Here is a conclusion for the mystery parcel story. I decided in the end to reveal all, after toying with the idea of never finding out. First, Pam's start (in italics):
A knock at the door. Monica comes in carrying a package, sits down, kettle goes on.Monica: Thought you'd like some company.Mrs Griffiths: Not really. I'm OK.M: Well, anyway. Was just passing an....Mrs G: I'm FINE. I'm used to being on my own.M: Oh, errr, yes. Yes of course you are but....Mrs G: Why do you think I need company?M: Well, errr, actually I errrr. Oh hell! Take this! (pushes the packet she's brought across the table)Mrs G: What is it?M: Something I should have given you some time ago.Mrs G: What?M: For Christ's sake woman. Take the bloody thing. Open it. I think you know what's in it. I think you've known a long time it would eventually come back to you. Take it! Open it!Mrs G: I don't want to. I don't want to! Don't do this to me. Take it away. Take it away from here.....M: Ha. You coward. You miserable coward. Go on ... open it! Let me see your face! I've waited a long time for this. A - very - long - time. Evan has given me that chance. Good old Evan. Perfect little Evan. Nine-to-five-and-an-hour-for-lunch-Evan. Now perfect little Evan has done the perfect thing ... he's DIED....Mrs G: Shut up! Oh shut up you bitch!M: Not likely sweetheart. What was it God said? Oh yes, 'vengeance is mine'. Open the package Eleanor. Let the moths out, let the sickening rancid smell out Eleanor, open the Pandora's box.... Go on, do it!Mrs G: How can you be like this? After all this time, all these years....M: Yes, all these years Eleanor. Festering, seething, boiling, awaiting the moment. I'm going to enjoy this SO much. Come on, don't play the stricken wife, snivelling and crying for her beloved husband. Open the bloody packet! (pause) Or ... I ... will...Mrs G: NO! (grabs the package, just as a crash of thunder and a flash of lightening illuminates the room)M: See, Evan's watching! HE wants to see you open the parcel too! (laughs) won't HE be surprised....!The story now continues ...Another knock on the door. This time louder. Persistent. Thumping. Evan, startled, awakes.
"God! I hate that dream. That's the 3rd time this week. I wish it would go away. I never get to see what's next. What's in that bloody parcel? What the hell does all this mean?" . Evan rubs his eyes, yawns, stretches, but stays lying down on the lounge.
Eleanor opens the door and walks in with a cup of tea and biscuits. "Hello darling!" she says. "Hope I didn't wake you, but it's 3:30pm and it's time for our cup of tea. I'm sure you wouldn't want to miss out."
"No darling. I like my cup of tea in the afternoon. Comforts me when I'm bored. Calms me down when I'm excited. Warms me when I'm cold. Cools me when I'm hot. Thank you darling".
Eleanor puts the tray with tea and biscuits onto the side table and sits down on the grey leather lounge chair. Evan sits up, gently massaging his own neck. Stretches his arms out again, wiggles his toes. "I really shouldn't fall asleep on the lounge like that. Hurts my neck. And back." He sips the tea and dunks the biscuit and pops it into his mouth. "ahhh … that tastes good!" The smell of the tea curls into his nose. Feels better already.
"Eleanor, I've been having these really strange dreams".
"Have you now, darling. That's nice for you. Oh, Monica was at the door while you were asleep – did we wake you up?" .
"Monica?" he said. "um, that's nice". Evan felt a little uneasy. "What, umm, did she want?".
Monica was the next door neighbour, and was about 6 years younger than Eleanor, and 9 years younger than Evan. Evan rather fancied her … from afar of course. But he did often have romantic dreams about her. She had a pretty face, and well, you know, a nice … err …. shape. Her husband – or rather boyfriend, defacto, or whatever you want to call him, had left her for someone else about 6 years ago, and Monica just couldn't be bothered with men after that. "Who needs ‘em?" she always said.
Couples don't seem to get married these days. They just get together and see what happens. "Where's the commitment", thinks Evan. But then, what difference does it make really.
"I've always got Cliff" Monica was fond of saying. He had no idea who Cliff was. Maybe some bloke on the side. He often thought it might be nice to be a bloke on the side. You know, just the fun bits without the hard work. Especially with Monica. He sipped another mouthful of tea.
"She gave me a little parcel actually" said Eleanor.
Evan's heartbeat moved up to his ears, and a little butterfly seemed to be moving around just underneath his belly-button. "Why do I feel like this?" he thought.
"Oh, what was in it?", he asked in the most nonchalant tone he could muster. His hands were sweating now.
"I don't know" she said "I haven't opened it, and she wouldn't say what it was."
"Eleanor, do you ever wish I was dead?" Evan blurted. "I mean, out of your way, free to do what you want" he explained.
"What on earth are you talking about?" she asked with that look on her face which over the years he'd learned meant "are you some kind of idiot".
"Haven't you opened the parcel yet?" he asked.
"No … she said it was something to do with you, something you would need", so I left it for you to open. You know she even dared me to open it, laughed and even called me a coward! But really, I thought it would be better if you opened it. Hope it's nothing embarrassing. I know you fancy her. You think I can't recognise that lustful look in your eyes, darling. I know you better than you think."
She chuckled and kissed him on the cheek.
The butterfly had grown larger and was flying around inside his stomach.
What could it possibly be, he thought.
He was racing all over his memories now. Searching for something relevant. What could it possibly have to do with me? He remembered that when her defacto-boy-friend-partner-thingo-whatever had left her, she wasn't that upset. Evan actually went over to commiserate with Monica one evening while Eleanor was out on her book-club night with the girls. He never told Eleanor about that, of course. No need to complicate life unnecessarily. Apparently, boyfriend-partner-thingo wasn't much good in bed anyway, and this was the first time she mentioned Cliff.
He didn't dare ask her who Cliff was. That was none of his business. Monica was wearing that nice low cut summer dress, and had kicked her shoes off. She was already pleasantly inebriated, and was constantly filling his glass with red wine. All he remembers of that night was a lovely time chatting about life, the universe, the uselessness of men … although he can't really remember anything specific. Just pleasant feelings, friendly-kissy-touchy feelings, but never daring to try anything … and then well, a blank.
The next morning he found himself at home, in his own bed, dressed in just his trousers and shirt (only half the buttons done up), no shoes or socks on, without the slightest memory of how he got home or when. Eleanor was already up and hanging out the washing. All she said was ‘Evan, really, I leave you alone for the night and you get pissed. You've never been like that before. What's come over you. And you smell terrible. Go and freshen up."
Later he saw Monica hanging out her washing, and he asked if he had behaved properly the previous night. (Beforehand, he was quietly practising various apologies he might use). She smiled broadly at him, (which melted him with desire again) and just said "You were wonderful, Evan. Don't worry about it". Oh my God, he thought, and raced back inside wishing he knew what he did, but had no memory of. It was never mentioned again. Nor did it happen again. And that was six years ago.
"Shall I bring the parcel in? I want you to open it " said Eleanor.
There was suddenly a bird flying around in his stomach. And someone was thumping him in his ears. At least that's what it felt like. There was no escape.
Eleanor brought the parcel in. "Well go on, open it! What's the matter with you!"
Slowly, carefully and deliberately he peeled off the brown paper wrapping. Making sure it wasn't torn, as if he was planning to use it again. There was the box, about 4" high and a 6" square shape. He lifted the lid off.
He reached in and pulled out a pair of men's underpants.
Black, actually a pair of briefs.
Size 42.
His size.
With initials.
In red thread.
E.G. His initials.
He wanted to throw up.
There was a little note. He gave it to Eleanor. He didn't want to face it. Eleanor read the note, carefully and deliberately as if it were to be memorised and repeated later.
"These briefs blew into to my backyard, from your clothes line I suppose. Thought you might want them back. Must have been about 6 years ago now. Sorry. Monica." There was one of those little smiley things – like they use in email on the internet, and two little xx's.
Evan was white. His chest was a drum. He was feeling faint. There was one more thing in the box. It was long, cylindrical with a tapered end, made of plastic of some kind. A little switch made it vibrate. On the side was engraved a name:
"Cliff".
"Evan!! screeched Eleanor, I'm going to kill you now!!"
