The suffering Jake Barton

The suffering Jake Barton Word count:3332.
I laid there on my bed staring into a thick dust cloud that hung inches away from my face. The long heavy drapes were shut. Small beacons of light broke between the small gaps in the curtains and collided with the large amounts of dust that hung heavy in the air. The image looked almost mystical. Shadows of obscure shapes danced around the room as the projected light altered.
The circled brown wallpaper frayed at the edges. The carpet, roughly of the same shade, gave off a musty scent that lingered harshly around the room. Huge cobwebs draped heavily from the ceiling like a veil saturated in more dust.
I could hear the faint echo of vehicles passing by in the far distance. Even over the acres of land that surrounded my mother’s large property. The pebbled drive-way stretched, for what seemed like miles but I could still hear them. I could faintly detect the sound of a random car horn and the slightest hint of an engine roar from faraway.
I remained still for hours and glared, wide-eyed, at nothing on my lightly-coloured pine four-poster bed that covered a majority of the room. The bed itself had a vine pattern engraved into the wood that trailed up and around the four posts. The mattress was hard and very uncomfortable. It didn’t offer much support for my back.
The image of my Aunt Edna flashed before me. Her long protruded nose with pointed pink-rimmed glasses perched on the end and a gold-plated chain that stretched around the back of her neck. The tragic vision of her trademark blue-rinsed short permed hair scruffily tucked under a bright red veil, clashing violently, stood there before my eyes. She wore the legendary red suit that was de-cobwebbed for all special occasions and a nineteenth century heirloom broach that hung on her right lapel.
The resonating sound of her horsed laughter and her frail greyish wart-covered face awoke me from my entranced state.
I turned and glanced around the room where memories of my father and I, as a child, came flooding back as if they happened only yesterday.
I was reliving the memory of myself as an eight year old when I ran, accidently, into the dressing table that still stood on the right side of the room. I was wearing a plain red T shirt and black shorts. I ran straight into the dressing table and cut my knee wide open. I yelped in agonised pain as I cut my knee. The tears fell from my eyes as I stretched out my arms for my parent’s attention.
My father, dressed in a white shirt and dark blue jeans, came running in from the other room. I looked up at him and sobbed.
“Look father. Look at what I’ve done” I cried pointing at the hardly noticeable wound.
He looked down and smiled. That smile that just let me knew everything was going to be alright. He was so concerned and tentative I couldn’t ask for a better father. He was my hero. He was a fan of seventies disco but I tried to ignore that. His bushy sideburns and full beard was very distinctive as much as his plaid blazer. But he was a loving man and respected by all.
Including, Aunt Edna. Who’s been in ruins since…? Personally, I think she’s been a little over the top desperately crying for attention but that’s my just my opinion.
My brother Edward walked in and laughed. “What have you done now you silly sausage” he cried with laughter pointing at me and holding his stomach whilst arched over.
Edward’s only a couple of years older than me but he looks like he’s pushing forty. He was the most spoilt out of the two of us and far more pretentious. His constant need for attention was highly noticed throughout our large family. Even though he over-shadowed me academically with his wall of merits and other out-of school awards and achievements made him seem superior. Although, it was mentioned throughout the family he was the second favourite. But he’s my brother. I learnt to deal with his typical upper-class behaviour. Even, as the younger sibling; I had to fight his battles against the endless bullies that teased mercilessly at school.
I stared motionless at the item of furniture tears welling in my eyes. The distressing vision was too upsetting. I didn’t want to recall the memory. I shook my head to dismiss it, stood and moved away from the four-poster bed. Took one last look around my old bedroom and vacated.
I moved down the heavily dark Mahogany-finished panelled hallway and flowered carpets towards my mother’s room searching for her. We had only fifteen minutes left before we had to go. I was already dressed and hoping my mother was to.
I entered the lightly lit room where the pungent stench of roses almost knocked me back. Photos, paintings and drawn pictures of family past and present covered the walls and a majority of the tabled surfaces. Paintings that drew back centuries ago from family back in the eighteenth century. There were photos of old family members from the twenties who had unfortunately passed away. Some of them almost resembled silent movie stars posing glamorously and flawless complexion. Our family history was remarkable. Apparently we come from nobility blood. I’d like to look further into our ancestry one day and find out a little more.
My eyes rested on a photo of my brother and I with our parents on holiday. It was standing on the dark bedside cabinet to the right of my mother’s king-sized bed. This picture took me back. I must have only been twelve or thirteen. It was when we were on holiday at where… Now let me think. That’s it. It was at Greece. I remember the blistering heat. How my mother complained about her sunburn because she didn’t apply any sun lotion. My father tried to warn but knowing mother… she always knew best.
That day we went down to the beach. The sand was too hot for our feet. We played a little family game of volleyball on the beach one blazing hot afternoon and dived in the crisp clear ocean to cool off. My brother and I both tried to compete for our father’s attention. I mostly let my brother win knowing I was always the favourite. Otherwise, he’d just moan.
My mother took the picture of my brother and I cradled in my father’s arms barricading us against the tides that rose high. I remember it like it was yesterday.
I stood there with the picture in my hands. My hands trembled as the emotion began to flood through me. I settled the picture back on the bedside cabinet and turned away.
As I glanced around looking for my mother, I saw a small glimpse of my father standing by the walk-in wardrobe in the corner of the room. He smiled back at me and disappeared. I stood back in astonishment at the surreal sight. I stood there for a few seconds in shock. Was my mind playing tricks on me or had my father returned, weeks after his death, for my big day?
My mother, Margaret, entered the room. She had been in the en-suite applying make-up and fixing her hair the whole time.
“There you are mother? Are you just about ready? We haven’t much time” I asked impatiently glancing over at the digital clock.
“Yes of course. What do you think? You like the new shoes? I had to change last minute. But I could change again. What’s that face for? Do they not look good? Wait I’ve got some in the back. I could change.” My mother questioned emphatically. Her eyes were wide waiting for acknowledgement.
“They’re fine” I smiled looking down at the shoes thinking she was very comical.
“Now can we go?” I asked frustrated
“Are you ok? You look troubled? I’m guessing that second glass of champagne was a bad idea?” she looked up her face wrinkled with worry.
“I’m alright” I looked up trying not to make eye contact and smiling falsely. I guess I wasn’t very convincing.
I looked back longingly at the photo of my family at Greece. I desperately wanted my father here on my wedding day. It’s not right that he missed it. If only he had more time. The image of my father standing in the corner reassured me. He was here. If it was only for a brief second, he came to see me on my big day. I liked to think he did.
My mother dressed in her loosely fit silk dress and slippers slowly moved over and placed a hand on my shoulder.
“It’s a shame he wasn’t here. He wouldn’t have missed it for the world”.
I looked back to face her. She quaintly smiled looking up at her son in sympathy.
“Especially me with my shoe fiasco. Now let’s go.” gesturing towards the door.
She pulled my arm striding for the door and reaching for her handbag on a nearby cushioned armchair.
After a very rough car ride; ten minutes after leaving the house.
I stood there looking up at the church with my mother by my side. I had a light grey suit on, top hat, and a fresh single red rose on my right lapel.
The church was near enough in ruins. Desolate bricks lay fallen around the unsafe structure. The grass, around the building, was over-grown and tombstones, centuries old, practically disintegrated into fragments.
The church was the centre of the small village of Bertsford, Cambridge. It was only a few towns over from where I lived. The residing village consisted of a small newsagent, a few cottages, the church and endless fields of empty land with a small wood on the outskirts.
I looked around at the masses of guests that had already arrived. They arrived in large groups of four to seven people at a time.
I turned and looked at my mother most disconcerted. I leaned in closer and whispered “Have we got enough room for all these?”
She looked down at her new slippers, not particularly bothered about what he just asked, and smiled. “Let’s just go in shall we”
We both maneuvered between the people that barricaded the entrance smiled and nodded in quaint and polite conduct and entered the church.
My mother more concerned about people stepping on her new slippers and gently pushed away any potential threats whilst still smiling.
We were both greeted by the local vicar. His highly recognisable come-over and notoriously bad breath unfortunately was impossible to avoid.
As he rambled on about the cramped seating arrangements and where we both should be placed, that we had already rehearsed over a dozen times, we both tried to avoid eye contact with the vicar. His breath was nauseating and I was beginning to feel quite sick. My mother tilted in different directions trying to avoid him directly. I noticed my mother, at times, trying to catch a quick smell of the lilies nearby.
My mother was seated at the front on the right hand side with my brother Edward. Edward looked more nervous than I was. His body jolting every now and then as looked up at his little brother getting married. For a moment he reminded me of dad. He was proud of his little brother I could tell. I smiled and nodded back trying to put him at ease.
I looked around the small church and noticed Aunt Edna. She was here. I thought she would be. She was still wearing the same bright red suit. I thought she would have made the exception. Although, I noticed her hair had grown a little. They were starting to look like blue ringlets. She was crying into her handkerchief with tiny blue flowers embroiled in the edges. She looked and waved the handkerchief still sobbing away. Her thin lips formed in a straight line and wrinkled at the edges. She still wore her glasses perched on the end of the nose.
I looked further around the room and noticed more members of my family.
There was Aunt Joe and Uncle Mike. Uncle Mike was a little over-weight. It was a result of too many trips to the local Indian. He had an overwhelming appetite for a good Korma.
Aunt Joe, on the other hand, was very slim and gaunt in the face. She must have been at least sixty-eight by now. She was a huge fan of fitness. She ran daily and well known for her yellow cottoned tracksuit with white stripes down the sides. She barely took the tracksuit off. It was refreshing to see her in a white dress with her white hair done up. I barely recognised her.
The wedding march began to play and the room went silent. Everyone turned to see the bride appear and gracefully glide down the aisle. The light from outside radiantly projected from the main doorway and hit her from behind. The image almost looked angelic.
There she was. She appeared out of nowhere; my wife to be. I had never seen her look so beautiful. She wore a long white ivory silk dress that fit her figure snuggly, with the veil trailing behind. I stood in astonishment. My mouth almost gapped in amazement. This was the woman I was ready to spend the rest of my life with. She wore her blond hair down stretching far down her back with a middle parting.
Yvonne raised her head glanced over and smiled at me. I smiled back. My mother starred at the both of us and grinned in pure content.
I noticed Aunt Edna crying more than ever; wailing over the organ playing. I shook my head in disbelief.
I turned again and saw my father again standing in the corner beyond the hordes of people seated in front. It was only for a second. But he was there alright. There was no question of a doubt. He was smiling at me. My father looked exactly the same; he was wearing his plaid jacket and dark blue corduroy trousers. He even wore the trusty brown sandals he bought back in the early seventies and white socks. He was proud of his son. I was so happy he could return again to see his son getting married. It made my day complete knowing my family was back together again, even if it was for only a brief moment.
Later that evening, I returned with Yvonne to her family home for the wedding reception. Her childhood home was more suitable than mine due to its large capacity. The event was to take place in the lounge and out onto the back patio in a large gazebo.
Outside, the trees surrounding the home and the roof of the large gazebo dripped with small twinkled night lights.
The food and drink was served in the gazebo with the party in the lounge. The night drew in quick and the house teaming with people. A majority I didn’t know but everybody was having a good time so that’s all that mattered.
The music was loud and some members of Yvonne’s family were on the Karaoke in the corner of the Lounge singing badly.
Yvonne and I made our way around the tightly compacted room and thanked as many as possible for attending. Yvonne was exhausted I could tell. I vacated to the gazebo and returned with a glass of champagne. I urged her to sit and put her feet up for a while but she insisted welcoming more guests.
My brother emerged through the countless bodies and greeted with open arms. He was already a little drunk I could tell. He swayed to and throw and his voice slurred as he happily greeted us both.
“There’s the happy couple. Jake, Yvonne. How are you doing? I’d steer clear of Aunt Edna if I was you. It looks like she’s had one too many ‘Baby shams’ and she’s getting a little too kissy with some of the guests” his annoying laughs piercing straight through me.
I looked up and sighed feeling quite cross. Yvonne on the other hand glanced down trying to disguise her laughter. We both thought ‘It looks like she’s not the only one’.
I looked at Edward concerned and suggested he should go and get something to eat. It was obvious the pear cider was going down to well.
Just then, I heard a high-pitch cry beacon through the masses. It was Aunt Edna and mother. Aunt Edna obviously wasn’t prepared to part with my mother as she gripped tightly onto the silk material.
“Jake… Yvonne… There you are. I’ve been looking everywhere” Edna tilting her head upwards as she merrily danced through the crowd with my poor mother dragged behind.
“How are you enjoying the party, dears?” she cheerfully asked. Edna’s over enthusiastic behaviour suddenly turned sour. “Have you both eaten yet? You both look a little peaky”
“We’re fine thanks Aunt Edna” I replied as polite as possible. Whilst avoiding the stench of lager and cigarettes.
“Look you simply need to try the crab cakes. They’re to die for my darlings” as she raised her wrinkled clammy hand to gently touch my cheek. Yvonne and my mother turned their heads and poorly attempted to hide their sniggering. Aunt Edna turned towards my mother and looked confused why she was laughing.
Aunt Edna suddenly jumped and nearly lost her glasses. “Harold. Harold darling” Edna squealed. “I’m so glad to see you. Thanks for coming”. Edna barged between Yvonne and I pouncing on her prey before it made its get away.
My mother still smiling about Edna turned to the both of us. “Seriously are you both ok? Pains me to admit but you look like you could eat something?” She questioned concerned.
“We’ll go and get a plate in a minute. How about you honey? Fancy a bite?” I looked down at Yvonne smiling.
She nodded still laughing about Aunt Edna. “Could you something?”
“I’m just so glad everybody’s enjoying the party” Looking round seeing people laughing and dancing to the bad seventies music. “You need to check on Edward though. He was looking a little worse for wear. The last time I saw him.”
We both left mother and ventured through to the gazebo. The room was full of people picking at the large buffet that trailed around the edge of the tent.
Yvonne grabbed a couple of white paper plates from the corner of one of the tables and returned. “Here you are. Look there’s some of mum’s homemade chicken salad left over. You have to try it. It’s gorgeous. It’s practically world renowned”.
“I’ll be back in a minute. Just need to use the little boy’s room”. I bent down and kissed her gently.
I left the gazebo and went upstairs. It took a few minutes to find the bathroom. There were so many rooms. It must have been great to grow up in a place like this.
I entered the bathroom and splashed some cold water over my face in attempt to revive myself.
I glared at myself in the mirror and noticed the red blood-shot eyes staring back at me. It had been a long day and I was exhausted.
I quickly noticed my father standing there again at the back of the room standing near the shower. He was smiling again.
“It’s good to see you again dad. I’m glad you could see me again on my big day”
Just then he vanished. I hoped Edward and mother was here to see him. It was a shame they weren’t.
I reached into the pocket of my jacket and pulled out an empty prescription bottle and looked at the label. It was a packet of prescription anti-depressants. I was advised to take them after the accident.