Chapter One
It had been an exceptionally tough night for sheds. Strong winds of ninety-five miles per hour had charged through the rural county of Suffolk, with brutal force.
Many of these wooden framed sanctuaries, which were the only refuge for many husbands in the area, simply lost their roofs. Others however, appeared to have lifted there skirts in defiance and challenged the winds with a hurdling race, with many homeowners waking to find their trusted sheds gone. Later, the local press would report that many locals had woken by the monstrous howls of despairing men who, on their knees, sobbed for their loss. Pubs however, were lapping up their rare good fortune as over the next fortnight they would do a roaring trade, as husbands flocked to seek shelter from their nagging wives and screaming children, all while their precious sheds were being ether replaced or fixed.
Agatha Warden on the other hand was in bed, her duvet held tight to her chin, wide-eyed and furious.
The sun had started its morning shift and a cold chill was breezing in mercilessly through the open window. But it was not the breeze that had left the veins in her eyes throbbing. It had been because of the continuous exercise of her window slamming shut, then whipping open before slamming shut again, as it fought against the ferocious winds that had pounded the building all night long.
Being freezing cold was just a bonus!
Life at Buttons Court for Agatha was an incredibly boring and lonely existence. It had not always been that way though. She had spent the better part of her life living with her husband Jack in Scotland. They had married at Westerfield Church not far from Kesgrave but they had always dreamed to live among the mountains and beautiful scenery of Scotland. After her husband retired at sixty-two they had up sticks and settled down in a town called Larkhall. There, they had owned a petit Beatrix Potter like cottage, with a long garden, which they had halved. The far end was Jack’s vegetable garden and the other end was her own flower garden, full of Broom, Pink Pearl and roses, yellow being her favourite colour for a flower. She could still see her husband in his old green corduroy trousers and white shirt, which he had once worn for work, on his knees weeding and carefully examining the newly planted crops. His speciality was runner beans. Every year, no matter the weather, he would manage to produce the most amazing fat and long beans, which tasted divine. Never, had she tasted anything better. Oh he was a handsome man too, tall, well-built and in her opinion, had grown more dashing as he had grown older. He had never been grey, but he had - to his great dismay - developed at a very young age (before they had met) beautiful silvery white hair, which had always suited him. She could never imagine anything different. But despite the lovely memories, the picture of her beautiful man lying lifeless amongst his cabbages was just as vivid, as if tattooed to her very soul, which she would carry with her for all eternity. Jack had worked all his life and to this day Agatha would never forgive herself for being a full time housewife, even though he would never have had it any other way. Still she could not help but wonder if maybe she had gotten herself a job, life would have been bit easier on him and so he would have still been with her today, and she would not be stuck in this place, staring up at the white ceiling wondering when her Carer would call.
It was during this quiet time that she finally drifted off to sleep, her Jack’s face smiling at her, his ocean blue eyes twinkling with his usual look of mischief and delight.
Abruptly Agatha was forced out of her deep sleep by the shrill of her doorbell.
Disorientated, she heard her door handle being yanked down, with far more force than was necessary; then a bang, a grunt, and then the room shook as the door was left free to slam closed again. There was more grunting, before finally her Carer appeared with her heavy washing basket.
Mary Broomback plonked the basket onto the stained grey bedroom carpet showing off her petulant face, blue work-shirt and black trousers. She then grabbed the trolley, which was sitting just in front of the open window, and swung it round with enough force that it knocked into the hand rail that had been bolted to the wall beside Agatha’s bed.
Mary loomed over her, tall and miserable looking. There really was no other way to describe her, except of course that she had a long face, which Aggie always envisaged had been squished between two shipment crates - an image that helped pass the time of day - had straight black hair and a rabbits chin, which irritatingly waved at her.
‘Up you get,’ she said institutionally, whipping the covers back.
Instantly, Agatha was hit by the bitter fresh air. She was in no state to just jump up. She was still trying to clear the thick fog of sleep.
‘Come on get up,’ Mary demanded ‘you’ve had all night to sleep, now get up!’
Agatha groaned.
Out of patience, her carer grabbed her arm, wedged her hand between her back and the mattress and then, with Aggie’s eyes clenched shut, was yanked upright, leaving her feeling dizzy and panting for breath. Oh how her body ached for more sleep.
Mary nudged her trolley towards her.
Agatha got to her feet but with great difficulty. She was very short and very fat but that was not the problem. The problem was the burden she carried with her every day of her life: a massive pair of breasts, which in the absence of her trolley, would hang to her knees.
Her legs were like bark-less trunks, shiny and well weathered, and her hair was wiry grey, which launched itself in every direction. But her eyes were small and brown, darkened with age and a life of pain.
She entered the small bathroom, her bare feet sticking to the sparkling cream colour non-slip flooring and stopped at the shower chair. But before she could manoeuvre herself and place her bottom on the seat, her nightdress was being tugged off over her head, followed by her incontinence pad being whipped from under her.
Disorientated and indignant, Aggie hugged herself against the cold. The window in her bedroom was still wide open and she knew from bitter experience that her carer would not shut her bathroom door either, because she would get too hot.
Blast! How everything was so damn cold, the bathroom floor, the plastic of the shower chair, the room and the eyes that now bore down on her with amusement.
Oh how she loathed Mary-bloody-Broomback!
‘What’s wrong with you?’ Mary bellowed.
Agatha did not answer her, too angry and ashamed to get the words out. Never in her whole life had she allowed anyone to treat her like this. What would her husband say?
‘Suit yourself,’ said Mary, who promptly lent over Aggie, the stink of cigarette smoke strong on her uniform, picked up the showerhead that was balanced behind the taps and then groaned.
This woman is truly repulsive!
‘Bout time you got a new holder for that. We shouldn’t be leaning over you like this. It’s not good for our backs,’ Mary said as she turned on the taps. Lukewarm water suddenly showered down over Aggie’s head. The mix of cool water and morning breeze was like electric cursing over the whole of her body.
She screamed, ‘Shut… the bloody… door, its freezing!’
‘Oh… stop… your whining’ Mary mimicked, ‘I haven’t got all morning to faff about with you.’
That was it.
Aggie’s elbow snapped from her side, catching the off balance Mary square in the hip. With the magnificence of an acrobat, she struck the air, did a treble summersault and landed fist first in the bath.
The showerhead crashed to the floor.
Aggie looked down on the now unconscious Mary Broomback, whose backside was protruding up from within the bathtub like a headstone. The fallen showerhead was unleashing water everywhere but Aggie did not seem to notice. She looked down at the carer’s arse and said menacingly, ‘Well…at least we’ve got somewhere to put the showerhead now…haven’t we?’
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K.J. Broadhurst is currently working on the following:
The Shenanigans Series
The Shenanigans of Aggie’s Elbow
The Shenanigans of a Sparked Sparky
The Shenanigans Tales
Tears, Rockets and Chimneypots
The Oracle Hunters
The Protectors
Vengeance of the Heart
Fight for Truth
The Magical Land of Woodawn
The Broken Unicorn
Stories for Children
Daddy’s Magic Wish
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