by Anita Goodfellow
Paper
Happy Anniversary, darling. He kisses her cheek and hands her a paper cut-out of a man and woman, their hands linked. She sticks it on the fridge door. Hours later, as she watches his dinner burn, she notices a small rip in the woman.
Cotton
The crimson spots on the sanitary towel are unmistakable. We’ll keep trying she says, but his disappointment is visceral. She’s sorry. Of course she’s sorry.
Leather
The chestnut-coloured belt she had chosen for him so carefully, cuts through the air and bites her skin. Afterwards he cries. It will be okay.
Linen
She wears the bandage around her arm. Eczema, she will tell anyone who asks. Nobody does. So she hides the scars just in case and plans her escape. But where will she go?
Wood
As the new life in her womb grows, so does hope. He’s changed. Now he spurns the pub and spends his evenings in the shed at the bottom of the garden. A surprise he says. And when months later he presents his new son with the rocking horse he has carved she starts to believe his promises again.
Iron
Raised, hissing, coming closer to her face until he laughs and pulls it away. All because of a misplaced crease. The grip of his hand as he drags her to the bedroom. The cry of the baby awakening.
Copper
The colour of their son’s hair. The way it shimmers in the light brings tears to her eyes. Ben looks like her and nothing like his father as he often reminds her. A simple statement laden with accusation. She knows she has to act.
Bronze
The stair rods were left by the previous owners. The top one lost its screw years ago, but she won’t mention it to him. Instead she removes the second screw so the carpet is loose. She always holds Ben’s hand whenever they climb the stairs.
Pottery
He lays unmoving at the bottom of the stairs. Is he pretending? But then she notices the odd angle of his head and how his left leg is tucked under his body. Splintered, like the clay plate he’d smashed against the wall the week before, the pieces shattering over the lino like broken dreams.
Tin
She gives the container a shake. It still smells of coffee. The ashes shift before settling once more. Not much to show for a life. She returns it to the windowsill as Ben runs into the room and hugs her legs. The removal men have finished. The house is empty – a blank palette for the next occupants to paint their life on its walls. Look mummy in his fist is the paper cut-out, crumpled and ragged, the hands untethered.
Anita Goodfellow has an MA in creative writing from Bath Spa University. Her stories have been published in anthologies and been successful in various competitions including Flash 500, Trip Fiction and Cranked Anvil. Her draft novel Epiphany won the Retreat West 2024 Opening Lines Competition. In 2025 she published her first short story collection The Pigeon Wallah and Other Stories.
Photo by Angelo Moleele on Unsplash
