Golden Gloom - POOR - Part One

A stand-alone sequel of sorts to The Golden Gloom – RICH.

A Life of Wealth

1

Barbara

“I seem to have mislaid my keys,” said Charles, holding up his trousers and feeling through both pockets.

“Where?”

“I don’t know. I had them when we parked the BMW at the airport, obviously. They’ve gone missing since then.”

“Oh dear.” I smiled at him and shrugged. “They can’t have gone far. Look around.”

Charles started to search and I watched him for a moment before turning back to my Good Housekeeping magazine. We’d been married for twenty years and there weren’t many surprises anymore but he was a good man and one whom I appreciated. He was tall and distinguished, sitting the right side of fifty; six years older than I was. His hair was receding and he was rather portly but he was the head of his company and we were extremely wealthy.

And I couldn’t talk. At forty two I was rather overweight myself but I was happy and comfortable with it. While Charles hunted round in a short sleeved shirt and underpants looking slightly comical, I reclined against the headboard of our magnificent bed in the hotel, enjoy the sultry Cretan heat dressed in a strappy top and shorts. Yes, I was rather on the chubby side but at my age with two children at university I didn’t have anything to prove. My life involved little more than chatting to friends, swimming in our outdoor pool and doing my hobbies.

“They aren’t here,” said Charles, calling off the search and getting dressed for dinner instead. “They’re gone. Perhaps my pocket was picked.”

“Well they aren’t going to do anyone any good here in Crete,” I replied. “Don’t worry about it. What’s the worst that could happen? We can call Joanne, our cleaner to have another set cut for the house and let us in when we get back.”

“That’ll still leave the issue of the car but there are spare keys at home. We’ll just have to get a taxi from the airport.”

“We can afford it.”

Charles grumbled, doing up his shoes, making me giggle a little. For such an eminent businessman he could be awfully petulant if he chose to be; though he also had a wonderful confidence and strength about him. That was why I loved him more than anything.

We made our way out to the lift. We had the penthouse suite, which was rather breathtakingly expensive, but it kept us in the clouds and well above the riffraff. It was the most expensive hotel in the resort but there was still an... undesirable element on the lower levels.

Charles and I spent a fair amount of our time travelling. We’d been to most of the exotic locales around the world. His being the CEO of such a profitable business meant he could take breaks whenever he wished and he tended to work while we were away anyway, leaving me to enjoy myself by the pool sipping cocktails and sunning myself.

We’d booked a table at the best restaurant in the resort. We walked to it and took our seats overlooking the sea with a view of the sun setting into the ocean We ordered our appetisers and some wine and watched the lowering light; the changing tones in the sky.

It was lovely to just sit and chat about our day. Charles was still worried about his keys but I assured him it would be fine. Even if we had lost them back home the police had been asked to keep an eye on the property and we were perfectly safe. Nothing that happened back home could ruin our holiday here.

A dark-skinned waitress came to refresh our drinks after we’d sat for a while and I watched her for a moment as she carefully and humbly did her job. She was far slimmer than I was and had beautiful olive skin. I wondered for a minute what it would be like to do her job. Would I enjoy meeting people from all round the world and enjoying this luscious weather without and end in sight?

As I sat imagining this, the light dimmed a little then dimmed some more, taking on a succulent golden quality. I turned round, perplexed, to see the source of it but it was nothing mysterious: just a scant cloud passing in front of the setting sun on the otherwise clear evening.

It was lovely being here and I gripped Charles’s hand under the table, enjoying his quiet company as the waitress went away. We had such a good life together. There wasn’t anything about it that I would have changed.

I certainly wouldn’t have preferred to be her.

2

Charles

I sat back in my chair at the end of my meal and patted my portly belly happily.

Barbara was chattering away about her latest embroidery project and I zoned out, nodding from time to time. I’d learned from long experience that she didn’t need me to engage in what she was saying; she just wanted a sounding board.

I was thinking about some reports that needed going over and considering going back to the hotel room for a while to work on them. Such was the downside of running a corporation but I did enjoy it. I liked the feeling of power and control and I enjoyed the challenge of keeping all the disparate elements working together smoothly. I was respected throughout the community and had received numerous business awards.

It was a good life that I’d lived. I’d done well for myself. And considering I’d grown up on the narrow streets of Barton I’d gone a long way! There was a saying in Barton that once you were in then you’d never get out – it would always suck you back – but the reality wasn’t quite as cut and dried. Some of the brighter children were able to pull away and build a life for themselves away from the factory drudge and the blackened buildings. Our mansion was in Farley, the nicest suburb of town and as far from Barton as it was possible to get… socially speaking.

I poured Barbara another glass of wine as she rounded up the plans for her next big hobby project and gave her a warm smile. “What would you like to do tomorrow darling?”

“Well…” Her eyes lit up. “I think we should hire a yacht and go out to the islands. I’ve heard there are dolphins out there. We can get the hotel to make up a picnic for us with some champagne and just spend some quality time together, away from your laptop.”

I flashed my eyebrows. “Is that a complaint I detect?”

“From me? Never. But it would be nice to see a little more of you sometimes.”

“Well you don’t get the riches if you don’t put in the work,” I said. “You might not be quite so keen to spend time with me if it meant giving up the house and the cars and the holidays.”

She fell quiet and I looked beyond her at the street. There was a young woman with a baby on the side of the road; a local trying to sell corn on the cob from a little wagon. She looked worn and desperate but she doubtless had a simpler life than I did. She was pretty and very young but her clothes were worn and threadbare.

As I observed her, the light shifted until she appeared almost to be glowing with a creamy golden light. I went on watching for several moments, fascinated by her slender arms and legs, her pretty face and her long curly hair as the glow became brighter around her. It was an odd and perplexing effect, but it was only a trick of the setting sun. She held up her arm to shield her eyes from it and I turned away, forgetting her.

The ordinary people were interesting to look at from time to time but their lives were a far cry from ours.

They were the bees and I was the beekeeper.

And the honey they produced really was delicious. 

People Watching

3

Barbara

Charles excused himself to go back up to the hotel room to do his work but I decided to stay down at the restaurant and do a bit of people watching. I didn’t resent him too much. He was the one that kept a grand roof over our heads and took us on these fabulous holidays. Being a work widow was a small price to pay for that... at least that was how I rationalised it.

I moved closer to the narrow street alongside the restaurant and gave my glasses a clean to make sure I had a good view. Without them I was literally as blind as a bat; the lenses were several feet thick. The evening was cooler than the day but I was still very warm, even with my arms, shoulders and chest exposed.

The street was very busy, filled with tourists, many of whom were somewhat on the chavy side. Sadly the resort wasn’t as exclusive as we would have liked but at least the prices in the restaurant where I was kept the bulk of them out. Still, they were fun to watch, so many different types of people from fat sunburned dads to whining toothless children, pretty girls and loud young men on stag holidays.

I watched a particular group of girls exit a shop and loiter outside. They were laughing, clearly drunk or even high and they were the worst examples of slutty young slags I’d seen in a long time. They were Essex girls; I could tell that about them without even being able to quite make out the awful accents, and they were young and pretty, but too lewd, showing too much flesh. Some were bone slim, others softer and rounder but none of them were as chubby as me. They all wore stilettos and short skirts, tank tops or boob tubes, their legs, arms, cleavage and midriffs on show to anyone with eyes.

I found myself sneering a little but they were fascinating to watch, trying on hats and sunglasses and laughing and joking. They didn’t have a care in the world. And they were so young. It made me think of my own younger days.

I hadn’t been the type to parade round like that, getting drunk and chasing boys. I’d been fairly attractive in my early twenties/late teens before I’d started wearing glasses and started living the comfortable life that piled the pounds on. Though I was more the type to stay at home and study... for an education I never got use from being just a housewife. And if I hadn’t been studying I’d been sewing or making birthday cards for my family out of hobby materials.

Sometimes I wondered if...

I smiled and shook my head at myself, being so silly then took another sip of wine.

The string of yellow electric lanterns running round the perimeter of the restaurant garden dimmed a little and then returned to their normal pleasant glow. I glanced at them, distracted, then went back to watching the gaggle of girls.

A group of boys emerged from the same shop – their boyfriends by the look of them – and started talking with the girls, laughing and poking fun at them. The slags gave as good as they got, not caring when a display stand got knocked over with their tomfoolery. They walked off, laughing all the more, thinking it was hilarious that the shop owner had to come out and clear up.

I shook my head again. I’d never understood how people could be so blasé to their impact on others like that. I was always fussing round, making sure I didn’t offend anybody. It must have been nice not to have to worry about it.

The lanterns dimmed again and I looked up at them. They weren’t flickering, just growing fainter, and around each one was a hazy golden glow, almost as though a mist was in the air, catching the light, though there was no such thing.

It made me feel a little drowsy actually and I settled further down into my seat, folding my arms under my breasts after I’d taken another draught of wine. Folding them made me more aware of the chubbiness of my arms and stomach, making me frown. Looking at those young things, all slim and pretty with their lives ahead of them emphasized how much I’d let myself go. I frowned, crossing my legs in the gathering gloom as the lanterns dimmed still further.

The noise from the street and the other diners became filtered in my drowsiness as I watched the young group stop again in front of a bar, chatting about whether to go inside or not. One boy and girl kissed one another passionately. The boy rocked the girl back in his lithe young arms, exposing his gaunt but muscular chest and stomach. There wasn’t the slightest bit of fat on him and it made me think of my Charles, again comparing this nasty-looking Adonis with my portly middle-aged husband.

What would it feel like to be with someone like that? Would I like it if he was rough with me? Would it make it better?

I licked my lips, smiling, feeling suddenly resentful: at Charles; at my parents; at the... at the waste of time I’d made of those years of my life.

It was silly and negative, but I wondered if I would have been happier not bothering with education; just going out like these youths did; living life passionately like that; living life to the full.

There was clearly something faulty with the string of lanterns – they were growing dimmer by the second – but I paid no mind to it anymore. I was feeling more and more drowsy, imagining what it would have been like to spend my late teens living life like that, being a slutty girl like that.

A warm breeze played across my bare skin as I stared at them, caressing my arms and legs, stroking my face and running through my hair. I couldn’t keep my eyes off the pale six pack of the young gigolo, at the way he thrust his tongue visibly between the lips of his trashy young girlfriend.

Drowsier and drowsier I became, staring at the couple, at the smooth supple limbs of this girl, her bottle-blond hair, the shameless clothes.

The corner of the restaurant where I was sitting was almost black now, as though the light was being devoured hungrily by some mythical beast. My pulse was slowing, pounding, filling my ears with the impact of it, over and over and over again.

And all I saw was the girl and her surly-looking lover.

Until suddenly the light rose, almost blindingly, knocking me from the moment entirely.

I sat forward and squinted up, shielding my eyes from it with the back of my hand. All the lanterns were lit now with full power, overcharged if anything and the entire restaurant garden was fully illuminated.

Someone cleared their throat. It was the waitress from earlier. I glanced at her then back at the street, trying to spot the people I’d been watching, but they were gone now, out of sight. I sighed, wishing the light wasn’t so bright.

The waitress cleared her throat again. She was standing at attention, right beside the table, looking at me expectantly with slight hostility in her expression. “Excuse me miss,” she said. “Can you tell me what happened to the woman who was sitting here?”

“What?”

“The woman with the glasses. She was sitting at this table. She left without paying her bill.”

“What are you talking about?” I replied, then paused, touching my throat with a furrowed my brow.

“There was a lady and her husband,” said the waitress. “The husband left and the woman moved over here. Middle-aged couple, both fairly overweight. The woman had long dark hair and glasses. Did you see her?”

I peered at her quizzically, not understanding what she was going on about. She was talking about me. Why was she so confused? I was right here.

Then I realised I wasn’t wearing my glasses anymore.

I reached up to my face. They were gone, but I could see fine. My vision should have been a total blur but it wasn’t. I could see everything!

The waitress was getting impatient but I ignored her, looking round the restaurant garden in wonder. I could see perfectly! The bushes, the chairs, the tables: it was incredible! I raised my hand to look at it. Then gasped, my heart almost coming to a stop.

It wasn’t my hand. It wasn’t my hand at all!

And my legs! They were slim! I gripped the smooth perfect skin of my thighs, panicking. My shorts and sandals were gone! I was wearing a short skirt and stilettos!

“Fuck me,” I whispered and looked up at the waitress, but she had already turned away, was already complaining to one of the other waiting staff about “the fat middle-aged woman” who had run off without paying her bill.

I stared at her then gaped again at my hands and body.

I had been that middle-aged woman.

But I wasn’t anymore!

I was somebody else!