A Good Day

A Good Day

"Do you know what day it is?"

"It's Tuesday."

"No, you silly man. I said do you know what day it is?"

"What?"

"It's October the tenth."

"Oh. Oh, good. Happy anniversary."

"You remember that, at least. Did you get me anything?"

"My memory's fine. What's the...What's the sixty-seventh anniversary supposed to be? Soup? Is it our soup anniversary?"

"I think it's rust."

"Of course I got you something. I got it while I was in Rome last week. It's in the spare bedroom, you can get it if you like. I'll meet you back here on the verandah in a week."

"When did you get so grumpy?"

"I've always been grumpy, woman. That's why you married me. You were attracted to my grumpiness."

"I was attracted to your good heart. And look, I was right, it's still going. I knew what I was doing."

"Eh?"

"I said I knew what I was doing."

"Buggered if I did. Not then, not now, not any time in between. My whole life I pretended I knew what I was doing, and no-one was any the wiser. Heh heh heh. You know my father, he used to say to me, he used to say, 'Son, you can't just float through life.' Well, he was wrong."

"I think maybe he meant you shouldn't."

"Then he was wrong about that, too."

"Maybe we could have done more."

"Are you complaining? I didn't want to do more. Still don't. That's what's wrong with people today, all rushing around trying to do things. Trying to improve themselves, trying to impress each other. The only good thing about being old is that you don't even have to pretend to be ambitious anymore. If you make it safely to the corner shop and back people applaud you for being independent. Well that sort of thing does not impress me. Are you impressed?"

"I have to say I'm a little impressed."

"Bah. If I thought a better car was all it took to turn your head, I'd have..."

"What? Improved yourself, dear?

"You can't improve on perfection. We've done alright. What do we want, a bigger television? How much bigger do you need a television to be?"

"You still can't see it, you blind old bugger."

"Who are you calling old? You're old. I'm in my prime."

"Yes, I can see that. I can see I'll have to beat all the young ladies away with a stick."

"The ladies like a mature man, it's true."

"Mature! You're as childish now as you were when I first met you. Besides, if a young woman fell from the sky and into your lap you wouldn't know what to do with her."

"I'd fake it until she jogged my memory."

"Jogged? She'd have to run a marathon.'

"It's like riding a bike."

"The last bike you rode was that tart from the café."

"I was eighteen and I barely knew you."

"Nearly put me off you for good, that did."

"You can remember where my girlfriend from seventy years ago worked, and yet you can't remember that I don't like pumpkin."

"You do like pumpkin."

"I'm allergic to it, you mad old cow."

"Rubbish. There's nothing like a nice piece of roast pumpkin, pumpkin soup, mashed pumpkin, you just won't try anything new."

"I'm eighty-eight years old. There's isn't anything new left to try.'

"So fussy."

"I'd try a new wife."

"She'd murder you in your sleep, so she would. You'd try the patience of a saint with all your carry on."

"What a way to go though, eh?"

"And as soon as you figured out she wouldn't wait on you hand and foot or put up with all your nonsense, you'd come running back to me as fast as your legs could carry you."

"I thought she murdered me."

"What?"

"I said, I thought she murdered me. I can't run back to you as fast as my legs can carry me if I'm dead, can I? Stands to reason, woman. They don't carry me very fast now. I don't see how you can expect them to suddenly become lightning springs of fury just because I die in bed with my new wife through sheer exhaustion."

"What?"

"Never mind, you deaf old bat."

"Don't you call me a deaf old bat."

"How can you have heard that? I barely whispered it. How can you hear me when I mumble but not when I'm speaking clearly?"

"I tune out when you start talking rot."

"Ha. If you can hear when I'm not talking rot, then that proves you're deaf."

"What?"

"I said if..."

"I heard what you said; I just don't know what it means. It doesn't make any sense."

"You said you can't hear me when I talk rot, but you did hear me call you deaf. Therefore, you are deaf. QED."

"And you don't see any contradiction there."

"Just because it's paradoxical doesn't mean it's not true. I'm right, you're deaf and wrong."

"And what's Hughie?"

"Who?"

"Hughie Dee, what about him?"

"There's no Hughie...I said QED. It means 'as was shown' or proven...proved."

"Proofed?"

"Peruvian. As was Peruvian. There's no Hughie."

"Of course there's a Hughie. Lovely boy, brings the groceries around on a Wednesday."

"No, I mean..."

"I quite like 'as was' though, that's a lovely name. We should get a pet and I'll call him 'as was'."

"I'll get you a fruit fly."

"Why would you do that?"

"You don't want your pet to be a burden to someone when you die."

"You can look after it."

"I'm leaving before you are. If you get up there first you'll be in Peter's ear and he won't let me in. Nope. I'll get up there and do some fishing. It'll be nice to be alone for a few minutes."

"Oh, you're a horrible man. Leaving me all alone."

"You'll have your pet."

"Left to raise little 'as was' on my own."

"I mean, probably. Fruit flies only last a day or so. Very short lifespan, your fruit fly."

"Two funerals to organize in a week, and at my time of life. Oh, it's cruel."

"You could always get another one. Another pet, I mean. If you get another husband I'll haunt you. I'll come in and out without wiping my feet. I'll have cups of tea and leave the teabags in the sink."

"Better company he'll be, too. I suppose I'll need someone to put the rubbish out after you've gone and shirked your responsibilities."

"Shirked? How can sixty-seven years count as shirked?"

"It is if you leave me to look after everything."

"'Oh, he was a flighty one. Stuck at it for barely sixty-seven years and then he was off. Blink and you'd miss him.' 'Really? Why did he leave?' 'Because he was dead.' 'That's no good reason. Fickle, I call it.'"

"I'll have to sell the house."

"You won't leave me alone long enough for the bins to get full anyway. I won't have my first hook baited before I hear you coming around the corner. 'Victor? Victor, where are you? The clouds need mowing.' Hang on, what did you say?"

"The house. It'll have to go."

"Don't be ridiculous. You can't sell the house."

"It's too big for me on my own. I shall go and live with my sister."

"Angela died seven years ago."

"Well with Sandra then."

"She lives in England now. She's been there for years."

"Has she? She didn't say anything about moving to England when I spoke to her last week."

"That would be last week when you were dropping her off at school, would it? You helped her pack. You went to the airport and watched the damn plane fly away."

"I have wondered why she doesn't drop by much any more. Oh well, I guess I'll move to England then."

"You can't move to England."

"I'll have plenty of money from the house."

"You're not selling the house, I told you."

"I can do what I want once you're dead, Victor Henderson. You won't have any say, so off you go and bait your hooks."

"I won't die then."

"What?'

"You're not selling our house."

"So you've decided not to die. That's your answer, is it?"

"Ah, Yep."

"You're going to stay here and live with me for all eternity."

"Ah, Ye...no, wait."

"You can't fool me, you big softie."

"Hmph."

"Is Sandra coming back to visit?"

"Shouldn't think so. Not many people come back, when you think about it."

"It would be nice to see her. She's a good girl."

"She is a good girl. We raised her right. Not like kids these days."

"I quite like kids these days."

"Why are you always so contrary? All the kids today are on drugs."

"Not all of them."

"Close enough."

"Young Tom, Shelley's grandson. He's not on drugs."

"He's five."

"Still not on drugs."

"Wait 'til he's a teenager. He'll be in here, stealing our television, mugging his friends for their sneakers...they do that, you know."

"Not our Tommy. He wouldn't be able to tie the laces."

"Underpants up to their shoulders..."

"You're one to talk."

"At least I keep mine out of sight."

"Well we know that's not true."

"I don't do it on purpose. They might ride up a bit every now and then but...you're just trying to get a rise out of me, woman. It won't work."

"Chance would be a fine thing."

"What?"

"I said...oh, never mind. Do you know what day it is?"

"Tuesday, isn't it?"

"It's October the tenth, our anniversary."

"I know that. You told me about five minutes ago."

"Oh. I've still got my dress, you know."

"Whatever for?"

"It's nice to look at. It's nice to get it out and remember sometimes. And someone might want it some day."

"Probably not."

"No. Probably not."

"You were pretty then."

"And you were a gentleman."

"You're still pretty."

"And you're...oh. You're not too bad, I suppose."

"Come on, let's go inside. There's a bit of a chill in the air."

"Oh, your hand is freezing. Yes, it has come on cold all of a sudden. Still though, it's been a good day."

"It's been a very good day."