Surrounded!

Tuesday, February 17 09

Mrs Bennet was surrounded by children, plasterers, electricians, builders, rubble and dust - and it was half-term. She had done her best to get all five daughters and herself out of the way. But it meant dividing the day up into bite-sized chunks and ensuring she wasn’t in one place too long to cause rebellion and boredom amongst the ranks. It wasn’t the older three girls so much she had to worry about, it was the smaller two of her brood who if allowed to sit still too long, wriggled and writhed so much it caused all heads to look and stare. Mrs Bennet was already a talking point just by walking into a shop or building. Like a mother duck with all the baby ducks following, she could hear the whispers around her. If anyone of them started quacking even more eyes looked at her. She felt like walking around with a sticker on her back. The sticker would read something like this: “Yes, I know I have my hands full, so if you have a spare one and you can lend it I would be most grateful.” Going to the toilet alone was a major expedition and not to be considered unless the utmost preparation was in place – i.e. one or two of those wet wipe bricks, spare vests, nappies and clothes for herself as inevitably one of her girls would spill a cup of water over her trousers in an embarrassing place.
Because there was only one room to play, eat and work in, this room - once a comfortable lounge – was now a dumping ground for coats, toys and endless creative productions the Miss Bennets generated. Mrs Bennet had an article to write, but for some reason she couldn’t think. The room was in such a mess, it bugged her and she knew she’d have to tackle the mountains around her before she could climb her own. Armed with a bottle of root beer – which was she knew an acquired (peculiar more like, according to Mr Bennet) taste, she pulled every thing off shelves, out from under sofas and anything offending her. She was in the mood for tackling it and had that ruthless edge and any armless, headless or legless animal or doll a chance wasn’t going to stand a chance. Even the sock bin, now overflowing with 143 man-black, school-white, ballet-pink, baby-striped and lady-spots was in Mrs Bennet’s firing line.
“Why have I still got oodles of oddies desperately waiting for their sole-mates when I know full well they’re never going to find them! I’m just going to take them out of their misery. Seven years of waiting is long enough!” And with that she emptied the Bennet collection into a black bin-liner and thus removing their hope.
It was just as well the Bennet girls weren’t in the room. Their mother worked relentlessly, trying to regain an inch here and there to make the lounge - and week - more bearable, largely for her sake rather than for anyone else.
The caffeine fix from the root beer kept her going until midnight, when she sunk into a now cold bath to prepare herself for another day. She couldn’t sleep but watched her husband enjoying his. She wondered where he went when he dreamt and whether she was part of his dreamful world. Eventually at 3.30am she dropped off refusing to believe it was morning when the alarm informed her it was day two of the half-term holidays. She put a pillow over her head and pretended it wasn’t.