The Bench at the Back — a story in six letters

A story in six letters

Original fiction. Two women exchange notes in a garden: a bench must be gone by Friday. The characters and their correspondence are invented.

1. Monday — In the garden letterbox

Ms Morel,

I’m taking over plot 18. We met on Saturday: I was the one looking for the tap with a bicycle key. You said you would remove the bench on Monday. It’s still at the back, under the elder tree.

My planting tubs arrive on Friday. I’ve marked out their positions with string; the longest one goes exactly where the bench is. I have nowhere else to put it without blocking the path.

The box by the gate doesn’t shut properly, but it keeps paper dry. I’m working nights this week and will stop by each morning. Please let me know when you can come.

Nora Besset

P.S. I found your gloves in the shed drawer. I’ve put them on the bench.

2. Tuesday — On the back of the first note

Dear Madam,

My son needs to find a van. Could you give me a few more days? The bench won’t fit in his car. It’s longer than it looks, especially when you try to shut a boot.

I would be grateful if you didn’t take it apart. The screws have been painted over several times, and the one on the left, under the seat, turns without coming out. If you lift the bench by its backrest, the backrest will come off in your hands. Lift it from underneath.

You may find the gloves useful. The right one has a hole in the thumb, but the left is almost new. I was always losing the right one, so I’d buy a pair and wear out the new right. I have four lefts remaining.

Jeanne Morel

3. Wednesday — On a sheet of squared paper

Ms Morel,

Friday at noon, at the latest. After that I need to be able to put the tubs in. I ordered them to fit this corner and can no longer change the delivery.

I can help you carry the bench on Thursday between ten and eleven. I don’t have a car. If the van isn’t definite, please tell me today: we still have a little time to find another solution.

I’d rather have an answer I don’t like than a promise that keeps me waiting.

I moved the gloves underneath the seat. Rain was getting into the fingers. The left one fits me; thank you. I’ve left you the right, which must have plenty of experience.

Nora

4. Thursday morning — In an unsealed envelope

Nora,

My son hasn’t promised anything. I haven’t even asked him. He’s already spent two Saturdays emptying my shed. I invented the van to get a few more days without telling you what I intended to do with them. I apologise.

I have a car. The bench would fit if I took it apart. At home, though, I no longer have a garden or a balcony. On my moving list I wrote “bench: take with me.” I hadn’t allowed a space for “where?”

I made it with my sister. She wanted to paint it blue; I wanted red. The underneath is blue. You can check. We each pretended the other one’s paint had run out.

Yesterday I sat on it, waiting to see you. I’d brought a book so I would look busy. I didn’t open the book.

I’ll come tomorrow at ten with my tools. I’ll take it away in pieces. Could you just help me with the screw that turns? Afterwards I’d like to stay on my own for a while, if you don’t mind.

Jeanne

5. Thursday evening — Under a flat stone

Jeanne,

Ten is fine. I can stay until half past. Then I’ll go home to sleep; you’ll have the garden to yourself.

I looked under the bench. It is blue. You both painted over the screw heads: neither of you won.

For your last half hour, would you like me to leave my folding chair in the shed? I’ll collect it once the tubs are in place. It’s yellow; nobody will ask your opinion.

Keep this note. It’s the only written copy of “I’ll go home to sleep” I’ve made this week, and I’d like to keep my word.

Nora

6. Friday, ten to twelve — On the yellow chair

Nora,

Everything is in the car. The corner is clear; I even picked up the washers. Thank you for holding the nut while I undid the screw. So that was what had been turning.

I called my sister. She has room for the bench in her hallway, provided we shorten it. We’re going to do it together on Sunday. She said, “This time, we measure first.” I hadn’t mentioned that I’d already promised it to my kitchen.

I put your chair where the bench had been. It’s much more comfortable. Don’t tell my sister.

I stayed for twenty minutes. This time I read twelve pages.

Jeanne

P.S. I kept the right glove. There are still screws to remove.

After reading, if you like

Read the greetings and signatures again. In which letter does the tone change? Then find a sentence from Nora that remains firm despite that change.

Why does the yellow chair matter in the last letter? Find two precise details in letters 4 to 6, without retelling the whole story.

Write a seventh note of 60 to 90 words, signed by Jeanne’s sister after Sunday. Convey a small disagreement through an object or a gesture. Avoid the words “argument”, “memory” and “emotion”.

One possible reading — save this until afterwards

The fourth letter replaces “Madam” with “Nora” and finally reveals what Jeanne was hiding. Nora replies using her first name, but keeps her boundary: she will leave at half past ten. The chair lets Jeanne stay without keeping the bench there. In the fourth letter her book is closed; in the sixth she has read twelve pages. These details can suggest relief, without Nora giving up her space or Jeanne keeping the bench intact. Other readings are possible when supported by the text.