He stared at his face in the mirror, the rugged complexion. Lines had developed under his eyes, deep, furrowed marks which had spread. He stood back and considered a quick shave. Henry eyed the five o’clock shadow. The hassle was too much, and besides, Evelyn preferred the rougher appearance.
When they’d first met, he shaved daily. Sideburns were fashionable, but they were uncomfortable and his curled at the ends. The longer he’d left between running the blade along his face, the more Evelyn preferred it.
Out in the upstairs hallway Henry listened, unsure whether Evelyn was awake. He remembered talking to her and her answering, but he couldn’t remember when. A half hour ago possibly. Maybe more. He wanted to call out, see if she fancied breakfast but didn’t have it in him to wake her.
He whispered, ‘Evelyn. You awake?’ Henry waited for an answer and considered creeping across the landing, tapping the door before he entered. Must knock before invading anyone’s privacy. Them’s the rules. It’s called etiquette.
He decided to let her rest. He’d make coffee, toast, lightly buttered, a couple of cheese singles. Evelyn loved those. In the early days, she’d preferred Marmite and went through a phrase of peanut butter. To Henry, it was more an American delicacy, but she loved the stuff. He often caught her dipping her finger in the jar, swirling it in the thick gloop and bringing it to her mouth. He’d tasted it, but Henry wasn’t a fan.
In the kitchen, Henry removed the bread from the freezer. Why had Evelyn insisted on chilling it? Something about it lasting longer. To Henry, it was a hassle he didn’t need, waiting the extra time to brown the toast was something of a chore. He filled the kettle then flicked the switch and waited for the hiss of the water as it started to bubble, churning over, the steam rising, pushing against the kitchen cupboard.
Henry opened the bread, his hands cold, splitting the tag, then removed it from the packaging, forcing his fingers between the slices which had stuck together. He placed them in the toaster, pushing the lever, turning the knob to full. She liked her toast well done.
He stared into the garden to the woods beyond. Though they lived on the edge of town their position on an incline meant the views were amazing. He and Evelyn loved to take walks as the sun set, listening to the animals, busy in their habitat. They were guests in this beautiful environment.
The toaster clicked, making Henry jump. It got him every time. He grinned to himself, wallowing in the burnt smell, listening to the kettle which was almost at boiling point, the clunk of the switch as it came to a finish.
There was something about the smell of burning bread. He fixated on some smells, like filling the car up with petrol. Some people lit candles, or kept crystals in a bowl by the toilet. Not him, he preferred the rugged fragrances that were tough and resilient.
His wife loved when he’d spend time repairing their coach, the smell of his overalls did something to her. It turned her into a sex crazy beast, unable to control her emotions. Henry went along with it. He’d do anything for his wife.
He placed two cups on the worktop, a teabag in one, a spoonful of instant coffee in the other, then he slowly poured the water. He preferred tea himself, or on the odd occasion he would drink real coffee, not the shit in a tin. To him it was artificial, it didn’t taste right, like an overcooked steak or a corked bottle of wine. But Evelyn liked her coffee instant, and that’s what she’d have.
Henry cocked his head, thinking he may have heard a stir upstairs. He moved away from the kitchen, into the hall. She couldn’t be up, no way.
He stood in the hall for what seemed like minutes, pondering, thinking about his life. How he loved that woman. Today was a special day. He’d gone out last night and bought the cake and two packets of birthday candles from the corner shop. He needed everything to be perfect.
He moved along the hall and opened the front door, looking out at the long path to the road, and round to his car on the right, with his coach parked just behind it, along the drive that led to the back of the house.
Recently, the topiary had overgrown. The football boot, the small castle and the elephant with its trunk in the air would need attention. He’d have to trim them, make them tidy. He had the time now. He hadn’t taken the coach out for so long. Work had dried up; he’d been replaced by someone younger, able to cope with the long hours. And for much of the year he got a good income from the three country cottages he let out to tenants and tourists.
He closed the front door gently, hoping not to wake Evelyn. He had to prepare the cake, plant the candles in the sponge and light them, all sixty-one. He kept as quiet as possible as he finished making the drinks, with a light dust of sugar in both, then placed the cups and the toast on a tray. He walked along the hall and climbed the stairs.
Evelyn’s bedroom door was still open. Henry knew he should set the tray down and let her come for her breakfast. He hated entering the room unannounced. He left the tray by the bedroom door, then returned to the kitchen.
Gently, he removed the sponge from the fridge. It was plain, no writing or icing or any fancy shit – just the sponge with a layer of jam in the middle. He reached for the lighter in the middle drawer and planted the candles. He placed them around the edge of the cake first, then a second row further in, finishing with a couple in the middle.
He thought about spelling her name across the cake, but she’d laugh at his efforts. Henry loved it when Evelyn laughed. It meant she was happy, content, a joyous moment he was sharing with his wife.
Quickly, he lit the candles, scorching his thumb more than once. He ran it under the cold tap. The candles were short, although he’d asked in the corner shop for longer ones, they’d given him stumps. He’d need to talk to Mr Burton.
Not today, today was Evelyn’s day.
Once the candles were lit, Henry smiled, straightened his back and walked out of the kitchen, through the hall and up the stairs. He paused in the landing, now sombre at seeing the tray untouched by the bedroom door. Henry knew he shouldn’t just walk in; it was rude. He hated rudeness. But today, well, today was different.
Holding the cake plate firmly he started singing Happy Birthday followed by a rendition of ‘sixty-one today, sixty-one today’.
He walked into the bedroom and placed the cake on the side table. Then Henry picked up the tray from the hall and returned. He placed it beside the cake and then sat on the bed, looking at his wife. She’d be so pleased with the effort he’d made. Henry reached forward, touching Evelyn’s shoulder, gently turning the board slightly on its side and placing a piece of copper pipe underneath it to support her. Of course, Evelyn couldn’t see the cake, the candles, the coffee or toast lightly buttered and done just how she liked it. Henry stared at the corpse. Bacteria which had helped her digest food had long since eaten her body.
He’d attended her funeral and they’d dressed Evelyn in her favourite white nightdress. He returned that night and got her back out. Henry had cut a piece of boarding, a little wider and longer than her frame and held her in place with wire. Then, he dropped the seats and placed Evelyn’s body along the back of the car. He was so pleased to have her back.
He’d sat on the bed, day after day, watching as her body had swelled and released putrid substances. The chemicals and gases were something Henry struggled deeply with. The fumes made it difficult to breathe, but he was determined not to let it stop him from being with his wife.