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Viewpoint

by Jubbly 

Posted: 12 May 2011
Word Count: 2096
Summary: This is an idea I am working on for a radio play but I wondered if it would work in short story format.


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Viewpoint

Pauline pushed past the tray laden pensioners in the crowded cafe and tapped her late sister, Muriel on the shoulder.
Muriel turned around and looked down at the shorter, rounder woman who by now was sweating profusely and simply said, ‘Yes can I help you?’
Pauline had been a widow for just a year when she lost her only sister Muriel. Only yesterday she’d visited her at the cemetery for a little graveside chat.
‘I’m the last one now duck, the last of the Jacksons.’ she whispered as she tidied the vase of fading flowers at her sister’s grave.
Although they looked nothing alike the two sisters could not have been closer, that’s what Pauline’s husband Brian always said. Muriel was tall and slim with wavy auburn coloured hair. When she was a girl and her hair was long people often remarked she looked a bit like Rita Hayworth, a poor man’s Rita Hayworth, that’s what Brian had called her. As the years past and she grew into a woman she wore it short with little corkscrew curls clamped to her head.
Pauline on the other hand was plump and round with fine hair that could never adapt to a style. She was shorter too, the runt of the family her parents always joked.
As she stood by the grave, Pauline wiped the beads of perspiration off her brow with her sleeve. Ladies don’t sweat they perspire she could hear her mother say. Well Pauline was a sweater, the slightest exertion soon created damp dark patches on her clothes. She’d had to catch two buses and walk for 15 minutes to get to the cemetery, what a pity she never learned how to drive. Brian had been the driver of the house, ferrying her to the shops, picking her up from the bingo, dropping her off at work before she retired.
She missed their weekend day trips. British Heritage castles, splendid gardens, cream teas in fancy tea shoppes. She hadn’t even bothered renewing the British Heritage membership; when the girl phoned asking if she’d like to take advantage of their special Summer offer she’d said, no point dear, not now and that was that.
Her sister, Muriel drove; she’d had a little blue fiat and was forever zipping about in it, when she lost her Martin she could still get about, until she was too ill that is. ‘Learn to drive Pauline’, she always said, ‘it’ll give you some freedom’. but Pauline never did. Pauline and Brian hadn’t had a family of their own; it just never happened so they stopped bothering and got a dog. Several dogs, one to replace the other over the years when the last one Sadie died a few months after Brian, Pauline decided enough dogs. Pauline bent down and brushed some dirt off the headstone then straightened up and said, ‘I’m going on a day trip tomorrow Muriel, a little journey. The Community centre have organised it, all the oldies are going up to the Tumpley Viewpoint , there’s a museum there and a little cafe, just for a few hours back by 4, might as well eh? Not much else to do. ‘
The coach was air conditioned which made Pauline sneeze, only Pauline- no one else and there’s only so many times one can say ‘bless you’ before finding it unnecessary. Everyone onboard seemed to know each other, they chatted happily while she sneezed. The men talked about their sheds and the cricket and the women yabbad on about the telly and the weather. While the couples, well they just pointed out landmarks and ummed and ahhed every so often.
The view from Tumpley Hill was lovely if you like that kind of thing, the museum was brimming with local knowledge and the cafe did a very nice pot of tea and a plate of assorted biscuits.
It was just as Pauline took a bite out of her custard cream that she saw her- and the shock caused her to cough and splutter biscuit crumbs all over the table.
It can’t be, she thought, it can’t be! But there she was standing by the counter, tall and slim with those short cork screw curls, Muriel, my god it was her late sister Muriel!
‘Yes can I help you?’ repeated Muriel.
But of course it wasn’t Muriel. The resemblance was astounding even down to the Royal blue jacket with mock naval appliqués.
‘I’m sorry, I thought you were...someone else.’’ Pauline stammered.
‘No afraid not, just me.’
‘Sorry.’
‘Are you all right?’
Pauline looked puzzled.
‘You seem flushed, are you feeling all right dear?’ asked the familiar stranger.
Now Pauline was even more embarrassed.
‘The heat, I’m not very good in the heat. It’s very warm out there.’
Pauline caught sight of her reflection and was aghast at the seeping stains growing bigger under her arm pits, but she couldn’t let the likeness pass.
‘I hope you don’t mind me prying but you’re not related to the Jacksons are you?’ asked Pauline.
‘No, no Jacksons, I’m a Johnson, Janet Johnson. ‘She smiled and extended her hand.
Pauline blushed again, er..’Pauline Meadows... are you on the coach too?’
Despite the awkwardness, Pauline surprised herself by inviting her sister’s doppelganger to join her for tea. The two women sat at a small table by the door and made polite small talk.
Janet it transpired had driven to the viewpoint by herself on a whim. She often did things like that when it took her fancy, a whim woman she described herself. The two women chatted and browsed the small museum together and on hearing Pauline lived but a mile away from Janet’s new home and having already established the terrible hardship the air conditioning can cause on a coach, Janet offered Pauline a lift home.
Janet drove one of those zippy little Ka cars, it was shiny silver and much smoother than Brian’s old Vauxhall and Janet was very confident on the road.
‘Oh I’ve been driving since I was 17, so that’s hundreds of years, couldn’t live without my car, I’d be useless.’
The interior of the car was pristine and smelled of lemons. The radio was tuned to Radio 4 and Janet asked Pauline if she minded if they listened to a programme she was fond of.
Pauline agreed of course, and leaned back in her seat as a man with a Scottish accent talked about the importance of Robert Burns’s work and what an iconic figure he had become. The man recited some of Burns’s poetry and Pauline felt transported to another world. When she went on driving trips with Brian, he inflicted loud sports commentators on her or cheesy music that she’d never really taken too.
When they arrived at Pauline’s little bungalow she surprised herself once again by asking Janet in for light refreshments and the opportunity to use the bathroom.
Janet, acting completely out of character took up the kind offer and followed her new acquaintance inside.
After lime cordial and ham sandwiches, Pauline showed her guest some photos of her beloved only sister Muriel.
‘My, my’, remarked Janet,’ We are alike aren’t we?’
‘And here when she was 21.’
‘Goodness, she looks like that actress...’
‘Rita Hayworth.’
‘Yes, how funny. People have said that about me, years ago of course.’
Pauline nodded feeling slightly foolish that she felt so comfortable in this other woman’s company.
‘She was 75 when we lost her, such a long time to have someone in your life eh?’
‘Indeed,’ agreed Janet,’ I’m an only child, hah child listen to me, I’ll be 72 in July.’
‘Really,’ said Pauline ‘me too, the 25th.’
‘Where were you born?’ asked Janet.
‘Here at Buddley.’
‘I mean which hospital?’
‘The old one they pulled down, Garden Hope.’

Janet flinched, for the first time her natural calm seemed to desert her and she noticed something her sub conscious had tuned into hours before, how could she have dismissed it so easily? The same meek demeanour, the same big brown eyes...they reminded her of another’s eyes, eyes only too ready to look away, to not see, to deny the damage that was being done. Then she knew, while Pauline saw her big sister in Janet, Janet saw her cowardly mother in Pauline.

‘I really must be going Pauline, it’s getting late.’
Pauline nodded and after exchanging phone numbers she saw her new friend out. Had she imagined the sudden change in the other woman’s demeanour? The slight stiffness when they said goodbye? Pauline watched as Janet drove away, she couldn’t stop and kept watching until the little silver car had disappeared out of sight.
She put the photo album back on the shelf and felt that terrible pang of longing once more. On days like this when the dreadful loneliness and feelings of a wasted life began to take hold, Pauline did what she always had done. She closed her eyes and thought of all the suffering in the world, the starving children, those killed by wars and famine and she tried so hard to feel grateful for the life she’d had.
‘It’s not been so bad’, she said aloud.
*
Janet being the sort of person she was began to investigate immediately. She made enquires, spoke to the right people and when she was sure as sure as she could be without the official evidence she knocked on Pauline’s door and broke the news to her.
‘What do you mean the wrong families?’ said a bewildered Pauline.
And Janet explained how in those days back when there was less care taken and very little information stored that someone's entire identity and their future often rested on the accurate memory of which ever nurse was on duty. Sometimes they got confused, sometimes they put down the right baby and when they returned to give the little one back to its mummy they picked up the wrong baby.
And now in an ironic ‘of all the bars in all the world’ fashion these two very different elderly women who had grown up in the other’s family had finally met 72 years later.
Pauline fell back against the kitchen bench causing the little Chinese figurine salt and pepper shakers to nod their heads in agreement at the bizarre coincidence.
‘I need a drink,’ she managed.
Janet breathed a heavy sigh as she sat next to Pauline; the two women sipped their G & Ts and the errors of the past exploded into the present. As the tears began to flow, Janet blurted out everything; her miserable childhood, the beatings, the unspeakable finally spoken after all these years. She told Pauline about the broken battered mother who looked away. The beast who shouldn’t have been her father. He, who she believed was the reason for her never finding love; just lunging from one unsatisfying relationship to another. Perhaps he saw it too, that she wasn’t his, Pauline shuddered as she realised this could have been her fate.
But it wasn’t, Janet listened when Pauline told her how happy they’d all been, yes Muriel had been the favourite. She was the eldest, the prettiest, that was natural wasn’t it? Or had they suspected the truth but knew there was nothing to be done about it. Just put up with, that’s what they did, that stoic generation of war survivors, they put up with her. Kept calm and carried on.
So now at three score year and ten, two lonely old women know the truth. Janet can’t blame Pauline it wasn’t her fault she stole her life. Yet when she looks at her the pain returns. Pauline shouldn’t feel guilty that Janet took her place; would her real mother have looked away if it had been her? Would she have dared, surely every fibre of her being would not have allowed it. She‘d have leapt between them a human shield wouldn’t she? But every time Pauline looks at Janet she does feel guilt. The knowledge is too much to bear alone; something good must come of it.
They still meet every week, it has become a ritual and because Janet is Janet she had to have an excuse, a purpose if you like. Now with no one else these two women both need each other.
Janet pulled down the car’s sun visor and checked her makeup in the mirror, before folding it back up, and turning to Pauline, ‘Again Pauline again, slowly, remember Mirror, signal, manoeuvre, let’s go.’ The little silver car juddered away and the journey began.

The End






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Comments by other Members



Katerina at 21:49 on 12 May 2011  Report this post
Hello,

Aww what a sad tale, but at least Margaret had some company in the end.

‘I’m the last one now duck, the last of the Jacksons.’ she whispered as tidied the vase of fading flowers at her sister’s grave.
missing word between the underlined bit - 'she'.

Okay, I got a bit confused with this because it goes from one scene to another with nothing to bridge it or explain it, like here -

Several dogs, one to replace the other over the years when the last one Sadie died a few months after Brian, Margaret decided enough dogs.
‘I’m going on a day trip tomorrow Muriel, the Community centre have organised it, all the oldies are going up to the Tumpley viewpoint , there’s a museum there and a little cafe, just for a few hours back by 4, why not I thought, Norma, what used to work at the cake shop asked me to come, I said no but she did insist, said it would do me good well wouldn’t you know it now Norma’s backs playing up so she’s not even going herself, oh well I did say I would.’


One minute we are reading about dogs and the next we have the dialogue about going on a day trip. I feel that you need something to explain this, so maybe something like -

Margaret bent down and brushed some dirt off the headstone then straightened and said, 'I'm going on a day trip tomorrow Muriel...'

That way, the reader knows Margaret is still standing at the graveside, lost in her thoughts.

There are places in this you could do with putting commas, why not read it out loud and where you pause, put a comma - such as here -

But not anymore she hadn’t bothered renewing the British Heritage membership;
comma between the underlined words.

And again here -

when the girl phoned asking if she’d like to take advantage of the special offer she’d said, no point dear,
comma after offer

said it would do me good well wouldn’t you know it now Norma’s backs playing up so she’s not even going herself, oh well I did say I would.’
comma after good apostrophe before the 's' in backs.

The men talked about their sheds and the cricket and the women yabbad on about the telly and the weather and the couples, well they just pointed and ummed and ahhed every so often.


I would put a full stop after weather because it reads as if the women are yabbing about the couples. So, maybe change it to -

The men talked about their sheds and the cricket, and the women yabbed on about the telly and the weather. And the couples, well they just pointed and ummed and ahhed every so often.

That’s when she saw her, right when she was taking a bite out of a custard cream.


Maybe this could be rephrased to read slightly better -

Just as Muriel took a bite out of a custard cream, she saw her, and the shock caused her to cough and splutter biscuit crumbs all over the table.

But there she was standing by the counter tall and slim with those short cork screw curls
comma after counter

Muriel, my god it’s Muriel!
shouldn't this be - it was Muriel to tie in with the tense of the previous bit - but there she was... If the previous bit had read - but there she is, then it would be okay.

‘You seem flushed are you feeling all right?’ Asked the familiar stranger.
comma after flushed and I think it's a small 'a' for asked.

I'm not going to point out where else commas are needed, I'm sure you'll find them when you read this through, but just to let you know there are quite a few missing from the last paragraph starting Janet's miserable childhood.

Janet being the sort of person she is began to investigate immediately
should be was you need to maintain consistency with your tenses throughout.

I think you need something to explain the last sentence - I get that Margaret is learning to drive, but is Janet teaching her?

maybe you can make this clearer by putting some more information? something like -

Janet pulled down the car's sun visor and looked at herself in the mirror, before folding it back up, and turning to Margaret she said, 'again Margaret, slowly, remember Mirror, signal, manoeuvre.’

This just tidies the ending up a bit.

I think this could work very well in short story format and might even be something Woman's Weekly would like as they are taking some harder stories, rather than the nice ones. Why not rewrite it and upload it again for us to see?

Hope this helps,

Kat x












Jubbly at 09:59 on 13 May 2011  Report this post
Thanks so much for your crit Kat, my punctuation will be my downfall. I will certainly take everything you've said onboard and re submit. My intention was to use it as part of my play proposal but I think I might just send it out as you suggested. Again thanks so much for your help.

Julie
x

fluffyduffy at 11:00 on 13 May 2011  Report this post
Hi Jubbly,

I thought this was a lovely but extremely sad story. I felt so sorry for Margaret and Janet but was glad that they had each other to lean on in the end.

Apart from the punctuation, which you already know about, this is only a few points I wanted to comment on.

1)
Norma, what used to work at the cake shop asked me to come


I would change 'what' to 'who'

2)
And that is how it all began.


I don't think this para is needed or adds anything to the story. You could just go from Janet giving Margaret a lift to Margaret inviting Janet in for refreshments.

3)
'I need a drink,’ she managed.
It all came out.Janet’s miserable childhood


I was a little confused with the underlined para. At first I had to ask myself 'what camee out?' and then quickly realised it was Janet's childhood tale. I think you need something more to explain this, such as:

'I need a drink,’ she managed.
Janet breathed a heavy sigh as she sat next to Margaret. As the tears welled in her eyes, Janet blurted out everything; her miserable childhood...


Or something similar.

I also agree with kat about the ending. I like that Margaret is learning to drive but you need a little more explanation there as to whether Janet is teaching her or giving her extra lessons besides the lessons from an instructor.

I definitely think this story works as a short story. It might be worth you having a look through some of the women's magazines or e-zines just to get a feel for their preferred structure, etc. I often do this in the evenings once the kids are in bed and hubby is watching some rubbish on the tv, lol

A very good story, thanks for the read

Alana

Account Closed at 14:41 on 13 May 2011  Report this post
Hi Jubbly, i haven't much to add to the above comments - the punctuation, or lack of, did make it confusing to read at times, but that can easily be sorted out.

I thought it was a good story, i liked the twist and the last line, and i agree with Kat, it might be something suited to Woman's Weekly.

Why don't you post up a rewrite?

petal

Jubbly at 14:52 on 13 May 2011  Report this post
Thank you everyone, this is a very responsive and supportive group and I can assure you I will do the same to every one else in the next few days. I will re post asap, thanks again.

J

Cornelia at 09:26 on 16 May 2011  Report this post
Hi Julie!

Just had a quick look at this and will have to come back because I don't have time just now.

I loved all this - the setting, the homely characters and the conversational tone. I have a half-finished story of my own that's based on a coach trip. I love writing about groups and it's quite a challenge to differentiate the characters. I admire your thumb-nail descriptions.

I like the way the past was recalled by quoting what people had said and wondered if this had triggered the punctuation problem. I think it helps with reading if there's a blank line between paragraphs, especially when the paragraphs are so short. This was hard to read for that reason.

I'll definitely come back to this, because my first thought is that there is too much going on for me to sort out at a quick reading.

About sad endings: I've just adjusted the ending of my story , CU Next Summer, so it's more upbeat.I know what Kat means about womags taking harder stories and I think a touch of poignant regret is acceptable, but it's a fine line.

Anyway, more later.

Sheila

Cornelia at 18:37 on 16 May 2011  Report this post
I had a more careful read of this, and what I said before about the strengths still goes.

As I see it, the story is about how the two sisters come to recognise one another after all these years. It's a coincidence more suited to drama than to a short story, I think, but you manage to persuade the reader to go along with it.

I think it's confusing at the start because there's too much to remember too suddenly.I think the women's appearances were quite well described but it would be helpful to know the colour of Muriel's hair. Also, I would avoid giving them names that start with the same letter. They need to be more contrasting.

Structurally speaking, I would cut the funeral and start at the point where Margaret is startled to see Janet. The backstory can emerge from that point -which it does to an extent, anyway.

It can’t be, she thought, it can’t be! But there she was standing by the counter , tall and slim with those short cork screw curls, Muriel, my god it was Muriel!


This immediately makes the reader want to read on to find out what the relationship is between the two women.

In a way, the next sentence would make an even more dramatic beginning:

Margaret made her way through the throng of tray-laden pensioners and tapped her late sister on the shoulder.


Either of these is a good 'hook' and sets the ball rolling.

The other major revsion I would make is to the last paragraph, which needs to be told in dialogue. That way, revealed slowly and toned down a bit it's not sad, but a happy coming together of the two separated sister. Margaret has not one sister but two, after all. Janet finds some form of security after all these years.

They still meet every week, it has become a ritual and because Janet is Janet she had to have an excuse, a purpose if you like. Now with no one else these two women both need each other.


This is all expostion or 'tell' not 'show' and you need to express is as a scne with dialogue - the scene in which the the two women come together for the driving lesson.
That's an excellent idea.

Sheila





Jubbly at 17:57 on 17 May 2011  Report this post
Thanks for taking the time to read and comment Sheila, very much appreaciated. I had more dialogue but cut it so perhaps I should put it back I will have a tinker. I agree that characters with the same initials are confusing and generally never do it, I broke my rule this time because I wanted to create a family continuity and I saw them as a family who would name their girls with the same initial. Muriel has red hair ala Rita Hayworth but I will make this clearer in the next draft. Once again thanks so much for all your help with this.

Julie

Cornelia at 19:53 on 17 May 2011  Report this post
Sory, no, I was mixing them up. For me the Rita Hayworth comparison works fine, especially as it's a reminder of their era, but I meant the other one could be given dark or blonde hair as well as a name with a different initial.

Sheila

BifferSpice at 14:13 on 03 June 2011  Report this post
this is a very sad story, and i confess to feeling some empathy for both janet and margaret. you could argue the writing is occasionally too conversational in tone, but in a way, i think this helps the story. it's a bit of an anecdotal story, and told in that fashion, which i think is good. what a terrifying idea that people's entire lives can be changed in an instant by just picking up the wrong baby in a hospital ward. a thoughtprovoking read, thanks very much

Jubbly at 11:42 on 19 June 2011  Report this post
Thanks to everyone who read and commented. I have now done a re write which I hope has addressed any problems.
J
x


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