Sarah left smiling, agreeing to phone Robert that evening, or at least send him a text.
As soon as she heard Jane show her out, Stephanie picked up her mobile and dialled Robert’s number.
*****
Sarah clicked the phone off. He wanted to see her again; they were going to see each other again. He had been so pleased she had answered the phone this time. So worried he said, because she hadn’t called him back; he thought he had done something to upset her. Robert do something wrong! How could he possibly upset her? He was phoning once more just hoping she would answer, even if it was just to say no.
She could hardly think in her excitement. The papers she had been sorting scattered all over the floor as she danced around the room; she’d pick them up in a minute. She hugged her phone as she danced. She hadn’t even had to phone him. He had phoned her; Robert had phoned her and he was taking her out again. He must really like me, she sang out loud as she careered round the room, in and out of the chairs.
Finally, exhausted she sat back on the floor surveying the mess she had made. Never mind, she had all night to sort them again. He said he would pick her up and she had given him her address. He was coming to the house. She looked around. There was still so much to do, but she had explained to him she was decorating. He had been so sympathetic about her mother. Just how she imagined he would be. But she mustn’t let it distract her. She still had all the papers to go through and then she had to tidy up. Her mother had left everything in such a mess. She must put the thought of Robert aside until later when she could give him her full attention.
Earlier in the kitchen when she was chopping vegetables for her dinner, Sarah thought over her session with Stephanie; the way she avoided questions concerning her mother, managing to deflect anything she didn’t want to discus. Stephanie hadn’t pushed her, which caused a little disappointment. She would like to tell Stephanie what happened, how it all happened. Maybe she would eventually. Even though she hadn’t discussed it all, the session had filled her with a renewed courage and she finally felt ready to step into her mother’s bedroom. Filling the pot with water, she decided she would go now, while the vegetable stew was cooking. Yes, she would do it now, before she lost her nerve.
After standing for a few moments in the doorway of the bedroom, Sarah took a deep breath and reached for the light switch. It barely made a difference, Sarah had not yet replaced the 20 watt with a 60 watt bulb.
She stepped from the bright light of the new bulbs in the hallway into the darkness of her mother’s bedroom; creeping into the room not daring to open the curtains. She put her shaking hand to her mouth wanting to hold her nose against the dank tobacco smell lingering over everything.
She knew once the bedroom windows were open her mother would be set free. Liberated. She needed to retain her mother in the room. Keep her prisoner. Just as she had done to Sarah. For so many years. Why should she be free? By keeping the room locked up she prevented her mother from moving on, retaining her mother captive on earth. She shuddered. At night she sometimes heard her mother moving around the house. She wanted her mother to know what she, Sarah, intended to do with her life. She was going to make the most of it now she was free.
Standing at the door she looked around the room daring herself to go in. Everything in the room was old. Even by the light of the 20 watt bulb, she could see the carpet was threadbare; the wardrobes so old fashioned they were fashionable again, according to some of her new magazines. The mirror on the dressing table was tarnished around the edges and dust lay on each individual item placed on the dressing table; a dirty comb, some old hand cream, a frayed jewel box. Sarah wondered what was in it. She had never seen. She would look another day, today she had opened the door and ventured in for another reason.
Walking to the bulky wooden bed her mother had slept and died in, the dimness was not a problem. She knew from experience she could walk those steps blindfold. Without touching the bed she knelt beside it and pulled from under it three dusty boxes. She carried them one at a time downstairs, not wishing to stay in the mausoleum any longer than necessary. When they were all on the lounge floor she went once more to the bedroom, turned off the dim light, pulling the door firmly shut with both hands.
After checking on the stew, adding a little more water and giving it a stir, she took a duster from the cupboard and a knife from the drawer. Back in the lounge she cleaned off each box individually before opening one. She knelt, a knife in hand, her heart thumping in her ears. What would she find in these boxes? Would there be letters from her father? An address maybe? Something to tell her where he was?
The knife slid under the Sellotape and she pulled the lid open. Inside were hundreds of pieces of paper. Receipts. Receipts for everything dating back to when Sarah was a baby. She plunged her hands in to the paper, feeling around like a lucky dip, hopeful of finding something not so flimsy as a mere piece of paper. Disappointed, she discarded the first box and opened the second, feeling calmer but frustrated. But the second box revealed the same as the first. Turning to the last box, the disappointment had now killed any excited expectation at finding anything other than useless receipts. Opening the lid she could see immediately this box held a different content. But her heart sank in recognition.
It contained all the notebooks her mother had kept; notebooks Sarah didn’t want to see again. They were books her mother had kept always to hand, either in a pocket or a handbag, but always there. She felt her cheeks burn red at the memory of the shame of them when others had seen them. When she was very young she thought every mother had a little note book the same as her mother’s. Her teenage years at school informed her this was not so.
Each time her mother bought Sarah an ice cream or a chocolate or paid for what her mother considered a treat, she would take out one of these little books and she would meticulously write down the facts of that treat. She filled in the date, the treat and most importantly the price. She would then total the amount on each page, and at the end of each book she would total the full amount informing Sarah repeatedly she expected to be paid back as soon as she started work.
Sarah decided she would have a bonfire, and to one side started a pile of all the paper she was going to burn. She began to go through all the other papers in this box until she came across the receipt for the bike. The pink bike her father had bought for her. Why had her mother kept it? She stared at it in her fingers. Her father had held this piece of paper in his hands. She put it to her lips, closing her eyes for a moment and let herself think of him. She put it to her nose, imagining his smell.
Would he come to her? Would be find her? Why had he never tried to contact her? She must have stopped him. Maybe he wasn’t even in this country. He could be anywhere. She put the receipt to one side starting a small pile she was going to keep. There were receipts for toys, a pram, a cot, her bed; the one she still slept in. She would buy a new one when she finished decorating her bedroom. But she would finish downstairs first; Robert would only see downstairs, so up there didn’t matter. It was in that instance as she thought of him, her phone had rung.
Now, looking down at the mess she felt panic rise for just a second as she realized she had mixed the two piles together. Where was the receipt for the bike? She can’t have lost it. She needed it. Then she saw it, and grabbing it decided she did not really need the others. They all held too much of her. No, this was all she needed. Holding it carefully she got up and went to the bookshelf, choosing her favourite book, ‘Letter from Peking’, by Pearl S Buck, she tucked it inside, knowing it would be safe. Her mother had allowed her to read any book on the bookshelf, but that was all, unless they were set by the school. All the books in the house were old, the books that had been on the shelf when her father left. No others were allowed.
Exhausted, she fell into an armchair, the adrenalin evaporating into a kind of tiredness, but not a tiredness she was familiar with; she was smiling. She laughed. When was the last time she had sat in this room and laugh
ed so randomly? Closing her eyes to enjoy the feeling, an image of her father came into her head. He was smiling down at her. Opening her eyes, she realized there was something familiar about the feelings after all. It was a feeling she had all those years ago and hadn’t felt for such a long time. She felt happy.
The taste flooded into her mouth, her head buzzed. She felt the happiness drain away for just a few seconds at the sound of the voice, but then Robert appeared;
He rides towards her on a white stallion, waves his arm at her, his mouth shouts something she cannot yet hear. She looks down at herself and sees she is dressed in a long white dress. She twirls around. She waves back. They are on a hill, the sun shines down on them. She cannot see it but she hears a trumpet blast. As Robert comes closer she becomes aware of someone who stands next to her. Looking up she sees her father, he smiles down at her, takes hold of her hand. He is still so much taller, she feels like a little child again. Robert dismounts and walks towards them. She watches as he approaches, their eyes not leaving each other. When he stands beside her, she looks around. There are people, people smiling at her, people with cameras taking photos of her. She is sure they were not there a few moments ago, but the notion drifts from her mind as she feels Robert’s hand taking hers. In front now stands a man with a white collar, his mouth says something she cannot hear. All she hears is the trumpet, she wishes for it to be quiet, but it blasts through her head. Robert and her father fade, the trumpet gets louder.
Sarah didn’t want to open her eyes. She wanted the dream to go on but it was lost and over. An unfamiliar sound echoed round her head. She blinked her eyes open adjusting them to the light of the room. She could see it was dark outside not having yet pulled the curtains. The noise shrilled round her head. What was it? Shaking herself she pushed herself out of the comfortable seat. Standing, a deep weariness took over her body before suddenly coming too and realizing the smoke alarm in the kitchen was going off.
Of course, her dinner! Gathering herself she rushed from the room down the hall and into the kitchen to be greeted by volumes of black smoke. She pushed the back door open and then threw open the window above the sink. Turning to the hob she clicked it off, grabbed the pot and holding the lid down tight she took it out into the garden. The shrill noise was still going off, so taking a tea towel from the hook she swirled it in the air, trying to dissipate the smoke. Eventually the noise stopped. Leaning against the wall she watched the smoke thin, then looking at her watch was shocked to see how late it was. Too late to start again, she would be better off in bed.
.
Chapter Fifteen
Sarah could hardly contain herself as she waited for Robert. She couldn’t believe he was coming to the house to pick her up. Butterflies fluttered around her stomach. She walked into the lounge, sat down and grabbed the television remote control; as soon as she was sitting, she wanted to stand again, but she remained sitting, taking deep breaths as Stephanie had told her to, if she got too excited. She clicked the television on, and the programme randomly turned to one of her mother’s favourites. A DIY programme. Her fingers refused to push down the buttons on the remote control. She sat transfixed by the programme, sitting in her mother’s chair, the faint aroma of tobacco reached her nostrils, somewhere in her head she heard her mother’s whining voice calling her name. She sprang out of the chair, rushed at the television and pulled out the plug. Her heart thumped in her ears.
‘Those chairs need to go.’ She spoke to herself out loud, making herself real again. She also decided she would phone Dr. Short on Monday to let him know she would be back the following week. It wasn’t the money she needed, it was the company. She had enjoyed the workmen coming and going, making cups of tea for them, listening to their talk and banter. It was different to the women at work. She missed the women’s gossip, their trivial conversations, their mundane questions that they didn’t really care about.
She walked upstairs to check her face in the mirror again. She had put more make-up on than she had ever used before and worried if the eyeshadow suited her. It was the same colour as her dress, and the models in the magazines wore it like this. After making sure it was ok, she went and stood in front of the full length mirror she had bought for herself. Her mother would never have allowed such extravagance.
The dress was black with small bright red polka dots printed on it, the new season’s design, she had seen a dress similar in her new magazines. She thought the style of the dress was a bit old fashioned, reminding her dresses worn in old black and white films her mother had watched. She had been as strict about films as she had about the books. War was alright in her mother’s eyes.
Now Sarah could watch anything. Though she had not had time to watch anything new yet. She played with her hair, holding it up in a pony tail, turned her head this way and that, then let it fall down over her shoulders again. She had not had the courage to face a hairdresser. Nor had she quite decided how she wanted it cut. As a child her mother had cut her hair. The other children had teased her how it was so straggly and uneven all the way round. When she started work she had managed to stop her mother cutting it and her hair had grown thin and straight, but at least it was reasonable even now.
She looked down at her shoes. Red shoes. She loved her new red shoes. She had longed for red shoes as a child. She pointed her feet in the mirror, one at a time, turned around to see how they looked from the back; so pretty with their little red bows.
Her mother had always insisted on brown and plain, while all the other children at school had platforms, heels or little pixie boots. One pretty girl, in her first year at school, had pink wellington boots decorated with white and blue clouds. Sarah remembered how silly she had been to keep praying to God each night for an exact pair. She recalled by the time she was eight years old she had given up on God.
Although school had been preferable to being at home all day, it had not been easy. Once she had started junior school, all her thoughts were on the day she could leave school and go to work, and leave home. The sound of the car pulling up the drive broke into her thoughts. She pulled the dress down at the sides, took a deep breath; the butterflies fully alive, on ecstasy and dancing now.
She turned sideways to see what her back looked like. She was pleased with the effect. She walked slowly down the stairs, holding tightly to the banister as she breathed long and deep.
*****
Robert drove the car up the gravel drive. Looking through the windscreen at the house in front, he checked the number again. Yes, it was the correct house, but he would never have guessed. If asked he would, without a shadow of a doubt, have predicated she lived in a house completely different to this one. Getting out of the car he could look up and see even more. It was old and beautifully built, the spiral chimney stacks were classic, and in the window, which he guessed would be the stairway, was an incredible leaded glass window. This Sarah was not quite the poor little girl he assumed she was. He walked up to the oak door, and raised his hand ready to press the bell. But before he could do so the door was pulled open.
Again, he was pleasantly surprised. He had been expecting her to be dressed in another cheap outfit, looking sorry for herself, grief laden and pitiful. Instead he saw a beautiful young woman, in an expensive dress, smiling without a care in the world. On the drive over he’d decided not to bring up the subject of her mother, unless she did, this was a date after all and he wanted a bit of fun. Death would bring them down—mind you looking at her, maybe it wouldn’t. Faced with her smiling face, he thought grief obviously agreed with her and decided his intuition on the subject was spot on.
‘Hey Sarah,’ he leant down to kiss her on the cheek, ‘good to see you again’.
The light of the porch was bright enough for him to see her face go crimson under the make-up. A little too much make-up for his tastes, but she would look good on his arm tonight. He had planned on taking her to the same place as before, but now he had seen where she lived and how she looked, he’d ca
ll Oxfords on the way and take her there. They would find a table for him even if it was a Saturday night.
‘Um, I’ll, I’ll just get my coat,’ she stammered. He was a little dismayed that her oral ability hadn’t improved, but then a silent woman was ok, if she looked this good. He was beginning to see what Stephanie had seen in her from the start. He felt the stirrings of excitement. Yes, Stephanie may just have got it right this time.
She came back with her coat and he slipped his arm round her as he escorted her to the car. Opening the door, he watched her sit on the seat and swing her legs in after her. No self tan, but very fine tights. And a nice pair of pins.
‘I thought I’d take you to Oxford’s tonight, if that is ok with you?’ He asked before starting the car. He reached for his phone as he spoke, dialled their number, not expecting her to speak.
‘Oh, yes, that would be great, I’ve read about it. There was a review in the local paper saying how good it is.’
Ignoring her, he spoke into his phone, ‘Andre, hey man, its Robert, yea fine thanks. Any chance of a table for two? … About half an hour? Great.’ He clicked his phone off. Starting the engine, he reversed down the drive. ‘Music?’ he turned to ask Sarah.
‘That would be nice,’ she smiled back, showing her perfect white teeth.
Maybe he should ask about her mother? He had offered his condolences on the phone when he rang, surely that was enough. But she seemed perfectly happy sitting listening to the music. It was one of his own compilations, a new one he had put together over the last month. Robert Unplugged he liked to imagine it was. He could release it as that. She should feel honoured to be listening to it. He’d only just finished it and she was the first person to hear it.
Just Like a Woman Page 14