Mrs MacDougall

My Notes on this story... It needs some work, I kind of know what I mean but I don't think the point comes across, or even if it needs to. Advice and feedback on this one would be fantastic as I think it has the potential to be better than what it is... Thanks, Bob

She poured the tea into the cup, the spout rattling against the fine china as her hands shook. It was her best tea set; it could almost be considered an antique. She could remember the very day she had first laid her eyes on it. Of course she could, it had been her wedding day. It seemed a lifetime ago now.

"T-t-two sugars wasn't it?" Even her voice was shaky. She wished Bert were here now. She missed him constantly, not a day passed when she didn't sigh and quietly say 'Oh Bert.' Or pick up a photo and smile sadly at the memories.

"That's right, builders tea." Said the young man.

She could feel his eyes on her as she shakily spooned two sugars into the cup. She didn't want him here. It was late, normally she would be in bed by now. When she was in bed she could turn the heating off and save money. Everything was so expensive these days.

The young man picked up his tea and took a sip. "Look, I'll tell you what I'll do; I'll pick up the phone right now and phone my boss. I'm sure we can get another hundred quid knocked off the price. But the same deal applies, this is the last day of the offer. It's a complete no-brainer."

"It's very late, I really don't think..."

"Mrs MacDougall, I know it's late, but I would hate for you to miss this opportunity. You know, you remind me of my own dear departed granny, and I would hate to think of her in the same situation. I'm honestly just trying to help. It doesn't matter to me how late it is. It's your security and peace of mind that's important to me."

The old woman sighed and nearly muttered the name of her dear departed husband. But she doubted he would answer. This young man wasn't the one, he looked too young, too healthy. "I don't understand why I should need to have new doors installed at all. There doesn't seem to be anything wrong with my old ones."

The young man sat back in the chair and crossed his legs. "We've been over this Mrs MacDougall, your doors are illegal. They don't meet the new energy-saving requirements. At any time, an inspector could arrive and order you to have them replaced, and at that point, there will be no deal on offer. You need to make a choice." He picked up a glossy catalogue from the table and held it out to the old lady.

"Can't I just sleep on it? It's very late and I have church in the morning."

The salesman smiled sadly and shrugged. "If I could, I would, but this offer ends tonight, in just over two hours in fact. Tomorrow the same doors will cost you three thousand pounds more. Let me make that call and see if we can drop it a bit further. It's the least I can do, I wish someone could have done the same for my dear old gran. May she rest in peace." He retrieved his mobile from the pocket of his jacket and began to dial.

"Do you have a family?" he asked as he placed the phone to his ear.

"I don't," said Mrs MacDougall. "I'm all alone."

"Aw, poor you, well let's see what we can do for you. It might be pushing it to phone my boss so late on a Saturday night, but as I said I would want someone to be there if my own gran had been in such a position. Let's hope he answers."

There was silence for a few moments, and then the young man smiled at her and gave her a quick thumbs up. "Hi Jim, it's Barry, I'm really sorry to bother you so late. I'm still at Mrs MacDougall's. She's a poor old soul, reminds me of my own granny, and she's in a bit of a state. Now, I know it's asking a lot, but I really would like to help if I possibly can. Is there anything else we can do for her?"

The salesman was quiet for a few moments, then a smile appeared on his face. "Oh, that's great news. Mrs MacDougall will be delighted when I tell her."

He finished the call and turned to the old lady. "We've been lucky," he said, and he winked at her. "Must have caught him after a pint or two, he said we could drop the price by another five hundred pounds. Mrs MacDougall, you simply can't turn down this offer. It's the best price ever on these doors. It'll be us that's out of pocket on this deal."

"I really don't know; you know, that's still four thousand pounds for two doors. It does seem like an awful lot of money. Maybe I should just phone Mr Thomson on Monday. He's always done our building work and he's always been very reasonable."

The young man shook his head. "I know it's a lot of money but that's what they cost these days. I've already shown you the quality of our doors, they are triple-glazed and double insulated. These will end up saving you money, Mrs MacDougall. And I'm afraid your local builder won't be able to help you. You see, the new regulations mean that only certified companies can install doors, to ensure they're up to standard. There are only a handful of companies registered and no way is your Mr Thomson one of them."

Mrs MacDougall thought of her husband, she longed for him to be by her side. She longed for the day when they would be reunited, as they surely would. It was what she prayed for each Sunday in church, even though she knew the day would come in its own time. She always smiled as she prayed too, fully aware of the irony of the situation. But she doubted it was tonight. Tonight, she was just a vulnerable, lonely old lady.

"Mrs MacDougall, you need to choose. God forbid, but the inspectors could arrive at any time, then you could be looking at double the price. We would need to rush a crew over and that would cost an arm and a leg on its own. Now, if you were to sign this, then all you would need to do is show them the document and you won't see them again. It's time to choose your new doors."

She could feel the tears welling. She was trembling, she hated this phase of the cycle, she hated the feeling of vulnerability that always came with it.

"Choose, Mrs MacDougall. For your own sake and totally selfishly for my very own peace of mind, you need to make that choice. This will be your only chance love."

The old lady stared at her untouched cup of tea. She cringed as the young man almost slammed his cup back into the saucer. "You need to choose."

She hoped the cup and saucer weren't cracked. There were so few of them left now, she only ever used them for special guests nowadays. She wondered what had possessed her to consider this young man as being special. She could still picture Bert using them. Ever so careful he was, his big fingers never able to grasp the delicate handles properly. It had probably been difficult for him all those years, but never once had he complained. But that was Bert all over. And now that young man, the one who had made her sick with worry and fear could just slam them about as if they were plastic cups from a cheap cafe. She wished it was him, she really did.

"Mrs MacDougall you need to choose."

She continued staring at her cup, her vision was misted over now. Tears were filling her eyes. But she didn't need to see the cup clearly, she could describe them in detail. The delicate painting of each rose, the hue of the petals, the gold leaf that ran round the rim. The day they'd received the gift had been the happiest of this life. The memories of that day appeared as fresh as if it had been yesterday. Bert, young and healthy, strong and ambitious. Her a flower at the start of its bloom, life had stretched out before them. It had been a good - no - a great life. She knew when she looked back, it was through rose-tinted spectacles, there had been times that weren't so good, but that was life, everybody could say that. But mostly her life with Bert had been filled with laughter and happiness. She collected a sob and wiped her eyes; the horrible young man was smiling at her. Condescending, that's what Bert would have called him.

Her heart lightened as the young man checked his watch and stood up. But her hopes were quickly dashed when he asked if he could use the toilet. She could only nod a vague agreement.

"And when I come back you will be choosing. I am not leaving until you've signed these papers Mrs MacDougall. No way. I couldn't have that on my conscience. Come on love, you need to do this."

Mrs MacDougall had never felt so isolated and scared. She sobbed, 'Oh Bert,' she said quietly under her breath.

"Hello, my dear," said a voice from within her head.

Mrs MacDougall grinned. "Is it him, Bert? Is it time?"

"It is," said the voice.

The young man looked puzzled. "I'm sorry what did you say?" he asked.

Mrs MacDougall looked at the young man and smiled. "Just a stupid old lady talking to herself," she said. "Now you run along and attend to your business and once you come back we'll get all this nasty paperwork done."

The young man smiled at the old lady. "That's the spirit, you won't regret this Mrs MacDougall, you really won't. I'll be back in a jiffy. It must be all that wonderful tea you keep feeding me."

Mrs MacDougall smiled. "He looks so healthy," she said.

"Looks can be deceiving," said the voice in her head.

"Pardon, I'm not sure..." said the young man.

"Just ignore me and run along," interrupted Mrs MacDougall. "Time's getting on and I have a very old friend to catch up with."

She could feel Bert now, feel his power surge through her veins. Everything was going to be alright. In fact, everything was going to be better than alright. Everything was going to be perfect. She sat and smiled and never said a word as she listened to the young man ascend the staircase. She heard the bathroom door close.

"Is it now?" she asked.

There was a thump and a crash from upstairs. "Sure is," said Bert. "Would you like to have a look?"

Mrs MacDougall clapped her hands excitedly. "Oh yes please." And with the spring of a teenager, she bounded up the stairs and threw open the bathroom door. The salesman lay in a pool of his own blood, it was smeared on the wash hand basin where his head had impacted as he collapsed. Around his nose there was a trace of white powder and his hand still grasped a rolled-up twenty-pound note.

"It was his heart," said Bert. "Inevitable really, he had to sell a lot of doors to feed his habit."

"I'm glad it's him, he deserves it." She smiled at her reflection in the mirror. She was reverting to her old self. Downstairs her body still lay like a discarded chrysalis. She laughed as she thought how much fun the police would have clearing this lot up. Bert appeared beside her, she looked at his reflection in the mirror, he was a thing of great beauty, all horns and scales. A magnificent creature. She turned around and kissed him quickly, just for a fleeting moment their forked tongues entangled.

"What about him?" she asked.

"You'll love it," said Bert.

Mrs MacDougall dragged a claw down Bert's face, gouging the soft flesh that lay beneath the scales, he purred with pleasure. She licked the almost black blood from her claws. "Let's go and see, shall we?"

The room was circular and dark like a dungeon, yet somehow from an unknown source, a strange light permeated it without shadow. Unseen, they watched, basking in the salesman's terror and confusion. Their claws were intertwined, razor-sharp talons that scratched lightly at each other.

The salesman lay naked in the middle of the room, he was curled up in a foetal position with his thumb in his mouth. And he was sobbing.

Twelve doors adorned the walls of the room, evenly spaced and identical.

Mrs MacDougall turned to Bert, "My darling, I so love it... I just love the irony."

"I knew you'd like it," said Bert. "On you go then, have some fun."

Mrs MacDougall smiled. "Choose," she said, in that frail voice that had once been hers.

The salesman took his thumb out of his mouth and looked about. "Who was that? Who's there?"

"Why it's Mrs MacDougall of course. You remember me don't you?"

"I don't know where I am. Help me please!"

Mrs MacDougall laughed. "Of course, I'll help you. You were such a sweet young man, I reminded you of your granny, indeed! Now, we just need to choose the right door for you," she said. "One door leads to salvation. The others lead to an eternity of damnation and torture. It's your choice. Choose."

The salesman screamed.

She turned to Bert. "Put me out of my misery, which door should he choose?" she asked.

"Why it's none of them," he said.

"Oh, you are wicked," she said, laughing.

"And so are you, Mrs MacDougall."