A Cuppa Before the Storm

The kettle roared to a whistle, blending in with the sound of the wind just outside the cabin. Elaine stretched onto her tiptoes and reached up to close the window.

“A storm’s coming on.” She murmured.

She filled her teacup, leaving an inch or two for milk at the top. The citrus aroma of the earl grey teabag rose up with the steam. With the comfort of the familiar scent, Elaine’s once pounding heartbeat slowed and she felt able once again to take a deep, calming breath.

SMASH. A tree clattered against the window, impressing itself upon the cabin with a branch-shaped crack in the glass.

“Shit.” Elaine rummaged through the kitchen drawers. It took four attempts to find where the clingfilm was hidden. For fuck’s sake, Roger. She taped some over the window before throwing a towel over the top of the frame. A sharp pain struck through her temples. She massaged them gently before retrieving the milk from the fridge to finish her cuppa.

The next step was leaving the kitchen. She knew she couldn’t rely on the superficial comfort of this narrow space forever. Closing her eyes, she focused on the pitter patter of the rain on the window. Three more deep breaths. She walked through the door directly into the living area of the cabin and seated herself on the smaller sofa next to the fire.

She fixated on the flickering flames, the brightness and the life in them fading.

“Where’s mine?”

Elaine kept her gaze steady. A deep breath; a sip of tea.

“Seriously, the silent treatment is getting old, Elaine.”

She didn’t falter. She couldn’t falter.

“Lest you forget, we’re here for you. I’m really trying here. I just want the same effort back from you a bit.”

“If you say so, Rog.” She didn’t turn to look at him. She knew how that would end.

“She speaks! Come on, love. There’s no point of being in the peace and quiet in the middle of nowhere if we’re not going to use this opportunity to talk about it.”

It. The word rang in her mind. That’s what all they’d been through, all she’d felt, all she’d endured amounted to. One word. It. She closed her eyes once more.

“Please, Rog.”

It seemed it was Roger’s turn to compose himself; to stop himself from making regrets rather than memories.

“Ok, I understand. You need a moment. I’ll pop the radio on for the minute. You enjoy your tea and we’ll just relax into it.”

He stepped over to the coffee table in the corner opposite to where Elaine was sitting. The radio resting atop the table turned on to a working station immediately; a serendipitous moment considering the circumstances. ‘I Don’t Want to Talk About It’ by Crazy Horse echoed around the wooden walls.

“Fitting.” Roger chuckled to himself.

Despite the music, the silence from his wife still set a dreadful pain in his chest which reflected in a grimace on his face.

“Elaine,” he walked over and held his hand out to her, “dance with me?”

The quiet plea of a desperate boy swayed her and she looked up in spite of herself. This was the man she’d married. His posture bent down towards her; his hand out to gently guide her through hardships; his face full of hope that she’d love him as much as he loved her.

She sighed. She couldn’t fight the tears or the need to be held by a kind man. By this kind man.

“Oh, love.” He pulled her up off of the sofa and into his arms. She let herself go and completely sobbed.

“It’s ok, it’s really ok. We’re going to be ok.” He stroked her hair from the roots to the ends at her shoulders. It was coarse and matted and she had a couple of patches missing from the top of her head. It broke his heart.

“Are you ready to talk now?”

She just nodded. She knew she’d have to give in sooner or later. It was time to face all that was there between them; physically they were chest to chest, but really, they felt miles apart.

“Ok.” He let her go and smiled. “I’m just going to make myself a cup of tea; alright, love?”

He playfully poked her on the tip of her nose. She nodded.

Once Roger left the room, Elaine sat back down and picked up her own cuppa. Memories of her married life circled her mind. From when she first met Roger, she couldn’t help but love him. A decade later, she wasn’t sure how to anymore. She did love him, but it wasn’t the same. The past year was coming to be all she could think about anymore. The pregnancy. The loss. Her family…. Roger. What was she supposed to do now?

It all hit her. All the thoughts, the emotions, whirring round in her body, her mind, the depths of her soul. Her heart was pounding again; the tears were back; breathing felt impossible. She shook her head. Roger was coming back in a minute. Roger was coming back and they would talk, that’s all. A conversation. She could handle a conversation. Her breathing was becoming more regulated again.

“It’s alright.” She repeated.

Her muscles released tension she didn’t realise they’d been holding. BANG. They tensed up again. Oh no, the window. She hadn’t told Roger about the window. She jumped to her feet, clenching her fists and taking rapid, shallow breaths. She froze.

“ELAINE!” He roared. “WHAT THE FUCK HAVE YOU DONE NOW?” BANG. He punched the wall again. He ran back into the room. His six foot figure occupying the entire door frame.

“I go to make a cup of tea, and you,” He pointed at her, the rage reverberating through his body, shaking his finger, “the window is BROKEN, Elaine! I could have been hurt. YOU HEAR ME? Do you even care? Of course you don’t. In fact, you’d love that, wouldn’t you?”

He stomped towards her. He clenched his jaw, jutting his chin in her direction, his eyes bulging.

“Hmm? WHY WON’T YOU SAY SOMETHING?”

She was crying more and more now.

“I-I love you; I’m sorry. I… forgot”

He turned away from her.

“I can’t, these tears, do you think I’m stupid?” He raised his voice to the point where a gravelly tone exploded from his throat, “You are always gaslighting me! You want me dead.”

“No, no.” She shook and shook her head. This wasn’t happening. Not again.

“This is about your fucking miscarriage isn’t it.”

She didn’t know what to say. She’d tried so hard not to engage; she thought it would be alright. Maybe it was alright until he’d fooled her into thinking he was the same man she’d met at her father’s work party.

“It wasn’t MY FAULT! YOU HEAR?”

She snapped. The panic gave way to absolute rage. She ran to the other side of the room.

“Of course it was! You beat me… and,” her voice wavered, her hands hovering over her stomach, “you beat her.”

“Oh please! There was no her! And you know full well you made me do it! All this fucking questioning. I work hard for you, to support you. That’s why we’re here.”

She almost wanted to laugh.

“My parents paid for this. They wanted me to get better.” She pulled at her hair, “LOOK AT ME!”

“It’s NOT MY FAULT. OK, you’re crazy, congratulations. Jesus, I wish your dad had told me I was marrying a gaslighting, selfish lunatic.”

She just shook her head again.

“I wish my father had stopped me from marrying his abusive friend.”

Silence set into the room again. He walked towards her and looked down. This was the man she’d married; how could she forget that? His glare at her, venom in his eyes. His fists clenched, ready to strike. His posture bending over her to assert his absolute dominance. This was a man who loved her as much as he hated her.

“Maybe I should’ve just let you kill yourself.”

“Wh-what are you saying?” Elaine could barely get the words out. She stepped back until she felt the wooden wall behind her. He raised his fist. She flinched and instinctively raised her arms to protect herself. He struck under her chin. Then to her stomach… her stomach again, her stomach again.

“Stop, please!” The baby wasn’t in there anymore, but worse than the pain was the reminder of the last time this had happened.

He stopped for a moment. The anger was clearly still simmering in his face, but Elaine believed that was the last of it for now.

“The last time you did that…. It took our little girl, Rog. I was so far along and everything was fine. The treatments I had to undergo… while grieving our baby. I can’t… I’m not going to get clingfilm out of the drawer and suffocate myself with it. If I wanted to be dead, I would be,” she gulped down all her fear and emboldened herself to say the next few words with total conviction, “I want a divorce.”

Roger locked his gaze on her neck.

“What.”

Disbelief was the last emotion Elaine would ever feel. It almost blinded her to the pain of a crushing windpipe, the despair at her husband’s ultimate betrayal and the grief she carried with her every single second she lived since losing her baby. Her suffering was over, her future erased, her chance at freedom from her abuser… impossible forever.

The kettle roared to a whistle. Roger grabbed the last of the earl grey teabags. As he filled the teacup, his tears dripped into his drink. The storm was here now.