4A/N: Hello, all my lovely readers! I recently decided to create a novella-length story that modernizes the Grimm brothers' fairy tale "The Fisherman and His Wife." The tale is quite short, so if you're not familiar with it, I'd recommend reading it (or at least a plot synopsis) since I play with the events and characterization of the original tale quite a bit.
I know it's mostly exposition, but if you like the first chapter, please leave me a review! Oh, and enjoy the story!
The Fisherman and His Wife
I
It was a Wednesday in early December when Krista had her first-ever panic attack. She had known that money was tight-she'd taken that second job waitressing, after all-but when the landlord came that Wednesday afternoon, and after scrounging about the flat all she could find was five pounds for the rent, she could only blink at the empty coffee can sitting on the dingy kitchen counter.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Larsen," she said at last, as she returned to the small foyer. "It appears we're a bit short on money at the moment. If you could just give us a week's extension..."
Mr. Larsen looked sympathetic. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Banks, but you're already a month behind on payments, and in this economy, we're all suffering. I have my youngest at Oxford now, and I rely on the income from all my properties." He turned from the door. "I'll give you 48 hours to gather your things and move out. Please give my regards to your husband."
Krista stared at the door for five long minutes as the rate of her breathing quickened. She stumbled toward the couch as her vision began to go. It wasn't fair! First she'd had the miscarriage and the scarring and the medical bills, and then Matthew had had his accident, leaving him with partial paralysis on the right side of his body. And those medical bills had caused her to get the second job. And then, of course, she couldn't forget that Matthew's unemployment checks had stopped coming, and they were still in debt, so she'd started smoking, and he'd started drinking. They were good, decent people, and now they were homeless. Krista rushed to the loo and heaved. It wasn't fair.
Matthew came home late that night, a whiskey bottle in his hand and a sour expression on his face. "I didn't get the job," he growled, as he pulled his tie from his neck, sloshing a bit of whiskey on himself. "Apparently, an accountant needs to have full use of both of his hands."
Krista nodded numbly, taking the whiskey bottle and setting it on the counter before helping him with his jacket. He groaned as she pulled it from his right arm, then settled down in the moldy armchair. She fetched him his whiskey and hung up his stained suit coat and tie. "There's always tomorrow," she said, with an empty smile.
OOO
Krista knew she needed to tell him. They were down to 36 hours, and neither one of them had begun packing anything. She kissed him goodbye as she left for work, but he didn't look up, still staring at the telly. Frustrated, Krista slammed the door behind her and stomped all the way to the inn down the street where she worked as a maid.
It was a slow day, and tipping was bad. At this rate, she wouldn't even be able to purchase a pack of fags. Using the keycard to enter another room, Krista pulled the sheets from the bed and began picking up the towels strewn all over the bathroom floor. She and Matthew had once been these people, when they had first gotten married. They had stayed at the Regency in the States for their honeymoon, and on their first anniversary, they had gone to Dublin for a week. Now they couldn't even afford to leave their grimy bit of London.
Krista held the dirtied towels in her hands and glanced up into the mirror. Even through the streaks of dirt, she could see her limp ashy blonde hair falling from its ponytail, and her dull blue eyes staring listlessly at her reflection.
"You look like a corpse," she murmured to her reflection before turning from the mirror. When she returned to use the glass cleaner, she kept her head down, her eyes averted from the horror she had become. It was a good thing they had sold her mother's Victorian mirror long ago.
OOO
That night as Krista had dinner with Matthew, the two of them sitting at the plastic card table eating some fishy stew, she put her down her spoon and stared at her husband. He didn't notice, only continued eating. "Matthew," she said, after a minute, "the landlord came yesterday to collect our rent."
"Well," he said, still not looking up from his stew, "did you tell him we'd have it in a week?"
"I did. And he said that we're already a month behind in our payments."
At last Matthew finally looked up, his brown hair falling into his sharp grey eyes. "So?"
"He gave us forty-eight hours to pack our things and leave the flat. We now have twenty-four." In her hands, Krista twisted the paper napkin until she could feel it forming a tight cord. And still, she continued twisting. "I still have my jobs, and we can find a cheaper place to rent in a month or so... and I can give up smoking. I couldn't buy my fags today anyway, so I might as well start fresh."
Matthew just stared at her. "We're being thrown out of our home? Just like that? Does Mr. Larsen have no mercy?"
"We are a month late on the payments," Krista said, the napkin in her lap now still. "He's let us stay here a month purely out of charity."
Matthew stood up and slammed his fist to the table, causing his bowl to fly off and break. Krista winced.
"Why didn't you fight for us, Krista?" he hissed. "Why do you always accept things the way they are?"
"There was nothing I could do!" she cried, standing up as well, and taking her bowl to the sink. She began sweeping up the bits of china that Matthew had broken, and picked up the slightly dented spoon. "Why fight when you know you're going to lose?"
"Oh, so I shouldn't apply for any more jobs, because I'm always going to lose, like I have for the past year? Is that what you're saying?"
Krista pursed her lips. "You're twisting my words. I never said that."
"But you're thinking it, and that's all the same, isn't it, Krista?"
She took a deep breath before glaring at her husband. "I'm going to bed. You can sleep on the couch."
And slamming the door behind her, she sat on the edge of their bed and cried.
OOO
The next day was sorer than the last. Krista woke early, and after locating a tattered carpetbag in the closet, she stuffed all her clothes into it. She grabbed her decade-old curling iron, her shoes, her few pieces of jewelry, and anything else that would fit, including the few books from the mantle: Oliver Twist, Great Expectations, and A Christmas Carol. The china and the silverware and the linens she packed separately. She would be paid today, so they would have just enough to take a cab to her sister's place on the other side of London. Even with their two children, they had an extra bedroom, and as much as Krista hated relying on people's charity, it was their only option.
After work that day, Krista returned to the apartment, gathered up everything that she had packed, and surveyed the apartment. Matthew was already downstairs with his own suitcase waiting for her. She had managed to convince Mr. Larsen to buy some of the furniture from her (the bed and the television, though small, were still in good condition), so she and Matthew now had 200 pounds to their name, so they might be able to afford a first month's rent of a small studio flat. Then, shutting off the lights, she locked the door behind her and slipped both copies of the key underneath Mr. Larsen's door. Krista walked out of the building and met Matthew on the sidewalk, the money and her over-filled carpetbag clutched tightly against her chest.
"Where to now?" Matthew said dully, staring at the dark, empty street in front of them.
"To my sister's. Oh, don't look at me that way, Mattie, you know it's the only place we can go. I called her this morning before work, and she agreed to let us stay with them for a couple of days until we can find a new place to rent... it's only temporary."
"Are you even listening to yourself, Krista?" Matthew asked. "We don't have the bloody money to rent a place. That was the problem we just ran into. And everything is pricier over by where your sister lives."
"Well, then what's your brilliant plan, then? Wash away our troubles with a bit of liquor?" Krista stretched up her arm to hail a cab, but it passed them, zooming along the street. She let out a groan of frustration and shivered, clutching her coat more tightly around her.
"Well, it's better than smoking them to death," he bit back acidly. "If we could just get enough money to buy a small cottage on the Channel..."
"Do you know how much ocean-front property costs, Matthew? We would have to scrimp and save for years just to afford a small flat out there."
Matthew sighed in annoyance, throwing his hands up. "I give up, Krista. I give up on you; I give up on this marriage; I give up on trying to care anymore."
"Don't be ridiculous," she snapped. "We've come through far worse." Another cab passed them, and this time, when Krista waved her hand, it slowed down and stopped in front of their building. They slid in the back, gave the driver directions, and remained silent for the duration of the trip.
When they finally reached the West End, Krista paid the driver twenty pounds and grabbed her things without waiting for Matthew. Her sister was standing on the stoop, wearing a housecoat and terrycloth slippers. She had a tired smile on her face, but greeted her sister warmly. "It's good to see you, Krista," she said, hugging the younger woman. "I am sorry it's under these circumstances, though."
"Me too, Alicia," Krista whispered. "I promise we'll be out of your hair in a few days. Mattie and I will figure something out by the end of the week."
"Nonsense," Alicia said, grabbing Krista's carpetbag. "Stay as long as you like."
OOO
They ended up staying two months at the flat that Alicia shared with her family. Krista spent much of her free time with her niece and nephew, but Matthew kept to himself, watching the telly or going out for the occasional interview. And every day, Krista walked two miles and took four buses to get to her jobs, and walked two miles and took four buses every night, come snow or rain. But she hid the money from Matthew, in the space she had holed out in Dickens' Great Expectations, and she didn't purchase any fags. Renting their own flat was far more important.
She woke up that day two months after they had arrived, intending to put down the deposit for a flat. She'd found a place that was in their immediate budget, and Alicia and her husband had generously offered to help them out for the first few months. But that evening, when she checked the little cubby in her book, it was empty. "Matthew," she muttered, slamming the cover. She paced the room, trying not to scream. No doubt he was doing something stupid, squirreling away the money she had saved, that she had earned, either drinking or playing cards. Or both.
Krista sat that way, on the edge of their bed, her back rigid, until Matthew came home. She immediately smelled liquor on his breath, and he was hooting with glee. She counted to ten and then opened her eyes, glaring at him.
"You took our money, the money I earned, mind you, and you spent it! I was going to put a deposit for a flat today, but I couldn't do that, thanks to you! Alicia and Edward even offered to help us pay the rent for the first few months so that we could get on our feet! And you just threw that away!"
Matthew looked just as angry now, and he leaned against the wall and pulled out a number of bills. Two hundred, three hundred, four hundred pounds in addition to the three hundred she'd already saved. "Where on earth did you get that?" she asked quietly.
"I won it off some blokes," he said. "I had a lucky hand of poker tonight, and I even won this." He held up a key, and pulled a thick piece of paper out of his pocket, tossing that onto the bed. "It's for a small cottage on the coast of Scotland. It was a vacation property for one of the gits, but his family hasn't gone up there in years. We own our own place, Krista, can you believe it?"
"Well," she said, "we'll have to sell it. Our lives are here."
"No, your life is here. Your jobs are here, but what do I have? Nothing, that's what. Do you ever even stop to ask me what I want? You found this new apartment without even talking to me about it."
Krista threw her hands in the air. "Honestly, Matthew, I didn't think you'd be interested. The only thing you're ever interested in lately is watching the telly and getting snockered."
"Because there's nothing useful I can do!" he shouted, pounding his fist against the wall. "If I could do something useful with my time, I wouldn't drink, and I wouldn't watch the telly all day."
Biting her tongue, Krista took a deep breath. "All right," she said. "What do you want to do?"
"I want to keep the blasted cottage," Matthew said. "At least there maybe I can do something useful... maybe become a fisherman or something."
Krista raised an eyebrow. "Do you even know how to fish? And if we keep the cottage, what do you expect me to do? Quit my jobs?"
"Why not?" he asked. "You don't fancy 'em much, do you? Besides, you can work as a maid anywhere, can't you?
With a loud sigh, she closed her eyes. "I suppose." She looked at him, noticing his stormy grey eyes. "And this will make you happy?"
He looked at her straight-on, without blinking. "Yes," he said quietly, "it will."
Krista stood there, silent. She stared at the floor where a bit of the oak had been scratched. "All right, then, Mattie. Let's start over. It'll be like when we first married. You and me, no distractions, no worries about rent. Just us."
When she looked up, she saw a boyish grin on her husband's face, and she watched as he crossed the room and slipped his arms around her waist. Krista swallowed.
"That sounds perfect," he whispered as he leaned into her. And he kissed her.