by Janet Ellis
I closed the door behind her. I realised that she’d finally said his name. I gave her a Royal Copenhagen china figurine some years later. ‘You can call it a wedding present,’ I’d said.
I am used to order. I keep to a routine. I know where everything is. If I were blindfolded, I could move around my house quite easily without coming to harm. Not much disturbs my equilibrium. I usually recognise the writing on anything that comes through the door. Once, in an entirely unfamiliar hand, there was a note, from Bridget’s cousin, informing me of her death. She had attached a little sticker with her address on it to the back of the envelope. Printed, to avoid error. I’d noted it, but I couldn’t think what would cause me to contact her again.
This discipline, this torpor, has been my satisfactory state for a long time. At first, my grief left me raw and naked. Even other people’s sadness, however slight – the boy running to the stop just as the bus pulled away, the woman stopping in her tracks and searching anxiously in her bag for her lost purse, the eyes of the forlorn dog tied up outside a shop – wounded me. I learned to inure myself until I could listen to the old people’s sadder stories or read someone’s bad news without hurting myself. Michael’s death seems to have punctured my defences. I feel on edge, as if I have forgotten something vital. My shoes clatter on the bare floorboards in the hallway. ‘It sounds as if I’m clog dancing,’ I say aloud. ‘Don’t you agree, Michael?’ When I fetch my coat from my little porch it feels chilly to the touch.
Chapter 57
I reread the pages of the diary again and again, until they blurred. Its cheap leather stuck to my hands. I could not undo that day. I was heavy with its blue velvet and cigarette smoke. It spread like spilled ink, staining my thoughts. I slid the diary back into its hiding place, but her words did not lie quietly. They whispered like a Greek chorus. I saw how she twisted what he said until she heard what she wanted to hear. She’ll be hurt and confused when she realises he’s only playing. I can’t blame him, this little display of adoration must be flattering. If I try to stop her from seeing him, I think, she’ll want to know how I knew she would. And I’ll only postpone what she must discover at some point: she won’t get what she thinks she wants. It’s for the best. She needs to be taught this lesson and I persuaded myself that I was being generous in letting her learn it while I watched. If he’s with me he can’t be with her.
I had been standing at the bedroom window for some time before I realised someone was waving at me from the street below.
I opened the front door. The little figure of Sheila, leaning on my garden wall, got larger and more resolute the closer I got.
‘I’ve something for you,’ she said. She grinned like a naughty child. She opened her handbag as far as its hinge would allow and wriggled her hand inside. ‘You shall go to the ball,’ she said, putting a large envelope into my hand. ‘Aren’t you going to open it? It’s a beautiful invitation.’ I wanted to open it alone, away from Sheila’s possessive stare. She smiled. ‘He had a whole pile of them,’ she said. ‘Oh, you must come.’ She smiled again. ‘You’ve bred the babysitter, haven’t you? That’s what my mother always says about big gaps like yours. That’ll keep Sarah out of harm’s way, anyway, won’t it, being on duty. I expect she’s got all the boys after her. And the men, too, if Adrian’s anything to go by.’ Her smile was as sharp as steel. ‘He’s very taken with her. With you both. I want to paint them together, Sheila, he says. He’s confusing himself with Picasso.’
‘I’d better go and make supper,’ I said.
‘See you soon,’ Sheila said. It was a threat she’d certainly carry out.
I slid the embossed invitation out of its silky, mauve envelope. It was lined with purple tissue. There was a coat of arms on the card. I read the sideways gothic slant. Then I reread it, to make sure. I got up and looked hard at my own handwriting on the calendar. It confirmed what I already knew: that we’d asked stupid Don and silly Patricia or Pauline or Pam or whatever her name was to supper on the same day. What could I do? Michael wouldn’t want to change the date. He hadn’t even met Adrian and I couldn’t imagine explaining him, without betraying myself. It was hopeless. I sat with the card in my lap, like a suburban Cinderella.
‘Chow mein. Is it a special treat?’ Eddie said, beginning to eat before he’d even sat down, placing one of the little curls of noodle on his tongue to feel it contract.
‘Sit up properly. Put your tongue away, please. No, it’s not a treat,’ I said. ‘I just thought it would make a change.’
‘Nice change,’ Eddie said.
‘What’s this?’ Michael picked up the envelope. ‘It’s a bit fancy,’ he said. He turned it over and then back, looking for clues and then, because his name was on the front, too, he opened it. He read it to himself, pursing his lips, then looked up at me. ‘Someone’s party. Do we know them? They’ve spent a bit on this,’ he said, frowning at the lined envelope and glossy card. ‘Adrian,’ he said. ‘Agnes.’
Across the table, Sarah sat immobile. I stared at my plate. There was a rushing in my ears, as though I’d been under water for some time.
‘Right,’ Michael said. ‘And we’re invited to’ – he squinted at the address – ‘Lynwood Hall because . . . ?’
‘Because his daughter’s at Sarah’s school, I suppose,’ I said. I avoided her eye. ‘He’s a friend of Sheila’s, too.’ The table seemed to ripple in front of me.
‘And any friend of Sheila’s is a friend of ours, is that it? God help us.’ Michael examined the card again. ‘Oh, Marion, isn’t this when we’ve already invited . . . ?’
‘I know,’ I said.
‘Can I have a party?’ said Eddie.
‘Your birthday isn’t till April, stupid,’ Sarah said.
‘When’s April? Is it soon?’
‘Ages and ages away. Past Christmas. Months,’ she said, swinging the fact to hit him hard.
‘April the tenth,’ said Eddie, screwing up his eyes as if the date dazzled him.
‘Well, it’s up to you, Marion,’ said Michael. ‘We can change the date, if you like. If you’d rather go to this.’
‘Yes, let’s put them off,’ I said, too quickly.
Michael raised his eyebrows. ‘You’re not usually a party person,’ he said.
‘I can’t actually remember the last time we went to a party,’ I said. ‘I suppose it was your works do, wasn’t it?’
‘You wore your red dress,’ Michael said.
I felt stung that he’d remembered. ‘Did I?’ I said. ‘Well, I’m wearing a new one for this.’ It was as if he’d thrown something fragile to me and I’d made no attempt to catch it.
‘Let’s hope it lives up to expectations,’ Michael said, getting to his feet.
‘Crappy invite,’ said Sarah, putting the card on the table.
I looked at her at last. I willed myself to see only a little girl. I kept my gaze fixed, as if I could make her years younger if I concentrated. ‘Careful,’ I said. The air between us buzzed.
‘Didn’t know it was so precious. You’re hardly going to forget the details, are you?’ Sarah tilted her chin. ‘I’m out then, anyway, so don’t ask me to babysit.’
‘Where?’ I said.
‘There’s a party. A really good party,’ she said, as she retreated. ‘Not just a lot of old people jigging around.’
I heard more than what she said. Something was being revealed, little by little, until the whole picture became clear. When I realised what it was, the joy of revelation made me want to shriek. Sarah sounded childish. She was like a paper doll. She was trying on various ways of being a woman, but they could only stay in place until their flimsy hooks gave way. She’d snatch them away herself if they hampered her or made her feel unsure. Before too long, she’d fidget behind his vision of her. She couldn’t sit at the grown-up table for too long, she’d soon want to go back to the nursery. I felt as if I were growing and taking shape. There was something elemental in my strength. I wouldn’t read her diary any more.
I didn’t need to. The only story that mattered now was my own.
‘Sarah didn’t say: “Can I leave the table?”’ said Eddie, always on the lookout for transgressions. ‘I’m seven and a half,’ he said. ‘Can I have a half-birthday party?’
I pulled a piece of writing paper from the pad. The top sheet was still indented with my last letter, so I used the one beneath it. Michael and Marion Deacon are delighted to accept, I wrote. A prim, formal acceptance. I left it propped up on the table in the hall. P.S., I wanted to add, when can I see you? I want to see you. I want you. I want you. I want you.
Chapter 58
7 October
My favourite clothes so far in my life: (1) my Ladybird dress, which I chose myself from the catalogue. It had an elasticated waistband and a stretchy band on the end of the sleeves. If I’m honest, it was a bit scratchy. (2) My cardigan with the angora front. I saved it for best because Mum said it would probably need dry cleaning and nothing I’d ever worn before has needed that. I haven’t worn it much at all. The last time I put it on, I could hardly do up the buttons. (3) The pink top Mum gave me. It has a polo neck and no sleeves.
When I walked past the building site on the corner of Shepstone Road last week, the men there called out hello darling. One of them shouted could I walk past again, only faster, and they all laughed. At Tessa’s party, Greg put his hands on my breasts as if they were cricket balls he’d just caught.
For my birthday, I am going to ask for hot pants and wet-look boots. Bobbie came into my classroom just before register today. Everyone stopped talking. Her waterfall of hair swung behind her as she came up to my desk. Some of the girls followed her; they were all in line as if they were doing country dancing. She handed me a bag and said it was for me, for Saturday night, and then she walked off without turning round. As she shut the door behind her, everyone started shouting LEZZIE at me. Lynne asked me what she’d given me. Luckily the bell rang, so she couldn’t say anything else.
It was a dress. It wasn’t made of blue velvet, thank God. I’d peeked into the bag on the bus to see a swirl of purple and pink. It released a burst of Bobbie’s light, soapy perfume. I took it out of the bag and waved it gently round my room when I got home, so that atoms of her scent would land everywhere. I thought I’d sleep with it under my pillow before I gave it back. Facing away from my mirror, I slipped it on and then waited till the last moment, till I couldn’t bear not to see what I looked like, before I turned round. It was baby-doll shaped and very full. The sleeves were really long and edged with tiny bobbles that bounced and swung when I moved. It smelled of Bobbie, but it made me look completely and utterly like me.
Chapter 59
A faint scent came from the dress as I shook it from the bag. I held it to my nose. I didn’t recognise it; it was sweet and floral. The girls in the shop probably tried things on after hours. It was a brighter yellow than I remembered. Kneeling in front of my wardrobe, hugging the dress, I rocked gently to and fro.
‘Mummy?’ Eddie stuck his head round the door. ‘Is it true you’re going out? Is Daddy going too?’
‘Yes, sweetheart, but a lovely lady is coming to babysit.’ I hadn’t actually met the girl, but she’d sounded all right on the telephone.
I could tell Eddie was anxious because he didn’t correct me with: ‘I’m not a baby.’ Instead, he said, ‘Isn’t Sarah looking after me?’ His face was contorted with worry.
‘She’s going out, too. But we won’t be long.’ I waited, watching him decide between sorrow and anger. ‘Do you want to see Mummy’s new dress?’ I said, holding it up.
He looked doubtful. ‘Why is it yellow?’ he said.
I laughed. ‘Because it’s not green,’ I said. ‘Look, choose me a necklace.’ I held out my costume jewellery box. He inspected it as though he were being lured somewhere he didn’t want to go. ‘I’ll put on my dress and you find me something nice to go with it.’ I held the box over the bed and upended it recklessly on to the counterpane.
He regarded the tumble of sparkling stones and bright beads without enthusiasm. When he was very small, I could distract him for ages with a tin full of buttons, a random assortment for ever waiting to be sewn on to clothes. He was too old for that now. He went to this new task reluctantly. ‘This?’ he said, holding up a bracelet fashioned like a curled snake with red jewel eyes.
‘No, my dress is flowery. Look carefully, Eddie,’ I said. ‘You’re good at that.’
I pulled off my jumper. I’d have to change my underwear. My everyday bra was simply chosen to keep everything where it should be. Should I wear a roll-on? I looked across at Eddie, who was now lying on the bed, concentrating on a convoluted tangle of chains. I pulled everything out of the drawer to search.
Eddie stopped what he was doing. ‘Can I do that?’ he said. He let a handful of glittering gold and silver fall on to the floor.
‘No,’ I said. I found exactly what I wanted.
Eddie looked perplexed. ‘Why are you ’cited?’ he said. ‘Can I go downstairs?’ He was planning to leave me with a mess of his making.
‘Go on, then,’ I said. When he’d gone, I stood in front of my reflection timidly, as if waiting for an announcement. ‘Good,’ I said aloud. I patted foundation over the little hills of my cheeks and chin. I spat on the cake of mascara, concave with use, and leaned close to the little mirror in the compact, widening my eyes as I scrubbed the black ink on to my lashes.
‘Mum?’ I heard the clunk of Sarah’s platform shoes stopping outside the door. ‘I’m off now,’ she said. She pushed the door open. ‘I’m getting a lift,’ she said. ‘Oh.’ She stopped abruptly, seeing me reflected in the mirror. ‘Is that your new dress?’
‘Yes. It’s the one I bought the other day.’ I smiled at her without turning round. ‘Have a lovely time,’ I said. I opened my mouth and flattened my lips against my teeth as I applied a coating of dark pink lipstick. I glanced at Sarah. She was wearing a short floral dress that stuck out from underneath her bust. It looked like a doll’s party outfit. I frowned. ‘Have I seen that before?’ I said, twisting round to face her.
‘This isn’t mine. I borrowed it.’ Sarah tugged at the hem, situated at a point not far below the top of her thighs. Little tassels swung and tangled from voluminous sleeves.
I felt as if I could hold her in my mouth like a cub and shake her until she dangled, limp and still. Despite the brown frosting on her eyelids and the apricot smudge on her mouth, despite her swelling breasts and the swing of her hips as she walked, she was still a child. Like fruit picked too soon, she’d taste bitter. I was ripe and swollen with sweetness. The slightest touch would burst my skin.
Chapter 60
I drive through the grey dawn. I observe every traffic light and slow at every junction, although the roads are empty. When I was small, I used to imagine that scenery unravelled for me as I travelled. I thought that forests or houses were dragged into view only moments before I saw them. The people I saw through train windows or from the back seat of the car had been summoned to appear. Everything would be folded away once I’d gone past. The waking town has the same sense of recent assembly. I wind down the window. I want to hear more than the car’s engine. I want to be sure everything exists.
I remember sitting beside Adrian as he drove that last time, the unfamiliar landscape making me tense. I willed the miles to pass. I didn’t know they were taking me further from so many last times and lost chances. I can’t remember his face very well now. Catching a glimpse of the back of his neck or his wrist then was enough to make me want him. I was so hungry for him it obliterated all my other appetites. I examine this memory without emotion, I cannot remember the taste of it. With care, waiting to feel again the pulse of panic that became a roar, inching along a precipice of memory with nothing but a sheer drop on every side, I make another journey in my head, to another hospital. I had a violent need then not to make haste, I didn’t want to arrive at all. As long as I was still on my way, I couldn’t hear any bad ne
ws. I could still have hope. There was no hope.
I will tell Michael now, again, that I’m sorry. I will hold his cold hand and whisper for his forgiveness although from now on I will wake every day without that possibility. I stretch against the fact of my loss, the way you force air into your cheeks. I feel the sharp darts of cold air from the open window. Two people walk past; their muffled conversation swings into my thoughts. Between them, dragging his feet, a small boy yells in protest. They are ignoring his cries, their smiling and chatting at odds with their charge’s red-faced anger.
I want to be wanted again. Beyond the pincer grab of desire, I want to be held. To be needed. To be where nothing else is possible but warmth and safety and the smell of lavender. I have felt like this before. It will pass.
Chapter 61
‘Is this it?’ Michael stopped at the gatepost. In the distance, I could see the lights of a large house. As a general rule, I thought, places called Something or Other Hall tend not to be bungalows, but this place was huge. As we reached the end of the drive, a boy in an oversized military greatcoat came to Michael’s side of the car and circled his hand to tell him to wind his window down. As he bent towards him, I could smell his cigarette: the smoke was rich and sweet. ‘Over there, yah?’ he said, waving laconically to where other cars were parked. His hair fell forward over his face in irregular lines.
‘Fat lot of good,’ Michael said, winding the window up as he drove. ‘What regiment is he supposed to be in?’
‘It looked a bit naval to me,’ I said. I hoped that I sounded calm. My heart was racing. If I saw even one person I knew, I planned to cling to them like a limpet. Anything rather than watch Adrian talking to anyone else. Although if the only other person in that category was Sheila, I might have to make another plan. ‘We shouldn’t stay long,’ I said.