Poetry Magazines - The best collection of poetry magazines online - Simon Armitage

   All right, so I was on the verge of panic, I admit it. Who wouldn’t be, having heard what I’d just heard? It was the middle of the night and I was lying in bed next to Zadie, my wife. She was breathing noisily, and I was taking some deep breaths myself in an attempt to ease the discomfort of what I took for indigestion. That’s when I heard it, as clear and as bowel-churning as any death knell:

   ‘You’ve got ten minutes’.

   ‘What the hell!’ I sat bolt upright and looked around for whoever had spoken, even though I knew whoever it was wasn’t of this world. Then I looked at the clock; it was three a.m. dead.

   My heart was beating treble time. Was that because of what I’d heard or had I heard those words because my heart was beating too fast? Like I said, I was on the verge of panic.

   What was I supposed to do? Ten minutes wasn’t exactly a reasonable amount of notice, if you asked me. I’d been doing my best in this sodding life for fifty-five years, surely I deserved more than ten minutes notice to quit? It would take that long for the panic to subside! And how could it subside when I was about to be plucked from my bed and taken to God knows where? I desperately needed someone to talk to for some comfort and reassurance.

   ‘What are you doing?’ Zadie asked, half-awake

   ‘Nothing. Go to sleep’, I replied, lying down again.

   There was no way I was going to tell her about it; I didn’t need her hysteria - I was having a hard enough time containing my own. Zadie wasn’t known for her calm and silent comfort. Being of Greek extraction she preferred screaming to God for mercy. I didn’t need that.

   What I would have liked was to pull her nightdress up and bury my head in her ample thighs; it would have been dark and warm and comforting down there. I might not have been able to hide from whatever it was that was coming for me but it would have gone a long way to making the end more bearable. But I knew damn well that if I tried anything like that she’d scream even louder for God’s mercy than if I told her I was dying.

   What could I do? I certainly didn’t have time to get round to Jenny’s place, even if I’d wanted to, which I didn’t. Well, she wasn’t much different from Zadie, slightly better-preserved, but more demanding by the day. She even said she wanted me to take her on a cruise a few weeks back. How on earth was I supposed to manage that? It was difficult enough to arrange the weekends in Brighton. Besides, I no longer wanted to take her anywhere. The truth is the affair had been going on too long and I should have terminated it months ago.

   I shuddered when I realised that it was about to be terminated for me.

   What I really would have loved was to cuddle someone like young Deirdre at the office. She was our twenty-two-year-old receptionist; a gorgeous little blonde who had been in my thoughts and fantasies a lot of late. Oh, yes, she had often done indescribably wonderful things to me as I slipped into unconsciousness next to Zadie. But, being so young, would she understand my present fear? Let’s face it, the fear of dying is for old people; she was known for her looks, not her sympathy. A few weeks back, after a boozy lunch, I had made a pass at her by squeezing her bum in the lift. She had responded by farting; that was definitely not what I needed now.

   I frantically searched my memory for women I’d known and, after bumping blindly into some half-remembered faces like a drunk staggering down the road, I inevitably came across Effie. Oh God, Effie, I’m so sorry. Whenever I’m feeling particularly bad, Effie always bobs to the surface of my conscience like a bloated corpse. She was the very last person I wanted to think of at the moment. Wasn’t it bad enough having to die without having to die feeling guilty? Effie had been a young virgin when I was a callous youth trying for notches on the bedpost. I didn’t rape her; but I surely exerted more pressure than I should have. I have often heard it said that the most common regret among men is not having had more sexual encounters. Well, let it be known that my sexual encounter with Effie was and would always be my profoundest regret. If only I had time to tell her I was sorry.

   Maybe I should at least apologise to Zadie? I had cheated on her so many times. Perhaps I could unburden myself before it was too late? I didn’t need to tell her anything specific but I could at least offer a general apology and say something pleasant so she’d remember me with kindness. Maybe she would be so surprised that for once in her life she would understand my need for silent love? Maybe she would hold me gently in her arms? Or maybe she could phone for an ambulance and get me to hospital in time to save me? God, why didn’t I think of that earlier? Why had I been wasting precious time?

   I looked at the clock. It was ten minutes past. That was the last thing I remembered.