Spanners

Finalist - Myslexia Flash Fiction Award

You wake up between 8 and 9 and put your teeth in. If it’s a shaving day, you do that, but if not you shuffle to the kitchen and make a cup of tea that never gets drunk.

At around 11, you stand by the window shaking the Fortisip and watching the birds. You brace yourself and ‘wind it back’. Afterwards you cough phlegm into the sink.

You look at the list on the fridge which says things like ‘tissues, porridge, Dulcolax’ and once you’re dressed, you get into your little car. The best thing about the operation is the disabled badge that allows you to park practically inside Waitrose.

You used to go to the pub, but now you go to the charity shops until you find a bargain, then you smile and think about how much it will make on eBay. Not that you’ve ever actually sold anything on eBay, but 'it’s not going anywhere is it.’

Back home, you flirt with the idea of lunch before shuffling over to the shed, where you Tinker. You’re renovating a Victorian high chair. It’s a beautiful thing - just old, and in need of love.

Before the operation, the shed was hell - spider-clad, dust-choked and dirty. Drawers and cupboards spewed paperwork. You could never find what you were looking for.

But now, it is warm and the wireless works.

Everything is labelled. Plugs, fuses, wires, washers, wall plugs. The spanners have a drawer of their own. You have traced the shape of each spanner in thick black ink onto the paper which lines the drawer, so you can tell if one is missing. Next to the workbench is a packing station for your eBay business. You’ve even got a lightbox, so you can take professional shots of all the things you never sell.

When it is dark, I walk over, guided by the soft light and distant hum of your Honky Tonk Train Blues. I am greeted by the scent of toil - of engine oil, wood shavings and pipe smoke. You are sitting in your chair with your eyes closed, listening and smiling. You try and hide the tumbler, or distract me by showing me the spanners.

‘Have you started smoking again Pa?’ I ask.

‘No’ you say.

I nod and try not to look at the scar.

We walk back to the house. I hold your wasted arm as we navigate the cobbles. You sit with me while I eat. You try and think of things to say that might interest me, but it is hard.  I know you would rather be in the shed.

At about 10, you stand up and I ask if you’re going to bed and you say yes. You squeeze my hand before shuffling down the corridor. I am always surprised by your strength.

You take your teeth out and get into bed.

I tip the cold tea into the sink. I look out of the window. It is very dark out there.