Chickens - by Peter Street

 [Short Story]

Lisa went to check the Mexican casserole. A smell of cumin steamed up.
“How long will it be yet?” Jim asked. “I’m starving!”
“Another ten minutes.”
“I’m going upstairs, give me a shout when it’s ready.”

She shoved the casserole back in the oven, closed the door then hung
the oven gloves up on the hook next to the yellow and white towel. On
the kitchen unit there was a basket of potpourri. Next to that, her
purse and a photograph of herself and Jim as teenagers. Their arms
were wrapped around each other. He was pulling a funny face, they had
been friends who had shared a coach to Blackpool on a day-trip from
Bolton.

She straightened her apron, tucked loose strands of hair behind her
ear, took a hair-clip from the pocket of her apron and clipped back
her fringe. She generally liked having a fringe, but at times it did
annoy her, besides she didn’t like seeing the odd bit of grey curling
down into her eyes. She leaned back against the kitchen units. I’ve
done him rice! I’ve asked him enough, Why couldn’t he have given me a
straight answer, “You chose,” he said. “then it’s my fault if it’s
wrong. He’s got rice! If he wants anything else he’ll have to do it
himself!….That’ll be the day. Besides he’ll probably end up rushing
off with them. What is it with them? they work together, then they go
and play golf together. He thinks more of Tony and Bernard than he
does of me.

The kitchen floor was black and white like a chess board, everything
else in the kitchen was yellow and white.  She called it her sunshine
kitchen. It’s where she felt strongest. Facing her on the other side
of the room was the picture of her at Blackpool. That August day had
been the hottest of the year. Blackpool was packed with kiss-me-quick
hat’s and candy floss. It was on the beach near the pier where,
without warning, she had started to undress. No-one knew what was
happening. She had the figure to get away with it so why not? She
hadn’t even told her best friend Kathleen Duckworth that her bikini
was under her jeans and t-shirt. All the wolves were on that stretch
of beach.…

She was now cleaning the glasses from the display case, the ones Tony
and Bernard, had used the night before. “I’ve told him before about
this!” she said. “I spend half my life cleaning up after him and his
two cronies!” She opened the mahogany case and slotted them in their
place at the front with the other three whisky glasses.

Next to them was a picture of her mum and dad sitting on a Norton
International motor bike. There were wine glasses on the top shelf,
she reached over and  polished the petrol cigarette lighter, and the
silver cigarette case with the word “Dad” initialled in the top right
hand corner she had given him for his fiftieth birthday.  The centre
piece was a Royal Albert “old Rose” teapot, she knelt down.
Carefully, she lifted the china pot out away from the cabinet and
rested it on the floor. She turned back to the display case and wiped
away the heavy dust mark where the tea-pot had been sitting. She fell
back on her haunches and cried.

Suddenly she heard, “Is my dinner ready?”
She ignored him.
“I said,” he shouted again. “is my dinner ready?”
She walked over to the oven door and, using her apron as a glove,
pulled out his dinner, turned, took the few steps to the back door and
threw it out into the garden.
“Your dinner’s on the patio!” she shouted back.
“Thank you!” he replied. “I’ll be down in a minute.”
“ I will have my chickens!” She muttered. “Or it’ll be the last dinner
I make him! Who the hell does he think he is?”

With her apron she wiped her tears away and  then she put the kettle
on. She walked back over to the cabinet, and knelt down again. “Now,
where were we?” She lifted the tea pot up and said, “You, my mother’s
best tea-pot, are filthy, you are going to have a bath!” She ran some
warm water in the bowl. Took off the lid. It had been three months
since she had last looked at her sixties knick-knacks. Various pens
and Fab badges fell into her hand together with one half of a silver
plated heart with the words, “He who holds the key can open my heart.”
Finally a tiny diary with a gold clasp, fastened with a tiny gold lock
fell into the palm of her hand, together with the key. She grasped the
heart and held it tight to her chest, her eyes closed. “I wonder where
Chris is?” she mumbled. “What’s he doing now?”

“What did you say?” asked Jim walking in.
“I was just talking to myself!”
He was walking over to the mirror in the front room.
I thought he wanted his dinner? Hungry my foot! Him and that Windsor
knot. What is it about men and ties and knots and getting them just so
in the middle. What is it about him. Why is he such a tart! Look at
him the way he checks his cufflinks, down so they are level with each
other. Why does he turn sideways and smile at himself? Look at him
he’s doing it again….
“I love me,” shouted Lisa sarcastically. “Who do you love?”
“It’s not my fault that I’m more particular about my looks than you
are!” he snarled. “Look at you, when was the last time you even went
to have your hair done?”
“I’m happy with it, that’s all that matters. Anyway, what’s it got to
do with you?”
“You know I like you to look a certain way when people are coming round!”
“A certain way! Who do you think you’re talking to?”
“Have you taken a really good look at yourself lately?”
She ignored his jibe and moved over to the kitchen door, opened it and
then lit a cigarette. Steam was still rising from the spattered
casserole on the patio. Bugger it, let him see it! I want him to see
it!”

He was walking up behind her, his brown leather brogues  noisy on the
chess floor board. She inhaled on her cigarette, held it, then exhaled
heavily and leaned to one side of the door to give him a full view of
the patio and his smashed casserole.
“Right!” he said. Where’s my dinner?”
“I told you it’s on the patio!”
Look at him, in his black blazer and brass buttons. He looks like a
reject from the British Legion!
“Have you seen Bernard’s wife lately? She’s making an effort. She must
have lost two stones. Bernard’s always been a forward man. She knows
how to look after him!”
“Aye, and every other bloke in the street!” muttered Lisa.
Come on, let’s see what you’ve got to say about this! Come on, you’re
always going on about power! Let’s see who has the power now! She
flicked the cigarette stub further down onto the patio,  watched it
spark over the stone flags.
“It’s over here, come on, it’s going cold!”
He stood next to her at the door. His neck was turning red, it was
welling up into his face and then, “You bitch! You uncompromising
bitch! I’ll see to you when I get back!”
A car horn was sounding. “ Bernard’s never going to believe this. Nobody is.”

It was the same every night. She made him his dinner, then he hadn’t
time to eat it because he’s out with them. Well from now on, he’ll be
eating with them! I’m getting the chickens today!
“I’ve told you!” he shouted. “No chickens are coming to this house! “
You’re getting a job next week!”

That’s what he thinks He’s so thick, why can he not grasp that I don’t
want a job! I don’t want to be like the rest of them. OK, if they want
to go out and work that’s their choice. It’s not mine. Besides the
money would only end up in behind the bar in the golf club.

“Everyone has to work,” he said. “We get a job and we stick to it. I
don’t know what makes you so different? It’s not as if you’re lazy,
you’re not!”

The car horn beeped again. “See what you’ve done. You’ve made me late
for Bernard. I’ll eat at the club house…I don’t like rice anyway.
Maybe you should have asked me?”
“Ha!Ha!Ha! That was so funny I forgot to laugh!”
“And bugger you!” he shouted slamming the door.
………

The Pet Shop, in Bolton town centre was just off the high street. Two
little girls were crouched on the pavement, looking at the bunny
rabbits and kittens through the glass window. He’ll have chickens in
here? Lisa thought. If he doesn’t he’ll know where to get some. Once
everyone used to have chickens! What’s happened?

The bell above the shop clattered.  No sign of  chickens. A monkey was
sitting in a cage the size of a wardrobe, doing nothing in particular.
She walked past the sacks of birds seed. There used to be signs in
these places saying chickens for sale! She thought. The bottom of the
cage was full of droppings there were no toys for the monkey to play
with. An A4 size of white paper with scruffy hand writing, bluetak’d
to the bottom of the cage read, “Please don’t feed the monkey, he’s
got his own nuts to chew on.”  She stepped away from the cage. This
looks like the last place I’d buy chickens! Or anything else. It’s
disgusting!

A tall man in his mid-twenties walked over to her, brushing his hair
back from his face and holding it on the top of his head. “Do you like
the sign on the monkey cage?”  He let the clump of hair fall back into
his face. All she could now really see was his smile, and the gap in
his teeth, a fifty-pence-piece could fit between. He seemed strangely
familiar.
“Do I know you?” Lisa asked.
“You’re Jim Walker’s wife, aren’t you? God, isn’t Jim a scream!” he
said through the hair hanging over his face.
“What are you talking about?”
“When you and your mother caught him rubbing Flora on his private
parts that time when he was on the phone! What a sight, Jim
bollock-naked and Flora!” He started laughing.
“I still don’t know what you’re talking about”
He moved to within inches of her face. “Come on, tell me, what did you
think when you saw him like that? Did you think he’d been on the perv’
lines?  We’ve all asked him but you know what he’s like for changing
the subject.”
A cockateil  squawked.
“I’ll tell you what he’s like!” she said. “Well, sex is always at
11.30 thirty on a Saturday night. He’s always on top! It wasn’t always
like this!”
A parrot behind her squawked and shouted “Piss off!”
“We used to have a great time,” Lisa said. “We used go out at
weekends, maybe have a night away somewhere. Sex was wonderful. We
used to dress up in all kinds of gear!”
The man had his mouth open with a kind of half smile.

“He used to dress up as Charlie Chaplin and do that funny walk while
wearing a glow-in-the-dark condom. It all stopped when I dressed up as
Annie Oakley and told him I wanted to ride the range all night. That
was it. It’s been down hill since then!”
The man was looking more embarrassed.
“His record is two minutes thirty-two seconds!” She smiled and went to
make her way out. Then stopped at the door, “Oh, by the way, she said,
“I’m reporting you for being cruel to that monkey! You can also tell
Jim about that when you see him! Another thing before I go, I’ve got
to ask, you are the spit of that bloke, me and  my friend June, caught
with his pants around his ankles up in Rivington, near the Chinese
Gardens last week. Was that you shagging the arse off that St. Bernard
Dog?”

She turned left into the main street. She past the big store down,
past a herd of stone elephants grouped nearer a watering hole opposite
Boots. The town Hall clock struck 10.30. She stopped and admired the
new fountains at the bottom of the town hall steps.  Morris dancers
were performing to her far right. I’m going to get those chickens! He
can do what he likes, but I’m having them. He doesn’t understand.
People like him never understand. All he wants is work and more work.
We are not machines. But he thinks I’m a freak because I don’t want to
kill myself!

She rested on a bench outside the Army and Navy stores. She was
rummaging through her bag for a cigarette when she heard someone say,
“Lisa, is that you, Lisa? My god, it is!”

The sun was in her eyes. She knew the voice but she couldn’t quite
place it. Through blurred vision she saw a tall woman, slim with long
black hair. Lisa rubbed her eyes, “It’s me, Kathleen Duckworth!” They
hugged. “This is bizarre!” said Lisa. “ I was only thinking about you
yesterday. About the time we went to Blackpool and I undressed on the
beach!” They both started laughing.
“Are you still with Chris?” Kathleen asked.
“Is it so long? No, we, I, finished with him. It was stupid. I was
stupid! I ended up with Jim Walker!”
“I thought you hated him ?”
“ I did, I do, I don’t know what happened!”
“I saw Chris about three years ago. We were both rushing off
somewhere. He’s not changed. I can’t believe you’re with Jim Walker.
Didn’t we catching him playing with himself in Bluebell Woods?” They
both laughed. “And wasn’t it you who threw the pebble which hit him on
the forehead?”
“You can still see that scar!”
  “Jim Walker! I can’t believe it!”
“Anyway,” said Lisa. “Do you fancy having a coffee somewhere?”
“I’d love to, but I’m far too busy. I shouldn’t have stopped, but it’s
been so long. Phone me.” Kathleen hurriedly scribbled her number down
on a piece of paper and gave it to her. “I’m not being funny, but I’ve
got to go. I never asked you,” Kathleen said as she was walking away.
“where do you work?”
“I don’t, I look after the garden and I’m going for some chickens now.”
“Chickens! You mean egg-type chickens?”
“That’s right! I’m getting half-a-dozen!”
“And you don’t work?”
They both looked at each other puzzled. An old man, passing them,
started coughing. He sat down on the bench, and lit a cigarette. He
took a long drag, then crossed his legs and exhaled.
“Phone me!” shouted Kathleen. She hurried away.
Lisa watched her friend’s high heels go tip-tipping away.

“It’s all rush, rush, rush!” said the old man suddenly. “Nobody has
time for anything these days!”
“I’m sorry?” she said
“Nobody has time for anything these days!” he repeated.
“I know what you mean!”
She sat down, pulled out her cigarettes and offered him one. He put it
behind his ear. “I’ll have it later,”
She lit up.
“I think,” he said, “that we should have fifty weeks’ holiday and two
weeks’ work!”
She took another drag on her cigarette. “My husband wouldn’t like
that. He can’t stop working. Even on a Sunday he works, everybody in
our street works. I’m the only one who doesn’t work!”
“Before, we’re you saying something about chickens?”
“I’m going to keep chickens. My husband’s not so keen. Trouble is I
don’t know where to start looking for them!”
He took another drag on his cigarette. “I used to love my chickens!”
“How many did you have?”
“ Eight was the most we ever had. Mildred used to take our children
twice a day for the eggs. They were beltin’.” He turned serious.
“Don’t be fooled into buying anything. Look for a nice deep red comb.
If it’s pale then they are not laying!”
“ I don’t know how I’m going to build the hut. I’ve not much of a clue!”
“Course you have. It’s a piece of cake. Anything will do. Knock it up
with some old pallets! Course you can do it. You can do anything if
you put you’re mind to it!”
He stubbed his cigarette into the floor, “I’m off to get a
pasty.……….He said his goodbyes.
“Bye,” Lisa said. “And thanks!” He turned, and tipped his cap at her.

From her bag she brought out the one half of the silver-plated heart
she was given almost thirty-five years ago. She held it tight, “I’m
sorry!” she whispered. She didn’t care if people were looking. Her
thoughts were somewhere else with the boy she now realised she should
have married. In her mind she could see and hear her mother saying,
“You don’t marry a good looking boy! Them are for a-bit-of-the-other,
before you settle down. You want someone who will look after you.
Never mind what they look like!”

She took the tiny gold diary from her bag. Her fingers were clumsy
with a key the size of a fingernail. Her hands were shaking, as she
tried the key. Lisa turned the gold-covered cover. It was her
handwriting, scruffy, all over the place in capital letters, LISA
FAIRHURST, AGED 15 YEARS AND THREE MONTHS. 116 WILKINSON GARDENS,
BOLTON. There was a photograph. “God, how slim I was. I’ve not put
much on. My bob haircut I loved my bob!” She ran her fingers through
her hair.  A photo from the third and fourth page fell into her lap.
It was a picture of a boy with short curling black hair and perfect
teeth, blue eyes. There was a phone number on the back, 45756. She
took a ten -pence piece from her purse, stood  and walked over to a
nearby phone box….


End