Trapped in 1895

Occasionally, fate waits around the corner of our lives, causing it to veer off in another direction. Such a moment was waiting for Cheryl, as she gave a deep sigh and wiped her hand across her eyes to relieve her headache.

“Did you try turning it on and off?” she asked, once again.

“Oh, yes, that worked. Thanks,” said a voice on the phone. She wished she had a simpler job. When she earned her computer degree, she had visions of working in a Robotic Laboratory but ended up stuck in a Help Desk job, trying to keep an ancient computer system running. She smiled to herself, at least Darrin is coming over tonight.

Cheryl was in a friends-with-benefits relationship with Darrin. They had met in a wine bar where Cheryl was moaning about her hypochondriac mother who had amazing abilities to pick up strange diseases and then persuade Cheryl to look after her, supplying food, wine and cigarettes.

Darrin suggested she move out and was happy to help. He moved her into her own apartment and she rewarded him by sleeping together on the mattress in her living room. Cheryl became a little starry-eyed with Darrin and he, recognising a good thing, encouraged her.

To be honest, she thought, he wasn’t too bright. He kept losing his job. His current one was a window washer and he would pass his day sitting on boards half way up tower blocks, smoking joints. However, his job instability did not bother her, as Darrin could be a sensitive and caring lover. Of course, he could also be a complete bastard. As a result, she wasn’t happy and was determined to have a more fulfilling relationship.

She nudged her handsome lover in the ribs, and he woke up with a jump.

“Damn,” he said, “did I miss the alarm again?”

“No.”

His head slumped back on the pillow, muttering how inconsiderate some women can be.

“I have something to tell you.”

Deep within the Darin’s sleeping brain an alarm sounded.

“You’re not pregnant, are you?” He asked, sitting upright.

“Of course not!”

“Thank God,” he said and slumped back on the bed. The siren died and his relief made Cheryl uneasy.

“I want to take our relationship to the next level. I want you to move in with me.”

The sirens sounded louder this time. He jumped out of bed.

He yelled, “That is a stupid suggestion?” as he searched for his underwear.

“Well, I...”

“Oh, I get it. You figure out if you can get me to move in with you, you will have more control,” he said as he pulled up his underpants.

“No, no I...”

“Or is it easier to spy on me? Why don’t you trust me?” He spat, as he pulled his jeans up over his hips.

“But I...”

“Yes, yes. Give me every explanation under the sun. I’m done,” he retorted as he pulled his shirt over his rippling muscles.

“Please, Darrin...”

“You know, you’re nothing but a controlling bitch,” he snarled as he slammed the door on the way out. Cheryl just lay on the bed, dumbfounded.

Later, Cheryl regretted her suggestion. What did it matter if they lived in separate apartments? Living together is never as good as it sounds. She visualised Darrin’s disgusting habits and shivered. Maybe she dodged a bullet. Still, she enjoyed the sex, and she didn’t want to lose it.

Cheryl arrived at her desk and turned her computer on, starting the day, thankful she was not a salesperson, behind a bar nor, god forbid, behind a fast food counter.

The phone started ringing as she stared at the screen. Of all the companies she had worked in, this one had the largest number of irritable users she had ever encountered. She supposed it was the lousy wages the miserable proprietor paid. An alarm went off, and she struggled to keep the ancient computer mainframe running, the users happy and her bosses off her back. She wondered if it was worth it and wished life was more exciting. She dreamt of living in simpler times with no phones, no computers, no miserable bosses, though she supposed that was unrealistic.

Emails and calls from irate users continued to flow in when one call was from Darrin.

“Hey, babe. Can we do lunch?”

He appeared to have gotten over her suggestion, and Cheryl grasped any reason to be away from her desk and agreed. They met in the Black Stallion ten minutes later.

“Sweetie,” began Darrin, “I’m sorry for the outburst this morning, but it’s not convenient for me to move in with you. Where will I put my parts from the motorbike I’m restoring? Do you want them spread over your apartment and my work is only a ten-minute walk away and I can catch a bus wherever I want to go? You can stay whenever you want. Just let me know before you do, though,” he added.

“Oh, I’m over it,” she said. “The thought of watching you slurping your coffee in the morning and blowing cigarette smoke over me turned me off the idea.”

“Oh. Ok. As long as you’re not upset.”

Cheryl picked up her handbag and returned to work.

The day refused to get better, and she answered the phone to her mother.

“Cheryl, dear, where do you keep your wine glasses? You’ve moved everything.”

“I’ve moved apartments, mum.”

“Oh, of course. That’s why my key didn’t work.”

It was the reason she moved.

“Mum, how did you get into my apartment?”

“A very nice neighbour of yours got one of his children to crawl through the tiny laundry window and let me inside the apartment. Now, where do you keep your wine glasses?”

Damn, thought Cheryl.

“In the glass cabinet. Now, why are you there?”

Cheryl’s relationship with her mother was different to her father. It was more like a patient acceptance. Cheryl’s mother had separated from her father since her birth. Her mother struggled to raise Cheryl and was always one rent payment beyond homelessness. She had no education and no skills, but she became an expert at exploiting the organisation. She collected unemployment benefits and avoided jobs. Then she discovered the benefits of having a disabled child and disabilities peppered Cheryl’s childhood medical history. When Cheryl grew old enough to understand what was happening, she stopped playing the game, so her mother took over and became an expert at displaying symptoms. She convinced the authorities to give her a disability pension, but she believed her lies and became addicted to her imaginary illnesses. She expected Cheryl to take care of her.

“My glandular fever has returned and I need you to take care of me.”

“Rubbish. This is the fifth time you’ve gotten sick.”

“Could you come home and make me a snack? I’m famished and far too exhausted. I’d do it myself, you know, if I could.”

“I can’t, so you will just have to survive till I get home. Then I’m taking you back to the retirement village.”

She hung up to the sound of curses ringing in her ear.

The last of the user complaints finished at seven in the evening. Cheryl left and the route to the stop took her past an old London inn called the Black Stallion. It was proud of its past, and showed posters of barmaids in immaculate black uniforms with white aprons and elegant hairdos, pouring beer for its patrons. In fact, Cheryl swore that one of them looked exactly like herself. Cheryl loved those posters and often wondered what a marvelous life they must have led.

She entered her apartment to the sight of her mother sprawled on the sofa with a wine glass dangling from her hand and emitting a gentle snoring sound. A wine bottle stood beside her. Cheryl sighed and left her there. If she tried to move her mother, it was probable she will be rewarded with a barrage of insults.

Cheryl woke in the morning to find her mother still there. The wine bottle was empty and a new one had replaced it. As she was going to leave for work, she prodded her mother. The expected stream of profanity erupted from her mouth.

“Where the hell am I?”

“You’re in my apartment, mum. I’m taking you back to the retirement village now.”

“But I’m ill.”

“You’ve got a hangover.”

“Can I at least have a coffee?”

“Be quick.”

“Can’t you make it?” she whined.

“Jesus!”

Cheryl breathed a sigh of relief when she dropped her off at the retirement village.

On her way back to the office, she stopped for a latte and heard a voice behind her.

“Boyfriend troubles?”

She groaned.

“How do you know I’ve got boyfriend troubles, dad?”

“You have that look of pained martyrdom, before you bawl on my shoulder.”

Cheryl sighed. He was right. Whenever something went wrong with her life, she went crying to daddy. She had a terrible love/hate relationship with her father. He constantly tried to manipulate her, yet was always there whenever she tripped and hurt herself.

“What do you want dad and before you ask I won’t lend you money, give you a bed for the night, free food or set up one of my girlfriends for you?”

“Your hard, daughter, hard.”

“You ran away when I was born and leached off me when you came back.”

Cheryl’s father had left her mother on the day Cheryl was born. Not willingly, but out of necessity. He owed a bookie twenty thousand pounds and fled to Europe. He returned six years later when the bookie died.

“You used to cheat me out of my school lunch money,” said Cheryl.

“I didn’t cheat. I just wanted to invest it for you.”

“Yeah. On the long shot in the fifth. Straight from the jockey’s mouth, you said. I can’t believe I fell for it.”

“You were only seven. I paid it back.”

“I repeat, what do you want?”

“Five hundred pounds.”

Cheryl laughed.

“You’ve got to be joking. Why do you want five hundred pounds?”

Cheryl’s father shuffled his feet.

“I’ve got a girlfriend, but she needs surgery and she doesn’t have the money,” he said, glancing at Cheryl.

“Isn’t she in the NHS?”

“Yes, but it’s a strange woman’s problem that only a specialist surgeon can fix. He costs a thousand pounds and I’ve scraped together five hundred,” he replied, again looking at Cheryl.

Cheryl examined her father. He was a skinny man, shorter than Cheryl, but his face always held an innocent, trusting expression. It had been one of his most valued assets and made him a large bundle of money.

“How come I’ve never met this mysterious girlfriend?”

“Its awkward to say this, but she fears you.”

“Of me! Why does she fear me?.”

“Oh, because you’re lovely, so intelligent, have a high-paying job and she’s only a cleaner and her clothes are years old and she’s getting old.”

“And you expect me to give you five hundred quid for a woman I’ve never seen.”

“I’ll pay it back.”

“Oh, nonsense. I’m still waiting for my lunch money you took. Why do you really want the money?”

Cheryl’s father gave an exasperated sigh.

“I owe the money to nasty people who have promised to break my legs if I don’t pay the money back by this Friday.”

“What did you do?”

“I convinced this guy to buy my betting program. Guaranteed to return a hundred percent profit in three months. My application had a bug in it and the punter lost his money in one month. Now he wants his money back.”

“Why didn’t you just tie him up in that legal mumbo jumbo you use?”

“He’s the head of a biker gang, which I didn’t know existed.”

Cheryl paused for a minute, then laughed.

“Dad, you used the same excuse six months ago when you screwed one thousand pounds out of me. Then I discover from one of your mates you blew it in a poker game.”

“Look, I’m sorry and I’m ashamed of that.”

“Bull shit. You boasted in the pub for a month how you screwed a thousand pounds from your tight-arsed daughter.”

“Um, well, sorry. But I’m not lying now.”

“Look, I’ll tell you what, Dad. Tell me what hospital you will be in and I’ll bring a bunch of grapes.”

“You’re a lousy daughter.”

“I know, dad,” she replied and went back to work.

Cheryl was in a good mood when she turned off her computer. It had been a brilliant day. She had gotten rid of her mother. The mainframe behaved itself; the users were polite, and the executives stayed away. To top it off, her manager gave her a small raise. Cheryl finished up earlier than usual, so she was going to surprise Darrin and give him a present he always liked. Cheryl had abandoned the notion of him moving in and just enjoy the sex.

She approached Darrin’s apartment door and knocked, wishing she had a key. Darrin had kept evading her requests for one. These awkward attempts to hide things in his life should have rung alarm bells, but his rippling muscles pushed those doubts out of her mind.

A person peered through the crack as the door opened.

“Oh my god, Cheryl. Oh shit. What are you doing here?”

Darrin’s reaction startled Cheryl.

“I‘m going to give you a present,” she said.

Cheryl was startled when a voice yelled, “Who’s at the door, honey?”

Cheryl kicked the door open. Standing next to the kitchen bar was a young woman wearing nothing but a thong.

“You bastard,” Cheryl yelled in his face, then stormed off in anger. Darrin chased after her, shouting, “but I love you.”

She stormed off to the bus stop in a foul mood. She had an overwhelming desire to find her father and cry on his shoulder. Why, she thought, don’t things change?

Then an old man dropped out of the sky.

“Oh dear, oh dear. My goodness,” said the little old man as he struggled to his feet, “we did it. By Jove, we did it.”

A speechless Cheryl stood staring at the old man.

“Quick, quick,” said the old man, grasping her wrist, “come and tell them I did it. Now jump.”

C