it for years – Not since he’d emigrated in fact. She thought it was a wonderful idea so he got the children ready and they all set off soon after Mark had left. Ruth was a bit worried about why he had been called away so quickly and the trip to Brighton had a shadow cast over it as she couldn’t quite get Mark off her mind. She hoped that it was nothing too serious that had caused him to look as worried as he took his leave of them.

There was no doubt. The baby was dead – A victim of Sudden Infant Death Syndrome or “cot death” as it is called. Mark was shattered. He had so looked forward to being a dad and to having Sarah’s child. They’d known each other since they were in their teens and she’d had such trouble conceiving that they thought that it would be impossible for them to have the child for which they’d both longed. The only thing keeping him together was the thought of having work to do. He’d had some Compassionate Leave but didn’t know what to do with himself. They found themselves snapping at each other and this was new for them. Neither of them wanted to have any anti depressants as they thought that it would just delay the grieving process – Better to ride it out and wait for the crushing feelings of desolation and desperation to pass. He was finding it hard to concentrate though no matter how much he wanted and desired to carry on as normal and this was mainly as a result of the fact that he wasn’t sleeping properly and had not done so since his baby’s death.

Emily clucked sympathetically as she gave him his morning tea. He hated her sympathy but realised that he needed it just the same. Then he moved on to Ruth’s – Ruth who was upbeat and bright and breezy because she’d decided to go to Australia with her son. When Mark gave her her change she noticed a small thin coin in with the normal pennies and five pence coins and held it up to the light for inspection. “Naughty Mark”! She said with mock severity. “This is a Johny Foreigner”! He blushed with shame. Not once had he tried to diddle his customers and suddenly remembered that a young blind woman had given it him on his rounds and asked him what it was. He’d offered to dispose of it for her and then forgot. He was forgetting lots of things lately.

Emily had just returned from the Oxfam shop where she’d dropped off the newly knitted clothes. She’d been making them for the baby – Mark’s baby and had decided to tactfully dispose of them now that his little girl had died. She had no nieces and nephews or grandchildren so thought the Oxfam shop would be the best place to take them. Ruth was waiting for her when she got home. This was a surprise. Emily always thought Ruth snooty and rather aloof. She handed Emily the small parcel, telling her it was for Mark when he called next time and that she was not to open it. “As if I would” Emily said in disgust as she took it and put it in her kitchen.

Mark’s ring at the door took her by surprise as he didn’t whistle now as he came round for his money. She thought she was going deaf too since she never even heard the bottles clink as she almost always had before. To go deaf and have bad sight – Must be terrible was what she was thinking as she let him in. He sat and drank his tea and it was then that she remembered Ruth’s parcel. She retrieved it and opened it, handing him a knife with which to cut it when she realised that it was a cake. He bit into it and dropped dead at once, causing Emily to scream with horror. The bitter almond smell was unmistakable. The cake had been laced with cyanide and the note had fluttered to the floor – The note which at first neither of them saw and which now Mark was too dead to see. “Dear Milkman, that’ll teach you to palm me off with foreign money. I should be in Australia now, all being well. Why did I do it? Well my name is Ruth Ellis after all isn’t it? What else would you expect me to do”?