His Annie - Short Story

A spattering of bright amber light began to creep in under Gabe’s eyelids. His eyes fluttered open. The morning sun peeked in through the gaps between the timber blinds; its warmth kissed his cheek. He pulled the powder blue sheet up to his nose; it was stiff against his skin. He missed having soft sheets that smelt faintly of frangipani.

Gabe rolled over. Annie’s eyes were still closed. He reached out and swept the damp strands of raven hair from her face. Her short symmetrical nose twitched at his touch, but she didn’t stir. Gabe watched her sleep. Her skin was so pale it looked almost translucent against the darkness of her hair. From afar, the rosy patches on her cheeks gave her a youthful peaches-and-cream glow, but up close the ruddy veins looked sinister, like clusters of tiny spiders invading her face. Her full lips were dry and beginning to crack; purplish stains seeped into the corners of her mouth. Gabe looked over to her bedside table at her half-drunk glass; its stale fruitiness filled his nose. How late had she stayed up last night? He couldn’t recall the last time they went to bed at the same time.

Peeling back the sheet, Gabe turned away from Annie and swung his legs out of the warmness of the bed. He slid his feet into his fluffy Dalmatian slippers. One of the Dalmatians’ ears was hanging on by a thread, and there were holes in both heels, but he could never part with them. Annie had bought them for him many Christmases ago.

The first time Annie met Gabe’s parents, his Mother told her many stories from Gabe’s childhood. She told her about the time she had read Gabe 101 Dalmatians. He had been so scared that he made her give her old fur coat to goodwill. Gabe had forgotten Annie knew this story. How she had laughed when he opened the shoebox that Christmas morning. Gabe had put the slippers on and strutted around the living room striking poses in front of her, making her laugh even harder.

Gabe stood up from the edge of the bed; he stretched his lean arms above his head. His shoulder creaked. He rubbed at it, an old injury from his cricketing days. He quietly padded over to the mirrored doors of the wardrobe and studied his face. He could see more greys in his dark stubble; he rubbed his hand across its scratchiness. He was going to have to shave more regularly; he didn’t like the idea of having a grey beard. Gabe took his dressing gown from the bedpost and pulled it on as he left the bedroom. He strode down the stairs two at a time and reached the kitchen. It was spotless, just as he had left it, aside from the empty glass bottle sitting on the stone benchtop. He picked it up and placed it in the recycle bin under the sink.

Gabe reached for two mugs from the overhead shelf, careful to leave the mug which had once been Annie’s favourite, safely hidden away. As he waited for the kettle to boil, he gazed out of the kitchen window into the garden. Sunlight seeped through the grey clouds and glistened on the dewy apple tree leaves. The fresh cut grass peeked out from under a curtain of morning fog and the tyre swing rocked gently beneath the old cedar tree.

The kettle clicked off. Gabe filled the mugs with boiling water. He strained to hear the laughter that used to fill this time of morning. There would be clumps of flour and chocolate coated bowls all over the kitchen sink and a plate of chocolate chip pancakes waiting for him at the dining table. His mouth watered at the thought of the still-warm gooey chocolate dribbling down his chin. Annie would be sat across from him, sipping earl grey from her world’s greatest Mum mug, in between bites of her marmite smothered toast. He’d lean over, push her crazy mess of hair from her face, and plant a chocolatey kiss on her lips. She was beautiful.

The day they met, it wasn’t her beauty that drew Gabe to Annie. Of course, she was beautiful, but to say she was beautiful would be to say the grass is green and water wet. Gabe had been flipping through a magazine waiting for an espresso when he heard it: a laugh-sweet like Canadian maple syrup and as delicate as the first sprinkling of snow. Gabe looked up from his magazine over to the source of the sweet, delicate sound. Head tilted back she let out another wave of laughter. Gabe closed his eyes. He could listen to that sound forever; if only he could scoop it up in his hands, place it in a music box and play it whenever he liked. He opened his eyes. This time he saw Annie. She was leaning against the cafe counter. She wore a torn pair of faded denim overalls splattered with white paint. As she laughed, she self-consciously touched her hand to her lips. The chipped royal blue polish on her nails stood out from the pale creaminess of her skin. Her slight frame was overwhelmed by a mass of wild raven hair. Gabe let out a chuckle as he noticed the beret that was tucked behind her pixie-like ears. She couldn’t possibly be from here, he thought; no one that lived anywhere near Paris would ever actually wear a beret.

Gabe sighed. He missed those years they spent in Paris. They would sit at Café de Flour, sip endless carafes of crisp rosé, and watch the people pass by.

Gabe finished making the mugs of tea, leaving the teabag in for Annie. He made his way back up to the bedroom. The lilac dressing gown that usually hung from the bedpost was missing, and the bed had been made. He looked down at his wrist; with both hands full he couldn’t tap the screen of his apple watch.

“Blasted technology,” he mumbled.

He glanced up at the old antique clock perched on the fireplace mantle. It was a little after 7 o’clock. He was about to place Annie’s mug on her bedside table and head for his study and then he heard it. A sound sweet like Canadian maple syrup and as delicate as the first sprinkling of snow. He placed both mugs down.

Had he imagined it?

Gabe walked slowly out of the bedroom, stopped at the closed door and stood frozen, as he had done many mornings before. He reached out his hand and traced his finger around the three letters, covered in faded pink butterflies, that spelt out her name. Coolness spread through Gabe, from his chest to his stomach. He trailed his eyes down towards the tarnished brass doorknob and tentatively moved his hand toward it but drew it back before he reached it. It was as if it were a glowing hot ember which threatened to burn him if he got too close.

He started to back away from the door, but he heard that sound again. This time Gabe clasped the doorknob and pushed the door open.

Annie sat on the edge of the small single bed amongst the piles of stuffed toys. In her hands, she held a crumpled piece of paper. She looked up. Gabe could see the look of surprise dancing in her eyes. She held out the piece of paper to him.

Gabe looked down at the jumble of colours scribbled upon the page. He could make out a dog dotted in black spots, a Dalmatian, and a woman wearing a big fur coat. In the corner of the page was a man who had blue teardrops pouring out of his eyes. Above the man’s head, “Daddy” was scrawled in big wobbly red letters. Gabe looked up from the drawing at Annie.

“Do you remember how much Ivy loved to hear that story?” she managed, through another burst of laughter.

Gabe smiled and wriggled his toes in his Dalmatian slippers. He took the drawing and clutched it to his chest. He closed his eyes. He opened them at the touch of Annie’s fingers being tenderly curled into his clenched hand.

“How about some pancakes?” she said.

Gabe exhaled. How long had he been holding his breath? He wasn’t sure, but it felt like forever.

#Love #Marriage #Loss #Acceptance #ShortStory #Fiction