The Fungus

This was odd because even though their relationship was one of mutual detestation, for some reason Norman still insisted on sleeping in the same bed with her. She guessed it was because he wanted to keep up appearances for the sake of the neighbors. Or God. Maybe it was God he was worried about. For years she’d had no idea what was going on in his head except that she played no part in it. Nor did she want to.

So where had he spent the night? On the couch in the living room perhaps? But that was so horribly uncomfortable. He wouldn’t have got a wink of sleep.

She smiled to herself at the thought. And now he was probably already up and in his precious workroom waiting for her to get up and make breakfast. Well, she’d be damned if she’d rush to do that today. She was going to make the most of having the bed to herself for a change.

The tension that she usually felt in the mornings was gone, and she was enjoying this momentary rebellion against the dead routine of so many years. A memory seeped into her mind of moments shared with Norman in weekend beds long ago, but it seemed so unlikely and so detached from reality that it soon seeped out again. Small bitter thoughts about her wasted life took its place and she relished the self-pity that accompanied them.

After an hour or so she got up, put on the light-blue, once-fluffy slippers and her faded green dressing gown, and went down to the kitchen. It was empty and there was no sign of the filth that he left on the rare occasions he made his own breakfast. He hadn’t even made a cup of coffee.

Puzzled now, she put a glass against the wall and pressed her ear to it. No sound came from the workroom on the other side. Had something happened to him?

The idea didn’t alarm her. Life without Norm would be ideal as long as the finances were all right. She wasn’t sure about the finances. But if something had happened to him — if he’d had a stroke or a heart attack — she ought to find out as soon as possible. The sooner he was taken away the better. Before he started smelling. She’d heard that the smell of dead bodies was the hardest of all to get rid of in a room, even with the strongest air fresheners.

Tentatively she touched the workroom door with her knuckles, harder when there was no reply. She had to go in then, there was nothing else for it. She hadn’t been in there since the time she tidied it and put his tools back in the wrong positions. How long ago had that been? She couldn’t remember.

As she opened the door she tensed, ready to retreat at the slightest sound. But she heard nothing. There was, however, a strong musty smell. Emboldened, she stepped inside. and almost screamed.

One entire side of the workroom was covered in a thick mold.

Dry rot, she thought as she stared at it with horror. She loathed the stuff. It had been so expensive to put right in their first home. Norm had shown her the furry yellow and white fungus that had eaten up the floor supports and had then pushed her hand into it as a joke. She shuddered at the memory.

But this growth was much bigger and thicker than the one she remembered. It must have been growing in here for years! The floor, walls and ceiling were coated with the soft, disgusting stuff. It had also grown over what must have been shelves and cupboards but were now shapeless forms under the mold. And the smell. It was so bad it almost made her gag.

Why had Norm let it grow? Especially in here, his precious inner sanctum? Then it occurred to her that it might have grown very quickly. In fact it seemed the only likely explanation. Perhaps it had been growing under the floor boards or behind the wall for ages and had just suddenly broken through during the night. Yes, that would explain why Norm wasn’t here — he must have gone to get some stuff to deal with it. Some of that fluid that caught in the back of your throat and stank the house out for days.

Well, this was his responsibility, she told herself, and the sooner he got rid of it the better. It was disgusting.

She picked up a length of wood and thrust it angrily into one of the bigger mounds of fungus. Unexpectedly, a ripple ran through the growth, then the whole mound moved.

Even worse, it spoke to her.

“Nora,” it said in a thick, muffled voice. “Nora. It’s me!”

And before she could react Norm reached out with two soft, slightly sticky arms and hugged her for the first time in years.

2

Tuesday, 6.15 p.m.

Barbara had thoroughly enjoyed the movie and was sorry it had come to an end. She sat through the credits and was still sitting there when the lights came on, wondering where to go from the theater. She was just about to get up when a tall, attractive blonde woman sat down one seat away from her. Barbara immediately settled back into her own seat.