Better late than never!

Chapter 1




         
         Margaret Caroline Burrow opened her eyes at dawn to the inimitable sound of mating whales. A very useful tape her cousin, the one who's a Buddhist now, had given her to help her reduced her stress levels the second she woke up!

         She had dismissed the idea as particularly ridiculous at first, i mean, who on earth would want to wake up to the sound of huge sea mammals having sex? But after insisting that there was nothing weird about it and confiding that many of his friends, including himself, had found it useful when placed under stress. Like that time when he couldn't speak to Buddha in his dreams any more and he thought he'd lost his faith. He used to wake up in pools of sweat because of all the worry. And since the tape? Nothing! Light as a feather on freshly waxed parquet, humming Karen Carpenter while skipping to the toilet for a rose scented dump!

         When Margaret heard that one, she was sold! No one could blame her for being dubious, she had tried many times to fight this feeling of panic. Many doctors have told her to take it easy, others have given her pills which, while opening her eyes to the wonders of the world when she was awake, never really touched her morning attacks. But the prospect of being able to hum the Carpenters to herself had definitely struck a chord!
         The first time Margaret used that tape was quite comical. She couldn't quite wave away the images of big fishes giving it to each other, and that only replaced stress with frustration. But, eventually, she found this place of inner peace on the second attempt, when she stopped thinking of the whales, the house, the dead husband and the loneliness and instead felt a strong connection to absolutely everything in the world, like the slow breath of the surrounding trees and the strength of the ocean. Everything made sense. There was no place for questions any more! Her whole body felt like she was floating, supported by an invisible cushion making her feel weightless. Her only discomfort being that she was unaccustomed to the flow of happiness that submerged her, and she could almost visualize herself walking calmly back from that serene place, towards the harsh and palpable world that is our own, freed of all worries and energized by her own willpower.

         She slowly got up, stretched her back muscle to diminish the unstoppable physical ache of ageing, put her silk robe on, then walked out of her bedroom, making way towards the kitchen.
         
         Only a few things cross Margaret's mind in the morning. Coffee, toasts and Bach to be precisely exact! The soothing smell of toasted bread, freshly ground and brewed Java and the German musical genius of Johann Sebastian was just the right combination to get her to assess the coming events more easily. Like a ritual of sort. Margaret's nights haven't been the same since the death of her beloved husband, and since he had gone, she started waking up tense, lost in thought and quite forgetful most mornings.
         It was only with the help of the tape and a little change of routine that the living got easier. Superstitiously, she always believed that if this ritual was somewhat broken, the rest of the day would go to shit! To this date, nothing got in the way, but the prospect that it could, was just another worry Margaret was fighting herself to keep, and as per usual, she won hands down!

         She wasn't always like that. She used to be fierce our Margaret. Happily married for thirty five beautiful years, managing director of a reputable local tea room, her business was booming and her baking skills knew no competition. Queues were forming in the middle of the afternoon and the place wouldn't empty for a solid three hours. She was a strong member of the Woman's Institute of her village, and was also known for being a thoughtful and discreet confident.

         All was pretty dandy, until Joanna Bloomberg, born Stiffcock, moved in the house right opposite hers after the sudden natural death of Mr Tilmore, the previous occupant. He died five days after his wife, childless and alone. Most surprisingly it only took forty eight hours, after his body had been found, before they placed a sign outside the property informing everyone that the house was on the market. Six weeks later, the Bloomburger, as Margaret now calls her (due to the two lumps of fat split in the middle by an elastic band hanging off her sides at all times) had her two humongous vans parked outside 56, woodland street, and five mean-looking men ready to unload the witch's belonging into her new suburbian lair.
         Although sudden, the move wasn't totally unexpected and Margaret knew for well that the coveted area that Woodland street belong to, was always snatched away by hundreds of successful Londoner in search of rural enlightenment. She brought herself to the fact that someone new was going to arrive a week ago and promised her conscience that she would behave like she did with the other neighbours, with kindness, courtesy and warmth!          

         Except that the Bloomburger appreciated none of those things!

         In fact, from the very day Margaret rang her bell with a hamper full of home baked scones, locally produced clotted cream and jam, Joanna Bloomberg immediately placed Margaret in the enemy public number one position. Fearful that befriending the enemy would ruin Joanna's chance at being the pillar of this new community, the chance of being queen of everything just like she was the queen of fucking everything in the previous three communities she lived at, before the restraining orders.

         Joanna spared no time, she quickly sussed out that Margaret's business was the foundation of her success, she spread bread crumbs all around the shop at night to attract rodents. The accumulation of droppings outside the café promptly got the tongues wagging, and although nobody actually saw a rat in the tea room, no-one wanted to be the first one to do so! Business started to decline and suddenly, even her place at the WI was compromised when Mrs Prowis and Strandler found used condoms on Margaret's porch after a late stroll with their respective mini poodles, ensued by a bitching session at the weekly pottery class the following day.

         It was exactly a week later that her darling Simon died. She woke up one morning and instantly thought that something wasn't quite right, the warmth of Simon's body wasn't warming her as it normally does on a frosty day. Simply because he wasn't warm any more. Cold as a stone, the non existent slow breathing movements of his chest failing to reassure her.
         It felt like a light got blown out, and all that was left was the chilling darkness of loneliness. The suffocating weight of solitude pressed on her lungs and she cried and cried, solid crystal tears of broken love, quietly, but wholly. Everything was still manageable up to now. She could have fought wars alongside Simon, but now, nothing had any importance any more. The natural instinct to care for one self disappeared the moment Margaret understood that she would never care for him ever again.

         She stayed in her bed for three whole weeks after that. Always conscious but never quite there with you. Her gaze never left the beautiful portrait of the happy couple on their wedding day placed in a beautiful silver framed number, right next to the bed. A present from her artist friend who came all the way from Australia for the occasion. How happy she was then? How wonderfully complete she felt being with someone who knew her so well. And now she had no-one. Nobody to confide to and share the burden of everyday life. Her life was a mess and she just didn't have any energy left to rescue it. The business was sold, the WI left her there to rot, although they ensured that the remaining thirty-five pound left to pay for her annual membership was collected. Margaret didn't even care about the community any longer, just as the community stopped caring about her! 

         That was why Margaret needed her world to make sense again. By slowly setting herself challenges that she knew she could achieve. The morning ritual helped her take her mind away from the loss and deception. She was convinced that completing it was the key to success following her current motivating technique and knowing that she was almost there gave her a strong feeling of anticipation towards the great potential that today had in store.

         Unfortunately for her, today wasn't going to be like that at all!

          Once she filled the kettle with water and placed it back on its base, she turned around to appreciate the outside view from the kitchen window and her heart sank! Nothing, in the entire collection of self help books she had in her study, would have prepared Margaret for what she had just seen. Her legs gave way and she dropped to the floor clenching both sides of her gown tightly, wrapping it desperately around herself to form a silky thin protective cocoon probably hoping it would shield her from any eventual attacks.
         Outside, the body of a young woman was lying on Margaret's bed of geraniums, covered with nothing but blooded satin rags, her limbs in unnatural angles and looking quite obliviously dead!

         Once recomposed and up, Margaret first instincts was to switch off the toaster, run straight to the phone and call an ambulance.                    
Her hands were now shaking so much keeping the receiver stuck to her ear was a mission in itself.

         "Operator 965, what is the nature of your emergency please?"

         "Oh my good Lord, it's awful ma'am...." Margaret never anticipated the difficulty of controlling her own vocal chords while hyperventilating. The more she tried to sound like a normal, concerned citizen, the more she sounded like a stuttering dyslexic at a spelling contest.

         "Calm down ma'am, please state the nature of your emergency?"

         "A woman.....a girl..I don't know....I think she's dead, she looks dead, she's covered in blood ...oh my god, it's just awful, awful.....Please send someone to pick her up, I don't want the neighbours’ to think I'm a murderer! I've not even had breakfast!" Imagine the shame, she thought to herself! The last thing that bitch from across the street needs is more ammunitions to shoot her down with shame at the next WI meeting.

         "Just calm down ma'am, where do you live? What is the address?  Is anyone looking suspicious in the street ma'am? Please stay inside, and lock your doors until the patrol arrive! "

         Margaret gave the nice lady the address, while carefully explaining that her skills as a gardener were just the mere reflection of her serious loss, and that those geraniums were the only thing left that reminded her of her husband because he was the one that got her into gardening in the first place and also she asked if any of this will be taken in charge by the council because her taxes have gone up but her pension has gone down so she was a little ....well ! Broke really!!

         Margaret was so overwhelmed with questions she didn't even realized that the operator had already hung up on her, but the fact that her favourite CD was now skipping only nailed her conviction that the day had only started getting bad, and that she should brave herself for much more to come!

         She had absolutely no idea how right she was!