‘Yes, she said to say it was beautiful; but something happened to her when you played that last piece. I swear to God she was singing. Her mouth was opening and shutting and her tongue was moving, you know, as you do when you sing. Not so much when you talk but when you sing. And I’m sure,’ he looked at Pimple, ‘I’m sure, Pimple, she was back wherever she came from for those few minutes and there was music there. I tell you, lads, it made me feel awful to see her.’
‘What’s she like now?’
‘Oh, I think she’s back to what she was before. Whatever it was, it was like a flash in the pan, but she must have recognised where she had once been. It was eerie. She was going to come downstairs.’
‘Come down?’ said Willie.
‘Yes; she had her arms outstretched as if she were walking to someone and singing. It’s shaken Bella. Anyway, I know nowt about music, but I can say you all played lovely. Thanks, lads.’
It was two days before Christmas Eve. The kitchen was warm, as usual, and today it had a special aroma. This was from a large basin of mixed sweet mincemeat, all ready to fill pies, for which Willie’s slab of pastry had already been turned and rolled and turned and rolled.
Dressed for outdoors in a brown felt hat and a grey coat, and with a large woollen muffler round her neck, the ends of which were tucked under the lapels of her coat, Bella came in, and after taking a basket from the bottom of the cupboard she turned and looked towards the vegetable board, saying, ‘Where’s the miss, Willie?’
‘Haven’t seen her this morning, Bella.’
‘You haven’t seen her? When I went upstairs to get changed she was just finishing washing our breakfast things. Then she usually goes upstairs and tidies her room before coming down and starting on the veg. Well, you know she does.’
‘She didn’t this morning, Bella.’
Bella stared at Willie for a minute. Then dropping the basket on to a chair, she hurried out and up the stairs. She did not tap on Reenee’s door but went in.
The room was empty; but she noticed the wardrobe door was half open, and when she looked inside she exclaimed, ‘Oh, my God! No! No!’ Her coat had gone; but she still nearly always wore that downstairs, except sometimes she would take it off in the evening when she was sitting sewing something; but the hat, that weird hat had gone, too. ‘Not again, Reenee,’ she said aloud; ‘not again. Oh, lass, don’t, please! Not at this time of the year.’
She almost ran back down the stairs and called to Willie, ‘She’s gone!’
Willie stopped his cutting, his hands flat on the board. ‘What d’you mean she’s gone? You mean the miss has gone?’
‘Who the hell am I talkin’ about, Willie? Yes! She’s gone.’
‘Well,’ he swallowed deeply, ‘she went off before, but she came back, didn’t she?’
‘Yes, she might have; but I’m gonna tell you something; she’s never been the same since she heard Tony and Pimple playin’ that piece. It did something to her. It must have penetrated to something from her past. At times she’d sit, her eyes crinkled at the corners as if she was thinking, thinking hard. I tell you, she’s never been the same since.’
‘We meant it for the best. I’m sorry.’
‘Oh, lad, of course you did, and it was lovely, really lovely. And she loved it and all. Look what she wrote on that piece of paper . . . “beautiful”. But it took her back somewhere, I know that. Twice she’s come down without her coat on and then, as if remembering, she’s gone back for it.’
Bella sat down on a chair. ‘I’ll go mad if anything happens to her, lad. I really will.’
‘Oh, nothing’ll happen to her. You know, we’ve talked about it when we’re down there together, the lads and I, and she’s got a very sensible side. We all agreed on that, and she takes everything in. It’s only part of her that’s got funny and, as Pimple said, that part of her is dominated by fear. Look how she won’t move out among people. She’s never been out of the doors, he says, for months on end. And I think we all agree, she’ll never come fully to herself until she faces up to that fear.’
‘And that’s what she can’t do,’ said Bella, ‘else she wouldn’t be here if she could face up to it, would she? And I can tell you, and I shouldn’t say this, but I dread the day she does face up to it, ’cos then I’ll lose her. She wouldn’t stay in this life two minutes if she was all right, now, would she?’
After a moment of consideration Willie said, ‘No, you’re right, missis. The likes of us, the lads an’ that, well, we’re different. Most of us have had to rough it all our lives, but she must have been brought up different. She’s known a different way of living.’
‘Oh, be quiet, lad. What am I goin’ to do?’
‘I would just sit still or, better still, go out and do your orderin’ and your shoppin’.’
‘I can’t do that, I just can’t. If only . . . if only Pimple or Joe were here, they’d know what to do.’
‘No, they wouldn’t, missis; no more than you. It’s my opinion that she’s gone out. She knew where she was heading for and why she was goin’. There’s part of her mind that is as sane as your own. Perhaps it’s only a small part, but it’s there. Anyway, she’s likely gone shopping.’
‘Shopping! What would she go shopping for?’
‘Aye, I agree. But then she wouldn’t have any money, would she? Joe says she won’t take money.’
‘Oh, she’s got money. She’s got a bit of money of her own.’
‘She has?’
‘Yes, she has.’
‘Well, then, she’s likely gone shopping.’
‘Look at the weather! It’s sleeting, and it’ll freeze her out there.’
‘Well, she has that big coat on, missis, and it looks like a blanket because it’s fleecy lined.’ Then, more to himself, he muttered, ‘It’s a wonder that she hasn’t been spotted before now in that rig-out.’
At that very moment Irene was being spotted in the rig-out by someone who had seen her before. She had entered the pawn shop, and there stood the younger of the two pawnbrokers. He was attending a customer, saying ‘Half a dollar, I’m sorry; no more, just half a dollar,’ and the customer said, ‘Well, better than nothing.’
Irene stood aside and watched the man behind the counter write out a ticket, then hand over half a crown to the waiting woman, who had a woollen scarf round her head and who was definitely wearing two coats of different colours, for the upper one dropped just as far as her knees.
Mr Joseph Gomparts’s smile was wide as he greeted Irene. ‘How pleased I am to see you, madam. Have you come to retrieve your jewellery?’
She shook her head, and at this he said, ‘No?’ and again she shook her head. Then she pointed towards the shop window, and he said, ‘Something in there?’ She nodded; then, putting her hands together, she imitated the handling of a flute or whistle and he said, ‘Oh, a musical instrument?’ Again she inclined her head.
‘Oh, yes,’ his head was bobbing now, ‘I remember there was a flute there. Yes, there was and . . .’ He thought a moment, then looked along the shelves and across the shop to where there were more shelves, and he said, quite suddenly, ‘He never came back for it. Can you wait? My father’s in bed with a cold but he’ll know whether or not he has sold that.’
It seemed no time before he was back again, almost hopping to his place behind the counter and saying, ‘It wasn’t sold. It’s in the store-cupboard with the rest. We get a lot of musical instruments, you know. I must look it up in the book. Just a moment.’ He turned to where a thick-backed ledger lay towards the end of the counter, and thumbing through it, with his finger tracing each entry, stopped suddenly and said, ‘Ah, eighteen months ago, seven and sixpence. Just a moment.’ Again he was gone from her; and it was slightly longer before he reappeared. In his hand was a flute. He handed it to her.
It looked as if it were made from ivory. After stroking it she looked at the tag hanging from it which said, ten shillings; and again her eyes met his, and he, putting his head
on one side, laughed and said, ‘It is our little bit of profit, but in this case, madam,’ his voice dropped, ‘we will say seven and six. Will that suit you?’
His last words were almost whispered, but she nodded. Then, opening her mouth and making an effort, she said, ‘Thank you.’
‘You are very welcome, madam. Very welcome. Any time . . . any time. I will wrap it up for you. Is it going to be a present for someone?’
She nodded.
‘Well,’ he said, ‘seeing as it’s Christmas, I have a piece of Christmas paper here which,’ he added, with a grin, ‘we don’t usually go in for. I will make it into a little parcel.’
This he did, and sealed it with a bit of wax before handing it to her, saying, ‘I am sure the recipient will be delighted with it.’
She paused; then slowly lifting her hand, she extended it to him and he, as slowly taking it, pressed it gently. No word was spoken but they looked at each other; then she turned and left the shop, and as he looked after her he experienced a feeling that was new to him, but he had no words in his fertile mind to express it.
The sleet had turned to snow. It was falling in large flakes and clung to vehicles and passers-by, leaving them white-coated. Only the roads looked dark and muddy.
She had been walking for fifteen minutes before she came to the first real shopping centre. She knew she had been this way before and, instinctively, she also knew what she was looking for. Eventually she stopped outside a window, which showed winter woollies of all kinds, from pom-pom hats to large fringed scarves, woollen jumpers and even a complete knitted suit on a model. She did not linger to examine the different pieces displayed but went straight into the shop. However, once inside, she stood for a moment while her snow-covered head and shoulders dripped moisture down her coat. Then, blinking rapidly in the bright light, she approached a curved counter, at one end of which was a long rack with a notice which read, ‘Half price. Making way for new stock’.
Very few customers were in the shop, and none at this counter; and the girl behind it stood looking at the figure before her. She did not see the woman’s long coat and hat as odd, because they were both bespattered with snow that was still to melt, but she greeted her with a smile and said, ‘Yes, madam, can I help you?’
When the customer indicated by putting her hand around her neck that she wanted a scarf, the assistant thought, Poor soul, she’s deaf, but immediately she turned to a rack and brought down two scarves.
Irene could see that they were long and made of thick wool, and that they were priced at fifteen shillings each. Her mind was endeavouring to work fast: she must have four scarves; and then she must have enough money left for Bella’s present, and something for Joe. She shook her head and indicated by measuring the scarf that half the length would do.
The snow from the woman’s headgear had melted fast, as had that from her shoulders, and the assistant could see now that the coat she was wearing, although it appeared bulky and might be warm, also looked rather dirty.
Irene’s eyes had strayed to a rack on which she saw a number of scarves hanging and the assistant, noticing this, said, ‘Yes, madam. They have been reduced by more than half but some have fringes only on one end.’ Then she added with a smile, ‘Manufacturers’ mistakes, you know.’
Irene nodded and, going to the rack, she lifted down one scarf which was about two and a half feet long and six to nine inches wide and, yes, it had fringing on one end only. There was a tag on this particular scarf, which she looked at. Noticing this, the assistant came round the counter and said, ‘It is less than half price, being, as I said, a kind of mistake. They are very good value at five shillings.’
Irene laid the scarf on the counter next to the expensive one. It was only two-thirds as long and not so wide, but it was of the same quality and she nodded quickly and pointed to it, then to the other three that were on the rack.
‘You’ll take them all, madam, the other three too?’ the assistant said. ‘They’re really a bargain. I’ll wrap them for you.’
Irene’s hand was touching what looked like a silk blouse and the girl said, ‘Oh, miss, that wouldn’t fit you. It’s a pity, because it’s a lovely material, but it comes out time and again at sale time. You see, it was made up in the sewing room here, but the customer never turned up again. There are people like that, you know, madam,’ and straight away the thought flashed into her mind that she was treating this person as she would a lady. Yet there was something about her; she didn’t know what. Anyway, if she could make another sale, that was all to the good, because it had been a very dull morning - people weren’t out shopping on a morning like this. She unhooked the blouse from the rack and laid it on the counter. It was an odd shape for a blouse, and this she pointed out, remarking that the person who had ordered it in the first place must have been very broad and with a very short waist. But then she lifted it up and ran her fingers through one of the sleeves, saying, ‘It’s real silk, it’s beautiful, isn’t it?’
Irene stared down at the odd-shaped multi-coloured blouse, and already she could see Bella in it. Something told her it would need altering here and there, but it was indeed a beautiful material. She looked at the tag. It was marked ten shillings and sixpence and as she stared at it the assistant said, ‘Believe it or not, madam, it was priced at seven pounds before it was put on the rack, and it has been reduced three or four times since. It’s a gift to anybody who’s good with their needle.’
At this Irene nodded affirmatively, then pressed it towards the scarves before turning again to the rack. There, fingering a woollen garment, she looked at the assistant for guidance. The girl said, ‘That is really a waistcoat, madam. As you see, it’s sleeveless and it’s large; but it isn’t wool, it’s what you would call a composition. It would be very nice for a gentleman. You see it has two short leather belts on each side, which would clip in the middle.’ She demonstrated how this could be done. ‘These were very fashionable with men at one time, though generally in suede or leather.’ And now she smiled as she said, ‘It isn’t everyone who can afford suede or leather, but this would make a nice Christmas present for a . . .’ she hesitated’ . . . for a gentleman. That is, if he had a large frame. Do you know someone it might fit?’
At this Irene nodded vigorously: she was thinking of Joe.
The assistant said, ‘Well, now, let’s reckon this all up . . . One pound eighteen shillings,’ she said finally. ‘Is that what you make it, madam?’
Irene did not nod but, putting her hand inside her coat, she withdrew from the pocket two pound notes.
As the assistant was pushing the change and receipt across the counter towards Irene, she bent forward and exclaimed, ‘You haven’t a bag with you, madam? Oh, well, I can supply you with one, and I’ll do so with pleasure.’ She was somewhat surprised when the customer put out her hand and touched her gently on the sleeve, then pointed to some fancy wrappings on the counter, at the same time emitting one word, ‘Please.’
The word had a slightly husky sound, but the assistant, after staring at this strange lady, who had an unusual, beautiful yet colourless face, said, ‘You would like them wrapped?’
At this Irene bent her head and her lips gave a slight quirk of a smile, which brought an answering smile from the girl, as she said, ‘It’ll be a pleasure, madam.’ And so she rolled up each in a fancy Christmas bag and closed it with a Father Christmas adhesive sticker. Then, from under the counter, she drew a pretty figured paper bag large enough to take all Irene’s purchases, and when at last the girl handed them to her, Irene was still smiling.
When the customer’s hand came out and her fingers touched her sleeve, the girl was surprised, but more so when Irene, seeming to gasp for breath, said, ‘Thank – you.’
‘It’s been my pleasure, madam. And a happy Christmas to you.’
At this Irene’s head bobbed two or three times before she turned and walked from the shop. The girl, looking at her back and seeing the long, stained coat, was wonderin
g who on earth her customer was or had been. Yes, those were the words, had been, for although the woman could hardly get out her words, the tone of them wasn’t common. And the face . . . she had never seen a face like it, and she had, over the years in the shop, looked at hundreds. But that one, that face had the most lost look she could ever imagine. What a strange incident! They won’t believe it at home when I try to tell them, she said to herself.
Pimple gasped when, through the falling snow, he saw a figure he knew immediately to be Reenee’s. She was more than ten minutes’ walk from home. No, he wasn’t seeing things, he hadn’t made a mistake in identifying her; how could he with that coat? He hurried towards her, and was soon by her side, matching his steps to hers. ‘You been out shopping?’ he asked.
She turned her head quickly, and on a sharp gasp her lips formed his name, but they made no sound.
‘You do pick your days, don’t you, to take a stroll? Oh, look out!’ he said, as he took her arm and, quite roughly, pushed her further on to the pavement when a lorry, its wheels in the gutter, splashed the muddied snow into the air. ‘Look,’ he said now, ‘let me carry that bag.’
But she shook her head vigorously and held the bag quite tightly in front of her.
‘All right, all right,’ he laughed, ‘I’m not goin’ to pinch it, miss,’ which, he noticed, caused her lips to move upwards into a smile, but he couldn’t see her eyes for her body was leaning forward against the falling snow.
Presently, he said merrily, ‘There’s a saying, you know, Reenee, does your mother know you’re out? I bet Bella doesn’t know you’re out, does she?’
Irene did not turn to look at him, but she shook her head.
‘Well, look out for squalls, for there’ll be hell to pay. She’ll go mad, you know, wondering where you might be. She’s very fond of you, but I suppose you know that. I’ve never known anybody so fond as she is of you. Look,’ he took hold of her arm, ‘let’s take a short-cut else we’ll be covered with mud before we get in.’
He led her up some side-streets, and then there they were in The Jingles. There was Ginnie’s and the outdoor beer shop and the butcher’s and the cobbler’s, and then, as Pimple put it, they were at their own front door.
The Silent Lady Page 15