The eerie silence caused a slight chill down Beverly’s spine. Scared to be on her own in an unusual space for the first time, goose-bumps spread across her skin.
There was nothing to be scared of. The front door was bolted shut, the tower block entrance required a key fob to enter and a security officer guarded the apartment block on the ground floor. What could possibly happen? She shook herself back to reality and slipped on her woolly red dressing gown, covering her satin blue pyjamas.
To break the silence, she walked over to her record player and picked out one of her Louis Armstrong LPs’. She filled up her brandy glass and sat back with the drink as she sang along to Wonderful World. The song took her back to her first dance with Marty at the Cornell student ball. She swayed, reliving the movements which they later performed at their wedding.
A knock at the door disturbed her tranquillity. She glanced at the time; it was almost midnight. '
That’ll be Benjamin, she sighed, 'always forgetting his keys.'
Beverly stood up to answer the door. A slight dizziness caused her to stumble down the hallway, which fed from the living room to the front door and provided access to all the bedrooms and bathrooms in the apartment. How much have I had to drink?
As she approached the entrance, she could hear a man singing in the corridor the words to Louis’ song. My God, he’s beginning to sound like his father. She enjoyed the familiar sound, if only for a moment. The knocking grew louder, drowning her husband from her memories.
‘OK, OK, Benjamin. I’m coming. Let me just get my keys.’ Ruthlessly rummaging through her purse, deep enough to put Mary Poppins’ bag to shame, she pushed around the loose change, receipts and lipsticks which scattered across the bottom. The sharp tip of her keys nipped at her fingertips. She grabbed them and inserted the largest silver one into the lock. Pausing for a moment of evocative pleasure, she closed her eyes and imagined her husband singing those lyrics. Just to see him one more time.
The continuous knocking brought Beverly back to reality. Twisting the key anti-clockwise, she listened for the click and opened the door. Catching a glimpse of the visitor, she dropped her keys onto the floor in shock. The man in the corridor was not her son. The colour drained from her face as if she had seen a ghost. Staring at the man for the first time in ten years, she called out his name.
‘Marty’
The Return by David Hatton
Available on Amazon
