Short story: Where swallows dare…

While Mary cleans out her garden pond, she talks to the fish and reflects on the unpredictable way her life has changed

‘Ironic, isn’t it? Now it’s just me in a house that feels too big and you in a house that feels too small’

Mary sat back on her heels beside her empty garden pond. She wiped her muddy rubber gloves on the patchy grass and thought of the nice bottle of Pinot Grigio waiting for her when she had finished her task.

She had spent all morning scooping most of the pond’s water into two wheelie bins along with the waterlilies. Three large buckets were brimming with the smelly, slimy sludge she had scraped out of the bottom of the pond. An old baby bath held the rest of the water plus various, very sulky fish that were hiding under some floating plants. “Trust me, fellers,” she said to the brightly coloured goldfish who looked about as happy as her twins, Malcolm and Simon, used to look when she told them to clean their rooms. “It will be worth it in the end.” Mary smiled, guessing the fish didn’t believe her any more than the boys had.

Every year there seemed to be more fish in the pond. Well, of course they didn’t have the option of walking away or moving on, did they? She knew how they felt.

“Ironic, isn’t it?” she asked the fish. “Six years ago there were four adults living in a house that was too small for them and three fish in a pond that was too big. Now it’s just me in a house that feels too big and you in a house that feels too small.”

She peeled off one of her gloves and ran her fingers gently through the water. A large orange and black fish poked its nose out from beneath some of the greenery that she thought probably needed to be put back after the pond’s annual clean.

The pond had been the twins’ thing and they had cared for its inhabitants. What little she knew about its maintenance she had learned from them. She did know the large fish eyeing her suspiciously was a shubunkin and the bright orange ones with beautiful long tails were comets. She wasn’t so sure about the plants. Blanket weed and duckweed were bad, apparently, but anything else – provided it wasn’t brown and stinky – could go back in.

Looking around the rest of the garden, Mary felt her heart sink. It had always been her husband Derek’s pride and joy. He had kept an immaculate lawn and been very particular about keeping the shrubs and hedges trimmed and the weeds under control. Now it had an unkempt air about it. She felt a little guilty about letting it go to ruin since he had walked out of the home they’d shared for 25 years, but it was hard to find the time while she still had a job.

The orange and black fish glided up to investigate her trailing fingers. She told it: “Funny thing, eh? When the boys left home for uni, Derek and I were so optimistic that we would finally get round to doing the things we’d always dreamed of doing together. But that’s not how it worked out.” She glanced into the pond to see how much sludge was left at the bottom. There was about half an inch. Perfection, as Malcolm would say. Plenty there for the little critters to munch on. Mary turned her attention back to the bath where two comets were now nibbling at her fingers with their soft, puffy lips. She continued: “It wasn’t long before we realised there was actually nothing we really wanted to do together. And when Derek left, I thought now I can do all the things I’d like to do. But this,” she nodded towards the buckets of sludge, “was not exactly what I had in mind for my first week off in months.”

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of birds squabbling. Pulling

the ancient parasol closer to the bath to shield the fish from hungry beaks, Mary glanced up. Above her head, the telephone wire leading to the house was weighed down by a flock of swallows. She smiled at the impressive sight, wishing the boys were there to see it. They loved the wildlife that visited the garden and had put up nesting boxes and bat houses, insect hotels and bird feeders when they lived at home.

She watched as the swallows lined up in a relatively civilised manner, like the queue outside a department store before the doors opened for the January sales. Malcolm had told her once that this year’s fledglings were the first ones to gather, ready to fly south.

‘My own little fledglings flew away, too,’ she thought as she scooped up a fallen leaf gliding on the water’s surface.

Turning again to the goldfish, she said to them: “It could be worse, though. You lot eat most of your offspring if they don’t swim away quickly enough.”

The fish stared back at her as though saying: “And your point is?”

Still smiling, her thoughts turned again to Malcolm. After college he had landed an excellent position with a computer firm in London. She hadn’t wanted him to be so far away from home, but she had been very proud of him when he told her about his prospects as well as the opportunity he’d have to travel.

Simon had also ‘flown south’ to study zoology at university. Again, Mary had felt a piece of her heart go with him when she drove him there for his first term and said goodbye. They both phoned her most weeks, but rarely found time to come back for a visit. “Too busy being brilliant, Mum!” Malcolm had joked.

“Well, this won’t get anything useful done, will it?” Mary scolded herself. With some effort she tipped two wheelie bins of water into the pond, managing to soak one trouser leg in the process. Looking at the murky water, she decided that she would have to let it settle for a while before putting the pond’s inhabitants back in.

No longer interested in her, the fish had gone back into hiding, waiting patiently to be returned to their newly cleaned pond.

Having changed out of her soaked trousers, Mary poured herself a glass of chilled wine and perched on the little plastic bench outside the back door. The telephone line was full of chattering birds now. Very soon, she thought, they will be heading off on a new adventure. Off to somewhere exotic and warm, a place they had only heard of from other swallows.

Wondering how her own fledglings were getting on, she put her glass down and picked up her mobile. Going online, she began to look for some inexpensive places to stay near both her sons. Then she widened her search to look for short holiday breaks in sunnier climes.

‘A quick stopover with Simon,’ she thought, ‘then Malcolm. Then wherever the wind takes me. I’ll see if Deirdre next-door can pop in and feed the fish – she never goes away anywhere. I’m done with being a goldfish, hiding away in a backwater, tomorrow I’m going to fly south ahead of the swallows.”

About our author

Martin says that as a fulltime carer and part-time student, he finds writing stories a wonderful excuse to avoid housework. He is currently writing a historical novel.

The telephone line was full of chattering birds now. Very soon, she thought, they will be heading off on a new adventure… somewhere exotic