{"id":2090,"date":"2024-06-20T08:56:28","date_gmt":"2024-06-20T08:56:28","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/?p=2090"},"modified":"2024-06-20T08:56:32","modified_gmt":"2024-06-20T08:56:32","slug":"purgatory","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/purgatory\/2090\/","title":{"rendered":"Purgatory"},"content":{"rendered":"\n
\"\"<\/figure>\n\n\n\n

Rees\u2019 Motorpark, out of town industrial estate, 8am.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            They begin to arrive, hand their keys over the counter to Jed \u00ad\u2013 I\u2019m here to help<\/em> \u2013 then sit down at plastic tables in a foyer overshadowed by a vast showroom where new electric Fords gather before them like a row of tanks.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u2018Annual service,\u2019 explains a skeletal old boy, leather jacketed. Former biker?<\/em> Jed ponders. \u2018Aye, down here on the paperwork, Mr Holland. Can I give you a token for the coffee machine?\u2019 \u2018Door latch,\u2019 says the next in the queue, a woman in a trouser suit that is nearly as creased as her face. Jed nods politely.<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n

            At 8.30am the tv is turned on by one of the many Rees\u2019 hands on the large site. The place works like clockwork. A crewcut man in a vis jacket, his back to the loud tv, flicking through his mobile, mutters to himself, \u2018This is costing me money.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Next to him is a fellow in his forties, green blazered and bereted, medals<\/p>\n\n\n\n

dripping from his left lapel. He is riveted by the D Day eightieth anniversary from<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Normandy on the screen, as though reliving an event he was at, or wishes he had<\/p>\n\n\n\n

been at. His grandfather had participated and survived. From that heroic man came<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

your sozzled<\/em> father. Them\u2019s the contradictions. God bless you Tad-cu.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Contrasting with the mature bodies is a young woman, sneezing constantly, spray painting the air. Mucous gushes from her nose in yellow tumults, her breast feeling as inflamed as a robin\u2019s. Another cold! You surely have the constitution of an economy price deckchair: collapse ever imminent.<\/em> She touches her tummy, her first child snug within, thankfully safe.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u2018You\u2019ll be OK servicing the car?\u2019 Sam had asked this morning. Then he\u2019d kissed her, his lips light as breeze.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u2018You\u2019ll get my cold, Sam. Be off work for months, you will.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u2018Look forward to it!\u2019 His brown eyes roast chestnuts on a fire. The warmth he has for her is undeniable.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u2018Will we always be this happy?\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u2018How long did the Roman empire last?\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u2018Couple of years?\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u2018Centuries, Karen.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u2018You won\u2019t change, will you? After the baby is born?\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            His answer had nearly made her late for Rees\u2019. Mmm, well it was a nice way to wake up. She studied the congregation, some stoically patient, some bored. All killing time. Not her, she isn\u2019t waiting, she is growing with, communing with, the little flower inside her, by the second, minute, hour.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

             By eleven the lucky ones are departing motor limbo. Cadaverous Mr Holland drives his car away, pretending he is young and still the owner of a Harley Davidson motorbike. The street feels tarmacking terrific, you are lifted by grace. For a service-free year you are wedded to the road: lust, love, light. Buried in your brain a sense you will have to do this in twelve months, another eternity morning, a penance for some past sin. Squash the thought, throttle down. The open road. You\u2019re free!<\/p>\n\n\n\n

<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Rees\u2019 Motorpark, out of town industrial estate, 8am.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            They begin to arrive, hand their keys over the counter to Jed \u00ad\u2013 I\u2019m here to help<\/em> \u2013 then sit down at plastic tables in a foyer overshadowed by a vast showroom where new electric Fords gather before them like a row of tanks.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u2018Annual service,\u2019 explains a skeletal old boy, leather jacketed. Former biker?<\/em> Jed ponders. \u2018Aye, down here on the paperwork, Mr Holland. Can I give you a token for the coffee machine?\u2019 \u2018Door latch,\u2019 says the next in the queue, a woman in a trouser suit that is nearly as creased as her face. Jed nods politely.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            At 8.30am the tv is turned on by one of the many Rees\u2019 hands on the large site. The place works like clockwork. A crewcut man in a vis jacket, his back to the loud tv, flicking through his mobile, mutters to himself, \u2018This is costing me money.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Next to him is a fellow in his forties, green blazered and bereted, medals<\/p>\n\n\n\n

dripping from his left lapel. He is riveted by the D Day eightieth anniversary from<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Normandy on the screen, as though reliving an event he was at, or wishes he had<\/p>\n\n\n\n

been at. His grandfather had participated and survived. From that heroic man came<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

your sozzled<\/em> father. Them\u2019s the contradictions. God bless you Tad-cu.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Contrasting with the mature bodies is a young woman, sneezing constantly, spray painting the air. Mucous gushes from her nose in yellow tumults, her breast feeling as inflamed as a robin\u2019s. Another cold! You surely have the constitution of an economy price deckchair: collapse ever imminent.<\/em> She touches her tummy, her first child snug within, thankfully safe.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u2018You\u2019ll be OK servicing the car?\u2019 Sam had asked this morning. Then he\u2019d kissed her, his lips light as breeze.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u2018You\u2019ll get my cold, Sam. Be off work for months, you will.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u2018Look forward to it!\u2019 His brown eyes roast chestnuts on a fire. The warmth he has for her is undeniable.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u2018Will we always be this happy?\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u2018How long did the Roman empire last?\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u2018Couple of years?\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u2018Centuries, Karen.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u2018You won\u2019t change, will you? After the baby is born?\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            His answer had nearly made her late for Rees\u2019. Mmm, well it was a nice way to wake up. She studied the congregation, some stoically patient, some bored. All killing time. Not her, she isn\u2019t waiting, she is growing with, communing with, the little flower inside her, by the second, minute, hour.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

             By eleven the lucky ones are departing motor limbo. Cadaverous Mr Holland drives his car away, pretending he is young and still the owner of a Harley Davidson motorbike. The street feels tarmacking terrific, you are lifted by grace. For a service-free year you are wedded to the road: lust, love, light. Buried in your brain a sense you will have to do this in twelve months, another eternity morning, a penance for some past sin. Squash the thought, throttle down. The open road. You\u2019re free!<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

At 8.30am the tv is turned on by one of the many Rees\u2019 hands on the large site. The place works like clockwork. A crewcut man in a vis jacket, his back to the loud tv, flicking through his mobile, mutters to himself, \u2018This is costing me money.\u2019<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"rop_custom_images_group":[],"rop_custom_messages_group":[],"rop_publish_now":"initial","rop_publish_now_accounts":{"facebook_10158782359051062_103813597863211":"","twitter_1225722811282530305_1225722811282530305":""},"rop_publish_now_history":[],"rop_publish_now_status":"pending","jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":true,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","default_image_id":0,"font":"","enabled":false},"version":2}},"categories":[1129,1305],"tags":[1003,631,95,8,7,161,20,1317,116,31,1319,1318,129,1216,139],"class_list":["post-2090","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-1129","category-june-2024-retribution","tag-cold","tag-down","tag-had","tag-he","tag-her","tag-here","tag-his","tag-jed","tag-like","tag-man","tag-next","tag-rees","tag-them","tag-tv","tag-woman"],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/pbrNJE-xI","jetpack_likes_enabled":true,"jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"post_mailing_queue_ids":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2090","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=2090"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2090\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":2092,"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2090\/revisions\/2092"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=2090"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=2090"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=2090"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}