Maisie sank into her chair with an audible sigh. “Where’s Gerald? He’s always home by six. That driveway won’t clear itself of leaves and those bins won’t put themselves out on the pavement for collection.”
She twisted an errant thread from the upholstery, winding it repeatedly around her pinkie finger.
“He always calls if he’s going to be late.”
She looked around her to see if anyone was listening. Nobody was. All too busy, noses stuck in screens, fingertips tapping furiously, furrowed brows hiding eyes that reflected only bright lights, not emotions nor feelings.
“No-one has time to talk or answer questions anymore. Where is Gerald?”
Maisie became agitated and exclaimed louder this time but still no explanation came. Was no-one interested in why he hadn’t come home on time? Why, anything could have happened to him, he could be lying helpless somewhere, perhaps struck down by some dreadful heart attack as he walked.
“I’m always telling him he walks too fast, that one day his heart will give out,” she murmured to herself. “Or he could have had an accident. His eyesight isn’t what it used to be. Is anyone listening to me?”
Maisie fussed about in her paisley armchair by the bay window, leaning forward, straining to see around the pink camellia bush that Gerald had yet to prune this year. Now it blocked her normally clear view to the end of the street. And who parked that white van in the spot through which she could always see Gerald’s bald head bobbing along as he approached the house? Every day at the same time, he was a stickler for routine. No shiny head yet.
“Where on earth could he be? Tea will be getting cold and cooked eggs don’t keep. Set your watch by Gerald you could. Never out by a minute. He is always home for his eggs.”
“I know,” Maisie thought triumphantly. “I’ll call his office.”
Then she frowned.
“No, he warned me against doing that, told me it would be embarrassing for him if his wife were to call looking for him. He said it would make him seem incapable somehow. Well, right now he is unable to come home on time – that’s incapable. I shall give him a piece of my mind when he gets in. I never looked at another man after I found him. He’s my one-and-only, my handsome Gerald, and always so considerate … until right now that is – rather inconsiderate and very missing.”
“Where’s the telephone? It’s always here by my chair. What’s wrong with this house today, nothing is where it should be, including Gerald.”
Maisie twisted in her chair. A shadow in the doorway caught her eye – “Gerald?”
“Oh no – it’s not him, it’s Mummy – I must hide, can’t let her see me watching for Gerald. She never liked him. What IS she wearing? Daddy certainly never bought that for her, and she has always said she has no money of her own. I hope she doesn’t take mine. Where’s my handbag? I need to hide my money.”
“Who’s that with Mummy? Looks like a child – a pretty little thing with curly hair and a bright smile. Maybe she’s visiting from down the street. Maybe a neighbour asked Mummy to mind her. I wonder if they have seen Gerald.”
Maisie shifted her weight in the chair and looked away from the window, her expression sombre and anxious.
“Who are all these people?” she said, scanning the room wildly. Are we having a party? We have to wait for Gerald. He loves cake and candles.” Maisie watched the two shadowy figures approach her chair.
“Mummy, I know I’m not supposed to dance with Gerald, but I’m worried about him. He’s not home yet. The driveway needs to be cleared and the bins put out. His eggs will spoil.”
“Hello there, what a pretty little girl you are. What’s your name? Do you live around here? You have such lovely curly hair, not like Gerald – he’s bald you know. Mummy, did you hear me? Gerald is missing and my telephone is not on my table. Oh, that’s not my table. Did you move my table and take my telephone?”
“Did Daddy find his shoes this morning? I heard him shouting that you must have moved them and that his socks didn’t match. Maybe they’re with my table and my telephone. Maybe Gerald took Daddy’s shoes and they didn’t fit, and he fell over and that’s why he’s late. No, he has shoes of his own. Shiny black ones I could see my face in – he wore them that first night we met -we danced the night away. We did, you told me not to, but we did. He kissed me and I fell in love.”
You’re looking cross, Mummy, don’t be cross with Maisie. Gerald doesn’t get cross. He just goes missing – well just this one time. What’s your name little girl? Will you help Mummy and me look for Gerald?”
The little girl turned her wide inquisitive eyes up at her mother.
“Why doesn’t Granny know my name, Mummy? And who is Gerald?”
“It’s Grandad, honey,” her mother explained while pushing her small daughter’s dark fringe back out of her eyes.
“But you told me Grandad died and went to heaven a long time ago, before I was born.”
“Yes, he did, sweetheart. Let’s sit with Granny for a bit, shall we?”
The little girl sat down between her Mummy and Granny. “I’ll help you look for Gerald, Granny.”
Maisie smiled and said, “That sounds like fun – who’s Gerald?”
Published by Ireland’s Own Magazine September 2015
