Apart Together

Donna sipped her chamomile tea, staring at the clock on the wall. The second hand crawled around the face as she drained her cup. Tony sat across the room in his armchair, staring at the large window through which he could see the empty street outside. Donna placed her china cup on a side-table, brushed biscuit crumbs from her jumper and looked at Tony for a moment. She took a deep breath, stood up, opened the living room door and stood in the hallway for a moment. She looked back into the living room, first at her husband and then at the clock. After watching the second hand click round for a few seconds she put on her coat, closed the door and left the house.

Tony didn't watch her leave, he preferred to stare out of the window into the street. Sometimes, a car drove by or a woman carrying an umbrella. He thought about the times he used to drink hot chocolate and watch the rain. He used to dig holes in the front garden, put shelves up, buy chocolate mousse.

Tony became aware of the clock ticking. His twenty-three year old ears could hear the combi-boiler clicking upstairs, a strange tapping sound in the kitchen which he assumed was a dripping tap and the wind in the hedges outside. To his left there was a large wall-mounted mirror. He'd look into it sometimes and wonder why he looked the way he did, or whether his life would have been different if he looked different. He turned his head towards the mirror and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he noticed his hair was longer, his stubble was thicker and his eyes looked tired. Thinking nothing of it, he closed his eyes once more.

Tony opened his eyes to a reflection of a man with a full beard, glasses, a wiry moustache, wild unkept hair and lines around his eyes. Whatever this reflection showed him, Tony did not react. He closed and opened his eyes once more to see an elderly man staring back at him. His face hung in a resting expression of simple acceptance. The facial hair had gone but the lines now stretched across his entire face. The eyes told a story; a life of missed opportunities and lost dreams. He looked at what was left of his hair but didn't react at all to the fact he could see the skin on top of his head for the first time.

The clock ticked but Tony could not hear it. He didn't hear the key in the front door, nor his twenty-six year old wife Donna stepping into the hallway and closing the door with a thud. She took off her coat, shaking the snow from the shoulders and sleeves, kicking her boots against the base of the stairs to remove the slush and shoving her wet umbrella into the wooden stand near the coat rack. She opened the living room door to see her elderly husband sitting, staring at the front window. He neither turned his head to look at her nor gesture to acknowledge that she'd returned.

After staring at him for a moment, she spoke, 'Did you record Eastenders?' Tony slowly and painfully shook his head, letting out a heavy breath which wheezed through his sinuses. Donna grunted and threw her wet gloves into the hallway, 'If you want something doing, do it yourself'. She then stormed into the kitchen and slammed the door.

Tony raised his eyebrows slightly, took once last look in the mirror and with the gentlest of smiles, closed his eyes and went to sleep.