Creak.
Damn, damn, damn. Perhaps she should just holler out her daughter’s name and go for it. Damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead, as the saying goes. She wants to retreat, call it all off, sneak back down to the safety of the ground floor – her domain – close all the doors behind her, ignore her daughter for good, leave her to it, let her get on with it, go her own way. She hears a muffled clunk and then a muted fuck. Zelda weighing herself yet again. Teens! First she eats so much that she’s the size of a house. Now, the opposite. Not that she’ll ever be on the front of Vogue, poor girl. If only, if only, if only, if, if, if. They could be such friends, hang together, do stuff. If only she could have a bit of me in her. A tear runs down Liz’s face.
She hasn’t had any type of intimacy in so very long. No sex for such a long time, too long. Jack, Jack, I need you, Jack Savage – more than you will ever know.
There’s a slithering sound in Zelda’s flat. The bed being pushed against the door again.
“I know you’re there,” says Zelda. “Sneaking up on me again!”
“I only wanted to talk to you about your meds.”
“Well, I don’t want to talk to you.”
Liz climbs the last few steps and dips her head towards the closed oak door. Why is everything so solid in Jack’s house? Her house now. A thousand arguments have taught her to be patient, never to lash out, to try and weigh her comments. She knows Zelda is on the other side of the door, waiting to pounce, claws out. She has to be careful. Zelda is a dangerous opponent when she’s in an upswing, her intelligence fizzing with energy, like some nuclear reactor in melt-down mode. Jack’s brains. No doubt about that. Shame she doesn’t have his charm and charisma, but then, who does? She taps lightly on the door.
“Zelda, love.”
Silence.
“Can we just talk?”
Silence.
“Are you okay?”
“These scales are no good. I told you never to buy any more scales from that place in Truro. Can’t you get some from Harrods? You would if they were for you.”
“That’s unfair, Zelda.”
“I’m not Zelda anymore.”
“Then who are you?”
“Indie Shadwick.”
Liz winces. Zelda always knows how to get to her with unerring accuracy. Her cruelty is almost beautiful in its exactness. She knows how Liz has always felt about how Jack was with Indie Shadwick. Sure, Indie killed herself long before Liz flew into Heathrow all those years ago. Zelda never fails. She seems to know how jealous her mother is of her dead rival for the heart of Jack O. Savage. It never fails. She sinks to her knees and sobs.
“He loved her more than he ever loved you,” comes the voice from behind the door. “There’s no point crying about it. You can’t change how it was. It’s there for everyone to see in the things he wrote for her. Correct me if I’m wrong, but he never wrote anything like that for you.”
“Why do you do this to me, Zelda?”
“I told you, I’m not Zelda. I’m Indie Shadwick. And I do it because I can.”
“That’s okay. I still love you and I always will. I’m your mom and I always will be, come what may. And I WILL love you.”
“Do whatever you feel you have to do. I don’t care.”
“Just tell me you are all right, baby. Please. It’s not asking that much, is it? I’m just worried about you.”
“Oh yeah, like you snatched that e-cigarette from my mouth the other day. You cut my lip.”
“I’m sorry, love, truly. I just lost my temper with you.”
“Not for the first time.”
“I just want what’s best for you, is all. And I get frustrated sometimes. It’s hard being on my own sometimes. I’m still missing your father – every day of my life.”
“You make me sick.”
Liz glares at the door and raises a hand as if to slap it. She shakes her hand as if to work the anger out of herself and then chews her knuckles.
“Can’t you just open the door and let me in, please? I just want to talk to you. I promise I won’t go on about things you don’t want me to. If you don’t want to go to therapy today, you don’t have to. And if you want the e-cigarette back, I’ll go downstairs and get it now. I know I said I’d thrown it on the fire, but I didn’t. I kept it in a drawer, baby girl.”
Silence.
Liz looks at a knot in the grain of the oak door. Everything in the house is solid oak, apart from her relationship with her only child. She screws up her face. Where did she go so wrong with Zelda? Was she a bad mother? Was it Jack dying? It can’t have helped. She’d tried. Zelda had everything. She hadn’t spoilt her, but nor had she denied her. And why not? What’s the point of money if it can’t give you a good life? And Zelda has definitely had that, a good life, the best in many ways. So, no, she wasn’t about to feel bad because of an ingrate teen, especially not her own daughter. She glares at the door.
“There’s no point in getting pissed with me,” says the voice behind the door.
She blinks in amazement. It’s as if Zelda can read her mood. Not for the first time, Liz resents her intuition as well as her intelligence. No, she will not feel second-rate to her own daughter.
“Zelda, darling, I’ve been thinking about your meds.”
Silence.
“I think we can look at the dose, if you like.”
Silence.
“I know how it is on meds. I’m with you on that one, at least. I know what it is to have to take meds when we think we know better than the experts. I felt exactly as you feel now. But.”
She knows her line of argument is a spurious one. They both know that the meds are to quell Zelda’s appetite for rebellion. Liz feels bad about forcing her to take them. But what could she do? Zelda was at risk from her own nature - sectioned twice and self-harming. The meds had to be. She can’t win. They both know that her hint on the meds is disingenuous, a cheap shot to curry favor. She steels herself for another approach.
“Your father.”
“Leave my father out of this.”
“Why?”
“Because he loved me.”
“Go on; you may as well say it.”
“No, I won’t say it just for you to imagine you’ve proved some stupid point. Even if it does happen to be true.”
“I often wish it had been me who died of lung cancer and not your father.”
“I’m not falling for that one. Firstly, you don’t mean it. And I don’t need a secondly. Firstly will do. You’re just sick. And you can’t beat me in an argument because you’re not as smart as I am. So what do I care?”
“You cared when Spider brought you back from London not too long ago. ‘Mum, I’m sorry,’ you said. ‘I love you,’ you said. What was all that about, then?”
“I was hungry and tired. You took advantage of me.”
“Who was it who lied for you when the police came knocking?”
“I didn’t ask you to.”
“But I did. I lied my butt off to protect you after your little escapade over those ashes.”
“Show a little more respect, please. They were not just any old ashes; they were Indie Shadwick’s ashes.”
“And what exactly were you and your partner in crime planning to do with them?”
“We were going to go to Beachy Head and end it all.”
Liz looks at the door in the purest horror. She knows her daughter is not joking. She winces at an inner image of Zelda and Tyrone, her geeky boyfriend, flying through the unresisting air, arms and legs flailing wildly, Tyrone’s death black Goth coat flapping like some broken kite. She knows she has to be careful what she says next and that her daughter knows it too and is waiting. She imagines Zelda clutching the urn with Indie’s ashes. The lid goes its way and the ashes follow it, smudging the air for the briefest moment before vanishing. The urn rotates furiously as it falls. She forces her mind to go blank, not to see the bed of mixed geology onto which Zelda and the ashes tumble. Too much info
rmation. Silence. Zelda’s turn to sweat. Not for the first time, she curses the memory of Indie Shadwick. Yes, she will regret it, yes, yes, yes, okay! But right now, she curses Indie for casting her mad shadow into her life and that of her daughter. Damn it!
“What are we going to do with you, Zelda? Jack and I were so happy when you came along, I can’t even begin to tell you. I always thought the happiest day of my life was when I met Jack, but it was when you came along. And that’s the truth. I remember how proud your father was when he carried you from the hospital in your cot. He said it was the happiest day of his life and I know he meant it. We were so in love, your father and I. He was the sweetest of men. Nothing was too good for me, or you. There was nothing that man would not do for us. I lucked out all right when I met Jack – ain’t that the truth. Everyone loved your father. Oh yes, the whole world loved your father. I just shared him. But that was enough for me. I knew I could never replace Indie and I didn’t try to. She was a troubled soul. But you know all that. I know Jack loved her. But he loved me too. God, did he love me. Fierce and gentle Jack O. Savage was. God, I miss him to this day, every day, every minute of every day. A big part of my life ended when your dad died – you know that’s the truth. I know I’ve not been the best mother to you. I know I lost my way a bit when your dad died. But who wouldn’t?” Liz fiddles with the engagement ring Jack gave her, which she still wears on her left hand. “He was a big man, your dad. He filled my life with the beauty of his being and talent. And I loved him for it. Life was all smiles with your dad. He loved everything he did, never dissed anyone in all the time I knew him. A real gentleman, your father was. And what a poet! The things people said about him! God, I was proud of him when I read what people said about him. Not that it helped. It really only made things worse. To lose someone like him. *Sob* It only deepened the hurt.”
Silence.
“Zelda?” Liz sniffles and taps on the door. “Zelda?”
Liz looks at the door in puzzlement. Was that a snore? Had her daughter fallen asleep on her?
“Zelda!”
She slaps the door with the palm of her hand.
“Can’t you take a joke?”
Liz glowers at the door.
“No, I cannot.”
“Shame.”
“Okay, Zelda, what is it you want from me? How do we solve this thing? Because we can’t go on like this. You do know that, don’t you?”
“These are my terms.”
“Terms! Who the hell are you to have terms?”
“Fine, if that’s how you want to be. F O A D.”
Liz bites her lip. “Okay, I’m listening.”
“These are my terms: no more meds. I don’t need the meds. They depress me. I get desperate and do stupid things to remind myself that I’m alive.”
“I’m listening.”
“You should know how I feel about the meds from what you’ve told me.”
“It was different when I was a kid. I wasn’t like you are in all sorts of ways.”
“Yeah, like tall and blonde, the cheerleader that everybody falls in love with. Do me a favor.”
“I’m sorry, Zelda. I’m willing to discuss the meds with Dr. McSwan.”
“No way. You’ll get to him and he’ll have me sectioned again.”
Liz agonizes. The memory of the pain on her daughter’s face as the door closed between them and she left her in a secure mental unit.
“And don’t try and tell me you did it for my own good again. It was the worst thing that ever happened to me and you inflicted it on me. And you wonder why I hate you?”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
“Do you really hate me?”
“Yes.”
Liz struggles to stop herself from breaking down, sniffs.
“It’s a hard thing to hear your only daughter tell you she hates you, a hard thing indeed.”
“Imagine how it is for me. I have to be your daughter.”
“Oh, Zelda, you know how to hurt me, you do.”
“Good.”
“Go on. What are your other terms? As we are talking like mature adults.”
“Ha ha, very funny coming from you.”
“Go on.”
“I want my phone back. And I want access to my bank account again.”
“So you can run off again?”
“There you go again, diss, diss, diss. And you wonder why I hate you. You amaze me.”
“You can have your phone back.”
“Thank you.”
“And your bank account.”
Tears stream down Liz’s face as she surrenders her happiness at being a mother to please her daughter.
“This is hurting me more than it is hurting you, trust me.”
“My only hope is that one day you may see me in a different light. I loved you so much when you were a baby. Do you not remember?”
“Yeah, right, but then I grew up, right?”
“Something like that.”
“Such is life, Mum dear.”
“Will you open the door now, please, Zelda? I just want to see that you are okay.”
“You’ve nothing to worry about, Mum. I’m not sitting here, cutting myself, if that’s what you’re thinking. I don’t do that anymore. I don’t need it. I saw how Tyrone was and saw that he was even more pathetic than you are. So I cut cutting. And I cut Tyrone. You’ll be happy to hear that I won’t be seeing him again. I’ve even defriended him on Facebook. Not that anyone looks at Facebook anymore anyway. Only losers like Tyrone and old people like you.”
“Ooooo-kay. I’m fine with all that. If it makes you happy.”
“Don’t try and ingratiate yourself with me, Mum. You know I’m smarter than you.”
“You’re certainly not shy about reminding me.”
“Now where have I learnt that from, I wonder?”
Liz looks at the door with grudging admiration.
“There’s more.”
“Go on.”
“I want to go to America.”
“What?”
“You heard. I want to go to America.”
“I thought you despised America and everything about it?”
“You thought wrong. I only said those things to get at you when you were ganging up on me with the doctors. You are just so easy to wind up, Mum. I almost got bored doing it because you made it too easy.”
“Okay, so I’m a naïve American. I’m not the first to have my nose rubbed in the dirt in this country – which, for your information, I am now more than proud to call my home because I love it here. So there.”
“There you go again.”
“What?”
“Ingratiating yourself, trying to. You’re so transparent. I don’t think you even realize you’re doing it. It’s that bad. Seriously, you should take classes in how not to be so transparently zam-zoodled.”
“Why do you want to go to the States? Tell me.”
“I am half American, right?”
“Yes, you are.”
“A strong American woman like your bad self should be pleased I want to find out about my roots.”
“I am. I’m just puzzled why. You’ve never wanted to go when I’ve offered in the past.”
“I’m going stir crazy in Cornwall.”
“I know you are, but you can go to university soon.”
“I don’t want to, not in this country anyway.”
“Then where?”
“A long way from you.”
“Cut it out, Zelda. I’ve got the picture. Just tell me straight why you want to go to the States.”
“I’ve told you, I want to get out of this farmhouse. I’m bored out of my head here. No one ever visits. You shut yourself away after Dad died. I want to go to the States, that’s all.”
“Okay, Zelda. We can look into that for you.”
“Thank you.”
“How long do you think you might want to go for?”
“A year.”
“A year
!”
“A year. It’ll be good for you. You can’t be happy, the way things are with me. Be good for you.”
“You may have a point. And if it makes you happy.”
“It will.”
“Where do you imagine going in the States?”
“Georgia and Tennessee.”
“Zelda, why do you want to go to the places of my past if you hate me so much? I’m curious.”
The door opens and Zelda studies her mother.
“Perhaps I’ll tell you when I get back. Perhaps I won’t.”
Part II
Atlanta, Cornwall, and the Space Between
4.
Sweet Escape
The flight from Heathrow has been dull. She is bored, as usual. Across the aisle, an older man – he may be at least thirty years old – has been attempting conversation. He is attractive and they chat occasionally. She enjoys his southern drawl. He has been in London on business for two weeks and is looking forward to returning home to Alabama. He says he is an accountant and makes small talk for a few minutes. She smiles and nods.
Returning thief-like to her mother's private journal, she reads more about her personal witch's chaotic life. Some mother! Yes, she “borrowed” Liz’s journal, but so what? She needed to know exactly how evil the super-witch was to protect herself from her vile influences. Her mother did have a time of things when she was younger. That much she had to admit. Her poor Uncle Charles. Wonder what type of man he would’ve become? She is curious to know more about her grandparents in Georgia as well. How did they cope with a child as shallow and self-absorbed as her mum?
This diary is to be given to her when she becomes nineteen, so her mum had written in her diary entry on the day Zelda was born. That was the age Liz began keeping the diary. That is only one year away. She can read it, then return it to the cupboard before her mother even realizes the diary is missing. She is such an idiot and a witch, she thinks. Another of her mother's weird plans to control everything and everybody. And, what a little manipulative whore the Belle from Hell was. First with this poor man, Peter Hendrix. Wonder whatever became of him after she ruined his life?
September Again (September Stories) Page 3