‘Stupid cow,’ Alex whispered as she stamped on the butt of the cigarette and instantly lit another. She glanced inside the kitchen window and saw Catherine listening earnestly to something Beth was saying. Alex could see the guilt hovering behind her eyes. And so it should, Alex thought bitterly.
Catherine had been the first to leave. Alex remembered going to sleep each night, wishing that when she woke up Catherine would be back in her single bed in the corner of the room, sitting up, watching. But she never was, Alex thought bitterly. The bed was always empty. At least she had tried to take Beth with her, unlike Catherine who had simply chosen to abandon them both.
‘The cars are here,’ Beth called from inside the kitchen.
Alex took one last draw on the cigarette and stamped it out. She followed her sisters out of the house and into the waiting car.
The journey to the crematorium was a silent affair. Catherine fiddled with her hands and stared at her fingernails. Beth looked straight ahead to the car carrying the body of their dead mother. Alex’s only concern was the location of the alcohol for when they returned. A swift calculation told her that an hour in the house was enough for the sake of appearances and that she could spend that getting quietly pissed for the train journey home.
Alex pondered the purpose of the slow car journey. What exactly was the point? Was it a mark of respect? If so, the body in the casket deserved none. Was it to stop the body thumping against the sides of the casket? It was a picture that almost made her smile. Alex felt the relief as the cars turned into the crematorium.
She avoided meeting the gaze of the other mourners and lit a cigarette while the casket was unloaded. Catherine cast a disapproving glance in her direction but Alex turned her back, frustrated at the slow-motion speed of every handling of the casket. Why bother? Just throw the bitch in the cooker.
Alex briefly wondered if she’d feel differently if the casket held someone she actually gave a fuck about, and she could count those people on one half of her left hand.
She flicked the still burning cigarette into a clutch of shrubbery and followed her sisters into the building.
She took a hymn book that she was handed without a word or a glance and followed Beth’s figure to the front pew.
Mournful music played in the background as the coffin was placed on a trolley contraption at the front of the building.
Alex felt a rush of air beside her as a male reached across her to touch Beth’s hand. She watched the exchange with interest. She guessed the male to be in his early thirties. His suit was a respectful navy blue, well cut but slightly crumpled.
‘Sorry I’m late,’ he offered, breathlessly, still clutching her hand.
‘It’s fine,’ Beth said, blushing slightly and retracting her hand.
Catherine moved along the pew so the unknown male could sit down. He sat between Beth and herself. She could smell the fresh scent of pine wafting from his skin.
Beth introduced him in a low whisper as the music began to fade away. ‘Doctor Wilkinson,’ she clarified.
‘This is Doctor Wilkinson?’ Catherine said, appraising the handsome, athletic stranger.
‘Doctor Wilkinson, Junior,’ Beth added, with a slight flush of the cheeks.
‘My father died five years ago and I took over then,’ he explained, turning to address them both.
Alex found his gentle demeanour and good manners irritating. He was too nice and Alex always found herself suspicious of anyone who was too nice. It was obvious to her that the young doctor was infatuated with Beth.
Alex spent most of the service observing their body language and interaction. The kind doctor clutched Beth’s hand and glanced periodically at Beth’s pinched features. He handed her a tissue when she cried and held the hymn book for her to sing. Yes, but have you uncovered what lies beneath that high-necked jumper, Alex wondered viciously, and will you still be clutching her hand when you do?
Alex tore her attention from the couple as the coffin began to move through the red velvet curtains towards what Alex hoped was a fiery hell. She had the urge to run up to the casket and kick it through the curtains at a higher speed and then stand and watch her burn. She wondered if Beth saw the irony.
The coffin disappeared behind the curtain completely as the melancholy music once again filled the space. Alex was struck by the thought that the most thoughtful thing her mother had ever done was to be cremated. It meant that less of the world was to be infected by her pure and undiluted acidic body. Although Alex had quite liked the idea of insects and earth creatures feeding on her flesh within the dark, solid confines of the ground.
‘I’ve arranged for her ashes to be scattered near the rose bushes,’ Beth offered, addressing them both.
‘That’s fine,’ Catherine answered for both of them.
Alex was amazed that Beth thought that either of them would care.
The car pulled up outside the house and Alex once again felt the suffocation stifling her.
‘I’ll be putting the house up for sale next week once—’
‘No,’ Catherine protested. ‘Keep the house for yourself, or sell it and move somewhere new, but I want no part of it.’
Alex opened her mouth to protest. Unlike Catherine she wasn’t rolling in money and could use all the extra cash. Then she looked at the terraced house that still rose up to haunt her in her worst nightmares.
‘Me neither,’ she said. ‘I want nothing from this place.’
Beth appeared confused, but Catherine ushered her out of the car and into the house.
Alex hung back to observe the onlookers up and down the narrow street. Some poked their heads through the corners of net curtains while others blatantly stared from their front doors. Alex fixed them all with an icy stare before re-entering the house.
Most of the people she remembered and she felt a hostility towards them that choked her. They must have known what was going on in this very house and yet they had done nothing. They were beneath contempt, she thought as she closed the door behind her.
Beth busied herself removing the foil and cling film jackets from an unappetising selection of banal sandwiches. Catherine placed glasses on the sideboard beside a few bottles of sherry and some soft drinks.
‘I’ll make a pot of tea,’ Beth said.
Alex reached for a glass and poured a generous measure of whisky from the half-full bottle hiding behind the granny bottles.
‘Can’t you give Beth a hand with the tea?’ Catherine asked sidling up beside her. ‘The neighbours will be here in a minute.’
‘Am I supposed to give a fuck?’ Alex spat as she slugged a mouthful of whisky down her throat.
‘Alex please—’
‘Leave me the hell alone,’ Alex cried, storming out into the back garden. She instantly lit a cigarette and slugged more of the whisky down her throat. The heat blazed a trail from her tongue to her stomach.
‘Alex, will you please come inside and give Beth a hand?’ Catherine said, closing the kitchen door behind her.
‘You may be able to enter into this charade and pretend that we’ve all lost our dear sweet mother but I refuse to be a part of it.’
‘Forget her. It’s Beth who needs us now. It’s important to her—’
‘I don’t give a shit. Don’t you get it, Catherine? You two are nothing to me. You’re strangers. I don’t know either one of you.’
Alex saw the hurt that flashed over Catherine’s features.
‘You don’t mean that,’ Catherine said, uncertainly. ‘We’re sisters. We have to help and support each other.’
‘I don’t need your fucking support. I’ve managed quite well without it and she chose to stay here.’
Alex could see the effect her words were having on Catherine but she didn’t care. Too many years had passed since any relationship between the three of them meant anything. ‘We’re strangers, Catherine. Accept it and stop trying to gloss over it. Let Beth play the grieving daughter and you help her along, but don’t e
xpect anything from me.’
‘You came,’ Catherine said gently.
‘I’m here to make sure that the evil bitch is really dead at last. Now I’m sure of that I’m going to get on the next train back to Birmingham and resume my life, safe in the knowledge that I never have to give that woman another thought.’
‘Do you really think it’s that easy?’
‘It was before today.’
‘So, you never thought about it?’
‘Just fuck off back in there and play the Good Samaritan. You don’t want to desert Beth again like you did all those years ago.’
Alex saw Catherine’s face pale and she knew she had struck a nerve.
‘Is that what you think?’
Alex stuck her chin forward defiantly.
‘You think I just left you both?’
‘I don’t give a shit what you did to me. I was fine. Beth was weaker. She needed you.’ Alex felt emotion burning at the back of her throat. She swallowed the rest of the whisky to expunge it.
‘But I didn’t—’
‘Save it for someone who cares,’ Alex spat, regaining hold of the anger and bitterness that had kept her insulated for years.
‘Just come inside and help Beth—’
‘Fuck off and leave me alone. She chose to do the Florence Nightingale thing and stay with the evil bitch for all these years, so she can wallow in the grief now.’
‘You can’t mean that,’ Catherine said, looking horrified.
‘Of course I mean it. She reeks of martyrdom and self-sacrifice. She had plenty of opportunities to get away and she chose to stay.’
‘You know full well that Mother had her first stroke within three months of you running away. Beth saw it as her duty to take care of her.’
‘It was her duty to stuff a pillow over the bitch’s mouth and suffocate her.’
‘Don’t say that,’ Catherine protested, casting a glance at the kitchen window. Beth was looking out, an anxious expression on her face. The vulnerability and fear in her eyes hit Alex somewhere beneath her ribcage but she wasn’t sure where.
‘She hates it when we argue,’ Catherine observed, reaching for Alex’s cigarette. She took a draw and then stamped it out.
‘Yeah, and we both know the consequences of that, don’t we?’
Alex lit another cigarette and offered one to Catherine. They smoked in silence. Alex guessed that they were locked in the same memory of the devastating event that had taken place when Beth was eight. It was a day that neither of them would ever forget.
Catherine threw the cigarette into the overgrown weeds. ‘Come on, let’s go and give Beth a hand.’
LINE BREAK]
By five thirty Alex was viewing the last few straggling grievers through an alcohol-induced haze. The whisky had built the foundations of the wall of detachment around her and the countless glasses of sherry were adding to it, brick by brick.
Fucking parasites, she thought, lighting a cigarette. Any pretence at respect had disappeared at the same speed as the mini quiches. Who the fuck was going to slap her or kick her for smoking in the house now? She had the urge to run outside and scream at the top of her voice, Come on you fucking, heartless bitch. Come get me now. Not that the neighbours would notice. They were too busy stuffing pork pie into their faces in the next room.
Alex made her way to the sideboard and peered into each of the bottles, shaking them vigorously to detect movement. ‘Whoopee,’ she muttered as the dregs of a port bottle yielded a result.
‘Don’t you think you’ve had enough?’ Catherine said, taking the miniature glass from her hand.
‘Fuck off,’ Alex slurred, grabbing for the glass. She’d seen three and aimed for the middle one but still managed to send the dregs sloshing over Catherine’s hand.
Catherine placed the empty glass on the sideboard beside the empty bottles.
‘Oh well, that’s that, then,’ Alex said, as Catherine wiped her hand. ‘Might as well fuck off home now the booze has gone.’
‘For heaven’s sake, Alex, get a hold of yourself. It’s a funeral.’
‘Not for somebody I knew, so excuse me if I amuse myself by getting quietly pissed.’
Alex headed off in the direction of the kitchen. There had to be some cooking sherry somewhere or a secret stash of something. Everyone had a secret stash.
‘There’s nothing left. You’ve drunk it all,’ Catherine said, following her.
‘Don’t take that fucking santicim… sanctinome… fucking superior tone with me. Those bludgers drank it as well.’
‘They would have if there’d been any left.’
Alex thought she heard a note of amusement in Catherine’s voice, but when she turned Catherine’s face was a mask of control. She’d been mistaken, she realised. Of course she had.
‘That’s the last of them gone,’ Beth said, entering the kitchen behind them.
Despite her inebriated state, Alex could hear the fatigue in Beth’s voice.
‘Sit down and I’ll make us a cuppa,’ Catherine offered.
Beth did as she was told and smiled thankfully at Catherine. Catherine squeezed her shoulder.
Alex looked away, sickened and wishing she’d been on the train hours ago or, better still, that she hadn’t come at all.
‘Thanks for everything,’ Beth said, squeezing Alex’s hand. Alex wanted to rip her hand away and scream at this elusive stranger but one look into Beth’s eyes and she couldn’t. She was full of genuine warmth and gratitude. She wanted to slap the woman and scream that they weren’t sisters. Just three women brought together by an accident at birth. She wanted to remind them both that they hadn’t seen each other or spoken in years. They barely knew anything about each other. Alex knew that Catherine had two girls. How old were they? What were their names? What did they like and dislike?
Alex wanted to scream all these thoughts at them but the expression in Beth’s eyes completely deflated her. She remembered how gentle Beth was. Poor Beth who had been born without any aggression or self-interest. Beth who had had the foresight to hide packets of biscuits for the times when their bellies burned with hunger. Alex felt the emotion rising in her throat; but that was back then and this was now and nothing was the same.
Family was an accident of blood only. Relationships needed to be fed and nurtured, looked after, built with shared experiences, laughter and love. But there’d been none of that. Despite the blood that ran through their veins, these women were strangers to her.
Alex stood. ‘My train will be—’
‘Please stay,’ Beth said, quickly rising to her feet. ‘Just for a little while.’
Alex felt her jaw tense but she sat down anyway. Beth looked so lost and forlorn, like a small animal brutally separated from the safety of familiar surroundings.
‘I just want a little time with my sisters.’
Alex glanced at Catherine who shook her head slightly, warning her to keep quiet. She busied herself lighting a cigarette. Catherine reached across and took one from the box.
‘Hey, here’s a thought: fucking buy some,’ Alex groaned.
Beth chuckled lightly. Both Alex and Catherine swiftly looked over but all too soon it was gone. Alex had seen the light in Beth briefly but now it was dark again.
Alex remembered when her foot had been in plaster. The pain had been torturous and constant but Beth had sat with her for hours, painting silly faces on the stark whiteness of the plaster and then impersonating the faces, forcing her features into almost impossible expressions. Despite the pain, Alex had never laughed so much.
‘I’m just going to get changed,’ Beth said, leaving the table.
‘Thank you, Alex,’ Catherine said as the sound of Beth’s footsteps sounded above them.
‘For what?’
‘For not saying all of the things that are bursting to come out.’
Alex nodded. ‘How did you know?’
‘Because I’m feeling those things too,’ Catherine admitted. ‘But Beth
needs to feel us close, right now. She needs to believe that…’
Catherine’s words trailed off as Beth came back into the room. Alex followed her gaze, but quickly ripped her eyes to the floor. Beth had changed into a thin-strapped vest top exposing the worst of the scar that covered almost half of her body.
Alex didn’t know what she’d expected, but the skin was red and mottled and rough like textured wallpaper. She looked again as Beth turned her back. Beneath the rest of her clothing, Alex knew, it stretched down and across her entire right side.
Alex’s gaze met Catherine’s and acceptance passed between them. Acceptance of the blame. Acceptance of the fact that indirectly they had done that to their sister.
As a child, Alex had hoped that as Beth grew, the scarred, dead tissue would remain the same size, meaning that as she aged the scar would be barely noticeable. It had never occurred to her that the scarring would grow with the skin and stretch with her.
‘So, what’s going on with this young doctor?’ Catherine asked, breaking her gaze.
Beth turned, her face a mask of scarlet. ‘He’s been so good during Mother’s illness. It was terrible to see her in such pain. She was a very poorly old lady and I couldn’t bear to see her suffer.’
Alex saw the alarm on Catherine’s face. It matched her own. Were they talking about the same woman?
‘So, what’s he like?’ Alex pushed to get her off the subject of their mother. It was too disturbing to witness.
‘He’s been so helpful. I told him all about my accident and he was so supp—’
‘Your ac… accident?’
‘Of course,’ Beth said, smiling at Catherine benevolently. ‘It’s very kind of you but you can’t fail to notice this,’ she said, pointing to the tip where the scar began. ‘I told him all about the day that the fire was roaring away. I explained that the poker was on the floor and that I stumbled into the fire. Of course, you must remember,’ Beth said lightly with a tone of disbelief in her voice.
Dear Mother: A gripping and emotional story that will make you sob your heart out Page 3