Derek stared across the breakfast table at his wife. Where had it all gone so bloody wrong, he thought. He’d been by himself ever since that bastard from Number 48 had run off with his Sheila. At first, he’d spent every waking hour plotting and scheming. Oh the scenarios of revenge he’d laid out in his head! He smiled to himself as he remembered some of the more... colourful, shall we say.  As time had elapsed, he’d finally come to the conclusion that he was better than that; a real catch to be sure! Why, any woman would have been proud to wake up next to him... should have been in fact. The reality had been a bit of a shock to him, a real disappointment if he were honest with himself. He’d tried going down the pub to meet someone, but all he’d ended up with was a black eye from the husband of the busty barmaid he’d chatted up. He was certain she’d been up for it; positively encouraged him! Speed dating had proved a dead end too. All those middle-aged school ma’am types. He was looking for someone who would look after him, could cook, clean and meet his needs in the bedroom. Not a woman who wanted to know whether he was financially viable. Honestly, the cheek of some of them; didn’t they know their place nowadays? It was his friend, Norman, who’d eventually come to his rescue in hushed tones over a quiet pint in The Red Lion (said barmaid had been eyeing him all evening- what a floozy). The internet, Norman said, was the place to find yourself the perfect woman. Desperate they were, according to Norman, begging for it. It had sounded just like what Derek was looking for! Over the next few days, he had spent hours in his local library on the pc in the corner near Real Romance and Thrillers. The librarian had been more than happy to help, she’d leaned over him in that tight fitting blouse of hers, reeking of knock-off perfume. No more than a common harlot; he had his sights set much higher now thanks to the wonders of science. Within days, Derek’s dating profile had been up and running. And that was when the emails began. At first, they’d appeared daily in his inbox, nothing more than a tempting novelty. Norman had warned him that sometimes companies sold your information on, so they hadn’t surprised him that much... given some of the extra needs he’d placed on his dating profile. Shortly after that however, they’d started to arrive every few hours and this time they’d become more personal. No longer Dear customer, now they had spoken to Derek in more familiar tones. Every time Derek had logged on, they were there, waiting patiently for him. In the beginning, he’d brushed them off, then they had begun to intrigue him... Dear Derek, we can provide your perfect match. A partner who can cater to your every need without question. Derek hadn’t been able to deny it, it really was what he’d been looking for all this time. And after all, bizarrely he’d had no responses to his online ad; there must obviously have been something wrong with the site. Derek had tentatively clicked open the latest email and, after only the slightest of hesitation, he had typed his response.
​
She had cost him dearly, all his life savings in fact. But at first, Derek had thought she was worth every bloody penny. Stunning she was! He couldn’t quite believe that the company had managed to find someone that ticked off every single one of his requirements. Physically, she’d looked just like his Sheila, but thinner (Sheila had never shifted that extra weight after her op). He called her Sheila 2, couldn’t be bothered to learn her name, some bloody foreign lingo. Mentally, she’d been just that little bit dim; suited him right down to the ground. No bloody arguments, never answered back, too stupid to question why he’d given her only half the housekeeping when his bets went sour. Perfect. Norman had been so damn jealous of his luck, particularly (as Norman had liked to point out repeatedly) as it had been his idea. Derek had settled into a comfortable routine; well who wouldn’t when they were waited on hand and foot? The trouble had started that Tuesday morning, when Derek first found Sheila 2 with the newspaper he’d carelessly thrown down the side of the chair when his horse came in 5th. Instead of picking up the discarded paper and folding it neatly for the recycling pile (as was her want to do), he had caught her actually reading it! He had pitied the poor creature at first, it had been like watching a dog try to knit. However, as the weeks went on, he had noticed that Sheila 2 wasn’t just browsing, she was avidly reading the papers from back to front. Hell, she’d even tried conversing with him about current events! He had not liked the way this was going, not one bit; getting ideas above her station. She was even expecting to be asked nicely when he wanted his tea or a bath running.
Now here they were. Six months in and Sheila 2 had actually begun answering back. The bloody cheek of it! As for the bedroom department, forget it! Dared to say she wasn’t in the mood! All she ever seemed to do nowadays was bitch and moan. He wiped the back of a hand across his chin, where the egg yolk had run, and roughly shoved his unfinished plate towards her with a grunt. Sheila 2 glared at him as he snatched his paper from the table and stormed from the kitchen. As the door slammed between them she calmly picked up the plate and walked towards the sink. She scraped the remnants of bacon and eggs into the disposal unit. What does he expect from me? I’m not a bloody machine thought Sheila 2 as she undid the catch on the back of her neck, and connected the extendable cable into the K3-602 recharging socket. As she stood, feeling the power surge through her circuitry, Derek’s voice echoed from down the hall. Bloody Japanese technology! Knew I should’ve bought British!

The Last Penance
High vaulted ceilings stretched towards the heavens, as if hands raised in solitary prayer. Dust danced hypnotically through the air to silent hymns trapped in time. The air, heavy with incense and the lingering scent of snuffed candles, hung its head in shame. This was no longer a place of safety, no longer a refuge.

It had been many long years since Sarah had stepped foot into this house of God. Echoes of solemn congregations and sermons of apocalyptic hellfire caressed the edges of her memory; biting back tears, she shook them away. The click of her heels on cold marble broke the still silence as she made her way warily down the aisle. The last time she had walked this path, her father had been at her side. Steadfast, resolute, her rock. The memory mingled with the overwhelming pain in her chest; grief threatening to drown her. Where had she been during his final hours, when she should have been holding his hand tightly, uttering those words he had said to her so many, many times before? It’ll all be O.K. sweetheart.

Only it hadn’t. A text had broken the news. Not even a call. They hadn’t even permitted her to attend his funeral. To say goodbye to her creator. She’d pleaded to their better nature, begged whilst guilty tears streamed down her face. They hadn’t relented. They hadn’t cared. What sort of God allowed that to happen? If this was truly His house, then it was clear he’d abandoned it long ago, turning his back on Humanity. The effigy of Christ above the altar, paint flaked and peeling, stared down scathingly from its cross. He agreed.

Hymnals lay discarded, praise to a god unable to help and long forgotten. A chalice lay on the altar as if cast aside. Sarah wondered how many mouths had kissed its lip… mouths that had promised false loyalty to an invisible saviour in desperate times. The scent of musty carpets assaulting her nostrils brought her back to the job in hand. As she walked towards the solitary confessional, the dying remnants of evening sun shone through the stained-glass. She walked on, daggers of red and blue light cut through the stagnant air.

Tentatively, Sarah removed a single glove, trailed her hand gently over a smooth mahogany pew and revelled in the welcoming warmth of its curves. She vaguely wondered how many contrite hands had gripped here in pointless prayer. Wearily, she raised her dark tear-stained eyes to the confessional. She felt a child again. Tendrils of fear snaked through her as she remembered the sombre tones of the bent-backed priest; preaching conditional love through fear. Without permission, her ungloved hand stretched out and touched the open door, the grain of its intricate carvings holding onto years of half-truths, medieval morality and sin. With a final glance into the empty world behind her, Sarah stepped into its open mouth.

In the near dark, the quiet was no longer an imposition, a reminder of her isolation. It seeped through her every pore and she drank deeply. It calmed her. Sarah’s breathing lulled itself into a gentle rhythm that echoed her heartbeat. That evening had decided her course. After months of tuning into the news like an addict desperate for their fix, the statement had come. A shaken voice… food supplies running out… death count six billion and rising… no longer searching for a cure…

Sarah slowly exhaled and felt the weight slide from her once heavy shoulders. It was time. She reached up, removed the mask. She touched her face.
 

​As Caroline watched her husband get ready for work, she once again wondered at how she had managed to end up in such a situation. How had she, a plain Jane from a boring little town, ended up with someone like him! Even her mother had expressed such a sentiment… although not in words quite so pleasant. From their first meeting, Caroline had known there was something different about him, the way he had met her eyes at the restaurant that night. It had been her mother’s birthday outing (not that the woman had had any kind words to say about the food, the service… anything really). He’d been there, a few tables away, with his girlfriend (apparently, she was a real bunny-boiler). There’d been some sort of altercation- she’d thrown her wine at him- and he’d looked across at Caroline with such apologetic eyes, as if to say, “Well, what can you do?” Caroline had positively swooned under his gaze.

It had been a few months later when their paths crossed. She’d been working in a small hairdressing salon; it was soul destroying. She spent her days making weak cups of tea for old ladies and had the occasional blue rinse or set thrown her way by the head stylist. In the run up to Christmas, the girls had been talking of nothing else but their outfits for the (apparently legendary) staff night out. She wasn’t a drinker and ‘getting wasted’ appeared to be their intended outcome, but after being continually cajoled she’d finally conceded. She’d agreed to go for a couple of hours, no more, no less. It was a night that changed her life forever.

That night had gone from bad to worse. After being virtually ignored all evening, Katy, the junior, had vomited down the front of Caroline’s (almost new) dress. She’d been mortified. Caroline had spent the next half hour in the pub toilet desperately trying to clean herself up to no avail. The sour stink had assaulted her nostrils and her dress had a terrible yellow stain. With tears burning her eyes she’d screwed up the wad of tissues that had failed to clean the mess and thrown them angrily into the bin as she’d felt the first hot streaks on her cheeks. Pushing the toilet door open, she’d lowered her head and pushed through the crowds towards the safety of the exit. She’d almost made it. She’d knocked into someone, heard shouts telling her to watch herself, then had come the shove. As if in slow motion she’d felt herself lurch forwards, her hands still gripping her jacket around her to hide the soiled dress. As face and floor had been only seconds away from becoming the best of friends, she’d felt a strong arm grip her own and pull her back to her feet. And so, it had begun.

It had been a bit of a whirlwind romance. No more than three months later they had moved in together, much to the chagrin of her mother. Not to be trusted she said… eyes too close together… just like her waste of space father. She’d been more than happy to finally escape that woman’s clutches. She was 36 and terrified of spending the rest of her life alone with just her mother for company. The women at the salon had whispered behind her back at first… not single… nothing but a philanderer… being taken for a fool… but it hadn’t been long before they’d grown tired of old gossip and moved on to chatting about banal reality tv programmes. Caroline hadn’t listened to any of their vicious lies, she knew the real Pete after all. He was so attentive, and such a joker! Once he’d bought her a beautiful pair of sapphire earrings and told her earnestly how he hadn’t been able to resist their beauty that almost matched hers, how they matched her eyes. At first, she was upset, after all, her eyes were hazel! Then, she’d seen the beginning of the smile as it played along the edge of his lips. Within the year, they were married. No fairy-tale wedding like the dreams of her childhood, just a quick registry office service. She had supposed in a way it was romantic, spur of the moment. Her mother had refused to attend.

Now, here she was, five wonderful years later, watching as Pete packed the lunch she had painstakingly made into his bag. Fine lines danced at the edge of her eyes as she smiled. Sure, things weren’t like they were at the start but that was perfectly normal, wasn’t it? The heady romance, the passion, the wanting to be with each other every waking moment, had dissipated into more of a comfortable silence. Not that Pete had ever really been a big talker. Over the past year, his work had been taking him up and down the country and he’d been snowed under, what with having to wine and dine clients all the time. It seemed like there was hardly a week went past where he didn’t have to stay late at the office or spend a few nights away at one of the company’s other locations. It was hard for her; she didn’t really have any friends to speak of. Pete though was wonderful! He’d seen the toll this was taking on her and set her up in her very own little studio. It wasn’t much to talk about, and it certainly wasn’t in an affluent part of town, but the time spent missing Pete had transferred itself into building her own little hair empire. Pete had been a little annoyed at first by the magazines and paint charts laying around their flat, but once he saw how much energy she was putting into the project he seemed almost relieved that she was busy more often than not. She knew though that that was only because he felt guilty for neglecting her… what else could it be? Within months, she’d created a little spot of heaven and built up a small but reliable list of clients. They always returned once they’d visited her, she was a good listener you see, as well as proficient at her trade. She’d had years of practise living with her mother who spouted nonsense about the neighbours 24/7. At home, she often tried to talk about about her plans for the salon or her current clientele, but Pete always joked that he’d married one woman and he certainly didn’t want to hear the gossip of dozens of others- especially when they were of the blue rinse rebels variety. She understood. He was tired of course, he worked so hard and he needed a little space now and then. Perfectly understandable…

That morning, Caroline opened the salon promptly as normal, allowing herself time for a drink before her first client. As she sipped on the bittersweet coffee, she idly perused one of the many high-fashion hair magazines she bought in for her clients. The sound of laughter passing by outside caught her attention and as she looked up, she caught her reflection in the mirror. The woman gazing back at her no longer reflected how she felt inside. There were lines around her eyes and her once chiselled cheek bones needed more help from the contour these days. Grey hair swept from her temples like waves along the shoreline. She smiled as she recalled her old boss telling her that stylists never have time for their own hair. That smile quickly faded as she saw the well-coiffed image of Pete in her mind. Suit pressed, shoes shined within an inch of their lives, hair precisely trimmed and the subtle scent of a recently purchased of aftershave… he said he was bored of his usual… that he fancied a change. Perhaps it was time she did the same.

The sound of the door dragged her back into the here and now, as her 9 am walked in and greeted her with the usual effervescent smile. Julia reminded her of her younger self; full of dreams for the future but until recently very little else in the way of a life. Over the past few months however, their hour-long conversations had turned to tales of a new man in her life. Caroline recognised in Julia that same excitement that she had experienced at the beginning of her own relationship; the same adoration in her face when she spoke of him. Julia had confided in Caroline that their relationship was a bit hush-hush at the moment because of his ‘current situation’. Apparently, he’d been stuck in a dead relationship for years, he and his wife had nothing in common except a mortgage. She’d laughed along politely with this, but she honestly couldn’t imagine what hell it would be to live under the same roof as someone you didn’t love. To be truthful, Caroline wasn’t sure what she made of this infidelity at first as she had never been one to be unfaithful, although to be fair she had never been presented with the opportunity... However, she had swelled with pride when Julia said she could trust her with her exploits, that she knew she’d understand, that she saw her as the mother figure she’d never had. She had been so thrilled for Julia when she’d excitedly whispered that she was pregnant, and that after all these months her partner was finally making plans to divorce. A baby was something Caroline had longed for but getting married ‘rather late in the day’ as Pete had phrased it, it just wasn’t a risk he wanted to take.
​
Caroline took Julia’s jacket, another thoughtful present from her man she said, and hung it carefully on the padded hanger in the small back room. When she returned, Julia was smiling down at her mobile. Another text from him. Little messages sent throughout the day to make her smile she said. As Caroline fastened the black cape securely around Julia’s shoulders, she felt a tide of sadness wash over her. What must it be like to be wanted in that way? To feel so… connected. She missed that closeness but supposed things just naturally changed with time. She gently swept Julia’s hair from the neck of the cape, noticing as she did, a pair of delicate sapphire earrings. Julia cocked her head to the side, giving her a better look. “You like them?” asked Julia, “they were a present. He said they matched my eyes.” Caroline’s eyes met those of Julia in the mirror, her world crumbled as she stared into a pair of hazel eyes, a perfect reflection of her own.