Hey Jude

F3, Cycle 95: Sorry, Wrong Number…

Let’s say you need some serious R&R and you decide to spend the weekend at an isolated cabin. It belongs to a friend, who will be out of town, and it is well-stocked with food, liquor, first editions, and firewood. The thing that is most enticing is the fact that there is no cell service; therefore, no one will be able to bother you with the day-to-day nonsense you are trying to get away from. There is a working phone in the cabin, but it’s a rotary that your friend keeps around for laughs.

All goes smoothly until you’re carrying in the last of your personal items from your car. The skies open up and set free that rainstorm that’s been brewing during your drive up. You know the one road in, or out, will flood, and mudslides usually clog most of the trails, but what do you care? You’re not planning to do any hiking–only drinking, reading, and tons of sleeping. As you sit to remove your wet shoes before preparing some dinner, the phone rings. You pick it up and hear two people discussing something, but they ignore you when you try to interrupt, or perhaps they really didn‘t hear you. All at once, they hang up and the crossed-up connection is broken. Hmmm…

Prompt: Craft us a tale and share with us exactly what it was that you overheard, and also, while you’re at it, let us know how that weekend turned out for ya! If you can, that is…

---

HEY JUDE

Jemma had said it was a few yards left of a post box, so this must be it. It looks pretty dilapidated from the outside, that’s for sure, and I’ve had to park the car on a slope – a bit precarious to say the least, especially as they’ve forecast rain tonight. Isn’t it just typical? For weeks and weeks we’ve suffered a heat wave and now, as soon as I get a chance to be by myself and to chill (ha!) winter decides to visit. It doesn’t matter, because I’ve brought my Kindle and Jemma’s promised there’s plenty of wine in the cabin.

I guess it’s cozy. It hasn’t seen a duster in many a year, that’s for sure. I hope there aren’t spiders. My mother warned me about Hantavirus – but I’m not scared of that. I’m scared of spiders though. Is that one? Up there in the eaves? No, I think it’s just a hole in the roof. I won’t look again, just in case the hole moves. Is it too early for wine? And should I light a fire? Thank goodness there are electric lights and a flushing toilet. I was right to bring my own paper though. I brought my own sheets too – not that I’m fussy or anything – but I hate scratchy things.

The sofa springs are digging into my butt; can’t get comfy. Gee, it’s quiet here. I’m not sure that I like it quite so quiet. I can hear my own heartbeat and a strange rustling sound at the window.

What the hell? It’s a frickin’ phone!

‘Hello.’ ‘Hello.’ ‘Hello’. ‘Are you speaking to me?’ ‘Do you have the right number.’ ‘Who are you?’ ‘Can you hear me?’ ‘Hello’. ‘What?’ ‘Oh no.’ ‘That can’t be true’. ‘Say it again.’ ‘Please – tell me it’s not true.’ ‘Hello, hello, hello – can you hear me?’ ‘Shit, where’ve you gone?’ ‘HELLO, HELLO, HELLO?’

Oh God, this is awful. Oh God, run over by a car! Can’t believe it, just can’t believe it. I can’t get a damned line out. God damnit! I need to find out if it’s true. I don’t believe it. Can’t believe it. Won’t believe it.

*

That’s definitely a hole in the roof. It hasn’t moved and the rain’s dripping down through it. I’m glad I decided to sleep on the sofa; the bedroom was creepy. Can’t sleep though. I’d drive home, but I’ve drunk a gallon of wine and, in any case, doubt I could get the thing out of the mud. I need to know. Run over by a car? Untrue. Untrue. I guess I could drown in here, if I stayed long enough and the rain continued like it is. Would that be worse than being run over by a car? ‘Woman found drowned in cabin.’ Who would even care?

All my life – just all my life. The entirety of it. Just about. All devoted to him. I only married Martin because he reminded me of him. OK, so Martin has his good points – but I could’ve probably done better. Could’ve maybe had my own cabin in the woods by now. I’d have had a better one than this one. With a veranda and a hot tub. Can’t stop thinking about him. Can’t stop. Run over by a car? What kind of car?

Everybody must die. Sure, everybody must die. Even him. But they were so casual. Like it didn’t matter. Like they were just passing the time of day. Although one of them did sound as though she was sniffing a bit. She said he was old. But not THAT old. I didn’t think he would ever die. He wouldn’t have died if it weren’t for that car.

*

I’d just as well not have slept. I wish I hadn’t. Now I feel groggy. The water from the faucet spat out at me and is a rusty brown – good job I have water in the car. But they say that you shouldn’t drink water from plastic bottles, because of chemicals leeching or is it leaking? Hell – everything is dangerous these days. The car’s not too badly stuck in the mud. And it’s a sunny day – hooray – perhaps I’ll be able to get out of here soon. I want to go home now. Need to go home. I tried the phone again. No dialling tone. I tried the car radio, but there’s no reception here. Damned trees. I need to go home. I need to find out if it’s true. And I need to figure out what to do about it. Oh, I’ve no doubt that I won’t be invited to the funeral – haha – that would be absurd. But I need to do something. For closure, you know.

I should stop reading these Peter James books. There are always people buried alive in them. Clawing at the lid. Not being able to breathe. Not being able to lift their heads even. I shall be cremated. Then, if I am alive, I won’t be alive for long. Going out in a blaze of glory – ha! He won’t be cremated though. There will be a massive vault – or maybe even Westminster Abbey. Unless they’re full. I expect they’re full. All those poets and kings and stuff. Where’s his wife buried? I used to hate her – but she made him happy, so there must’ve been some good in her.

You are a good friend, Jemma. I know you meant well. But this wasn’t a good idea. Goodness knows my mother is driving me potty, but I’m being driven even more potty here. I need to know. I bet mother knows. She never liked him. She said he looked like a woman. So she’ll be happy.

It is too early for wine, isn’t it?

*

I’m glad I decided to go for a walk. I thought about following Ariadne’s advice and taking a ball of twine with me. It sure would be easy to get lost in this forest. But I don’t care if I get lost. Perhaps I’ll be eaten by a bear. These gumboots are too tight for me – bet I get blisters. Blisters are nothing. They’re better than dead. Should’ve brought a sandwich with me or at least a chocolate bar. I may have to start foraging for berries soon – ha! Ah, chipmunks. I love chipmunks. Cheeky chappies. No guys, I don’t have anything to feed you with – sorry. Tummy’s rumbling. I’d better get back.

*

What’s that? It’s the phone ringing again! Quick! Run!

‘HELLO? HELLO? HELLO?’ It’s them again. ‘HELLO, HELLO, HELLO?’ One sounds a bit like Lisa Minnelli. The other one speaks with a lisp. There’s music in the background. Rap music. ‘Can you hear me? Can you hear me?’ They’re talking about him again. Saying how sad the children are. Whose children? Your children? His children? Isn’t the whole frickin’ world sad? ‘Hello?’ Lisa is saying that he had a good long life. ‘Who are you? Please, please, please speak to me!’ ‘What?’ ‘Burying in the backyard?’ What the heck? The room’s swaying. This can’t be right. ‘Hello, hello?’ ‘What? What? Shelter? Say that again.’

They’re gone.

And I get it. I get it. I get it. My face is flushing. My shoulders are relaxing. My heartbeat is slowing. A black spider is crawling down the wall, but I don’t care. It’s so funny. So frickin’ funny! I’m smiling. I can’t stop. The smile is fixed and spreading towards my ears.

And Martin is here to fetch me. Come on, Martin. Smile! It’s so funny!

*

‘Where’s mother?’

He’s looking at me that way he does.

‘Asleep. Like an angel.’

‘Good.’

‘We’re nearly out of coffee. The sheets got tangled in the dryer. Mrs Hope wants to know if you can take her on the bus to the hospital next Friday for her check-up. You know that orange rose in the garden? I think it’s died. Do you remember where I put the receipt for those torches I bought last week? They don’t work. Oh and how do you get dried on scrambled egg out of the pan?’

He’s missed me!

‘I saw lots of chipmunks.’

‘That’s nice.’

‘And somebody’s cat got run over by a car.’

That look again.

‘That’s a shame.’

‘They’re getting a new one from the shelter. Maybe tomorrow.’

‘That’s good.‘

‘Yes, that is good.’

‘Not for the cat.’

‘No, not for the cat.’

Martin is looking out the window, as though searching for something. Words, perhaps.

‘They’re burying him in the backyard,’ I say.

‘That’s nice.’

‘Not in Westminster Abbey. Not next to his wife.’

‘Oh.’

‘He was called Sir Paul.’

‘Like Paul McCartney.’

‘Yes, like Paul McCartney.’

He’s switched off now, like he always does. He’s watching the ballgame on TV. He’s always been jealous of Paul McCartney.

‘What’s for dinner?’

*

I sense him behind me. I’ll turn around soon and he’ll hold me tight. I’ll ask him when the voices will stop. He’ll say, ‘Soon’. They all say that. I’ll sob that I couldn’t help it. The cat ran out into the road. Our precious cat. There was Jemma in the front with me and mother at the back, with her shopping bag. I swerved. Swerved and swerved again. The bus swerved too. Swerved and swerved again. And sliced off the right side of the car. So quick. Walmart white knickers and cans of Jolly Green Giant all over the road. People screaming on the bus. I couldn’t hear. Could only see their mouths moving and their eyes. Their eyes. Their horrified eyes.

He’ll be strict with me and say, ‘You know the rules, Jude. No driving; no wine. Not with the medication, you know.’ I’ll say ‘Sorry’ and he’ll wrap me up and take me to bed.

I put the sweet peas in the tiny vase by the tiny grave with the tiny cross with the tiny words, ‘Sir Paul’. He lived to a ripe old age. Kidneys gave out in the end. Poor thing. We keep meaning to get another cat from the shelter. Tomorrow. Or maybe the day after tomorrow, because tomorrow I might hear Jemma and mother again. I need to tell them that the cat was fine. But they can’t hear me. Or they don't want to hear me. They want to believe that the cat died that day. If the cat died - if I didn't swerve - then they would be alive. But that didn't happen and I need to tell them that the cat was fine. But they won't listen. I get so confused. So confused.

Maybe tomorrow. Or the next day. The next day would probably be better. We’ll get a girl. Yes, a girl. And we’ll call her Penny Lane.

***