Maisie and George - Short Story

This is a short story I wrote for a writing competition with the theme of 'openings'. Bad experiences in English at secondary school made me believe that I wasn't good at writing, something that I had loved doing since I was a child, and as a result I didn't do much writing for many years. Although I didn't make the shortlist in this competition, I'm still proud of myself for trying and I hope to try again in future competitions. Anyway, here is my story, I hope you enjoy it... 

She opened the doors to his wardrobe. It had been three months now and Maisie was only just summoning the motivation to sort through his belongings. As soon as she opened the doors, a waft of his scent hit her and almost sent her spiralling back into the depressed haze she had been in since George closed his eyes for the very last time. 

 

In front of her were columns of neatly hanging shirts, divided by colour, with his suits in their place to the left. All except his favourite: the blue, professionally tailored one he had treated himself to when he took retirement, which he was now wearing for eternity in his final resting place. The wardrobe’s drawers opened with the squeaking you often get with old pine, and inside Maisie saw George’s tidily folded trousers, shorts and jumpers. The second drawer contained his underwear and socks, also arranged as smartly as is possible with such things. The tidiness of the wardrobe suited George to a tea. An engineer practically from birth, with a tidy, ordered and logical approach to life – a perfect complement to Maisie’s naturally chaotic nature. Maisie knew if she were to open her wardrobe she would be greeted by her clothes in disarray, the kind where it takes you half an hour just to find the skirt you want.

 

With a heavy sigh, Mary got to work emptying the wardrobe and packing up George’s clothes for donating. As she removed each item, she paused a moment remembering all the good memories she and George had shared related to it. 

 

One shirt, pale cream with delicate flowers patterned across it, brought back memories of a hot, summer’s day when they had gone for an impromptu picnic down by the local river. Maisie remembered George’s flushed cheeks as he lent across the blanket to kiss her, and the butterflies that were darting around their heads, almost like a Disney movie. 

 

A black suit with crisp seams ironed into the centre of the trousers reminded her of their good friends, Edward and Susan’s, golden wedding anniversary party. That was the last event George had ever managed to attend before he got too sick. For those few joyful hours Maisie had almost been able to forget that George was unwell, and it felt as if everything was like the good old days.

 

Once the hangers were cleared, Maisie sat on the bed physically and emotionally exhausted. A lone tear rolled down her cheek. She had cried so much the first week after his death Maisie was surprised to find she still had tears left. In that moment, she realised she would likely always have tears left to mourn her dearest George. No amount of crying would ever be enough to wash away the pain she felt at his loss. 

 

Whilst all these thoughts ran through her head, she remained in her position on the bed staring at the newly emptied rail. As she gazed into the wardrobe, she noticed something she had missed before. Tucked away in a shadowy back corner was what looked like an old shoebox. ‘How strange’, thought Maisie, in 50 years of marriage she could not recall ever having seen this box before. She chuckled quietly to herself as she realised George was still managing to surprise her even now. She eased herself off the bed, joints cracking and muscles protesting, and made her way over to the wardrobe. The box was dark green in colour and there wasn’t any writing or images on the outside to indicate what it contained. Maisie picked it up, it was surprisingly heavy, and carried it over to the bed. 

 

She sat back down and tentatively lifted the lid. A sheet of paper came with the lid then gently floated down to the floor. As Maisie bent over to pick it up she saw that it had George’s handwriting on it. As she drew it nearer to herself she was able to make out the words:

 

‘Dearest Maisie,

 

If you are reading this it means I have now moved on and been forced to leave you. I sincerely apologise for being the first to go, I know you always told me that you had to go first, but I’m afraid you don’t always get your way my love. 

 

These last 50 years with you have been a gift I could never have dreamed myself lucky enough to receive. You took an awkward, shy and reserved young man and turned him into an awkward, shy adult who actually knows how to have fun from time to time. Your untamable nature has been a true delight, and challenge, and I wouldn’t have wished my life any other way.

 

Enclosed in this box are some items from precious memories that I have kept from my time with you. These are now yours to do with as you wish. I have also included a little surprise at the bottom of the box for you; you know how I always like to surprise you.

 

All my love,

George’

 

As she read Maisie let out a small gasp and her hand flew to her mouth. She felt fresh tears swelling behind her eyes and a deep ache in her chest. She looked inside the box and cast her eyes over the rest of the contents. It was full to the brim of various items, all neatly labelled in George’s neat handwriting. 

 

She lifted out the first item and inspected it. It was a serviette for a tearooms called ‘Rose Tearooms’. Puzzled, she looked at the note and realised it was from the tearooms where they had their very first date. Maisie had never imagined George would save something like this, for while she knew he loved her dearly, he was never really one for sentimentality. Or so she had believed. 

 

They had met at university. He was studying engineering, naturally, and she was studying nursing. Their first interaction was when Maisie had literally bumped into him in the queue for the cafeteria. As she apologised emphatically he had blushed and stared at his shoes. Thinking he was cute, she decided to ask him on a date, a move not uncharacteristic for Maisie, to which he agreed, though she thought possibly out of politeness more than anything. The next day they met at Rose Tearooms and, as Maisie chattered away, George started to slowly come out of his shell, even becoming quite animated at times, and by the end of their date they were officially going steady. 

 

The next item Maisie saw was a pressed white rose. She knew immediately what it was without needing to read the tag. She remembered insisting to her mother that she simply had to have white roses at her wedding, nothing else would do. Her mother was trying to make her have a bouquet of carnations or something less expensive, but Maisie knew what she wanted, and what she wanted was white roses. In the end she got her way, as she tended to, and she had the most beautiful wedding bouquet. ‘I can’t believe he preserved my roses’, she thought to herself, ‘not even I thought to do that’.

 

Next she found the admissions tag from when she had been in hospital giving birth to their daughter, Eleanor. Until that moment she had never imagined a happier day was possible than their wedding day, but holding her and George’s child in her arms made her overflow with joy beyond imagining. There was nothing more beautiful to her in this world than this living physical manifestation of their love, with her tiny fingers and red, scrunched up face. The note George had attached read ‘The happiest day of our lives, no further explanation needed’.

 

These days Eleanor was a busy executive of something-or-other down in the hustle and bustle of London. She had inherited her dad’s brains and her mum’s energy, and both she and George were immensely proud. Eleanor phoned every week without fail, but she was always so busy Maisie hardly ever got to see her. Since the funeral Maisie had only seen her daughter once, and that was only because Maisie was in such a deep depression she couldn’t even get up to answer the phone, so Eleanor had rushed home to check on her. Maisie understood though, busy executives don’t get much time outside of work, but she knew there was still a strong bond of love between them.

 

Looking through the items Maisie found more and more items that brought back strong memories of happy times: ticket stubs from holidays, anniversary cards, a brochure from Eleanor’s graduation, there was even a pressed daisy from their picnic by the river. 

 

Eventually she reached the bottom of the box. As she sat on the bed, with all the precious memorabilia from a life shared strewn around her, she pulled out a sealed envelope. She lifted the flap to open George’s final surprise for her…