A Safe Distance

Chele Crawley

In his younger years, John’s father gave John a piece of advice: don’t ever marry a woman. John had not expected such an utterance to part from his father’s lips, especially as he’d been married to his mother for nearly two decades.

Sauntering home after a night in the pub – the occasion his father’s 40th birthday – John, hands in pockets, had been wistfully looking up at the stars, when his father’s words surprised him – his father who only ever been a model father, husband and provider for him and his older sister, Kate.

‘Why not?’

‘You leave the house of your mother where you’ve been under a thumb and you’re craving freedom. So why John, just when you’ve got it, everything you could want: a steady income, a roof over your head, evenings to spend as you please, sipping a few quiet pints down at the local; would you choose to throw it all away and return to a house akin to the one you had just left?’

John’s brow furrowed. Dad had married young; John had totted up that Kate was born precisely seven months after his parents’ wedding.

‘A man’s mother and his wife are no different really,’ his father sighed. ‘I’m not saying, John, to stay away from women. By all means, Son, court them, make love to them, shack up with them but keep a safe distance, if you know what I mean.’

John couldn’t see how one could be a safe distance from anyone you were making love with.

‘Don’t get yourself trapped! Don’t marry them and for God’s sake don’t put a baby in them! That’s when a man is really strung up!’

John’s eyes widened.

John and his father staggered into the bungalow they had unceremoniously painted two summers past. It had remained unpainted for the first five years they had lived there but Kate’s debs was the stimulus for the hasty effort. His mother had wanted the photos to be perfect, and an unpainted house was far from perfect in her eyes.

Inside, John tip-toed to his teenage bedroom. He listened as his father, like a bird in a chimney, sought out a slice of ham, and a drop of whisky in the kitchen, and some time later, he awoke to hear his father’s heavy footsteps pass his door before stumbling into the room where his mother lay.

They never spoke about marriage or relationships after that night but the conversation played on loop in John’s head. Don’t ever marry a woman – words of caution which John devotedly heeded.

A decade later, John looked down at his ravaged body. Skin which once was full and vibrant, now hung loose over a carcass of protruding bones, as he lay in the dingy flat on Tottenham Court Road, London. On the television were Freddie Mercury and Queen taking the number one spot on Top of the Pops. ‘Yeah,’ he whispered, ‘wished Dad had advised me not just to stay a safe distance from women but also from men. For a fleeting moment, he considered picking up the receiver to call home, but chose instead to take a swig from his can. ‘Keep a safe distance’, he muttered to himself, his eyelids growing heavier. ‘A safe distance: The Irish Sea. A safe distance,’ he yawned, the can lapsing from his bony fingers for the final time.

Chele Crawley is a member of Inklings Writing Group, a fun bunch who meets on Tuesdays at 11am and Wednesdays at 7.30pm in the Annebrook House Hotel, where aspiring Writers Welcome.