Johnny and the pram
Someone leaves the pram here, in the alley at the side of the house. It is old, with huge iron wheels and a big black hood. I wheel it into the kitchen, and all morning I step around it, putting away the dishes, folding the washing.
After a while I realise it would be easier to put the dishes and the washing into the pram. I start in the darkest corner and stack everything carefully. I take the cutlery from the drawers, and napkins, and saucepans. I cover everything with a blanket and wheel it out of the house, and into the road.
I push the pram for hours until it gets dark, then I come home and put everything away again, and put the pram in the little room with the washing machine and the freezer. When Johnny comes home, I don’t mention anything about it. He is hungry, and I haven’t cooked anything, so he goes out again, slamming the door behind him.
The next day I do the same thing, but this time I fill the pram with clothes and books, and I wheel it to the park. There are other women with prams and pushchairs, who smile at me, and try to peep, but I walk quickly past them, until I come to the big duck pond. Then I empty everything from my pram into the water. There is a splash, and soon after, fabric and paper swirl up to the top of the pond, drifting apart in strands.
Every day I take something else from the house, put it into the pram, and throw it away somewhere. At the weekend, when Johnny is home, I feel anxious that I cannot fill the pram. Johnny is hunting through the wardrobe.
‘Where’s my blue t-shirt?’ he asks.
I shrug, and he slams the wardrobe door shut.
‘What’s wrong with you?’ he says.
On Monday, I take the stereo and ditch it in the canal, then I go back again for the computer. Ornaments, photographs, records, jewellery, telephones, clocks: they all go into the pram. The house is becoming quieter, bigger.
When Johnny comes home on Friday night, he thinks we have been burgled. I tell him yes. They even took the carpets. There is nothing left. He runs around the house, up and down stairs, opening all the doors and drawers, searching, while I stand in the kitchen, with my hand on the empty black pram, and wait.
