Uncorked

Two candle flames shimmer with desperation as an unwelcome draft eases them away. Any atmosphere present in this now darkened dining room is fizzling out of sight, like the life evacuating from a punctured inflatable. Gus reaches over the table with his shabby lighter to revive the romantic life support.

Gus’ thumb grows more numb by the second, as the spark of ignition dissipates before any fire can caress the candle wick. His forehead drips slightly with sweat, and his gasps of frustration build more in there presence with every failed flick of the tacky igniter. Finally, the flame bares fruit, quickly he brings back the light, and exhaling his relieved breath right onto the newborn flames, killing them once more in the process.

A hardened sigh of irritation is let loose the other side of the table. Gus can’t see her annoyance, he didn’t have to. Her disappointed expression was so common this week, that it had been seared into his brain like a branding iron left the imprint. He visualised the expression: folded arms, eyes rolling constantly like they’re freely unscrewing from her frowning face, the moment of tightly closed eyes, and vigorous rubbing of the temple to alleviate the urge to lob the nearest object.

After 10, or 20, or 30 failed flicks, and another blistering burn to his thumb, the flames are resuscitated once again. Gus leans back with caution, he rests back into his chair, but misses the seat almost entirely. Slamming his palms to the table with gripping fingers at the tightly tucked, white table cloth, he prevents his backside from contact with the floor, saving face only slightly. He wondered if perhaps it was better if he did fall, the schadenfreude gained from her may have been the ideal transaction of tonight? As all was clearly not well

This night was not going to plan in the slightest, these sort of gestures rarely went down without a bitter aftertaste. Gus had made the effort, he dressed smart for the occasion, albeit in his work attire and the tie slack. It was a subpar passing mark for appearance, but the effort might be worth at least a B. He mentally reassured himself that he’d done wonders on the atmosphere, with a busily set table, cluttered with their finest silverware and frosted wine glasses, lightly dusted off from years of neglect. The remnants of their past romances was laid out, like a museum of their lives together, the times once more glorious.

The best Jan could do was a dressing gown and wavy hair recently blow-dried and tied into a bunch like a mechanic’s tamed cables. Jan’s makeup was applied with minimal impact. If their appearance were literally graded, she has made peace with receiving an F. Her consent to this dinner appeared to stem from obligation than longing. A relaxing ambient CD played on the old, 90s era stereo situated on the drawer cabinet. The sound muffled through the speakers, and on occasion the odd beat would jump forward like it’s avoiding the cracks of the awkward scene built tonight.

A tall bottle of sparkling celebration towered over everything else on the spread, with the candles coming close second in height. It was a winning addition to the evening, a posh beverage held captive in a fogged out glass layered with ridged, tiny pyramids, the most sophisticated of alcohols that Gus could find for under £40. This bottle was a definite “judge by the cover” purchase, as the volume of this beverage would barely make an insect sway.

Nonetheless, it made Jan eager to get the evening kicked off, though the quest to breach the stubborn cork was clearly a task better suited to a tactical unit of servicemen, than the exhausted cilvil servant Jan had before her. He’d never done a minute of manual labour in his life. His exercise was pushing pencils, that was Gus, the man who punched paper hole and very little else. The corkscrew appeared to seep in fine, Gus just had trouble bringing it back up, he tugged with clear motivation, though it wouldn’t budge. If this evening was to be tolerated in the state that it’s in, then Jan needed her whistle dipped before the boring job talk became the core of their conversation.

“Are we having Champagne tonight, or?”, Jan asks rhetorically with a tone of impatience.

Gus yanks with strong conviction at the stubborn cork.

“You know, technically it’s not called champagne unless it comes from that region in France, this is actually sparkling wine”.

Jan bites back with more venom, “that’s very nice, but I didn’t ask for a history lesson, I wanted a bloody glass of champagne!”

Gus holts the yanking of the cork and pierces Jan with his glare. “One: it isn’t history, it’s geography. Two: I’ve been at work all day and I’m tired, this isn’t my core strength!”

“Just give it here”, Jan demands with a bark. She reaches out with a restless arm, as if she’s lifting an invisible sugar sack. Gus pulls away with a determined face, placing the bottle betwixt his thighs, one hand gripping to the bottle, the other still pulling at the screw. Gus’ face turns more rouge than the house red also on the table. His stress exhales with a whimpering, elongated moan. Every fibre holding Gus intact is working at maximum overtime, and with a burst of victory, the cork is dislodged. Barely a pop and absent of the messy pomp akin to formula 1 winners. The bottle seemed fine, the only thing that appeared to retain its dignity in that interaction.

Gus smiles, and shrugs off the win, as if the feat he just went to was no big deal. His relieved panting would call that into question, as would the drenched patches under his bland suit, of which were so sodden, it was as if he’d been caught in a torrential shower. He pours the clouded stream into two slightly steamed crystal glasses. He passes one over to Jan. She firmly grasps the glass and pulls back with some force. Gus raises his glass to toast the moment. “To twenty years”. He sips with a forced grin.

“Twenty five years”, Jan replies with slight annoyance.

“What’s that?”, Gus asks with confusion.

“You forgot the five years before that I put up with ya, it all counts, believe me”. Gus leans back with a deflated presentation. The facade was burning all around him, all that wasn’t aflame were the damn candles, extinguished once again by the hallway’s invasive breath.

Jan tuts aggressively, before preparing to arise from her seat, “Right, that’s it, I’m putting the big light on”.

Gus cries out with sudden energy, “Stop! I’ll sort it”, the air was now back in him for sure. “I promised a romantic dinner, and candles is part of that manual labour!”.

He storms off from the room, Jan is left to herself in the dark room, arms folded once more, the boredom so cumbersome her body feels slack, her sighs are more desperate. She wanted to try, but felt too exhausted to muster up the necessary etiquette, every gesture of her annoyance weighed heavy within her. She felt like a spoilt child, sulking at every exchange of this dud of a rekindling. All her life she had hoped for an idealistic portrait of her married life, much like that of the Richard Curtis romantic comedies. Instead she had to settle on a Ken Loach drama with a more upmarket house, a dishwasher drama.

She hoped to try this evening. He’s not that bad really, she needs to stop with the recriminations and look at the flowers, avoid the weeds, the man is clearly trying. It’s only as Gus strolls on in again that her mood plateaus back down to an apathetic hawk. This time Gus wields a flame torch and blasts each candle for 6 seconds a pop. His eyes are gleaming with satisfaction of every prolonged blast. He sits back down, raises his glass once more. “To twenty five years of putting up with me”. Jan reluctantly raises her glass again, “Guinness world record for longest pain in the neck”

They both sip, the only action the appeared to keep them united. Gus puts his glass down, he head lowers slightly, his eyes stare at the tablecloth, which glows from the candle light, the CD jumps a beat once again. He shakes his head. “25 years and one week more like…” His fingers stroke the rim of his glass, there’s a wetness from the friction that projects a momentary, nervous sounding squeak. Gus’ eyes return to Jan’s more sombre set face.

“I’m sorry Jan, this is all rubbish, it’s all just so wrong”. Jan’s tone alters to more compassionate, “it’s fine Gus, it is what it is, that famous, whatever you call it, eulogy”

“Tautology”, Gus says with a corrective tone. He brushes away his glib tone with a hand wave, “That’s not the point. The point is, this was meant to he nice. I took two hours from work and rushed all the way back to do this, I laid out all our best things, I just wanted us to try again. And it’s all just so limp!”

The tension builds with his words, he feels the drive to expel his feelings…

“ The point is, this shouldn’t be the best version of what we have. It’s like… It’s like holding onto an investment that sees no dividends. It’s like, it’s like… The point is…”. He takes a breath, the anxiety of the moment bubbles up inside him. He lets out his breath and hoovers more up with a jittering lip, Jan holds on, anticipating his words.

“The point is that it’s just all crumbling away and we’re cupping our hands in hopes of catching some residue. I don’t even know how we got here, it’s like you fall asleep in a hot bath and hours later you jump out of sleep in freezing water with no foam and disgustingly pruned body parts. The only thing you can do is get out of the water!”. Gus lowers his head into his cupped hands, he lets out a groan.

Jan watches with sadness, the flickering candles distracting her for a second, one blows out. The CD jumps once more, Gus bursts up with a temper. Stomping over to the stereo, he smashes his fist to the buttons, the music ceases. For once in his life, he punched more than paper. “Stupid piece of crap, I’ll toss it out later”, he says with a annoyed, but reassuring tone.

“Don’t worry about it”, Jan says with an idle inflection. Gus responds with flippancy, and the stress being wrung out of him with his words, “No, it’s a load of rubbish, I’ll chuck it out, the bins go out tomorrow morning. Tell you what, I might join them. Though even the dump might reject me”. He changes his stance to reflect a member of authority, “Sorry sir, you appear to be non-recyclable and landfill is far too good for you!”.

Jan has had enough, she slaps the table in frustration “Gus sit down, shut up and drink your sparkling wine or whatever bollocks you call it! I wanna say something!”

Gus reacts with the shock of a told off child, he moves timidly back to his chair and slowly rests in, with more caution than before. “What is it?”

“ I was angry with you this week for obvious reasons, but I wasn’t entirely, completely honest about it…”. She gulps her beverage until the glass is empty.

Gus brushes in a comment, “That’s a Tautology again, but okay, go on”.

She frowns with annoyance for a second, then returns to her point.

“The truth is I only remembered, because someone at work reminded me. Otherwise it would’ve just passed me by like it did you”.

Gus leans back, this time perplexed by her revelation “Then why didn’t you just say that? Why all of this drama?”

“BecauseI I didn’t want to admit it. I was kicking myself!”.

“But this isn’t about what we forgot, this is about what I just remembered. That stereo, I bought it a few years ago from a boot sale, probably about 10 years actually. It was a piece of old crap back then, but I suppose I brought for the sake of nostalgia or something. When I got home your eyes practically shone when you saw it. It was like reuniting you with lost family, you said you hadn’t seen one in years, neither had I. We excitedly put a CD in, ‘the best of country’ or something, just to see how it sounded. Right from the first track, it started jumping all over the place, all at random intervals. At first I was annoyed, I’d just spent 15 quid on a dodgy stereo. Then you, with a smile on your face, skipped the tracks to John Denver’s ‘Country Roads’, and for obvious reasons, we completely lost it. We laughed so hard, so much so, we kept it just for that reason. We only play ambient on it now cause there’s barely any beat to jolt it”.

“What makes you remember all of that over a bloody stereo?”, asks Gus with mild bewilderment.

“Because despite the problem, you made the best of it. It was what drew me to you in the first place, deep down I always appreciated the effort, even if it wasn’t quite a home run”.

The front door bell takes over the soundscape, “that’ll be the food”, says Gus, smiling slightly and appearing relieved at the timing of the arrival.

As he leaves the room. Jan stands up and walks to the cabinet which the stereo rests, she opens a drawer, pulling out a greetings card, with a giant heart and a finely written “CELEBRATIONS” message plastered on front. Opening it gently, she reads the text. It reads:

“I know we’ve not been talking, and sorry may not be enough, but I miss your sarcastic comments, so please at least have a row with me? I promise I’ll let you have the last word. And if that sweetens things, how about dinner this Friday? I can’t cook, but I order delivery like a champion. We haven’t acted in love for a while, so why not just role play until it feels right again. I still want you to want me. Love Gus xxxx”

The shunned card, is placed proudly on the cabinet facing the table. In walks Gus with a filled carrier bag and a square box. He smiles subtly at the card on display. “Chinese for me, pizza for you, the ultimate non-decisive compromise, I’ll trade a pot of chow mein for two slices of this Hawaiian”.

Jan’s smile matches Gus’ grin, “sounds lovely”.

“Right then…”, Gus gets to work to set up the food for dishing, messing up the finely planned table, he darts around like hyperactive bee catching free falling nectar. The candles die one last time, Jan caves and switches on the big light, brightening up the room in all of its glory.

“It’ll be nice to see our food as we eat I think, no need to this medieval malarky”, Jan says with confidence..

Gus stops suddenly, he looks to Jan for reassurance, “Will we be alright?…”

She puts her hand to his shoulder and grins with sympathy, “let’s refill the bath and see”.

Her face inflames with excitement “Let’s find the John Denver CD!”