IMAGINATION

Mary looked askance at her husband. It was the second time this week that he had seen Veronica. "Darling!" she said, pouring a generous second half of the large gin and tonic into her often empty glass. "Darling" she said again. Mark looked rather tired this evening she thought. His collar was frayed. Oh dear, I meant to buy him some new ones but the day just flew by. She wondered if the financial crisis was contributing to his faded look. She wanted to cry out, "Oh for goodness sake! it's all in your imagination. Veronica took her own life you know that. I know her body wasn't found but the clothes were there; she took drugs: she was unbalanced." Mary didn't say anything. She was worried. Veronica. She glanced at herself in the mirror. Her hair was a trifle too brassy this time. I shall have to speak to Maurice, she thought. She took a big swig of her drink. She decided to be rational. "Where?" she asked, "did you see her?" Mark looked at her. He had not touched his drink. "At the Gare du Nord."
"The Gare du Nord? I didn't know you'd been to Paris. When did you go?" "Yesterday". "Yesterday?" Her mind raced. He never used to be secretive. She swallowed some more gin. " I saw her, Mary." She felt woozy from the information and the drink. She had loved her daughter of course. all mothers love their children but she had not liked her, her way of life, the drugs, the commonness, the vulgarity, the dreadful language. And when she disappeared Mary had her husband back to herself. She was a one-man woman. The trouble was he was not a one-woman man. Oh god, he was so attractive she thought. She reached out to touch him and stumbled against the sofa, caught her foot in the rug and fell heavily. "For god's sake, can't you control your drinking?" She felt miserable. She looked at him. "Please Mark, don't be like that. I love you." He got up and left the room. She poured herself another gin. " I wish I were not here," she said to herself, but she was there and it was time for dinner which she had not prepared. Mark slammed the front door. She knew things were bad. She must do something.But what?

MARCHING ALONG

The sound brought it all back. Seeing her gaze off, knowing the symptoms of withdrawal Hillary said brightly, "Enid, let's go to see the parade," collecting her hat showing she wouldn't take no for an answer. Enid acquiesced though she didn't want to. Going out was difficult after what had happened. She shuddered recalling the man's hands clawing at her pantyhose, his alcoholic breath almost asphyxiating her, his vulgarity and commonness oppressing her. She had been completely exonerated by the police even though the man had bled a lot. She heard again his cry of pain, terror, surprise, an animal in a trap as he realized the tables had been turned against him. She thanked her grandmother for her fashion sense. Granny would have been amused that her old-fashioned yet stylish black velvet hat with the shady brim had been used to submit a man to the law. As he clawed at her, her hand reached up to her head and she drew out the amber-headed long hat pin that attached the hat to her luxuriant hair. Without thinking she grabbed hold of the pin and stabbed the man in the groin. He screamed and fell away shouting at her but she was merciless and kicked him as hard as she could in the testicles. The press labelled her a heroine. He was imprisoned for many years as he was an escapee. Boadicea strikes with amber hat pin, screamed a tabloid. Don't mess with Enid said another. All this was in her mind as they watched the largely amateur parade, patriotic for July 4 up in the small Maine town where she had gone to recuperate with Hillary. It was the fresh faced high school band marching along that brought it vividly back to her. They were playing a Souza march and that tune was coming from a window in the street that day when he grabbed her and thrust her into the deserted alley. What would Souza say to that she wondered?
She would write a story about it. Smiling, for the first time for weeks she said to Hilary."You know, I feel better. I shan't use a pin again but I shall wield a pen. She had made a step forward.