To Her Door
by Angus Shoor Caan
Genre: Drama
Swearwords: None.
Description: We all react differently to shock; some of us, like Marianne, to extremes...
_____________________________________________________________________
Marianne led a happy-go-lucky life until the eve of her thirtieth birthday. That's when Jake, her boyfriend of three years turned up at her house to end their relationship.
With no prior warning, no subtle hints, he filled the car with his effects, undid the house key from the bunch he carried and announced he was going to the far ends of the Earth, as far away from her as he could possibly go.
He needn't have bothered, he could have moved in next door because that was the last time Marianne left the house. She had been in the middle of dolling herself up for a night out with the girls when Jake showed up. Outfits all over the bed, hair in rollers, half her nails painted and a quarter bottle of vodka all but necked in anticipation of a good night.
Jake left her standing there with her mouth open, struck by lightning, halfway along the path, a bolt from the blue.
That's how her friends found her when they called to pick her up, no tears, no histrionics, simply a look of disbelief to greet them as they arrived.
Of course they rallied round, made a fuss of her, tried to change her mind about going out as soon as she decided against it and brought the party to her when she dug her heels in.
Fair to say the evening was a bit of a let down. No amount of alcohol, action hero videos or takeaway food could lessen the pain of rejection. They had all been there in one way or another but not one of them could claim to have been kicked in the teeth harder than Marianne had.
Her two closest friends stayed the night and had to bear witness to her sobbing her heart out when she went to bed, a sad, sad sound which left them heartbroken, wondering as to how to help her deal with the pain.
The following day, a Saturday, about two hours after Toni and Shell left, Marianne rang Shell and asked her to bring some groceries round since, understandably, she didn't quite feel up to it herself.
The actual truth of the matter was that Marianne had in fact dressed herself, put her coat on, opened the front door and froze. There was no way she could step outside, all she could do was tremble in fear at the very prospect.
Shell delivered the groceries, then had a real problem coping with Marianne's mood, relieved to be walking down the path after two and a half hours, relieved and ashamed at her own selfishness.
Marianne called in sick on the Monday, spoke to her boss on the phone and assured her she would be fit for work soon.
She loved her job as a fashion buyer for a large chain store, no two days were ever the same and the huge salary reflected her worth to the company. It had paid for her house, the exotic holidays and ensured she wouldn't have any financial problems to worry about.
After four days her boss turned up on the doorstep, took one look at the state she was in and arranged for a doctor to see her, at home of course and paid for by the company.
In between times, Marianne had rung round her friends and asked them to do her shopping for her. This they did to a certain degree. She could feel their discomfort, she could see the pity in their eyes and couldn't entirely blame them for making good their escape at their earliest convenience.
All prayed she would be back to her old self soon but secretly didn't hold out much hope of same, not going by her obvious poor mental condition.
The doctor spent an hour with her, gave agoraphobia as his diagnosis and told her, quite bluntly, the longer she stayed locked away, the harder it would be for her to face the world. A diagnosis and a prognosis in one short, sharp sentence.
Her immediate family disowned her when she refused to leave the house for her father's funeral. They had been close, they couldn't fathom her reasons for not being able to leave the house, couldn't understand how badly her illness had taken hold.
One by one her friends withdrew their support, such as it was, leaving her to fend for herself. The only person she saw on a regular basis was Billy, the slow witted son of a neighbour. Unemployable and in receipt of benefits, Billy supplemented his meagre income by running errands and running after Marianne. He would do all the shopping, needing a list when two or more items were required. Also, he would peg the washing out, tend the gardens front, back and sides, wash the windows and dispose of the rubbish. If he had been a little quicker on the uptake he could have dispensed with the garden and the windows since Marianne couldn't even bring herself to look out let alone go out. She closed her eyes if ever Billy wasn't around to open or close a window.
One day Billy brought her an abandoned kitten to look after and it managed to brighten her mood somewhat, gave her a little responsibility and something to talk to other than the radio and television.
Her alcohol intake had increased substantially, most nights drinking herself into oblivion. Blinker, the cat, tended to keep himself to himself when she started rambling and complaining about her lot.
As ill as she was, Marianne kept the house and herself in immaculate condition. Furniture came and went, as did clothes from various catalogues. She had always taken pride in her appearance, her main passion being shoes. Now was no different, even though the shoes would never see the light of day.
Work paid her off, a golden handshake of sorts. It didn't matter, whatever they gave her she wouldn't be able to contest it unless the tribunal did house calls. No, it was a reasonable settlement and swelled her bank account considerably, an account she now managed by telephone with most of her bills being settled by direct debit.
The doctor visited once a month, filled out a prescription and gave her a brief examination, resigned to the fact he couldn't help her if she wouldn't help herself. He was a busy man, he didn't have time to read up on her condition or any advances in the treatment of such. Marianne didn't like him but what could she do?
One thing, which would have astonished her friends, her ex-friends, Marianne took up smoking. After years of campaigning against the evil weed she came across a packet of cigarettes Billy had left lying around and lit one up out of curiosity. Copying the actions of an actress on television, she found it relaxed her and was soon on twenty a day, more if she became agitated for any or no reason.
A new doctor came to her door, a woman, her own doctor was ill, Marianne prayed silently it was nothing trivial. The new doctor seemed genuinely interested, talked for twenty minutes, asked how long she had been on these particular tablets and changed her prescription there and then. These new pills had been around for twelve months or more with apparently fantastic results, a real medical breakthrough.
Marianne felt almost optimistic when the doctor left, she flushed her old tablets down the toilet and sent Billy to pick up her new prescription along with a litre of vodka, save him a double trip.
She dressed for dinner as always, dimmed the lights and ate by candle light, washing her food down with straight vodka.
Her new pills had to be taken with food according to the label on the bottle. Marianne obliged, helping herself to another large vodka to assist their passage. Blinker used that as his exit visa and sloped off into the night, the rambling couldn't be very far away.
Marianne had a puzzled look about her, the dosage on the bottle was twice that of her old tablets. She shrugged her shoulders, surely the doctor would know what she was doing.
With only two tumblers of the vodka inside her, she couldn't understand why her head was spinning and why she couldn't seem to move much.
The fire resulting from the spilled candle started in slow motion but escalated quite rapidly. Marianne managed to stand up, managed to get as far as she had done in almost four years, to her door. She fell to her knees and sobbed silently, still she couldn't go out. Mercifully, the smoke did for her before the flames could, her trials were over, the new pills had inadvertently provided her with the release the old ones couldn't give her.
Marianne's ex-friends, on hearing the tragic news, arrived with eyes full of tears and arms full of floral tributes, came to a place which over the last few years they had shamefully chosen to ignore......to her door, too late, to her door.
Swearwords: None.
Description: We all react differently to shock; some of us, like Marianne, to extremes...
_____________________________________________________________________
Marianne led a happy-go-lucky life until the eve of her thirtieth birthday. That's when Jake, her boyfriend of three years turned up at her house to end their relationship.
With no prior warning, no subtle hints, he filled the car with his effects, undid the house key from the bunch he carried and announced he was going to the far ends of the Earth, as far away from her as he could possibly go.
He needn't have bothered, he could have moved in next door because that was the last time Marianne left the house. She had been in the middle of dolling herself up for a night out with the girls when Jake showed up. Outfits all over the bed, hair in rollers, half her nails painted and a quarter bottle of vodka all but necked in anticipation of a good night.
Jake left her standing there with her mouth open, struck by lightning, halfway along the path, a bolt from the blue.
That's how her friends found her when they called to pick her up, no tears, no histrionics, simply a look of disbelief to greet them as they arrived.
Of course they rallied round, made a fuss of her, tried to change her mind about going out as soon as she decided against it and brought the party to her when she dug her heels in.
Fair to say the evening was a bit of a let down. No amount of alcohol, action hero videos or takeaway food could lessen the pain of rejection. They had all been there in one way or another but not one of them could claim to have been kicked in the teeth harder than Marianne had.
Her two closest friends stayed the night and had to bear witness to her sobbing her heart out when she went to bed, a sad, sad sound which left them heartbroken, wondering as to how to help her deal with the pain.
The following day, a Saturday, about two hours after Toni and Shell left, Marianne rang Shell and asked her to bring some groceries round since, understandably, she didn't quite feel up to it herself.
The actual truth of the matter was that Marianne had in fact dressed herself, put her coat on, opened the front door and froze. There was no way she could step outside, all she could do was tremble in fear at the very prospect.
Shell delivered the groceries, then had a real problem coping with Marianne's mood, relieved to be walking down the path after two and a half hours, relieved and ashamed at her own selfishness.
Marianne called in sick on the Monday, spoke to her boss on the phone and assured her she would be fit for work soon.
She loved her job as a fashion buyer for a large chain store, no two days were ever the same and the huge salary reflected her worth to the company. It had paid for her house, the exotic holidays and ensured she wouldn't have any financial problems to worry about.
After four days her boss turned up on the doorstep, took one look at the state she was in and arranged for a doctor to see her, at home of course and paid for by the company.
In between times, Marianne had rung round her friends and asked them to do her shopping for her. This they did to a certain degree. She could feel their discomfort, she could see the pity in their eyes and couldn't entirely blame them for making good their escape at their earliest convenience.
All prayed she would be back to her old self soon but secretly didn't hold out much hope of same, not going by her obvious poor mental condition.
The doctor spent an hour with her, gave agoraphobia as his diagnosis and told her, quite bluntly, the longer she stayed locked away, the harder it would be for her to face the world. A diagnosis and a prognosis in one short, sharp sentence.
Her immediate family disowned her when she refused to leave the house for her father's funeral. They had been close, they couldn't fathom her reasons for not being able to leave the house, couldn't understand how badly her illness had taken hold.
One by one her friends withdrew their support, such as it was, leaving her to fend for herself. The only person she saw on a regular basis was Billy, the slow witted son of a neighbour. Unemployable and in receipt of benefits, Billy supplemented his meagre income by running errands and running after Marianne. He would do all the shopping, needing a list when two or more items were required. Also, he would peg the washing out, tend the gardens front, back and sides, wash the windows and dispose of the rubbish. If he had been a little quicker on the uptake he could have dispensed with the garden and the windows since Marianne couldn't even bring herself to look out let alone go out. She closed her eyes if ever Billy wasn't around to open or close a window.
One day Billy brought her an abandoned kitten to look after and it managed to brighten her mood somewhat, gave her a little responsibility and something to talk to other than the radio and television.
Her alcohol intake had increased substantially, most nights drinking herself into oblivion. Blinker, the cat, tended to keep himself to himself when she started rambling and complaining about her lot.
As ill as she was, Marianne kept the house and herself in immaculate condition. Furniture came and went, as did clothes from various catalogues. She had always taken pride in her appearance, her main passion being shoes. Now was no different, even though the shoes would never see the light of day.
Work paid her off, a golden handshake of sorts. It didn't matter, whatever they gave her she wouldn't be able to contest it unless the tribunal did house calls. No, it was a reasonable settlement and swelled her bank account considerably, an account she now managed by telephone with most of her bills being settled by direct debit.
The doctor visited once a month, filled out a prescription and gave her a brief examination, resigned to the fact he couldn't help her if she wouldn't help herself. He was a busy man, he didn't have time to read up on her condition or any advances in the treatment of such. Marianne didn't like him but what could she do?
One thing, which would have astonished her friends, her ex-friends, Marianne took up smoking. After years of campaigning against the evil weed she came across a packet of cigarettes Billy had left lying around and lit one up out of curiosity. Copying the actions of an actress on television, she found it relaxed her and was soon on twenty a day, more if she became agitated for any or no reason.
A new doctor came to her door, a woman, her own doctor was ill, Marianne prayed silently it was nothing trivial. The new doctor seemed genuinely interested, talked for twenty minutes, asked how long she had been on these particular tablets and changed her prescription there and then. These new pills had been around for twelve months or more with apparently fantastic results, a real medical breakthrough.
Marianne felt almost optimistic when the doctor left, she flushed her old tablets down the toilet and sent Billy to pick up her new prescription along with a litre of vodka, save him a double trip.
She dressed for dinner as always, dimmed the lights and ate by candle light, washing her food down with straight vodka.
Her new pills had to be taken with food according to the label on the bottle. Marianne obliged, helping herself to another large vodka to assist their passage. Blinker used that as his exit visa and sloped off into the night, the rambling couldn't be very far away.
Marianne had a puzzled look about her, the dosage on the bottle was twice that of her old tablets. She shrugged her shoulders, surely the doctor would know what she was doing.
With only two tumblers of the vodka inside her, she couldn't understand why her head was spinning and why she couldn't seem to move much.
The fire resulting from the spilled candle started in slow motion but escalated quite rapidly. Marianne managed to stand up, managed to get as far as she had done in almost four years, to her door. She fell to her knees and sobbed silently, still she couldn't go out. Mercifully, the smoke did for her before the flames could, her trials were over, the new pills had inadvertently provided her with the release the old ones couldn't give her.
Marianne's ex-friends, on hearing the tragic news, arrived with eyes full of tears and arms full of floral tributes, came to a place which over the last few years they had shamefully chosen to ignore......to her door, too late, to her door.
About the Author
Angus Shoor Caan is in his 50s, an ex-seaman and rail worker. Born and bred in sunny Saltcoats, he returned to Scotland after many years in England and found the time to begin writing. He is inspired by the Ayrshire coast and likes what he calls "real music". He also enjoys pool, snooker and is a big fan of rugby league side, Wigan Warriors. He has written several novels and one poetry collection and says that writing gives him "endless pleasure". His two ebooks can be viewed by clicking on the images below.
Angus tells us that all his stories on McStorytellers have been inspired by the titles of songs written by Paul Kelly, who is often described as the poet laureate of Australia.
Angus tells us that all his stories on McStorytellers have been inspired by the titles of songs written by Paul Kelly, who is often described as the poet laureate of Australia.