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Listeners' Fantasies |
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Brenda goes for it
by Gnome de Plume
 Here's the true story of Brenda's departure from Radio Borsetshire, posted to the Fantasy Archers topic of The Archers message board.
The warm spring sun shone down brightly on Brenda, matching her sparkly mood. With a spring in her step, she strode strongly towards the office, a smile on her face, a song in her heart and a badly distorted version of it on her lips. This was the last time she would have to go through those stupid doors to that stupid office, where her skills and ambitions had for so long been neither recognised nor fulfilled. Well, more fool her boss and colleagues, it was their loss and they deserved to suffer from her departure now! Ha! Her new life stretched luxuriously before her, now it would all work out, now she had someone who oozed the high life from every pore, the life she wanted, the life she deserved: with James by her side, it would happen! Oh, how she already ached to hear him murmur those three little words that mean so much, into her thick chestnut hair, or should she change it to blonde for the occasion?
What was it her boss had said? "Why don't you think about it, maybe cool down a bit, otherwise come and clear your desk soon, eh?"
Ha! Brenda's voluminous patchwork shoulder bag swung, freshly emptied of crunchy bar wrappers, Oxfam receipts and her Little Book of Calm, and soon to be filled with her desk contents: a framed NVQ in Attendance Studies, that weird statuette thingy given her by colleagues, and her thespysoros, thesallrous, oh whatever, that spelling book thingy with words, whatever and stuff; and her lucky gonk. James had turned up so maybe the gonk wasn't needed anymore. James was now her lucky gonk! How much happier could she be? It was so exciting not knowing what was round the corner!
A low murmur could be heard at the end of the corridor. That's funny, Brenda thought. It sounded like a party and, from the din, it was swinging in there! What event had she forgotten? Maybe she'd have a drink with them for old time's sake - losers, everyone. She pushed at the doors and the wall of laughter and shrieks. A snatch of over-loud conversation reached her ears, "and she said she was wasted, and we all thought, yeah, right ..." Brenda caught the eye of the speaker, whose face grew pale. Simultaneously, Brenda felt her own cheeks grow warm. She looked towards her old territory. There, behind her desk with a packed box already on it, her St Jude perched on top of her clutter, she saw it. The banner across the back of the offices trumpeted its message, clarion-clear: Free, free at last!
The silence started slowly, the clatter of excited voices faltered, and then a slight whisper of movement as all those heads, all those familiar faces, turned slowly to stare at her in the doorway. In the silence, Brenda heard a small but distinct noise. The room darkened in front of her eyes. Only Brenda heard it: the noise had been that of a penny dropping.
And deep in her heart she heard echoing around in a gaping, swirling darkness, those three little words that mean so much: nobody is indispensable.
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