House of Cards MICHAELA

By Michaela

“Andrew, step back now. And stop distracting the men,” his mother hissed, trying to be quiet and miserably failing. She had never been a discreet woman, he thought, and it was showing.

She would sigh, clap and gasp with extreme expression after every move (or lack of) during the match his grandfather, father, and two other men from the pub were currently engaged in. The game of bridge was taken immensely seriously in his village, often too gravely in Andrew’s opinion. He would never dare raise this point though, for fear of becoming the victim of his mother’s often grating personality and the men who would likely prevent any chance of his reaching manhood.

The small village of Atterly was well-known in surrounding hamlets as the village that was inhabited by worshippers of the art of cards. After supper the men would leave their comfortable, thatched cottages and collect in the pub to practise and compete. It was more than an evening club; rather, a religion. Just last week a duel of whist had run into the Sunday church service. Not surprisingly, the priest did not have a very full church; in fact, there were no pews occupied. Half of the congregation of Atterly Church were huddled in the pub intensely watching the event, whilst the rest were waiting for their husbands, sons, or brothers to accompany them. All were dressed in their Sunday best, and all looked rather out of place, but this did not faze any member of Atterly village, for this was quite a normal ritual.

Usually, the female gender was not permitted inside the premises. However, no man dared to refuse Andrew’s mother's entrance. She was larger than all the men in the village and always demanded to watch her husband play. Andrew was never sure whether his family's history of successes was by pure talent or the consequences the opponent faced when winning to a relative of his mother.

"Andrew, stop breathing." This was rather ironic as the loudest wheezer in the room was of course his mother, a woman whose name was Mrs. Hinton. Criticising her family and keeping the Hinton’s in order seemed to be her favourite occupation, particularly Andrew, her youngest son. Unbeknown to Atterly village, Mrs. Hinton had a certain soft spot for her son, and possibly even loved him. However, her affections only ever consisted of spanking, and derogatory remarks. She was the only one who dared deliver these favours though, as Andrew nor the rest of the village wanted a grudge to be held against them by Mrs Hinton.

Unfortunately, Andrew had not been given the legacy his ancestors had bestowed. Unlike his elder brothers, he did not have a passion for cards, much to Mrs. Hinton’s dismay and this was a rare occasion he was watching. Usually, he was gathering outside waiting with his sisters and female cousins, not having any wish to stand among filthy men palpitating an overwhelming stench of alcohol or watch four alpha males battle to be the champion of Atterly village for the next year. He would even prefer to discover Lydia Becker’s latest sweetheart, a topic well-discussed in the village, that one never seemed to know the answer to. Andrew was well-known for being the Hinton that was most unlike the Hintons. Not only his narrow, yet average height appearance, but his attitude towards cards. Most members of Atterly village could get past the assemblage of freckles and ginger hair; however, his lack of interest for the symbol of the village was inexcusable.

For years, it had been rumoured Andrew was a gypsy whom Mrs Hinton had taken in as a baby. However, this was short lived, as no one quite believed Mrs Hinton would ever do such a thing and the village gossip, Mrs Moore, had spread the account, a women often known for stretching the truth beyond reality. Whether this was true or not, nobody knew and although Mrs Hinton claimed against it, she was not the sort to jeopardise her reputation in any way. Andrew often thought of the Atterly women playing their own game; instead of cards, the art of gossiping and village talk. Most women spent their free time babbling and giggling, which he of course did not have much interest for either. So, it was only when the men trundled down the cobbled paths after dinner to the card room in the evening, that Andrew sat with the waiting women. Even then, he was marooned from the conversations for he had nothing of worth to add to the conference and instead occupied himself with dreaming of life beyond the village.

Lately though, Andrew’s mother had been encouraging him to attend the evening meets. Whether it was by a stern glare that spoke all Andrew needed to know without verbal communication or thrusting Andrew out of the house by the collar, Mrs Hinton was not going to give up. She had a duty to ensure every Hinton attended the games, even Andrew. As a result, Andrew would be forced to walk down the rickety road to the gateway of his living nightmare, and he preferred to oblige. A nightmare he would never be able to wake up from because nothing could make the inevitable disappear.

In the room, a light smog hung in the air reluctant to leave as if it too was watching along with the village, somehow more interested than Andrew. Even in the room, Andrew’s thoughts constantly drifted off to a faraway land and it was only Mrs Hinton’s monotonous pinches or coughs that brought him back to the game at hand. However, on this particular occasion, it was sudden clapping and cheering that consumed the silence and smoke lingering in the air that awoke Andrew. Stunned back into the present he realised his father had won, although he was unsure as to whether this was a good thing.

Andrew’s father was a stout, yet tall man, who clearly enjoyed his wife’s cooking. He was the sort of bloke that everyone expected to win, and he always succeeded in fulfilling this, especially at cards. Despite this, the women of Atterly Village knew Andrew’s father as the husband of Mrs. Hinton; few were aware of his Christian name. She was most definitely the dictator of the relationship. Since marriage, the whole village knew Mr. Hinton would never be a free man again, unless he miraculously outlived Mrs. Hinton, which was highly unlikely for it did not seem possible for even death to defy Andrew’s mother, at least not any time soon. When apprehensive, Mr. Hinton tended to run his finger along the brow of his forehead, a habit Andrew’s mother particularly disliked, but perhaps the only thing Andrew had inherited from his father. The pair were not particularly fond of each other, so had never been close and neither had ever tried to make the effort. Since Andrew was a child, his father noticed there was something different with him, and did not know what to make of it. Rarely, in Atterly Village, was there an individual that did not fit, and of greater unusualness for that somebody to be a Hinton. It was simply easier for Andrew’s father to ignore his bewildering and uncanny son.

In Atterly village, it was customary for the winning pair of the bridge tournament to give a speech announcing the next person to be welcomed into the family business and so was taken just as seriously as the game itself. Every year Andrew watched the boys his age become men, and strangely Andrew had no urge for it to be his turn, for the prospect of being an adult in Atterly Village sickened him. Once again, the smoke hung in the air waiting to hear his father’s words.

“Thank you chaps, this is a great honour. For generations, the Hinton’s have sat at this very table and experienced more victories than any other family in Atterly. So, I think it’s only right that my youngest son, Andrew, joins the Hinton team for the next tournament,” proclaimed Mr. Hinton.

In the next moment that followed, every member of Atterly village in the hall was aghast and his mother remained silent, which was probably the first time in her life she was speechless. In different circumstances Andrew would have enjoyed this rare occurrence. However, all he could do was numbly realise that he would finally have to surrender to the game he had never touched but which had managed to invade his life since the moment he was born.

COVER ARTWORK BY ALI