White Washed! by Eirin Thompson

A wife counts her blessings in this amusing short story by Eirin Thompson.

Norman had ruined Ethel’s laundry, and she was going to give him a piece of her mind . . .

ETHEL stormed down the garden fantasising about the ways she might kill Norman. She could drown him in his foot spa. What sort of a man asked for a foot spa for Christmas, anyway?

She could strangle him with his signature spaghetti bolognese they ate every Friday night or, perhaps the most satisfying of the whole lot, beat him to death with his own slippers.

Norman’s crime was mowing the lawn while

Ethel had a full load of whites billowing on the line.

She’d have to unpeg the lot, carry it in and wash it all over again. It wasn’t fair.

Had this been the first time it had happened, she might have found it easier to forgive.

But after fifty years, he wouldn’t learn. That was the heart-breaker.

She was lugging the laundry basket into the kitchen when Norman found her.

“Good day for drying,” Norman observed.

“Oh, you spotted that, did you?” Ethel asked.

“Certainly. I made the most of the fine weather to get out into the garden,” her husband continued.

“Yes, and the ‘bit you did’ is now all stuck to my clean laundry! Norman, how many times have I told you not to mow the grass when I have washing out?”

“Oh, Ethel. I am sorry. I didn’t notice. I was too busy looking at things at ground level.

“At least I can save you a bit of time by cooking my bolognese for supper.”

“I should think so. I’m having Lena round for coffee this afternoon, so I won’t have time to cook.”

****

Lena was a good friend and a lovely woman. Just having her in the house made Ethel feel better.

They shared stories over coffee and cake and showed off photos of their families on their phones.

“What happened there?” Ethel asked when Lena’s final photo was mere blackness. “Flash not work?”

“Nothing wrong with the flash,” Lena replied. “I’ll tell you about that one later.”

Agreeing on a second round of coffee, the two women moved into the kitchen.

“What lovely white washing,” Lena remarked, looking out of the window.

“Oh, you noticed that, then,” Ethel observed. “It’s invisible to some people, apparently.”

She related her morning’s frustrations.

Lena looked thoughtful. “It’s something I really miss since Fred died: pegging out a row of his white shirts and seeing them billow like sails.”

“I bet you don’t miss the ironing,” Ethel replied.

“Actually, I do. I’d give anything to have a pile of Fred’s shirts to iron.” Lena smiled sadly. “You don’t know how lucky you are.”

****

“Your clean shirt’s in the airing cupboard,” Ethel called.

He wasn’t the worst husband in the world, she mused. Not by a long way.

He might only have one recipe in his repertoire, but he cooked it every week.

And he kept the garden looking beautiful.

What a calm retreat it was – somewhere to read a magazine, clear her head, or enjoy a glass of wine.

Norman did all the grafting and she could just enjoy it. With all the tramping about he did with mowers, strimmers and scarifiers, was it so hard to understand him wanting to pamper his feet?

“Dinner at the observatory restaurant?” he’d said, when she announced her plans for their Saturday night. “What’s the occasion?”

“The occasion is the pair of us lifting our eyes to the heavens, instead of seeing things at ground level.”

After dinner, she explained Lena’s strange photo, and how she’d commemorated Fred by “buying” a star and naming it after him.

“I don’t suppose it’s legally called Fred Nicholson,” Lena had admitted, “but I’ve got a certificate and I know it’s up there. I feel he’s watching over me.”

“First, we’ll eat,” Ethel told Norman. “Then we’re booked in for a tour of the stars. The forecast is for a cloudless sky.”

“Just twenty-four hours after you thought you might have to kill me?” Norman checked.

“Yes, Norman. And if you continue spraying my clean washing with grass cuttings, I’m keeping that possibility in reserve.

“Until then, let’s focus on celestial bodies for a change and see if it helps us survive a bit longer in our earthly ones.”

Ethel smoothed his clean shirt and fastened his top button.

“Let’s pick you out a nice green tie,” she suggested, “since you clearly think green goes well with a white shirt.”

The End.

DAWN stood at the back door, baby in her arms, pets gathered round her feet, and tears dripping down her face.

She had never felt so helpless and useless in her life.

Andrew was in his workshop working twice as hard as usual to bring the money in while she sat around all day in a messy house, with no energy to do anything about it.

The baby stopped crying for a moment and Dawn held her breath, but all Lily was doing was having a breather before she started again.

“Oh, please stop,” Dawn said, jiggling her gently. “I’m so tired. I don’t know what you want.”

The dogs ambled outside and back in, leaving muddy footprints on the floor.

“No!” Dawn cried. “Get out! Both of you. Outside!”

She couldn’t bear to see the confusion in their eyes as they scurried off.

The cat hopped over the fence, alarming all the birds gathered on the bird table next door.

Not that he was any danger – he was far too well fed to bother them. He’d never been much of a hunter.

What a poor excuse for a mother she was, unable to comfort her own baby.

This morning Andrew had asked what he could do.

“Nothing,” she told him, miffed that he should think she needed help.

“But you were up half the night with Lily,” he said. “You could go and catch up on some rest.”

“I don’t need to catch up,” she’d lied.

He’d always been so proud of her competence and it was exhausting pretending that she wasn’t struggling. But what else could she do?

He had work to do and right now, Lily was her responsibility.

What on earth had made her think she’d be any good at parenting? She should have stuck to gardening. Plants weren’t this stressful.

They thrived, no matter what she did, yet this little human being in her charge was always unhappy.

She went back inside and