by Sue Welfare
‘What’s the matter?’
Arthur sighed. ‘You know I loved you from the first time I saw you throwing up in that bin.’
‘Oh, Arthur,’ said Helen, not sure whether he was joking or not.
‘By the way, I’ve had a call from someone in the BBC – they’re looking to cast a new drama series.’
‘And they’re looking at me?’ said Helen, swinging round.
Arthur nodded. ‘Female lead. Some sort of detective thing. They’d like us to go in for a meeting end of next week.’
Helen grinned. ‘That’s fabulous. Do you know anything else about it?’
He shook his head. ‘Not much. It was Harry Fentman, he likes to play it very close to his chest but he was very keen to find out what your commitments were. He’s going to email – And a publisher called and –’ Arthur paused and stared at her. ‘Why don’t you get changed after you’ve eaten?’ he said. ‘I’d have thought the last thing you’d want to do is spill soup down the front of that.’
‘I’ll be fine. They’ve sent napkins, and if you’re that worried I’ll put my robe back on. It just makes me feel better to know I’m as ready as I can be.’
‘You know it’s funny being back here,’ he said. ‘You and me, after all these years. It makes me realise just what we’ve missed. Have you ever thought that maybe we should start over, give it another go?.’
Helen laughed. ‘It was a long time ago now, Arthur, and we didn’t miss out on it so much as decide we didn’t want it. Remember? You and me, it was like chalk and cheese, oil and water. I’ve always loved you but there is no way I want to wake up with you.’
Arthur held up his hands in surrender. ‘Okay, okay, point taken, but please don’t go on about how much water has gone under the bridge. Just the thought of running water makes me head for the bathroom these days. I don’t suppose you get that with his nibs, do you?’
‘Will you just shut up about Bon and help me to zip this up? We had our chance and it didn’t work, and besides I don’t know what you’re complaining about, we see each other all the time. I probably see more of you than I see of Bon.’ Helen paused, admiring her reflection in the mirror as Arthur fixed the hook at the back.
‘My point exactly.’
Helen ignored him. ‘Oh that’s great, don’t you think? It fits like a glove,’ Helen said, running her hand down over the waist and hips
He sniffed. ‘Did you ask them to put all those rhinestones on it? It looks like you’re channelling Dolly Parton.’
‘It could be worse,’ said Helen, straight-faced. ‘It could be Freddy Mercury.’
Arthur peered into the mirror surveying his own generous middle-aged spread. ‘You know there was a time when I’d have cut quite a dash in a white Lycra jumpsuit.’
Helen laughed and handed him her necklace. ‘Well fortunately for everyone those days are long gone, Arthur.’ She paused as he dropped the necklace over her head and moved closer so that he could see to fasten it.
‘I’m glad you could make it tonight,’ she said. ‘The last couple of days have been hell.’
‘So I gather. You want to talk about it?’
Helen shook her head. ‘Maybe later, but not now,’ she said, resting her hand over his. ‘I’m just glad that you’re here.’
Arthur raised his eyebrows. ‘I wouldn’t have missed it for the world, you know that, don’t you?’ And leaning in closer still, brushed her neck with his lips. ‘I just can’t see why you’re wasting your time with that boy.’
‘Because that boy, as you call him, loves me.’ And for a moment their eyes met in the mirror, old friends still in love after all these years. ‘Stop it, Arthur,’ she said. ‘We did all this before, remember, and it was a disaster.’
‘I love you,’ he said softly.
‘Sometimes love isn’t enough. You can’t go back. We can’t go back.’
Arthur sniffed and pulled out a cigar. ‘So where is he tonight?’
He held her reflected gaze. Helen was the first to look away. ‘Don’t,’ she said briskly, wiping away an unexpected tear. ‘You know exactly where he is. He’s working his arse off in Dubai. You’d be the first one to accuse him of sponging off me if he didn’t work – now come on, we need to eat.’
‘No, baby, you need to eat,’ he said. ‘I’m not sure I’m ready for that much healthy food at one sitting and besides, I’ve got things to see to. And I know you like some time to yourself and time to warm up. And if you won’t dump what’s-his-face and run away with me then I’m going to nip off and have a smoke.’
Helen laughed, relieved that he had lightened the mood. ‘I’m glad to see you’ve got your priorities right,’ she said.
Arthur sniffed imperiously. When he had gone Helen settled down to eat her supper.
He had barely left when there was another knock at the door. Helen waited, wondering whether Arthur had forgotten something or whether it was someone with a message, as the door very slowly opened,
Helen glanced over her shoulder. ‘Harry?’ she said in amazement as she saw his familiar face peering round the door. ‘What on earth are you doing here?’
‘I’m not disturbing you, am I?’ he said, without stepping inside.
Helen shook her head. ‘No, not at all, but I thought you’d be at home with Charlotte and Adam.’
‘I was,’ he said, and then looked her up and down. ‘You know, you look amazing.’
She smiled. ‘Thank you. How’s Adam doing?’
He shrugged. ‘Not too bad. It’s a lot to take in. We just need to talk it through, get it all straight in our heads. In a funny way it feels like a relief.’
Helen nodded. What else was there to say? ‘And what about you? How’re you doing?’
‘I’m good. Really.’
‘I just don’t understand how you didn’t guess about Charlotte and Adam.’
Harry reddened. ‘I know, looking back there are lots of things that make sense now and I think that there was a part of me that always suspected, I just didn’t want to risk losing what we had –’
‘So what are you doing here?’
‘I brought you this,’ Harry said, slipping into the dressing room and setting down a suitcase on one of the chairs. ‘Your dad gave it to Charlotte before he died. He wanted you to have it.’
Helen stared at him and then at the suitcase. ‘And she’s had it all this time?’
Harry nodded. ‘I kept wondering why she didn’t contact you about it, although now I know why,’ he said ruefully.
‘And has Charlotte looked inside it?’ Helen asked.
Harry shook his head. ‘No, not as far as I know. I’m not exactly sure what she planned to do with it. It’s been tucked away in the spare room since your dad’s funeral. I thought you’d like it and now seems like the right moment.’
Helen took a long hard look at it. It was the same plain brown leather case that she remembered from her childhood.
‘He used to keep it on top of the wardrobe in their bedroom,’ she said, getting up to run her hands over the smooth shiny leather. ‘I always used to wonder where he’d ever been that he needed a suitcase.’
Harry took out a keyring out of his jacket pocket; it had a single key hanging from it. ‘Here,’ he said, handing it to her. ‘I’d better be getting back home before they miss me.’ He hesitated and then very gently leaned closer and kissed her. ‘It’s good to see you again,’ he said.
Helen smiled. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘For everything. I keep wishing I had come home sooner and then maybe none of this would have happened.’
Harry shrugged. ‘Who knows?’ he said. ‘The trouble is, if you’re not careful you can spend your whole life thinking about what might have been. You have to deal with what your life is, not what you’d like it to be. And I’m happy with the choices I made.’
‘I had to go,’ Helen said. ‘You do understand, don’t you?’
Harry nodded. ‘Yes, although I’ve often wondered what life would have been lik
e if you had stayed.’ He paused. ‘But you had to go, didn’t you?’
‘Yes,’ she said softly. ‘I did.’
Harry smiled his goodbyes. As he turned and opened the door a part of her longed for him to stay. ‘Thank you for this,’ she said, pointing to the suitcase.
‘It was the least I could do.’
‘How are they really?’
‘Charlotte and Adam? They’ll be all right – it’s going to take a while but I know that we can work it out. I love Charlotte and I love Adam – neither of those things have changed.’
‘They’re very lucky people,’ said Helen.
Harry smiled self-consciously. ‘Bye,’ he said.
She nodded and he was gone.
As the door closed Helen tried to quell the feelings of regret and loss and instead she turned her attention to the suitcase, wondering whether she really wanted to open it before the show or whether to wait until there was time to explore what was inside. Helen glanced up at the clock. Time was tick-tick-ticking away. She weighed the key in her hand. The compulsion to open the case was too strong to resist.
Crouching on the floor Helen slipped the key into the lock and turned it, feeling the teeth bite in the mechanism, feeling the lock give, and then she slid the little clips across so that the fastenings sprang open with a metallic thud. The sudden noise made her jump.
Very slowly Helen lifted the lid. The case was lined with checked pale cream paper and the whole thing smelt of camphor and lavender. Inside, it was filled to the brim with hundreds of envelopes and little packets all neatly tied into bundles with white cotton string. Helen picked up the first bundle and felt her heart lurch. Even after all these years, despite the fact that she had only been six when she left, Helen recognised her mother’s handwriting, rounded and childlike, across the front of the first envelope in the bundle.
The letter was addressed to her father.
Helen glanced at the clock on the dressing-room wall. How could she not look?
Very carefully Helen untied the string. There were perhaps two dozen thin, cheap envelopes in the first bundle, dated from May 1963, through until Christmas. Helen turned the first one over, and to her surprise discovered that the envelope was still sealed. Rifling through them she turned over the second and the third, the fourth and the fifth; none of the envelopes had been opened.
Taking a knife out of the picnic basket Helen slit the first one open. Inside was a single sheet of lined paper, neatly folded in two. Carefully Helen unfolded it and saw the words that had been written but never read all those years before:
Dear Gordon,
I just wish that you would listen to me and let me explain everything to you. We can’t go on like this, it’s killing me. Surely you can see that the reason I’m so down is because of what you’re thinking. I can’t bear the way you look at me and then don’t say anything. Your silence and the look on your face is far worse than any amount of shouting or arguing.
I thought it would ease up after all these months and maybe get better, but as it hasn’t, I thought it might be best if I went away for a few days. Maybe a bit of distance will help you see sense.
I love you dearly but you make it so hard some times.
I just want you to know that I would never have anything to do with anybody else. I thought you knew me better than that – and certainly not with Jim. He’s your best friend, Gordon – and we’re neither of us that sort of person. I just wish you would let me explain. But I know the more I say that there’s nothing between me and Jim the more you believe there is. I know that we can sort this out. I’m staying with Lillian if you want to talk. Till I hear from you, stay safe and give my love to Helen, I miss you both so much.
Your loving wife,
Amy
Helen, oblivious now to the ticking of the clock, opened the second letter, dated a week later.
Dear Gordon,
I can’t believe you’ve not rung or written or called round.
I’m waiting for every post to come, every time the telephone rings I think it might be you.
How is Helen? I think of you both all day, all night. This is like torture for me, Gordon. I suppose that is how you want it to feel. I can’t bear to be away from you both but I can’t bear you thinking badly of me all the time either. I couldn’t sleep or barely eat – and I hated the way you looked at me. I couldn’t stand it any more.
I can’t keep living off Lillian. If this goes on for very long I’m going to have to get a job. Just for a little while till you and me sort things out.
Buntings are taking people on, casual. So I might go there.
Lillian keeps saying how I should go and see a doctor and that I’d be mad to come back to you but I miss you so much, my love. Give Helen a hug from me. If you’d just ring I’ll come home.
Helen sat back and stared at the piles of letters – years and years’ worth of words written and unseen, unread until now. She wondered what had possessed her father not to open them. What had he thought all those years, when the letters kept turning up week after week? And what, given that he hadn’t read any, had possessed him to keep them all?
Helen began to go through the letters, pulling them out. In her haste she dropped them onto the floor, letter after letter, the sixties, the seventies, the eighties and nineties; letters for every year. There were Christmas cards, postal orders, cheques and birthday cards, airmail envelopes and gift packages – on and on until the year of her dad’s funeral.
Helen sat back on her heels. She could hear the minutes trickling away. Outside in the corridor she could hear people arriving, hear the theatre coming alive for her show – but how could she possibly go anywhere without knowing what had happened to her mother?
Helen ripped open the envelopes until she was surrounded by piles of them. At the heart of each one was the same heart-wrenching truth; Amy had loved her husband, Helen’s father, and she had always loved him. She loved them both and what was painfully brutally clear was that she hadn’t meant to leave them for long, just a day or two, or at the longest a week or two until he came round and talked to her, said he wanted her home, said he believed her, said that he loved her.
Helen read page after page after page, drinking in all the words; the longing, the pain, the anger and eventually the acceptance that Gordon didn’t love her and didn’t want her back.
Finally Helen opened up the last envelope in the final bundle.
Dear Gordon,
It was so good to see you today – after all these years wasted.
Oh my love you have no idea how good it was to see you and to hear your voice. And so good to spend some time with you, even if we couldn’t have long together – but once you move into Portlee we’ll be able to see more of each other. I’ve worked there for a while now. I couldn’t believe it when I saw you walking in.
I know that lots of things have changed and all this time has gone by, but I just wanted you to know that I have always loved you.
Your ever loving wife, Amy.
Helen looked at the address and felt her heart lurch.
She picked up the envelope and turned it over to check the postmark and as she did realised that there was something else inside it; a small photograph cut from one of the strips from a photo booth.
Helen stared at the picture for a moment. She had seen the face looking back at her somewhere before. It took her a second or two to place it and then getting to her feet she hurried out into the corridor to find Arthur, or Natalia or someone from the crew.
Felix was standing outside by one of the fire doors having a cigarette. As soon as he saw her face, he said, ‘Are you all right? What’s the matter?’
‘Where’s Natalia?’ asked Helen anxiously. ‘Have we still got the car here?’
‘Yes, sure, it’s round the back in the car park,’ said Felix. ‘Why?’
Helen glanced down at her costume wondering whether she should change but there was hardly enough time as it was. ‘Can you get it, the c
ar – we’re going to find my mum. I know where she is –’
Felix stared at her, she could see by the expression on his face that he was weighing up whether she was drunk or had finally lost it completely.
‘Please,’ pressed Helen. ‘Just get the car. Call Natalia – whatever it takes. I know where she is.’
‘Are you serious?’ asked Felix.
Helen nodded and thrust the letter into his hand. Felix scanned the page and the address. ‘Is that near here?’
‘About a mile away, if that.’
Felix glanced at his watch, but before he could say anything, Helen said, ‘I know what the time is, but I need to find her –’
‘Now?’
Helen nodded. ‘Yes, now.’
‘But this is dated years ago; she might not still live there anymore and it’s not even her permanent address, it says care of –’
‘I think that’s probably why you couldn’t find her; from reading the letters it looks like she lived with a friend for years in different places. The ‘care of’ in the address speaks volumes. As far as she was concerned my dad could come and take her back at any time. There’s a whole suitcase full of these – she’s lived her whole life waiting for him to ring, to write, despite everything everybody told her. Please just get the car, will you, I have to check – I have to know.’
The sound of her voice had brought Natalia out of hiding. ‘What’s going on?’ she said, her face folded into an anxious frown.