Glitch (The Write Awards 2013 Winner)

Glitch - Chapter 32 (Andie's Epilogue)

She winced at the echoing clatter of knocks at the front door of her home . 

It had been a mistake. At the time it seemed that the only way to plug the incessant requests from flooding in was to cave in. Just once. Besides, the woman had seemed very genuine over the phone. Nothing like the other parasites hoping to squeeze out drama enhanced by blatant lies. And the woman had reaffirmed the idea that lending her voice on a one-off occasion would end the circus of journalists circling around in the hopes of gleaming mere trickles of information. Just this once and then she would be left alone. With that last burst of motivation she lifted herself out of the armchair; grimacing as her bones refused to cooperate with the movement.

"Andrea Duncan?” The interviewer fitted the image Andie had predicted within her mind. Mousy hair hastily tied up in a bun, very slender and grasping one of those machines under her arm. The new technologies had come flooding in shortly after the barrier of foreign communication had been lifted. New foods, new cultures, new ideas seemed to be in constant supply. They were calling it a renaissance. Andie had never been able to keep up with it all. The presence of the machine niggled at Andies trust even further and suddenly an overwhelming voice was pleading for her to put an end to the meeting. But it was too late now. The interviewer was already craning her neck to get a better insight to the interior of Andie's home.

"Its Andie,” she corrected while reluctantly holding the door ajar to welcome the guest into her home.

"You don’t have many neighbours do you?” the interviewer said in reference to the empty stretch of rural fields radiating out into the distance. No other dwelling blemished the view from Andie’s front door. She was well and truly alone with her thoughts here. She had even purchased the surrounding fields to make absolutely sure that her retirement into the cottage would not be disturbed.

"That’s the way I prefer it.” Andie didn’t feel like explaining that the isolation was intended as a continued punishment for her mistakes. She was better off away from others. Poison. That had been the word used to describe her influence. It was her perpetual burden now to keep her toxicity away from others. The interviewer didn’t question the response. She only pulled an expression of bemusement at why anyone would want to live so alone before continuing into the house.

"Tea?” Andie offered.

“Milk and one teaspoon of sugar please.” The interviewer had already begun to explore the mantle of the fireplace causing Andie some reluctance in leaving her guest alone in the living room. But she had already offered the tea and so there was no other choice. She was forced to leave the visitor unsupervised as she tended to the tea in the kitchen.

Andie located her usual mug and was forced to quickly rinse the dust of a spare one. She couldn’t remember the last time it had been used. The kettle seemed to purposely take its time; causing Andie to scowl in annoyance as she rattled her nails against the surface top. Eventually she grew too impatient to wait for the click signalling the completed boiling of the water. She unplugged the kettle prematurely, judging the water to be hot enough, and proceeded to make the tea in a hasty clatter of spoon colliding against china in a careless rush.

Her fears were confirmed to be true as she walked in to find the interviewer about to pry into a cabinet drawer. Her hand lingered on the handle; about to discover some of the most delicate collection of items Andie owned. A clipping from a newspaper, at least thirty years old now, about a couple who had got married. They had taken her name. Something the newly established media grasped hold of and broadcast with gleaming pride. Beneath that lay the even older photograph of a man she had once known. Eyes staring defiantly down the lens of the camera. They shared those eyes. Andie had noticed that almost immediately.

 "That’s an abuse of my privacy.” The cups settled on the table with a rattle thunderous clinks as Andie’s gaze seared disapproval directly at the interviewer. She hurriedly stepped away from the drawer and to scuttled over to her machine she had laid out on the couch.

"Erm… do you have a place where I could plug in my laptop?” The interviewer had become flustered and began to trip over her own words in embarrassed shame. Andie silently gestured to a plug behind the couch as she lowered herself onto the armchair. Her frown unrelenting.

The interviewer buzzed around the plug for a few moments before returning to her seat and neatly placing the machine onto her lap.

"There has been a lot of controversy over your actions. Can you share with me your thoughts about the morality of your choices? Particularly in reference to the Glitch movement?” She had shot straight for the jugular. Andie gripped the handle of her favourite mug all the more tightly as she carefully plucked an answer from her mind.

“I deeply regret the hurt I caused. However, given the chance, I would do the same thing again. It was the only conceivable way of derailing the Government and I succeeded. A new generation is living a life of freedom and that required a sacrifice. I made a difficult decision. It wasn’t easy.”

The interviewer only nodded as the scrabble of the keyboard noted down Andie’s response.

"Do you keep in contact with Mr. and Ms. Elton?” This question was even harder than the last. The reply tasted bitter in her mouth as if the decay of the relationship flavoured her words.

"I have tried… but my attempts have been unsuccessful. Last I heard they had celebrated their fifth wedding anniversary. That would have been twenty years ago now. I have no idea if they are still together. I like to think they are… but you never know.” She took a gulp of her tea to disguise the wobble in her voice. Her mind fluttered to the drawer stuffed full of letters; all returned unopened. Even after all these years she had not thawed. She was the last surviving memoranda of her father for Andie. A comfort now lost.

At the time she thought they would all see sense. Eventually they would all understand. Freya would cool down. Mat would apply reason and see sense. But only Bryn had ever answered her pleas for acknowledgement. And even then the atmosphere had been frosted by a clinging shadow of unspoken betrayal. She had received an invitation to his wedding years ago. But she hadn’t attended. By then she had given up and accepted her punishment. A lifetime of isolation to tread the spectral paths of her mistakes. She despised living and feared death. Caught in a limbo of continuous misery and a dread of his judgement when they were finally reunited in death. After all, she had earned the hatred of the daughter he was devoted to.

"Are you lonely here?” The journalist broke through the depths of her thoughts and hauled Andie back into the room.

"Very.” And suddenly the creep of tears had caught up with her. The tremble of her hands rattled the mug as she placed it down on the table top. “I think this has been a mistake,” she said shortly; in order to avoid the tears breaking through her tone.

"Excuse me?” The journalist features leapt into a picture of puzzlement.

“I overestimated my strength. I’m afraid I am going to have to ask you to leave.”

"Andrea! There is no need to…”

“Leave!” She surprised herself with the animalistic roar of her demand. Her voice crackled under the intensity of the volume as the word tore along her throat and burst out into the room. The journalist did not need telling twice. Throwing her belongings together, she had disappeared out the room leaving Andie to listen to the comforting shudder of the closing door.

The relief had worn out in moments. Without the presence of her guest the room had plunged back into its usual cell. A lonely old woman waiting for death. The ticking of a grandfather’s clock counting away her time. It occurred to Andie that she must be the only person in the country still hanging on the looming threat of a countdown.

“The broken heart. You think you will die, but you just keep living, day after day after terrible day.”