A prisoner in the bed.                             

Mary lay in bed. She looked at the clock, two more hours before the carer came in to get her out of bed. She felt bored and grumpy. Looking around the room, it seemed tired and dingy. Very little light came round the corners of the closed curtains. This told her outside it was another grey day, would spring never come?

She looked at the clock again, two minutes had passed. Her eyes focused on the plant someone had given her for Christmas, months ago. No one had watered it, now it was withered, dark and dusty, spiders had made webs through it. Why had no one thrown it away?

The radio was next to the plant, she moved to turn it on, then drew a line in the dust. Filthy, the place was filthy! She had always been so house proud, the cleaner did a lick and promise, not a deep clean like she had. There was a card sticking from under the radio, she poked it out. Squinting at it, it was the number for the office that the carer’s worked out of. She considered ringing and blasting them, telling them how useless they were. Never here when she needed them!

The strains of music burst into her consciousness. An old song, a favourite that she and Billy danced to. She fingered the silver chain and locket she always had round her neck. Billy had the locket engraved with a heart and their names. They had really loved each other, soul mates. What a long time since Billy died. This reminded her of the time they went to Bridlington when they were courting. She had gone into the Fortune Teller’s booth, to see what the cards would say about Billy. The cards talked about marriage and two or three children. Yes! She could marry him.

Her cough broke into her reverie. Where was that bottle of medicine the carer had brought in? What had she said? ‘It’s special, I went into town and got it from the Herbalist, I always swear by it’. Mary gave herself a couple of spoonfuls. She picked up a tissue and a small hand mirror, carefully wiping her mouth and then, the spoon to get rid of the stickiness.

Looking at her hair in the mirror, she could see the grey hair at the parting. Lower down, the faded auburn hair looked ready to be refreshed and her ‘roots done’. Her friend, Jenny usually came to wash and dye her hair for her. Mary felt feelings of uselessness sweep over her. In her better days, she had been so quick, so active. Now she was the prisoner in the bed. Oh! When was that carer coming? She reached for the pad and jar of pencils. She chose a pink one, ‘pink for Jenny’. Pink really suited Jenny,  she looked stunning in that pink frock from the C. and A., in Leeds. She carefully wrote on the pad, ‘Ring Jenny - hair’. The pencil point broke, Mary fished out the pencil sharpener and begun to turn it. Broken or blunt pencils really bugged her, they just had to be pristine.

Once she was up and dressed, and in the living room, she’d email Jenny. Her daughter had bought her the laptop, the best thing she’d ever had, all she had to do was lift up the lid and the whole world opened up to her, pictures, images, books to read. What would she read today? If only the carer would come, she could be up, at it and online.

Suddenly, there was the sound of the front door opening. ‘Mary, Mary, it’s me Jean, are you ready to get up. Jean and a waft of fresh air breezed in, she opened the curtains and suddenly, Mary’s day had began.