Perfect Partners
by Kristen Stone
Genre: Romance
Swearwords: None.
Description: Two people, each with traumatic events in their lives, come together and find love.
_____________________________________________________________________
Alan Marshall arrived home, poured himself a large glass of scotch and sat down in his favourite chair to consider the consequences of what he had just been told. To say the news had shocked him was an understatement. He had had no warning that anything was wrong let alone something as traumatic as this. He stared at the glass in his hand and wondered how long it would be before he could no longer see it, for according to the ophthalmic surgeon he had left forty minutes ago, he was going to go blind.
The surgeon had used some long Latin based name for the condition which Alan immediately forgot. In layman’s terms he was suffering tunnel vision where peripheral vision was lost and all one could see was what was directly in front of one. It was like looking through a telescope but without the magnifying effect. The tunnel would get smaller and smaller until it closed completely robbing him of his sight. On the positive side this process could take years. On the other hand, the surgeon had said, the more aggressive form of the condition might complete its work in a matter of months. It was too early to say which way Alan’s condition would go.
Alan sipped his drink. What puzzled him was that the surgeon had said this particular condition was hereditary. Yet he had not known of anyone in his family to suffer in this way. Only males succumbed to the condition, while females carried and transmitted it. It only manifested if both parents had the faulty gene. He tried to recall the details of his family. Hadn’t his great-grandfather gone blind? Was that through this condition or was it something to do with the Great War? His grandfather had been fine and so had his own father. Or had he? Alan did not know that much about his father. He had died when Alan was only ten. He had been the same age Alan was now, approaching his 32nd birthday.
He took another swig of his drink and took his phone from his pocket. He selected his mother’s number from the contact list and waited impatiently for her to answer. She sounded bright and cheery when she first heard his voice but as the conversation progressed she seemed less happy to hear from him.
“Hi, Mum, how are you?” he asked.
“Fine, thanks, dear. How are you? Haven’t seen you for a while.”
“No. Sorry, I’ve been busy. New book coming out soon.”
“Oh, lovely. Will you send me a copy?”
He sent her a copy of all his books. As she never commented on them he had a feeling they were never read, just lined up on her bookshelf so that she could show visitors and say, “My son wrote these.”
“Of course. I need to ask you something.”
“Ask away? You’re not short of cash again, are you?”
In the past his mother had always been there when he needed help with his rent. But those days were long gone.
“I've just got back from Moorfields.”
“Oh. What do you want to know?”
“What did Dad die of?” He had never asked that question before. His Dad had died, that was all there was to it.
Mrs Marshall had been dreading the day her son would ask this question. So much time had passed she was beginning to think he would never ask it.
“Why were you at Moorfields?” she asked, ignoring his question.
“I think you already know,” he said.
Her voice trembled as she asked:
“You haven’t got it, have you?” she asked.
“What do you think? What did Dad die of? Tell me.”
“He took an overdose. He said he couldn’t face it. He lost 50% of his vision in six months.”
Alan almost dropped the phone. If it had been that quick for his father it did not bode well for him.
“Why didn’t you tell me, warn me?”
“What good would that have done? What could I say? ‘Son there’s a strong possibility that one day in the future you might go blind but I can’t say if or when but it might never happen at all.’? These days you can get tested but back then, when you were born, there wasn’t a test. Maybe if I had known for sure you wouldn’t’ve been born, then there would have been no Alan Marshall to write all those books.”
Alan was not in the mood to discuss the ethics of genetic selection. There was no point in asking ‘Why me?’ but the feeling of ‘it’s not fair’ pounded in his head. He could not believe it was happening. He could still see perfectly well. He had only gone to the optician for his bi-annual check-up. When the optician had suggested he see someone at Moorfields he went more to humour the man who had been peering into his eyes for the last umpteen years than out of any concern.
“What do I do?” he asked his mother.
“You carry on and you work it out as you go,” she said. “You never know it might be years before it really affects you, that’s what they told Will.”
But in reality his father had lost his sight rapidly and couldn’t live with the thought of losing it completely. Was he stronger than his father, Alan wondered.
For six months he noticed nothing. He opened his eyes every morning and studied his surroundings and all seemed well. Then came the day his new book was launched and he was in a West End book store doing a signing session. Someone gave him a book, told him to whom it should be dedicated and he started to write the name and sign the page with his usual flourish. There seemed to be a black mark on the edge of the page. Alan was about to suggest the purchaser get another copy when he tried to wipe the mark away and part of his finger disappeared. He looked up and realized that the world around him had shrunk. Although he had been expecting this day to arrive a feeling of panic filled him. His hand shook as he signed the book and held it out to its new owner.
“I hope you enjoy it,” he said in a voice that echoed in his head. He looked at the queue and was relieved to see there were only four more people waiting for his signature. He turned to his agent and whispered: “Can you make sure no-one else joins the queue. I need a break.”
Max had been his agent for the last five years and had never known Alan to ask for a break at a book signing but he nodded and went to sort things out.
There was a coffee shop at the back of the bookstore and after the last book had been signed Max suggested they go for a coffee.
“Or do you need something stronger?” he asked.
Alan forced a smile. He had considered drowning his problem in strong drink several times but each time he reasoned himself out of the temptation. Drinking would not stop him going blind, only make coping with it more difficult.
“Coffee will be fine,” he said.
“So what’s the problem?” Max asked when they were settled at a table in a quiet area of the coffee shop.
Alan looked around. Although everything in front of him was clear and perfect his peripheral vision was severely restricted.
“I’m going blind,” he said. And as briefly as he could he explained the situation.
Max listened intently. He did not know what to say or suggest.
“This might be my last book,” Alan was saying. “I don’t know how I can continue writing if I can’t see.”
“Nonsense,” Max said. “The first thing you must do is start a diary. Put everything down, how you feel, what happens to you, then you have your next book there.”
Alan shook his head. He did not know if he wanted to share what was happening to him with the rest of the world.
“You’re losing your sight, not your imagination,” Max added. “We’ll work through the technical side of how you can do things.”
And that’s what they did. Alan already had ideas forming in his mind for a new novel and spent what time he had trying to get as much keyed into his computer as he could. In the meantime he went on a course to learn how to do things without sight. He decided he was lucky. He knew what was going to happen and had time to prepare and practice. Some on the course had not been given that chance.
As the months went by and his range of vision decreased he decided he would need a personal assistant to help with his work. He contacted an employment agency and asked if they could help.
Toni was the third person they sent. The first two were totally unsuited to what he needed. When Alan opened the door to her he was greeted by a young woman with stunning auburn hair which was cut to her shoulders. Her eyes were a pale hazel colour, her features, while not exceptionally beautiful, were balanced and attractive. She was dressed in boots, jeans and a roll necked jumper under her winter jacket.
“Hi, I’m Toni, the agency said you need a PA,” she said.
Alan studied her. His field of vision was by now little more than a small circle directly in front of him and he had to move his head from side to side to see her fully. Toni’s expression became one of concern and Alan thought she might take flight.
“Are you ok?” she asked.
“Yes. Sorry. Can’t see very well. Please come in.”
Toni was perfect. She could type, use the internet, take shorthand dictation and use a Dictaphone. Alan was still trying to discover the best way to work. He had always typed his work, changing things on the screen if they did not seem right. He could still type fairly accurately but he knew the day would come when he would not be able to read what he had typed. He tried a computer with a voice synthesizer to read back what he had written but the simulated monosyllabic voice gave no feeling to the words. His own dictation was stilted and did not give the flow he wanted in his writing. Toni suggested he stuck to typing and said she was happy to read things back to him after checking for typing errors.
Christmas approached and Alan said he would like to take his office staff out for a Christmas lunch. Toni laughed. She was his office staff. They went to a local pub and had the standard Christmas lunch. It wasn’t brilliant but the food did not really matter. Alan was growing very fond of Toni. She never mentioned a boyfriend. She said she lived with her parents. Although she was quiet when working, when work was over for the day she often stayed for coffee and they would talk about all sorts of things. Sometimes it was getting on for eight o’clock before she left and Alan would always feel bereft when he heard the door close behind her.
After Christmas Alan’s sight had deteriorated so much he knew it would not be long before his vision had gone completely. He had a sudden and urgent desire to see all the things he had never got round to seeing. He asked Toni to accompany him as he was not confident about walking the streets of London on his own. They went to see the latest exhibitions at the British Museum and the Tate gallery. They had frequent visits to the theatre to see plays and musicals. All the time their friendship was deepening until one night, after Toni had walked him safely to his door, Alan took her in his arms and kissed her.
She did not resist or pull away. Neither did she make the kiss last. Instead she rested her head against his shoulder and gently wrapped her arms around him. She held him close to her for a few moments then pulled back, stroked his face and whispered:
“Not yet, my love. See you tomorrow.”
And she went leaving Alan on the step feeling surprised and confused.
Two days later he opened his eyes to complete darkness. He closed and re-opened them but nothing changed. He waved his hands across his face but saw nothing. He sighed. He got up, showered, shaved and dressed. He had been practicing all these things over the last few months. He could shave without cutting himself or missing any whiskers. He had replaced all his socks with black ones so that he would never get them mixed up.
Toni arrived, she had her own key now, and went and made two mugs of coffee before starting work. Alan was sitting on a settee staring blankly at the wall. Toni took his coffee and put it on the coffee table in front of him. He did not move.
“It’s happened, hasn’t it?” she asked.
He gave a start. He had not realized she was so close.
“Yes,” he said. “I can’t see a …”
“You can swear if you like, I don’t mind,” Toni said.
Alan repeated his last sentence adding expletives at every opportunity. He felt Toni sit down beside him and let her draw him into her arms, cradling him like a baby against her breast, soothing him as he wept for all he had lost. When his tears of anger and frustration were spent he felt her take his face in her hands and after wiping away the tears she started kissing him. First his sightless eyes and then his lips. Her kisses were passionate enough to arouse his senses. He ran his hands over her body. Although the worst of the winter had passed she still wore high necked jumpers or blouses that did up to her neck. He tried to feel under her jumper but she took his hand and held it. He broke away from the kiss.
“I’m not objecting, but would you care to explain,” he said. “Why now?”
He felt Toni move and a moment later she was placing the coffee mug in his hands.
“Drink this while I tell you my story,” she said.
Alan did as he was told and listened to what Toni had to say.
“When I was a young impressionable teenager I was out one night with some friends, a couple of girls and some boys we fancied. It was late October and the boys were showing off, as boys do. They had got hold of some fireworks and were lighting them and throwing them on the ground. Then one mis-threw and the firework landed in my lap before it exploded. I woke up in hospital with burns all down my front, from my chest down my abdomen and the top of my thighs. It took years to finish the skin grafts I needed and even then my body is not a pretty sight. And because the grafts aren’t as supple as natural skin the doctors advised me never to get pregnant, so I was sterilized. I’ve had a few boyfriends since, but none I could really feel comfortable with.”
“Surely if they love you any scars won’t matter,” Alan said.
Toni sighed.
“Maybe not. But I’ve never had the courage to put that theory to the test. Suppose they had turned away with horror in their eyes?”
Alan reached for the coffee table to put his mug down.
“So what? You seek out a blind man so he can’t see them?”
“No. I’d no intention of falling in love with you when I came to work for you,” Toni said. “But as the months have gone by my feelings have changed and I … I don’t know. I think you are very brave. I would be happy to be with you. Is that love? Wanting to share your life with someone?”
Alan thought long and hard before replying. He remembered the first time he had seen Toni, wrapped up against the cold. He had thought her attractive. He would have made a pass at her if they had met under different circumstances. He thought about all the outings they had shared, her arm comfortably tucked in his to guide him. They had talked lots and laughed even more and he had wanted to make love to her but held back because what could he offer her? He reached for her hand.
“If that isn’t love, I don’t know what is,” he said. “Why don’t we give it a try.”
Swearwords: None.
Description: Two people, each with traumatic events in their lives, come together and find love.
_____________________________________________________________________
Alan Marshall arrived home, poured himself a large glass of scotch and sat down in his favourite chair to consider the consequences of what he had just been told. To say the news had shocked him was an understatement. He had had no warning that anything was wrong let alone something as traumatic as this. He stared at the glass in his hand and wondered how long it would be before he could no longer see it, for according to the ophthalmic surgeon he had left forty minutes ago, he was going to go blind.
The surgeon had used some long Latin based name for the condition which Alan immediately forgot. In layman’s terms he was suffering tunnel vision where peripheral vision was lost and all one could see was what was directly in front of one. It was like looking through a telescope but without the magnifying effect. The tunnel would get smaller and smaller until it closed completely robbing him of his sight. On the positive side this process could take years. On the other hand, the surgeon had said, the more aggressive form of the condition might complete its work in a matter of months. It was too early to say which way Alan’s condition would go.
Alan sipped his drink. What puzzled him was that the surgeon had said this particular condition was hereditary. Yet he had not known of anyone in his family to suffer in this way. Only males succumbed to the condition, while females carried and transmitted it. It only manifested if both parents had the faulty gene. He tried to recall the details of his family. Hadn’t his great-grandfather gone blind? Was that through this condition or was it something to do with the Great War? His grandfather had been fine and so had his own father. Or had he? Alan did not know that much about his father. He had died when Alan was only ten. He had been the same age Alan was now, approaching his 32nd birthday.
He took another swig of his drink and took his phone from his pocket. He selected his mother’s number from the contact list and waited impatiently for her to answer. She sounded bright and cheery when she first heard his voice but as the conversation progressed she seemed less happy to hear from him.
“Hi, Mum, how are you?” he asked.
“Fine, thanks, dear. How are you? Haven’t seen you for a while.”
“No. Sorry, I’ve been busy. New book coming out soon.”
“Oh, lovely. Will you send me a copy?”
He sent her a copy of all his books. As she never commented on them he had a feeling they were never read, just lined up on her bookshelf so that she could show visitors and say, “My son wrote these.”
“Of course. I need to ask you something.”
“Ask away? You’re not short of cash again, are you?”
In the past his mother had always been there when he needed help with his rent. But those days were long gone.
“I've just got back from Moorfields.”
“Oh. What do you want to know?”
“What did Dad die of?” He had never asked that question before. His Dad had died, that was all there was to it.
Mrs Marshall had been dreading the day her son would ask this question. So much time had passed she was beginning to think he would never ask it.
“Why were you at Moorfields?” she asked, ignoring his question.
“I think you already know,” he said.
Her voice trembled as she asked:
“You haven’t got it, have you?” she asked.
“What do you think? What did Dad die of? Tell me.”
“He took an overdose. He said he couldn’t face it. He lost 50% of his vision in six months.”
Alan almost dropped the phone. If it had been that quick for his father it did not bode well for him.
“Why didn’t you tell me, warn me?”
“What good would that have done? What could I say? ‘Son there’s a strong possibility that one day in the future you might go blind but I can’t say if or when but it might never happen at all.’? These days you can get tested but back then, when you were born, there wasn’t a test. Maybe if I had known for sure you wouldn’t’ve been born, then there would have been no Alan Marshall to write all those books.”
Alan was not in the mood to discuss the ethics of genetic selection. There was no point in asking ‘Why me?’ but the feeling of ‘it’s not fair’ pounded in his head. He could not believe it was happening. He could still see perfectly well. He had only gone to the optician for his bi-annual check-up. When the optician had suggested he see someone at Moorfields he went more to humour the man who had been peering into his eyes for the last umpteen years than out of any concern.
“What do I do?” he asked his mother.
“You carry on and you work it out as you go,” she said. “You never know it might be years before it really affects you, that’s what they told Will.”
But in reality his father had lost his sight rapidly and couldn’t live with the thought of losing it completely. Was he stronger than his father, Alan wondered.
For six months he noticed nothing. He opened his eyes every morning and studied his surroundings and all seemed well. Then came the day his new book was launched and he was in a West End book store doing a signing session. Someone gave him a book, told him to whom it should be dedicated and he started to write the name and sign the page with his usual flourish. There seemed to be a black mark on the edge of the page. Alan was about to suggest the purchaser get another copy when he tried to wipe the mark away and part of his finger disappeared. He looked up and realized that the world around him had shrunk. Although he had been expecting this day to arrive a feeling of panic filled him. His hand shook as he signed the book and held it out to its new owner.
“I hope you enjoy it,” he said in a voice that echoed in his head. He looked at the queue and was relieved to see there were only four more people waiting for his signature. He turned to his agent and whispered: “Can you make sure no-one else joins the queue. I need a break.”
Max had been his agent for the last five years and had never known Alan to ask for a break at a book signing but he nodded and went to sort things out.
There was a coffee shop at the back of the bookstore and after the last book had been signed Max suggested they go for a coffee.
“Or do you need something stronger?” he asked.
Alan forced a smile. He had considered drowning his problem in strong drink several times but each time he reasoned himself out of the temptation. Drinking would not stop him going blind, only make coping with it more difficult.
“Coffee will be fine,” he said.
“So what’s the problem?” Max asked when they were settled at a table in a quiet area of the coffee shop.
Alan looked around. Although everything in front of him was clear and perfect his peripheral vision was severely restricted.
“I’m going blind,” he said. And as briefly as he could he explained the situation.
Max listened intently. He did not know what to say or suggest.
“This might be my last book,” Alan was saying. “I don’t know how I can continue writing if I can’t see.”
“Nonsense,” Max said. “The first thing you must do is start a diary. Put everything down, how you feel, what happens to you, then you have your next book there.”
Alan shook his head. He did not know if he wanted to share what was happening to him with the rest of the world.
“You’re losing your sight, not your imagination,” Max added. “We’ll work through the technical side of how you can do things.”
And that’s what they did. Alan already had ideas forming in his mind for a new novel and spent what time he had trying to get as much keyed into his computer as he could. In the meantime he went on a course to learn how to do things without sight. He decided he was lucky. He knew what was going to happen and had time to prepare and practice. Some on the course had not been given that chance.
As the months went by and his range of vision decreased he decided he would need a personal assistant to help with his work. He contacted an employment agency and asked if they could help.
Toni was the third person they sent. The first two were totally unsuited to what he needed. When Alan opened the door to her he was greeted by a young woman with stunning auburn hair which was cut to her shoulders. Her eyes were a pale hazel colour, her features, while not exceptionally beautiful, were balanced and attractive. She was dressed in boots, jeans and a roll necked jumper under her winter jacket.
“Hi, I’m Toni, the agency said you need a PA,” she said.
Alan studied her. His field of vision was by now little more than a small circle directly in front of him and he had to move his head from side to side to see her fully. Toni’s expression became one of concern and Alan thought she might take flight.
“Are you ok?” she asked.
“Yes. Sorry. Can’t see very well. Please come in.”
Toni was perfect. She could type, use the internet, take shorthand dictation and use a Dictaphone. Alan was still trying to discover the best way to work. He had always typed his work, changing things on the screen if they did not seem right. He could still type fairly accurately but he knew the day would come when he would not be able to read what he had typed. He tried a computer with a voice synthesizer to read back what he had written but the simulated monosyllabic voice gave no feeling to the words. His own dictation was stilted and did not give the flow he wanted in his writing. Toni suggested he stuck to typing and said she was happy to read things back to him after checking for typing errors.
Christmas approached and Alan said he would like to take his office staff out for a Christmas lunch. Toni laughed. She was his office staff. They went to a local pub and had the standard Christmas lunch. It wasn’t brilliant but the food did not really matter. Alan was growing very fond of Toni. She never mentioned a boyfriend. She said she lived with her parents. Although she was quiet when working, when work was over for the day she often stayed for coffee and they would talk about all sorts of things. Sometimes it was getting on for eight o’clock before she left and Alan would always feel bereft when he heard the door close behind her.
After Christmas Alan’s sight had deteriorated so much he knew it would not be long before his vision had gone completely. He had a sudden and urgent desire to see all the things he had never got round to seeing. He asked Toni to accompany him as he was not confident about walking the streets of London on his own. They went to see the latest exhibitions at the British Museum and the Tate gallery. They had frequent visits to the theatre to see plays and musicals. All the time their friendship was deepening until one night, after Toni had walked him safely to his door, Alan took her in his arms and kissed her.
She did not resist or pull away. Neither did she make the kiss last. Instead she rested her head against his shoulder and gently wrapped her arms around him. She held him close to her for a few moments then pulled back, stroked his face and whispered:
“Not yet, my love. See you tomorrow.”
And she went leaving Alan on the step feeling surprised and confused.
Two days later he opened his eyes to complete darkness. He closed and re-opened them but nothing changed. He waved his hands across his face but saw nothing. He sighed. He got up, showered, shaved and dressed. He had been practicing all these things over the last few months. He could shave without cutting himself or missing any whiskers. He had replaced all his socks with black ones so that he would never get them mixed up.
Toni arrived, she had her own key now, and went and made two mugs of coffee before starting work. Alan was sitting on a settee staring blankly at the wall. Toni took his coffee and put it on the coffee table in front of him. He did not move.
“It’s happened, hasn’t it?” she asked.
He gave a start. He had not realized she was so close.
“Yes,” he said. “I can’t see a …”
“You can swear if you like, I don’t mind,” Toni said.
Alan repeated his last sentence adding expletives at every opportunity. He felt Toni sit down beside him and let her draw him into her arms, cradling him like a baby against her breast, soothing him as he wept for all he had lost. When his tears of anger and frustration were spent he felt her take his face in her hands and after wiping away the tears she started kissing him. First his sightless eyes and then his lips. Her kisses were passionate enough to arouse his senses. He ran his hands over her body. Although the worst of the winter had passed she still wore high necked jumpers or blouses that did up to her neck. He tried to feel under her jumper but she took his hand and held it. He broke away from the kiss.
“I’m not objecting, but would you care to explain,” he said. “Why now?”
He felt Toni move and a moment later she was placing the coffee mug in his hands.
“Drink this while I tell you my story,” she said.
Alan did as he was told and listened to what Toni had to say.
“When I was a young impressionable teenager I was out one night with some friends, a couple of girls and some boys we fancied. It was late October and the boys were showing off, as boys do. They had got hold of some fireworks and were lighting them and throwing them on the ground. Then one mis-threw and the firework landed in my lap before it exploded. I woke up in hospital with burns all down my front, from my chest down my abdomen and the top of my thighs. It took years to finish the skin grafts I needed and even then my body is not a pretty sight. And because the grafts aren’t as supple as natural skin the doctors advised me never to get pregnant, so I was sterilized. I’ve had a few boyfriends since, but none I could really feel comfortable with.”
“Surely if they love you any scars won’t matter,” Alan said.
Toni sighed.
“Maybe not. But I’ve never had the courage to put that theory to the test. Suppose they had turned away with horror in their eyes?”
Alan reached for the coffee table to put his mug down.
“So what? You seek out a blind man so he can’t see them?”
“No. I’d no intention of falling in love with you when I came to work for you,” Toni said. “But as the months have gone by my feelings have changed and I … I don’t know. I think you are very brave. I would be happy to be with you. Is that love? Wanting to share your life with someone?”
Alan thought long and hard before replying. He remembered the first time he had seen Toni, wrapped up against the cold. He had thought her attractive. He would have made a pass at her if they had met under different circumstances. He thought about all the outings they had shared, her arm comfortably tucked in his to guide him. They had talked lots and laughed even more and he had wanted to make love to her but held back because what could he offer her? He reached for her hand.
“If that isn’t love, I don’t know what is,” he said. “Why don’t we give it a try.”
About the Author
Kristen Stone describes herself as a frustrated writer looking to conquer the world. Although born in London, she knows all the words to 500 Miles, has attended several Burns Night Suppers and would love to play the bagpipes. She has even offered to change her name to McStone. Those are all good reasons for McStorytellers to grant her the status of Honorary Scot.
Kristen’s website is at http://www.kristen-stone-the-writer.com. Her first novel Kianda Mala - The Monkey Man will be published by Night Publishing later this year. Meanwhile, it can be previewed and downloaded from Smashwords at http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/44006.
Kristen’s website is at http://www.kristen-stone-the-writer.com. Her first novel Kianda Mala - The Monkey Man will be published by Night Publishing later this year. Meanwhile, it can be previewed and downloaded from Smashwords at http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/44006.