Slam of the door

Inspired in part by the Celine Dion song "it's all coming back to me now."

The back door slams, I immediately look up from my book and scan my surroundings. Holding my place safe with my thumb.

"Sorry love," Beryl croons as she bustles in; giving her hands a quick wipe on the side of her linen pants then slips back into her apron.

It was my usual Sunday morning routine. Berly knew me well enough now, so she trusted me to give her apology to a potential customer, when she ducked out for the loo or a ciggie.

In this small, seaside town, trust was often easy to find among locals.

My heart rate returns to normal as I give her a warm smile, Berly returns to her stool behind the counter of the cafe, picking up an old gossip magazine.

I try to continue reading, after reading the same sentence two to three times I finally give up.

I pick up my mug and notice my coffee is already finished.

"Refill?" Beryl calls out.

"No, thanks. I best get going anyway." I rub under my eye without thinking and flinch when the pain registers.

My eyes water with pain and emotion.

Beryl looks at me, gingerly touching her own sun weathered skin under her eye, automatically she jerks her hand away and lifts up the magazine with both hands to inspect a picture.

As I turn to leave Beryl speaks.

"It's all coming back to me now," is what I thought I heard her say.

I turn, my hand on the cool chipped gold painted door handle to face Beryl, I notice she's gazing off into the distance.

"Beryl?"

"Flick the sign?" She manages as she makes a way to a table.

She puts her head into her hands, shoulders gently shaking. I know she's crying.

I flick the sign over to inform closed, I gaze towards the street outside.

"You can go, if you have somewhere..." Beryl begins, she's stopped crying and trumpets into a table napkin.

Drawing a shaky breath to regain her composure.

"No, no," I shake my head and a chair scrapes loudly across Beryl's tiled floors, as I walk over and pull out a chair to join her.

I grimace and Beryl waves her hand to dismiss my attempt to apologise.

"Mine. Mine was called Harold," she speaks softly.

I avert my gaze and go to speak.

"You don't have to explain anything to me, love." She shakes her head once and reaches for my hands.

I know I felt tense at first touch, I know I flinched when she first touched me.

When I look at her warm, soothing gaze and feel the softness of her heavily ringed hands cupping mine. Emotion overcomes me and I can't speak.

Touch contains many promises and many broken promises too.

"May I tell you about Harold?" She sounds young, timid when she asks.

I can't bring myself to deny her.

"Ok," my voice is small.

"Right," she springs up with surprising agility.

"We'll need more coffee."

We make small talk as she makes the coffees and she finally blurts out as she sits down.

"I didn't like being alone."

I unstick my thighs from the wooden chair, the temperature felt comfortable yet I was finding myself sweating.

"Nights felt colder, there were days when the sun... Was so hot," She shook her head.

I wasn't so sure what she meant, we lived in Queensland, it was always bloody hot.

"I finished crying in the instant that he left"

She sighed and took a sip of her coffee.

"I banished every memory him and I ever had. I kept myself busy, here, at work." She inhales, I give her a slight nod of encouragement averting my eyes downward.

"He slammed the bloody door! He wasn't coming back. Then he did," she shrugs one shoulder and despite an obvious attempt not to, a smile tugs at her thin red stained lips.

"Well." She presses her lips into a thin line and her eyes sparkle.

"Do you know what it's like to see someone you love again when there's time apart?" She spreads her hands out to indicate a generous amount.

"Nights of endless pleasure." She jiggles her thinly drawn on eyebrows

I shyly take a sip of my coffee. Cheeks slightly pink. She lets me get away without answering her.

"Yes, well. I remembered." She continues "when he wasn't there. I made myself forget. Otherwise it hurts." Her face falls.

"Physical pain," she holds out her left hand "or emotional pain," the other hand goes out.

"It's not like I let him hit me," her eyes are downcast and I recognise the shame.

"I told him if he'd touch me that was it." She frowns down at the table.

Before I can stop it an image of Derek, pulling at my hair. The fist coming towards my face.

She gazes at me intently.

"I wish, I wish I could say it was me that ended it. Wish I could say he kept his word and never laid a finger on me again."

I feel hot, I want to cry. I want her to stop talking, she continues;

"I can't remember how or why or when, I remember waking up to the slamming of the door. Hungover, bruised, sore. He's never hurt me to that extent before."

Tears start running down her sun weathered skin and blurts out, lost to her story;

"He left, twenty fucking years ago." She is hardly coherent now through her tears.

She's consumed by her story, I wonder if we're both so lost that any self reservations have been completely been abandoned.

"I still," she takes a drop shuddering inhale and gasps as she looks at the door. Unable to finish her sentence.

I look at the door with her. Imagine Derek walking in. My mind goes to my room, laying in bed with him.

Morning sun creates a perfect glow on his tanned skin. He softly runs his fingertips across my arm leaving a trail of goosebumps behind.

Berly notices the look on my face, I know she does, the same look she had early on when she had the giggles.

She swiftly grabs my hand in a firm grip and I jump.

She notices and guilt flashes across her face and she lets go. Her tears are gone, black smeared mascara shades under her eyes faded black.

"Slam the door on him, Lyla. Give that prick the uncertainty he gave you." She looks at me intently.

I dab the tissue at the corners of eyes, a flash of pain makes me flinch.

The door creaks as it opens.

A man enters, wrinkles line his face, about Beryl's age.

I look at Beryl, panic in my eyes.

Beryl shoots the man a steely stare and points to the door.

"The sign says closed," her voice is cool.

He opens his mouth as if to say something, then shrugs one shoulder and turns and walks out the door.

Closing the door gently behind him.