Flash Fiction – The Help

This story is limited to 1,000 words. Let me know what you think…

I had been summoned into her bedroom.  She lay there, on the bed like lady muck.  Dressed in a delicate nightie of pink and white, head against the panelled rest and looked me up and down.  

I didn’t need this job I told myself.  But I did need it.  The husband had rung me up, from the advertisement.  Asked a few questions about my housekeeping skills, whether I’d be able to confidently administer medication and could I independently travel about.  He made me feel relaxed, we laughed, I could do this job.  I wanted this job.  Then I went to meet the mistress of the house.  If she liked me then I was in.  

The room was huge, wide.  Sash windows took up nearly the whole wall filling the room with light.  I could smell sweet jasmine.  It was difficult to tell if it came from the open window or the woman in front of me.  Finally, she asked my name.  I explained my qualifications.  She barely nodded.  I notice she tried to sit up but couldn’t.  The husband rushed past me to her helping her into the wheelchair next to the bed.  She flapped her arms asking him to stop fussing.  He backed away and left the room.  Just me and her.  She lit up a cigarette.  “My one vice – at least the only one I have control over”, she smirked.  I stood standing there wondering what I should say.  She asked me how old I was.  Just thirty.  She looked at me with thoughtfulness, I could tell she wanted to ask further but refrained and I decided not to offer up.  I started a new conversation, about how I could cook.  She seemed interested and got a smile back when I mentioned that carrot cake was a speciality of mine.  “My husband will enjoy that”.  I waited to see if any further questions would come.  Instead, the wife stared out the window and asked if I liked the house.  I didn’t know what to say.  I had only seen the front door and this room but it looked huge.  It had taken me a while to even traverse the drive to get to the front door.  I said that the place would keep me busy.  She liked that response and said it was time for tea if I’d oblige?  I was dismissed and headed out.  The husband stood on the other side of the door beaming.  “Looks like you’re in”.  I smiled back.  “I better get tea ready then”.  I took my hat off and shook my hair out so that I could tie it up leaving the husband behind me.  “Aren’t you coming?  I can’t find the kitchen by myself”  I remarked.  He was still smiling, only now the husband looked rather pleased with himself.

And that’s how it began.  But it’s not how it ended.  The husband and I got very close.  As I grew confident looking after his wife, pushing her in her wheelchair and ensuring she was comfortable across the house and gardens he would be my company.  We’d laugh about silly things seen on the TV.  He loved my cooking and he said he enjoyed my company too.  So much so he kissed me.  I let him kiss me, under a tree one spring afternoon as his wife sat on the patio out of sight.  He declared his love for me and in turn, I began to have feelings for him.  I asked him to leave his wife.  He said no.  We continued to kiss and cuddle in secret.  As the leaves turned brown and the days got shorter I asked him again, would he leave his wife?  It remained a firm no.  He couldn’t do that.  He would lose a lot of money and they could at least all live in comfort under this roof staying married.

When the days were too cold or wet the wife asked me to spend more time with her indoors.  I’d read out the crossword or we’d play a game of backgammon.  Her mind was sharp.  She wanted thoughtful conversation else she’d revert to silence.  I began to notice she did this a lot with her husband.  Over time we spoke less candidly with each other.  She admitted her pain and I admitted what I’d run away from to be here.  She never offered advice only listened.  It was enough.

One weekend after Christmas the wife endured agony.  Her pain flared up so badly I didn’t want to leave her.  The husband thought it was all in her mind and headed to the pub.  I sat on her bed and comforted her until the tears subsided and she finally fell into a slumber.  When he came home I gently got off her bed and went down to berate him.  He said he didn’t care and why should I?  I couldn’t make him understand.  “She may need more help”.  He refused.  “It might get worse”, I cried.  He ignored me.  I went back to her side and stayed all night, creeping back out the following morning.  I brought some tea to her bedside, she looked a little brighter.  She asked me if I’d ever slept with her husband.  She had known all along.  I confessed and said I had feelings for him or at least I had but it had never gone that far.  I wouldn’t do that to another woman.  I was ready for dismissal but it never came.  We never spoke of it again.  The light started to draw out again.  The husband asked me to come to his study one evening after I’d put the dishes away.  He spoke of his wife’s medication, how it could be used in a way that may be perceived she’d had an overdose.  I didn’t follow.  “I can’t leave her and I love you” was his reasoning.  I nodded.  He smiled and took a glug from his glass.  I did know her medication very well.  

That’s why I’d added the crushed up tablets to his whiskey.  

Thank you for reading 🙂