Birdseye

by Máire Fisher

  ‘Hold your horses, young lady.’

  I swallowed the bile that was rising in my throat.

  ‘Kitty got in my way. I couldn’t tolerate that, you see. As I’ve grown older, I find I’m less and less able to tolerate behaviour that displeases me. So let’s be clear. No more hysterical twittering from an overly emotional little madam. Understood?’

  I nodded.

  ‘We won’t be blubbering to the rest of that brood downstairs about this conversation, will we girl?’

  ‘No,’ I mumbled.

  ‘What? Speak up for goodness’ sake.’

  ‘No,’ I said more loudly.

  ‘And if you do, what will happen?’

  ‘You’ll say I was lying. You’ll deny everything and make me look stupid.’

  ‘Oh, I think we can do better than stupid, girl. Unreliable. Possibly unhinged. If you give me cause, I will suggest specialist medical treatment. Your behaviour of late has hardly been normal, has it now? Your little interlude with that scurrilous journalist. This unhealthy obsession with your brothers. Your morbid fascination with their killer. Not normal at all. Am I correct?’

  I nodded again.

  ‘I can make your life very unpleasant, my girl. But I won’t need to, will I? You’re the victim of an overactive imagination. Everybody knows that. Time to discard these foolish fancies and think of joining the adult world.’ She looked at her watch. ‘You’ve completely ruined my afternoon nap. Off with you. Tell Thelma to send up my tea now.’

  I bolted for the door, only to be stopped one last time. ‘We’re clear on this?’ she repeated.

  ‘Yes,’ I managed. ‘Quite clear.’

  ‘That’s more like it. Now what are you doing hanging around here, wasting my time?’

  ‘So that’s it,’ I told the pale damp squib of my reflection, back in my room. ‘Nobody’s going to believe a thing I say about her and the boys.’ The girl in the mirror looked at me unblinkingly. Then two faces hovered over her shoulder. ‘Great,’ I muttered, ‘now I’m seeing things too.’

  Oz and Ollie’s eyes were sad. ‘I thought you’d gone,’ I said, and they shook their heads.

  ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake,’ I snapped, sounding just like my maternal grandmother. ‘Did you think it was going to be easy? What do you want me to do?’ I screwed up my eyes and stamped my foot and when I looked again they were gone.

  Ma Bess had won, and there was nothing I could do about it. I was left to walk alone to the silent rhythm of the words that beat inside my brain: She knew, she knew.

  That evening she had another small episode, triggered by a fit of temper, and Dr Woods was called in again. He increased her meds and Annie warned us all not to do anything to upset Ma Bess.

  3

  It happened so suddenly. One minute Thelma was here, and the next she was gone. Her son, her oldest boy, had got himself a good job in De Aar. He will get many promotions, Thelma said to Annie. But I wasn’t interested in her son and his promotions. What worried me was how we were going to manage without Thelma to look after us.

  Thelma’s replacement would be arriving on Monday, a young girl she had vetted and instructed in every aspect of Ma Bess’s special needs and whims.

  ‘Busi is a good girl, Birdie,’ she’d said to me. ‘Try to help her.’

  I don’t want to help her, I yelled inside my head. But I couldn’t say it aloud. Nor with Thelma’s face alight with pride in her clever boy, beaming at the thought of going back to De Aar for good.

  ‘What’s the best thing about home, Thelma?’ I asked her. We were in the kitchen and Busi was standing at the sink, washing Ma’s fine china according to Thelma’s directions. Thelma was sitting at the kitchen table, her legs stretched out in front of her. She didn’t need to be there. She could have packed up her bags and left immediately, but she had stayed to show Busi the ropes.

  ‘The best thing, Birdie? The best thing is being my own boss. Sitting in my own house, with my own children, and hearing their stories about their day.’

  My face fell and she saw it happen. ‘Oh Birdie,’ she said. ‘I have loved you and your stories, all the time, since you were so little. But your stories are not my children’s stories. Those I only heard one time a year, for ten days, when she let me go home.’

  ‘Have you told her yet?’ I asked.

  ‘This morning,’ Thelma said.

  ‘What did she say?’

  ‘She was not happy, Miss Bird.’ A huge grin split Thelma’s face. ‘No, she was not happy at all.’

  Busi was listening to every word, her hands still in the sink.

  ‘I told you this, Busi,’ Thelma said. ‘This is your choice to make. She is not a good madam, she is a rich one. But my little Birdie and her parents, they will be good to you.’ Busi swallowed and managed a small smile.

  ‘So did she shout at you?’ I was dying to hear what Ma Bess had said.

  ‘No, Birdie, she did not shout. She told me I was very ungrateful. She said,’ and here Thelma raised her voice to Ma Bess’s querulous pitch, ‘“Heaven knows, woman, I have done everything in my power to make your life comfortable. Without me your children would not have had any sort of education, let alone one that led to a good job. And this is how you repay me?”’

  ‘What did you say, Thelma? What did you say back to her?’

  ‘Nothing, Birdie. I walked out and she was calling, “Come back here. I insist you come back into this room this very instant,” and I was walking down the stairs and I knew I was never walking up them again. Never.’

  She looked at Busi again. ‘Yes, Sisi, it’s good pay, but the old lady is hard work and she will never say thank you.’

  When it was time for her to leave, her children arrived to help her pack up and go home.

  How big they were. Two long-limbed boys, a girl as sweet-faced as Thelma, with her mother’s smile, only she didn’t smile at me. Instead they all looked at me as if I was a stranger. One they resented. I suppose they had every right to. Thelma had spent more of her life with us than she had with her own children. We’d all stolen their childhood from them. And now they had come to take her away. I looked at these big strangers, and I resented them too. They were supposed to stay the way I knew them. Two little boys and a smaller girl trapped in a black-and-white photo, squinting into the sun, dressed in church best. The picture Thelma had placed on the table next to her bed to remind herself, and the world, that she had another life.

  ‘So come, Birdie,’ she said, her bags packed and waiting on the pavement. She held out her arms and I stepped into them.

  ‘Goodbye, Thelma.’ I wanted to cling to her, beg her not to leave. Thelma was supposed to be here for ever, for me. I didn’t want that to change. Childish and selfish, I knew, but I was too upset to care. What right did her children have to take her away from me? And why was she going so easily?

  I watched them going down the street. The bakkie her son had rented backfired spectacularly at the end of the road, a loud final pop in the quiet afternoon. And then they rounded the corner and Thelma was gone.

  4

  And it didn’t stop there, I told the boys.

  Orville put down the phone. His face was grey.

  ‘What is it? Darling?’ Annie rushed to his side, was there to catch him as he stumbled.

  ‘My mother. A fall.’ He looked at Annie blindly, rubbed his eyes and looked at her again. ‘I have to go to her as soon as possible. Dad’s not sure what to expect.’ He choked on the last words.

  Annie patted his back and crooned as he wept. I stood in the hallway and watched. My gran, my sweet gentle gran.

  And now Annie was talking. ‘Of course I’ll go with you, darling. Of course I will. You can’t go alone. We’ll fly, get there as quickly as possible. Don’t worry. We’ll find the money somehow.’

  Orville straightened his shoulders. And then, in the same breath, they both looked at the stairs.

  ‘What about—’

  ‘—Ma Bess? Don’t worry Mom, D
ad. I’ll take care of her.’ It was the only thing I could say.

  ‘No, Bird. You can’t. I’ll get Mrs—’ Annie was gabbling, and I could see all she wanted was to get upstairs and start packing.

  ‘If only Thelma hadn’t—’ Orville began.

  ‘Mom. Dad. Stop,’ I said. ‘Look at me. I’m almost sixteen. Thelma’s been teaching me how to cook for years. I know exactly what to do for Ma Bess. And you can leave me lists.’

  They looked at each other.

  ‘Seriously now. It’s the least I can do. And I can always call on Mrs Franco if I need help.’

  ‘Are you sure you’ll manage, Bird?’ Annie asked a few hours later. Their bags were packed, they’d booked air tickets to Port Elizabeth. They needed to get moving if they were going to make their flight. ‘I could still ask—?’

  ‘Mom,’ I said patiently, ‘we’ve been through all this already. Angela’s only just got back to Andy and Olivia. Anthea’s who knows where and Alice is off to the big bug conference. I’ll be fine. Don’t worry. It’s only this one weekend, and then Busi will be here on Monday.’

  ‘Promise you’ll phone if you need us?’

  ‘Mom, I’ll be fine,’ I said for the millionth time since we had agreed that I’d look after Ma Bess. ‘I can cook, I can cope! Now go, and stop worrying. I’ll phone you this evening.’

  5

  I was alone in the house. No Thelma. No Annie. No Orville. Not one of my sisters. Just me, and upstairs, Ma Bess.

  I looked at the kitchen clock. Twenty-five minutes since I’d lugged her dinner upstairs. Soon I’d hear her bell or her cane whacking the floor, and I’d be expected to run upstairs, collect her dirty dishes and balance them all the way down again. Into the sink – hot soapy water. All washed and put away for the next time, and the next and the next. Fill her water jug, make sure there was fresh fruit in her bowl, add water to the roses in the crystal vase. Day after day of this. How had Thelma managed? How had she not cracked?

  Her bell trilled. There it was. The summons. I put down my book. A muffled thud. Thud-thud-thud-thud-thud.

  ‘Okay, okay,’ I said. ‘I’m coming.’ I raced up the stairs, my footsteps as hard and heavy as I could make them. I reached the blank white of the door and turned the handle.

  ‘Manners, Missy,’ Ma Bess snapped. ‘Haven’t I told you to knock first?’

  ‘Yes, but you—’

  ‘No buts,’ she said. ‘Now go back outside and behave properly.’

  I stared at her – and she stared straight back. ‘I’m waiting,’ she said.

  I bit my lip, turned on my heel and closed the door behind me as gently as I could. Then I turned and knocked lightly on the glossy surface.

  ‘Enter.’

  She’s not going to get to me, I thought as I opened the door. She’s not.

  I stepped into the room.

  ‘Into the light, girl, where I can see you.’

  I moved forward into the circle of light cast by the lamp behind her wheelchair. ‘How long will your parents be away?’ she asked.

  I looked towards her voice. ‘I’m not sure,’ I said. ‘It depends on what the doctors say.’

  I could make out her face now, hazily etched in the low light. Her skin looked old and grey, stretched tight over the bones of her face. ‘I can understand why your father went to see her,’ she said. ‘He is her son, after all. But why Ann had to go too is beyond me.’

  I blinked.

  ‘But no matter,’ Ma Bess said. ‘What we need to deal with is the situation at hand. Your parents have gone haring off. And your sisters aren’t available. Thelma’s gone without so much as a by-your-leave.’ Her mouth tightened. ‘Not that I expected loyalty from someone like her, but she could at least have worked out her notice.’ I opened my mouth and she waved it shut. ‘Which leaves you,’ she said. ‘So let us get a few things straight.’ She gestured to the gravy-smeared plate on the table next to her. ‘Start clearing that up,’ she said, ‘while I talk.’

  I lifted the plate onto the tray. She’d spattered gravy on the lace cloth cover ing the table. ‘Take that off,’ she said. ‘And make sure you wash it tonight, before the stain sets in. I want it clean and ironed and on the table before dinner tomorrow evening. Talking of which,’ she waited as I placed the lid on the chafing dish, ‘I expect better from you. Your mother assured me you could cook.’

  I opened my mouth in protest. I’d put a lot of effort into that meal. ‘I—’

  ‘No, don’t interrupt, girl,’ Ma Bess said. ‘Just listen.’

  She smiled and my heart tightened in my chest. As I waited for her to speak, the clock on her mantelpiece ticked into the silence. Only two days, I told myself, two more days and then Busi will be here and she can look after the old bitch.

  ‘Right then,’ Ma Bess said. ‘You know what to do for breakfast tomorrow?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said.

  Another silence grew.

  ‘Well then?’

  ‘One egg,’ I said. ‘Lightly poached. Half a rasher of bacon. A small spoon of mushrooms, a quarter tomato, grilled. Half a slice of toast, buttered. Marmalade.’

  ‘What was that about the toast?’ she asked.

  I thought back. ‘Buttered as it comes from the toaster,’ I said.

  ‘And the marmalade?’

  ‘Fortnum & Mason, pale lime. From your special cupboard in the kitchen.’

  ‘That’s right, girl,’ said Ma Bess.

  I turned to leave.

  ‘Wait just one minute,’ her voice snapped behind me. ‘Where do you think you are going?’

  ‘To take your tray downstairs.’ My hands were clenched tight on the metal handles. I could do this, for Orville and Annie and Gran.

  ‘Not so fast,’ said Ma Bess. ‘Don’t forget my bedtime drink later.’

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Hot chocolate, low fat milk, no sugar, half a digestive biscuit.’

  ‘That’s right. I expect it up here at ten on the dot. And might I suggest that you put some thought into planning tomorrow night’s meal? I can’t eat the sort of slush you served up this evening.’

  ‘May I go now?’ I asked.

  ‘You may,’ she said. ‘We’ll discuss the menu when you bring up my drink.’

  ‘Menu?’ I looked at her blankly. ‘But Mom said—’

  Ma Bess clicked her tongue. ‘Mom said,’ she mimicked my voice, making it sound small and trembly. ‘Don’t you understand, girl? Haven’t you realised? The only person who “says” in this house is me.’

  I looked beyond her chair to her closed curtains. They hung thin and shroud-like, stripped of colour. All life had been sucked from Ma Bess’s room, and if I had to stay here much longer, it would be drained from me too.

  I drew a deep breath and looked at her, at the glint of those deep blue eyes. ‘Fine,’ I said. ‘You can tell me what you want for supper. I’ll bring a pen and paper.’ I tried to keep my voice neutral – I even aimed for submissive, but Ma Bess was no fool.

  ‘You mind your tone with me, young woman. The sooner this Busi, or whatever her name is, starts her duties, the better. She’ll learn her place.’

  I swallowed, willed her not to say any more. But I should have known better. ‘You children have been given far too much freedom. In my day, children knew their place. But now?’ She pursed her mouth. ‘Now it’s all self-expression and let the child decide, never mind the consequences. And what do we get? Teenage misbehaviour and abortions. Girls living with girls, girls sneaking out at all hours to meet boys. Children disobeying their parents.’ She glanced at me slyly as I stood there, mute. ‘And what does that lead to?’

  My voice was stuck, lodged in my throat.

  ‘What it leads to, Missy,’ she said, ‘is misery. Misery. I spoke to Ann. I tried to warn your mother.’

  ‘I know,’ I said. ‘You told me.’

  ‘Told you?’ She flashed a quick glance at me. ‘I’ve done nothing of the sort, girl. Don’t start that nonsense with me again.’
r />   ‘Fine,’ I said. ‘I won’t. May I please leave the room?’

  ‘Go.’ She waggled a fine-boned hand at me. As I reached the door, she called out, ‘Don’t forget, ten o’clock sharp.’

  I swallowed. I’d be phoning Annie later and I had to be able to tell her everything was fine. All A-okay at Marchbanks Manor.

  I nudged the door wide with my hip. ‘I’ll be up at ten,’ I said. ‘With your hot chocolate.’

  I walked down the stairs carefully, the plates on the tray rattling gently, the smell of cooked meat damp in my nose. I made my way into the kitchen, placed the tray on the table and dropped into a chair at the kitchen table, feeling defeated.

  And suddenly there they were, alive and vivid in my head – Oz and then Ollie.

  ‘You can’t let her beat you, Bird.’

  ‘You have to play her at her own game.’

  They were right, but how? Whatever I tried to say, she’d deny it. And then what? She said it herself – who was going to take the word of a hysterical teenager over hers? One who was ‘strained to breaking point’, who ‘couldn’t let go of her brothers and let them rest’.

  ‘But we don’t want to rest, Bird,’ said Oliver.

  ‘We can’t,’ said Oscar. ‘Not yet. You’re going to have to figure this out yourself.’ His voice started to fade. ‘We can’t help you, Bird.’

  I sat in that chair for a long time, staring at my reflection in the shiny dome of the silver chafing dish. Pale, distorted, angry.

  6

  Another tray. This one set with a crocheted cloth, a bone china cup, a small jug with a lid, a carefully halved biscuit. Proper hot chocolate this, imported from England, along with jars of capers, mustard, horseradish sauce, mango chutney.

  Now to get it upstairs to her without spilling a drop. Step by careful step, I climbed the stairs.

  ‘How’s Gran?’ I’d asked Annie over the phone.

  ‘She’s had all the tests, the scans, and as far as they can see she hasn’t broken anything. They want to keep her in hospital tomorrow, just for observation, and then they’ll probably allow her out. We’re so lucky. At her age a fall like that could have been fatal.’

  ‘Good,’ I said, washed by a wave of relief. ‘That’s so good.’