Insights from a person of questionable sanity

This is my second draft, not much has changed except now I've made hints that my character Burt Madison strangled his wife with her hair. Is anyone familiar with 'Porphyria's Lover' by Robert Browning? I've alluded to his poem.

Just a few minutes

This will take just a few minutes. I want to tell you about Burt Madison’s last day. He is now kneeling by his double-size bed with his arms outstretched on top of the white covers. Burt Madison cut both his wrists with his wife’s new kitchen knife, the left wrist first and then rather clumsily, like a second-hand job, the right wrist. Burt Madison gradually slashed both his wrists just a few minutes a go. He will be dead in just a few hours. His last thought will be ‘God-God, are you listening?’ He will say. ‘I’m coming and-and you-You’ve got a hell lot of explaining to do. We-we didn’t finish the book. I didn’t mean to do it. I’m sorry if that’s blasphemy’ and in his head he will say ‘I don’t
care’. That’s how it would happen.



Burt Madison suddenly sat upright early that morning as if he had heard a loud bang. He looked to his right. He rubbed his eyes and looked at their square clock on her small pine coloured table. The small black hand with a green line in the middle was at the number five. But there was a lot of sunlight in the room. He looked a second time and realised there was no ticking sound. He looked at his wife. He couldn’t tell if she was breathing.
Her body wasn’t rising and falling. He waited for some movement, some noise. Nothing. Finally, with trembling hands he reached over and pushed her gently on her shoulder.
‘I’m not dead yet.’ She said. She turned to face him. ‘So don’t go claiming the insurance just yet.’
‘You shouldn’t make jokes like that.’ He said. He slid back underneath the covers and rested his head on the corner of her pillow.
‘What time is it?’
‘Don’t know.’ He said. He raised his head a little to see if he could hear anything. Some cars drove past, then a bus and he heard few voices. ‘Yeah right’ some girl shouted. ‘Nah man, I’m serious.’ Another voice said. Then the voices merged into one and nothing distinct could be heard, just some chatter and a few unmistakable swear words.
‘School time?’ He suggested.
‘Mmmm.’ She murmured and snuggled up against him. She entwined her bony legs with his, her big toe rubbing up and down against the front of his feet. Her feet were cold.
‘I told you to wear socks to bed.’
‘It’s not comfortable. It makes me itch.’
‘I’ll go make breakfast. What would you like?’
‘Oh no, I’m not hungry.’
‘You have to eat.’ He said. He slid out of their bed and slipped into a woolly jumper and black formal trousers.
‘Burt?’
‘Yeah?’ He sat on the edge of the bed and put his black socks on, first the left feet, pausing a little to look at her and then moved on to his right feet.
‘I have such thoughts, I have such strange thoughts’
He didn’t say anything. Perhaps he hadn’t heard. So she repeated it. ‘I have such thoughts.’
‘Try not to think so much.’ He advised. He didn’t want to encourage her so he didn’t ask what about. He stood up, smoothed out the creases on his trousers and walked to the door. He paused before he opened the door. ‘About what?’ He had his back to her. He noticed a thin crack at the top of the door.
‘Oh you know’ She sighed. He heard the rustling of sheets and the springiness of the mattress. ‘What will you do? You have to move into a smaller house - ‘
‘No, no. Don’t you worry about that.’
‘But you won’t manage on your own. The mortgage, the bills-‘
‘I’ll do just fine. Don’t you worry about that.’ He interrupted again.
‘But…But Burt – now that you don’t have a job, well it makes sense to – to–’ Her voice drifted off.
He turned round on his heels and walked back to her slowly. He bent over and took her small hand. ‘Listen honey, I’ll have a job in no time.’ He said. ‘I have decades of experience.’ He carried on. ‘They made a mistake Eleanor, that’s all. They just wanted to give that young lad a chance to get his foot on the ladder. That’s all.’
‘But Burt, they let you go. And he – he got that promotion you should have had. After years of slaving away for them - ’
‘Listen Eleanor, don’t worry about me okay? Especially about money. Now that I have my fancy degree they’ll be queuing up outside for me. Okay?’
‘Okay.’
‘Now what do you want?’
She thought for a moment. ‘I feel like cereal. And tea please. With milk.’
‘Coming right up.’ He said.

*

She nudged her boyfriend.
‘What?’ He groaned.
‘I’m going to work.’
‘Fab nun. Shove you.’
‘What?’ She asked, confused. ‘I didn’t hear you.’
‘Have fun. Love you’
‘Oh.’ She smiled. She pecked him on his right cheek and pinched the little pink spot on his cheek until he squirmed.
Once outside, she wrapped her coat tightly around her slim body. It was sunny but a strong wind was blowing. The number fifty two halted just as she reached the bus stop.
She paid her bus fair, waited impatiently for the young girl with a pram to move, and then took her ticket and seated herself next to a bald man reading a magazine. She placed her bag on the dirty platform and pulled out her book, Trainspotting, and opened to page twenty six.

*

‘Do stop tidying.’ Eleanor moaned. Burt was folding their clothes and placing them neatly in their large wardrobe. ‘Read to me.’
‘One moment.’ He picked up his black shiny shoes and placed them on their white shoe rack next to the wardrobe. She handed him her heavy book as he sat next to her on their bed. He took out her orange bookmark from Waterstones, it said ‘I have never found any distress that an hour’s reading did not relieve’ followed by a name in white capital letters: Baron de Montesquieu.
‘Chapter ex vee’ He said.
‘Fifteen. When will you learn your roman numerals?’ She laughed.
‘Shhh. Only a few chapters to go.’ He said. He took a deep breath and read: ‘The discomposure of spirits, which this extraordinary visit threw Elizabeth into, could not be easily overcome; nor could she for many learn –‘ He paused. ‘Nor could she for many hours, learn to think of it less than incessantly. Lady Catherine it appeared, had actually
taken the trouble –‘
‘You forgot the biscuits.’
‘What?’ He looked up from the book. She had her favourite white mug in her hand. ‘To the world’s best wife, from the world’s greatest liar’ was written on the mug in bright rainbow colours.
‘My digestive biscuits.’
He looked at their green tray on her pine coloured table. ‘Slipped my mind. I’ll just go get them.’ He took her mug out of her hand and placed it on their green tray. He looked at her face. She looked tired. Dark lines had formed under her eyes. She had lost her double chin but the skin around her face was still a little folded and a little wrinkly.
‘Never mind.’ She said.
‘Don’t worry. It’s no hassle.’
‘No, don’t worry about it.’ She said. ‘I don’t want you to leave me.’ She held onto his hand.
‘I’m not leaving you.’ He said. He stood up. She let go. ‘I’m just going downstairs.’
‘Be quick.’
‘I’ll be just a few minutes.’ He said. He stroked back her hair and gathered it all together in one long string in his hands.

*

He found her digestive biscuits, half eaten, in their biscuit tin. He noticed his dirty mug on their dining table, quickly washed it, rubbing hard on the coffee stain at the top of the mug and left it on the side of their sink. He picked up their hand towel from the floor, folded it and placed it on their towel rack. He noticed some threads had been pulled from the front of his woolly jumper. He flattened the threads a little and picked out some yellow strings of his jumper. He opened the cabinet on his right and moved his Shredded Wheat cereal box to check if Eleanor’s unused kitchen knife was still there.
Yesterday he’d checked only eighteen times.
He picked up her half eaten biscuit packet and walked back upstairs. She was kneeling against their headboard. Her head titled to a side away from him, her arms spread out and her shoulders drooping. Her hair had formed one long yellow string and it was wrapped around her throat three times.
He placed her half eaten digestive biscuit packet on their green tray. A tea stain had formed on it. She didn’t move. ‘Ha ha. Stop joking, It’s not funny.’ He said, half angry. He walked to the opposite side of the room, the side she was facing. She wasn’t blinking. Both here eyes were wide and her lips a little parted.
Burt waited patiently for a few minutes. He was breathing hard. His palms felt moist.
He walked towards her and waved his right hand in front of her eyes. Still she didn’t blinking. He touched her hand, not cold but not as warm as before. He tried to say something but his throat became tight, as if square lump with razor sharp edges had formed. He ran back to the pine coloured table, picked up the biscuit packet from the green tray and ran back downstairs, almost tripping on the bottom stairs as it curved in.
He found the dirty mug he had washed only minutes a go, poured coffee in it, poured it out of the mug in the sink. A faint black coffee stain had formed in the white mug. He placed it on the dining table, exactly where he had found it before. He pulled out the hand
towel from the towel rack, scrunched it up a little and dropped it back on the floor,

exactly where he had found it before. He opened the cabinet on his right, moved the

cereal box back into where it was before he’d moved it to check on the knife.

He picked up the half eaten biscuit packet and walked upstairs.

She was still kneeling against the headboard. Her head was still tilted to a side away from

him. Her arms still spread out and her shoulders still drooping. He walked to the bed,

tucked the thick layers of sheet around her, turned her head until she was facing him. He

stroked her head but didn’t untangle her hair. He picked up the book again. Only a few

chapters left, he thought. Oh god, she would never know, he thought. We didn’t finish the

book. He opened the book. She would never know the ending. Oh God, she would never

know Darcy and Elizabeth live happily ever after, he thought, I should have read the

book first. He cried, loud deep sobs wrenched out of him uncontrollably. Page 341

became wet. The paper went soft. He sobbed louder, wiping his tears and his nose with

the left sleeve of the woolly jumper. She would never know how, why. The more he

thought that Eleanor would never know the ending of the book the louder his sobs

became.


*

She picked up the phone and dialled the number highlighted in green on the call sheet.

She looked at her book, Trainspotting, as the phone rang. Someone answered.

‘Good morning. I’m calling from the Careers Service of –‘

‘Whod you want?’

‘Yeu.’

‘Who?’

‘Yeu.’ She repeated.

‘This is me.’

‘May I speak to Yeu?’

‘You are speaking to me!’ He shouted.

‘No, I mean Yeu.’

‘Listen here lady, I don’t have time for these crank calls.’

‘No. No. I promise you this isn’t a crank call. I want to speak to Yeu.’ Then she spelled it

out. ‘Y-E-U. Not you. Yeu Ling?’

‘Well why didn’t you just say so? Ling doesn’t live here anymore.’

‘Right.’ She wrote MA next to the number on her call sheet. ‘So he’s moved away? I’ll

update our records. Do you have a forwarding number?’

‘Yes. 07716372773.’ He said quickly.

‘0771637273?’

The man sighed. ‘07716372773’.

‘Sorry. Well thank you for your time.’ She said. The line went dead. ‘Charming’ She

muttered and she hung up.

‘That was priceless.’ The boy next to her said.

‘Oh you heard that?’

‘Yeah! May I speak to ‘you’. This is me.’ The boy laughed.

She dialled the forwarding number he had given her. Someone picked up after three

rings. ‘Hello?’ The voice said.

‘Good morning. Is this Yeu Ling?’

‘Yes.’ The man answered hesitantly.

‘Hi Yeu. I’m calling on behalf of the Careers Service from your old university.’

‘I have a job thank you.’

‘No, I’m not calling to offer you a job. We are carrying out a national survey to find out

what our graduates have been doing since they graduated last year. Do you have two

minutes to answer a couple of questions?’

‘Okay.’

She quickly filled in his contact details from the information on her call sheet. ‘Right, are

you working or studying at the moment?’

‘I have finished my studies.’

‘So you’re not studying?’

‘I have finished my studies.’

She frowned. ‘Are you working?’

‘Yes. Part time.’

She ticked the option ‘working part time.’ On her answer sheet. ‘May I ask you what

your job title is?’

‘I am a sandwich artist.’

She wrote ‘sandwich artist’ on her answer sheet where it said ‘job title’. ‘Sandwich

Artist?’ She asked. She had no idea what that meant.

‘Yes. That is what I said.’

‘Could you briefly describe your main duties?’

‘I make sandwiches.’

‘Oh.’ She said and tried to muffle her laughter. ‘And where do you work?’

‘At Subway.’

‘Thanks. The following question is optional so feel free to decline. What is your annual

pay to the nearest thousand before tax?’

‘I would rather not say.’

‘Ok. Don’t worry about it.’ She ticked ‘information declined’.

‘And how did you find out about the job?’

‘From newspaper.’

‘And did you work for them before or during your studies?’

‘Yes.’ He answered.

‘Is that before and during?’

‘Yes.’ He answered.

‘So you worked for Subway before you started Uni and during your studies at Uni?’

‘No.’

She sighed and tapped her pencil lightly.

‘I worked for Subway just during my studies.’

‘Thank you,’ She said. She turned the page over, relieved that only one question was left,

the bottom section didn’t apply to him. ‘And last question, when you worked for them

during your studies was it part time?’

‘Yes.’

‘Ok. Great. Well thank you very much. Enjoy the rest of your evening.’ She said and put

the phone down. She signed and dated the form. She moved on to her next call. ‘Burt

Madison.’ She said to herself. No one picked up. She left a message ‘Hello. This is a

message for Burt Madison. I’m calling on behalf of the Careers Service from your old

University. We are currently contacting our recent graduates to find out what they’ve

been doing since they graduated. We will try and contact you again soon or if there is

another time or number that is more convenient for us to call you than please call the

survey hotline on 0121 331 6696. That’s double three one, double six, nine six. Thank

you.’ She hung up and pressed ‘REDIAL’.

Someone picked up immediately.

‘Hello.’

‘Hi. Is this Burt Madison?’ She asked.

‘Yes.’

‘I just left you a message. I’m calling from the Careers Service of your old university.

We’re just contacting our recent graduates to find what they’ve been doing since they

graduated. Do you have time to answer a quick survey?’

‘Sure. How long will it take?’ Burt Madison asked.

‘Just a few minutes.’

‘Sure.’

‘Ok. Thank you. Are you studying at the moment?’

‘No. I’m not studying.’

‘Are you working than?’

‘No. I’m not working.’ Burt replied.

‘So you’re not studying or working at the moment?’ She asked, thrilled that she had no

more questions to ask him. What a loser, she thought. Lazy bum.

‘Yes.’

‘Ok. Great. I mean thanks. Well best of luck, You can still use the careers service here if

you want.’

‘Well, you see I’ve been busy.’ He said.

‘Hey, don’t worry about it. Have a nice eve-‘

‘Well, you see I was looking after my wife.’

‘Oh, is she not well?’ She asked.

‘She was terminally ill. She had cancer.’

‘Oh I’m sorry.’ She said.

‘So that’s why I haven’t been doing anything, I was looking after my wife, Eleanor

Madison, until she died.’

‘I’m sorry about your loss.’ She said.

The boy next to her said ‘There’s tea on the table of you want some. And digestive

biscuits.’

‘Thank you.’ Burt said. ‘Oh my wife loved digestive biscuits.’

‘Did she?’ She asked.

‘Yes. Loved them. She enjoyed soaking them in her tea and just watching them soften

and break off. It drove me mad.’

She laughed. ‘Well, Mr Madison, I have to shoot off now. I’m sorry about your loss. Best

of luck for the future.’

‘Thank you. But I don’t have much of a future left.’

‘Stay positive.’

‘Oh, I meant I’m….rather old now. I should be retiring but…well you know…’ He

sounded embarrassed.

‘Oh ok. Well won’t you have fun doing things you actually want to do. I’m studying and

working part time. I can’t wait to retire.’

Burt laughed. ‘Yes dear.’ He said.

‘Well it was lovely talking to you.’

‘And you.’

‘Bye.’ She said and hung up.



Burt Madison put the phone down. The room was very dark except for the faint light

from the street lamp outside. It made a circle on the corner wall. Burt felt Eleanor’s hand.

It was cold now. He found gloves in the top shelf of the wardrobe and put them on her

hands. Two fingers went in the same space. Not wanting to hurt her he separated each

finger for its rightful space. He was hungry and tired. He slid beneath the covers and held

her. He placed her smiling rosy little head on his shoulder. Her cheek once more blushed

bright beneath his burning kiss.

*

‘How was work?’ Her boyfriend asked. He was tidying away the shopping she had

bought on her way home from work.

‘Quite interesting today. Did you know a sandwich artist is someone who makes

sandwiches at Subway?’ She asked.

He laughed. ‘Why have you bought so many digestive biscuits? Blimey, did you buy

them all?’

‘Yes.’ She said. She poured a cup of tea for him and than one for herself. ‘What did you

do today? I spoke to man who wasn’t doing anything because he was looking after his

terminally ill wife. Sad isn’t it?’ She opened the biscuit packet and dipped the round light

brown biscuit into her tea.

‘Not much. Watch T.V. Your mother called. She asked you to call her back.’

‘His name was…Bud. Or was it Bert?’

‘She said it was important. What are you doing?’ He asked looked at her tea. She was on

her fourth biscuit. She soaked each biscuit into her tea. First half of it and watched it fall,

then soaked the remaining half and waited until the whole biscuit disappeared into the tea

except the small little bit by which she was holding the biscuit.

‘Nothing. I’m sure his name was Bud. Bud Hudson.’ She said. She picked up another

biscuit.

‘Stop doing that. Who?’

‘The man.’

‘What man? Your sister has sprained her ankle.’

‘It is quite sad isn’t it?’

‘She’s only sprained her ankle. Nothing to cry about.’ He said. ‘Did you get the video I

wanted?’

‘I meant the man.’ She said.

‘What man?’ He asked, annoyed.

‘Bud Hudson.’ She said, ‘No, I didn’t.’

‘Your mother wants us to visit on Sunday. Who is Bud Hudson? I told her you were

working in the morning but we should make it later on in the day.’ He said.

‘The man I told you about.’

‘She said we could all have Sunday lunch together.’

‘His wife likes doing this,’ She said.

‘I hope she cooks roast beef.’ He said. He finished his tea in one gulp.

‘He told me.’

‘Who told you what?’

‘That man.’ She said. Her tea level had risen a little. Any more biscuit and the cup would

overflow.

‘Why don’t you suggest to her I want roast beef? Not had that in ages.’

‘I feel terribly sorry for him. I wonder if he has children.’

‘I can’t believe you didn’t get me my video. I even text you to remind you.’

‘Do we know him? Do we know a Bud Hudson?’

‘Now what will I do tomorrow when you go work? I could have watched that.’

‘We could take him some food or something.’

‘Tell your mom about roast beef.’ He said.

‘Oh he wouldn’t want roast beef.’

‘I want roast beef, Who are you on about?’

‘That man.’ She said.

‘What man?’ He said, annoyed.

*



Burt Madison had put on the bedroom light but not drawn the thick cream curtains. He

waited patiently by her side. He felt numb. Burt Madison had cut both his

wrists, the left wrist first and then rather clumsily, like a second-hand job, the right wrist.

Burt Madison had gradually slashed both his wrists just a few minutes a go. His last

thought was ‘God-God, are you listening?’ He said. ‘I’m coming and-and you-You’ve

got a hell lot of explaining to do. We-we didn’t finish the book. I didn’t mean to do it.

I’m sorry if that’s blasphemy’ and silently in his head he said ‘I don’t care,’ Burt

Madison was dead in just a few hours. That is how it happened.