Crash (Working Title)

Part 1: Doris

Doris Beaumont carried the green plastic watering can towards the concrete steps outside her home. Her knees were unsteady and she hoped she wouldn't tumble down them again. She'd been lucky last time to escape with bruising and no broken hip, as the A&E doctor and her son liked to remind her. She'd almost tumbled down the stairs inside her home a few times in the last month and yet she'd walked up and down them everyday for the last 43 years with no issues. Her arthritis was making her knees weak but she cared more about the embarrassment of the falls than any physical damage. A few bruises she could deal with, but a bruise to her ego was different. Doris didn't feel like an 'old' woman. She turned 83 last March but she had always believed you're only as old as you feel and she didn't feel any different to her 50s. Although, Ken hadn't seemed 'old' either and he was taken from them so quickly. No warning, no illness; and he had been in his 60s, 67 to be exact.

That holiday had been one to remember, for more reasons than one. They'd always wanted to go on a cruise, but the time had never been right. They couldn't afford it before Mark came along, and then, even less so with a child to raise. Then came the grandchildren and more excuses came along, until Mark encouraged them to go. 'You're not getting any younger' he'd said. How right he was.

Doris descended the concrete steps now, carefully and slowly, holding onto the side bannister with one hand and holding tightly to the watering can with the other. She regretted filling it up as much as she had as she really needed two hands and that just wasn't a possibility if she wanted to make it to the bottom unscathed. She didn't need another conversation about moving to another house, one without steps, or God Forbid, a bungalow. She shuddered. A bungalow would definitely mean she was old. Thankfully, she made it to the bottom in one piece, though her back felt strained. She'd definitely filled the watering can too much. Still, she made it and that was the important thing. She'd remember next time to fill it only halfway. Although, perhaps she had already thought this a few times before. Perhaps she kept forgetting her own advice.

Mark would tell her off for carrying a heavy watering can down the steps, but what choice did she have? Her chrysanthemums wouldn't water themselves and she loved caring for her flowers and plants. He'd offered to help but it wasn't practical. He couldn't visit constantly just to water her plants and she wasn't willing to give it up anyway. Why should she give up something that she enjoyed?

As she stood now in front of her flower boxes and plant pots, she held tightly to the watering can with both hands, tipping the water into the soil. The sun was out today, despite the few heavy days of rain they'd had. She felt its warm rays on her back, soothing the ache she had felt on the stairs. Heat had always helped her aches and pains. It was September now, and she knew the sunny days were limited which disappointed her. Soon she would be sitting in her house looking out at the rain and snow, willing it to go away so she could go out to the shops.

Last time it snowed she was stuck in the house for over a week. She'd looked out of her bay window every morning, willing it to go away, for the sun to come out and melt it, for someone to pour some salt on the pavement. Alas they didn't and she'd had to spend her days watching TV and knitting like a proper old woman. The older she'd gotten, she more she cherished her routines. Every morning, weather permitting, she walked to the corner shop to pick up a newspaper. Sometimes she got a bottle of milk or a pack of biscuits as well. After she read the paper, she would watch a little TV and then water her plants. She usually had a sandwich in the afternoon for lunch, cheese and pickle or ham. Never Tuna. Horrible stuff. She attended a sewing group on a Tuesday afternoon and an over 50s fitness class on a Friday afternoon. She always saw her son Mark, his wife Lisa, and her grandsons on a Sunday for Sunday lunch. Most of the time Lisa cooked, but now and again they'd go to a pub.