HANNAH BAGNALL

Short Story Writer

Tag: Storytelling

The Lodger

She used every pot and pan in the kitchen when she cooked. Jeanie hated it.  There were always vegetable cuttings on the floor. They stuck to Jeanie’s feet. Jeanie would walk around the kitchen collecting potato peel and onion skin. She would have to brush it off into the bin and then sweep the floor before she could start cooking her own dinner. Jeanie regretted getting a lodger. The lodger also left splashes of water and tea all the way up the stairs and sometimes even on the wall from when she took a drink up to her room. She was always carrying too many things in her hands to be careful. There were often teabags left on the side of the sink, curled into a ball on a spoon.  When the lodger had come to look around the house, she was light and she spoke easily and she made Jeanie feel light and easy. Jeanie had not thought about the other things that come along with being light and easy.

          Jeanie would scrape out the pots and pans and wash them up and the more she scrubbed the more she felt that she was right and the lodger was wrong. To make her point, Jeanie would also clean all of the kitchen tops and the cupboard fronts. She went to a lot of trouble. On a day that she was feeling particularly right, she would wash the walls of the kitchen and polish the kettle. There were times when the lodger would come into the kitchen when Jeanie was clearing up after her and Jeanie would wash faster and rub harder. The lodger would offer to make Jeanie a cup of tea and insist that she was going to do the cleaning up later. The lodger did not seem embarrassed. Jeanie would say to herself that she had seen the lodger’s way of washing up and no thank you she would rather do it herself. The lodger’s way of washing up was to fill the sink with water, put all of her pots and pans and utensils in the water and leave it there for the next day or even the day after the next day. By then the water was cold and greasy and Jeanie had to empty it all and wash everything with especially hot water and lots of washing up liquid to make sure it was clean.

          Although Jeanie criticised the lodger inside her head, she never criticised her out loud. She smiled at the lodger and accepted her offer of a cup of tea even though she did not drink tea after five o’clock on any day of the week, not even on weekends. Jeanie would ask her how her day was and the lodger would jump up and sit on the kitchen top while she talked. She would swing her legs and clap her feet together and jump down when the kettle had boiled. Her movements were light and easy. Jeanie noticed that her movements were also quite wasteful, whereas Jeanie’s movements were very direct. Jeanie did not sway as she walked as the lodger did and she did not use her hands as she talked. Jeanie kept her limbs neatly tucked against her body.  The lodger took long, cat-like stretches as she yawned or stood stretching one leg at a time behind her back as she spoke or she would dance her way out of the kitchen when she could simply have walked. The lodger took up a lot of space with her body and with her light and easy talking.

Even though Jeanie was in the right about a lot of things, especially things to do with being tidy, she felt small around the lodger. She realised that if they were two characters in a film, everyone would like the lodger. They would think the lodger was fun and it wouldn’t matter how messy and wasteful she was. If anything, that would make her even more charming. That is how it works in fiction and it often works that way in real life too. Jeanie knew that in a film she would be the rigid and difficult one. People would sigh or laugh at her or even pity her and wonder why she couldn’t be more like the lodger. They would not imagine how she was cornered into her way of being by the way the lodger had of being light and easy.

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Joe

Joe had a radio. He held his radio to his ear as he walked around the town and when he was on the bus. When the signal was bad, he pressed the side of his face more firmly into the radio and he would squint and wave the aerial around. The aerial was always extended to its limit. The voices that came from the radio sounded as if they were speaking into a paper bag with air escaping around their edges and the music that it played rustled. Joe smiled. His fingernails were dirty and his t-shirt didn’t cover the stomach that hung over his trousers. His t-shirt was always loose around the neck and tight around the waist. In the winter, he wore a big cardigan that did not look warm and loafers with no socks. Joe didn’t sing along to his radio. He didn’t even hum. Nor did he tap his feet or bob his head. He was never seen clicking his fingers. Joe just smiled.

If Joe got on the bus and the only seat left was next to you, he would stand in the aisle, holding on to one of the poles. If the bus stopped suddenly or went round a corner fast, Joe would sometimes lose his footing and he would swing on the pole and sometimes you would notice that his trousers had slipped down too far but his radio would still be held tightly to his ear. Sometimes, on the bus, you would want to read your book or sit quietly and Joe’s radio would be irritating and you’d glare and sigh and shove your book back in your bag and other times you wouldn’t mind it or would even be glad of it and you would notice someone else being irritated by it and you would think it was a shame for them and you’d forget that you could ever be irritated by Joe’s radio.

Cilla When she was Alive

 

If Sylvia had to choose to be anyone she would choose to be Cilla Black. When Cilla Black was alive. Sylvia is not so down on herself that she would choose to be someone else when they were dead. If she was choosing to be someone else even though they were dead, she definitely wouldn’t choose to be Cilla Black. She would choose Aretha Franklin or Dusty Springfield because even when they’re dead they’re still more alive than Sylvia has ever felt. Being them when they were alive would be too much living for Sylvia but she thought she could manage being Cilla Black on a good day even when Cilla Black was alive.

 

Lizard Lunch

Weaklings they are. ‘Hello, Ida darling. Oo I know, you can’t beat that jelly, can you?’ Repulsive little reptilian thing she is, chasing that spoon around with her lipless hole. Basking lizards. Mouth breathers with coagulated spittle at the corners. That Eddie’s got a bag full of shiny little treats. Sits there on the edge of his bed in his best suit just waiting for his lift home. Poor bastard, they never come to get him. ‘What’s in yer bag there Eddie,’ I go in and ask him every day and he shows me. He unclasps the buckle. So proud he is. ‘Mind if I have a proper look, Eddie?’ I go and he stares at me with those black eyes. They’d give me the creeps if I really thought about them. I reach me hand in and have a good feel around. I seen a watch in there before. ‘You’re a rich man, Eddie,’ I say and I pat him on the shoulder. Sharon, the new one’s in the laundry today, feeling up the crusties’ underwear. Dirty little pervert she is. You can just see it. She gives me her best nursery school teacher smile as I go past. I’m saving her up for later. Mrs Naley is wandering about the halls with her frame. She’s looking for her husband. He died twenty years ago and everyone’s stopped reminding her. ‘Have you seen my Alf?’ She asks. ‘I was with him just now but now I can’t find him.’ ‘I think he went back to the dining room,’ I tell her.  ‘Let me help you on your way.’ I lay my arm around back. Like a little mouse, she is. Feels like her skeleton might collapse any minute. I rest my hand just over her pocket. ‘There you go, my girl. I’m sure he’ll be here somewhere,’ I says and leave her at the door. I don’t go in the dining room if I can help it. It’s bad enough when they’re given their snacks in the front room. Their wet little tongues probing around. Globs of mushed up baby food sitting on their caved in chests. Anyway, Edith will be back in her room now, having a lie down. ‘Hello gorgeous.’ That’s what I always call her. You should see what a little girl it makes of her.  ‘Hello gorgeous.’ She tucks her cheek into her shoulder and smiles all gummy. ‘Been breaking hearts again I hear.’ She covers her face with her claws. ‘You’ve made the place look nice since you got here, ey? Look at this over here.’ There’s a lovely little jewellery box. Family heirlooms. It’s visiting afternoon later. The families sit around trying not to look at their dribbling relatives. ‘How you settling in, Dad?’ Janette asks me. ‘I’m making friends,’ I say, thinking of my drawer.