Out of the Mist

by Lynne Chitty

  Anyway he would need to get up and running again. Get all his stuff out the garage and a few legitimate jobs under his belt. In the mean time he fancied ‘On Your Bike’ in the 2.15 at Epsom. He’d go and see Pat at the bookies.

  EDITH

  The carer Beth, had been chatty this morning. Going on about her family. Her words mostly washed over Ediths head. She didn’t want to hear about their lives and she didn’t want them in her life. She had mumbled a few yeses and oh dears as the younger woman had explained how her husband had gone on a fishing trip with his mates leaving her to look after the eight year old twins on her own. When she had gone, Edith had for once stayed in her chair. Bed felt a much safer place to be but as she sat with her as yet unopened book beside her, she again found herself thinking about the past.

  She hadn’t loved either of the men she had children by. They had just been there. With Stanley, she had lost her innocence. With Richard, Marcus’ dad, she had lost her way, her identity. Then finally her leg. Though she couldn’t blame Richard for that he’d died long before.

  She didn’t really blame anyone for her life. Except herself. Her bad luck. Her bad choices. Her weakness and then her fear had colluded with the emergence of Marcus bullying behaviour and now it was all too late. She’d wanted to be a librarian as a young girl. Working among books day in day out seemed a heavenly occupation. In fact it had been Eliza who had chosen that as a career. Edith smiled. Ever since she could read Eliza had devoured books like there was no tomorrow. Edith had harboured a secret hope that one day her daughter would write a book of her own. She had the ability, all her teachers had said she had a way with words. They also said she was rather quiet and solitary, but didn’t that go with writing? She hadn’t seemed to need friends, choosing instead to share the lives of the characters in her books. I’ve travelled the world she’d say, excited by the latest adventures of Dervla Murphy who she adored. In truth, she’d never been further than London but she didn’t seem to mind. Oh Eliza. Edith sighed. She would get back into bed after all. Reaching for her stick she hauled herself back beneath the sheets. At least Beth had changed them before she left.

  SEVEN

  ELIZA

  The sun, like the star of a show had made a spectacular entrance just before mid day and the sea was sparkling in a million places. It was as if a great wizard had waved a wand over the water and invited it to dance. It was truly magical and Eliza couldn’t help but smile. She was in wonderland, a child who nothing could hurt. The gulls equally entranced soared lazily overhead. Then it happened, a seal popped its head up out of the water. Eliza gasped and willed the creature to stay, but it was gone again in a moment. As hard as Eliza looked she couldn’t spot the black head and she had to be content with the memory. Fleeting as it had been, it would sustain her. She had seen a seal. Her favourite of all animals. Warm and ridiculously excited she went to take off her pale blue jumper, but then she stopped herself.

  It was ironic that the only visible wounds from the attack that she bore were those she had inflicted on herself. For months her razor blade had been her greatest friend and her greatest security. Looking back she wasn’t sure if she had been trying to cut Marcus’ presence from her body or whether it was simply about the pain. A pain that she couldn’t cope with, however deep she cut. A pain she couldn’t reach or name or overcome. The scars though not raw were still visible on her arms and she still wore long sleeved shirts and blouses or jumpers whatever the temperature. She had read a few months ago that self - harm was on the increase and she could understand why. But it wasn’t the right way to cope. It didn’t change anything in the long term and sometimes when she looked at her body she could barely believe what she had done to herself. At least it was talked about now and people could get help. Help. A strange word. ‘To come to the aid of’. ‘To give assistance to.’ Her mother had tried with terrifying consequences. And since then, her doctor, her counsellor, her work colleagues, they had all tried to help. One by one she had pushed them away. Withdrawing into a place where no one could reach her. Until gradually, scarred, underweight and aged, she had emerged from her isolation and tried to begin again.

  Moving away from her mother had been the hardest thing she had ever done. She had held her mums hand as she explained she needed to make a break, a fresh start. To get away from the memories that were in every room and the pity that was in the eyes of everyone she knew. I’m going to Gloucester she had said. The puzzlement in her mothers eyes had nearly broken her but she had kissed her on the forehead and ten days later walked away.

  She hadn’t exactly stuck a pin in a map of the British Isles, for a while she had wondered about going to Blackpool to track her father down if he was still there. But in the end she’d gone for convenience and the work. Gloucester library had a job going. She had gone for the interview got the post and rented a bed sit by the park. It wasn’t cheerful but it was cheap and she’d been able to pay for a carer/companion for her mother and even save a bit too. Resulting in the pilgrimage to Skye.

  Eliza looked again at the place where the seal had been. She boldly laid her jumper down by her bag and ate the packed lunch she had ordered from the hotel. The past was like the tide she thought. You could never stop it coming in, but it went out too. Not for long maybe, but it inched away from the shore of the present, leaving pools of possibilities to be explored.She got out her notebook

  THE POOL

  I saw a pool whose water was deep blue

  But couldn’t reach it I ached in longing,

  Ashamed

  Tears trickled down my face,

  and then as I watched, they joined the pool,

  they became the pool

  And like the mountains that surrounded the shore,

  I held my head up high

  A voice said

  ‘Come,

  Come bathe in the pool of tears whose name is healing

  And I stood, wondering

  If I dare step in.

  Eliza scribbled out the words. Sentimental nonsense she thought, as she looked up at the mountains which even in the June sun were stark and foreboding. In that moment though, she wasn’t afraid.

  MARCUS

  Things were looking up. The sun was shining, Desert Superstar had won and he had got a great new jacket in the St James’ Hospice shop for a fiver. Would have cost over a hundred quid new. Ted Baker stuff didn’t come cheap. He wondered if the previous owner had snuffed it. Or maybe he was so loaded he bought a jacket every week and only wore it once. Not many loaded people in Wellington but there were plenty with enough for Marcus to be interested in. He was meeting Ant later for lunch. He’d seemed a bit reluctant at first but a few choice words and gentle, and then not so gentle reminders of their previous collaboration soon brought him round. No one but no one said No to Marcus. For a second he remembered Eliza’s piercing scream but buried the thought as soon as it surfaced. It had been her fault. Not his. He hadn’t been surprised to find that she had moved away. If the truth was known he was glad. Hadn’t seen her since that day in court when he’d been sentenced. She had always thought she was better than him. Head in her bloody books and fancying herself as a writer. Waste of space daydreamer and not even pretty. Gust of wind would blow her over and with her short straight hair and shapeless body he wasn’t surprised that she never went out. What a waste of time that would have been. She was a joke. Now Ellen, who he was seeing later that night. Now she was what he called a woman. They understood each other. No commitments. No questions. Just sex.

  He had no hankering to be married. He couldn’t be faithful if his life depended on it. Sometimes he thought about fathering a kid just to keep his name going. Knowing his luck though he’d get a daughter and he didn’t want one of those. No way. His thoughts turned again to Frank Rimmer. He’d had two daughters and been so proud of them. Which was odd as neither of them amounted to much. Both married young and moved away. They were good people though. Maybe that was what made Frank proud. Nobody wou
ld ever be proud of me Marcus thought. Still he did what he had to do and with that thought in his head he stopped at the newsagents for some fags.

  EDITH

  Filthy habit smoking, but neither Marcus, nor his father before him had respected her wishes and both smoked in the house. Every time Marcus came in, he brought with him the sickening smell of stale sweat and cigarettes. How had she grown to hate him? Her own son. The boy she had cried over, worried about, adored and now detested. When had the gentle boy she loved become so obnoxious and so angry? How had it happened? She racked her brain to try and remember the first time his temper had frightened her. Could she have done more? She had always blamed Richard. He had derided his son for his love of animals and called him a nancy boy for crying when Digger, their Jack Russell had died. She had tried to stand up for Marcus but that had made it worse. Mummys boy and much more had been thrown in both their faces. Richard had grown up fast. As an evacuee he had spent long periods away from London where he had been born and he learned to fend for himself. He ran away when the war ended and made a life for himself. Eventually moving to Wellington where they had met. She knew he had fingers in lots of pies and that he had been forced to leave London in a hurry but all she had wanted was a proper home for herself and Eliza. So she overlooked that which she didn’t approve of, and didn’t ask questions. She bore Marcus and when Richard had collapsed and died one October morning on his way to the papershop, she had settled into widowhood.

  She hadn’t been surprised that he had left the house to Marcus.What had shocked her was the amount of cash and jewellery she had found in a box behind his bureau. Worried that Marcus would discover it she had hidden it under her nighties in her dressing table. It had taken her ten months to pluck up the courage to count the money which had amount to one thousand, eight hundred and thirty pounds. The jewellery she had sent to auction and worried day and night that there would be a knock on her door from the police asking her to account for being in the possession of stolen goods. The knock never came, though a cheque for nine hundred and seventy pounds did.

  Opening a building society account had been nerve wracking but ultimately thrilling. It was her money now. She did still worry about where it had come from and whether anyone was grieving for the jewellery but not enough to do anything about it. It was all too late anyway. She supposed she was as bad as Richard really. It was her security in case Marcus ever threw her out. Or more likely if he lost the house gambling or in some deal or whatever it might be Three thousand pounds wasn’t much but it was hers. Not much else was. Even her mind had distanced itself and no longer co-operated when she tried to piece her thoughts together.

  EIGHT

  ELIZA

  Eliza still couldn’t face the porridge but opted for a fried egg on toast rather than her usual muesli. Time to live dangerously she thought. She’d been awake for hours, finally succumbing to the restlessness and going for a walk in the early morning darkness. Shapes that she knew were the mountains and the unmistakeable sound of water lapping against the pier had given the eerieness a peace that she had breathed in greedily. It had been deceptively cold and she regretted not wearing her fleece. I am alive she said out loud scaring herself. She lost track of how long she stood gazing out in to the darkness but gradually the fingers of dawn had quietly and gently drawn back the curtains of the night and a new day had begun.

  “Morning there.” the now familiar voice said disturbing her out of her reverie

  “Wasn’t sure if you had any plans for today but the mini bus we’ve hired to take us to the race came yesterday. Anyway we’ve decided to pay the extra and use it for a trip to Armadale Castle this morning. Its a twelve seater and theres only eleven of us so if you wanted a lift it would be no trouble. “

  Eliza looked back at the runner trying to form words but failing.

  “We’ll be leaving at ten” Pete continued awkwardly, unnerved at Eliza’s lack of a response. “and will be back about two I expect.You can do your own thing when we get there and its only a twenty minute or so drive so if you want to come you would be more than welcome. The gardens are well worth seeing and there’s a museum there. Weather’s due to be good too”

  Eliza had read about the castle in the information pack she had found in her room, along with a spray for the legendary Skye midges and a complimentary mini bottle of whiskey which she had been tempted to take as a christmas present. She didn’t know who she would give it to though. Perhaps her boss at the library, Norman Harwood. Though he might think it an odd thing for her to give him, especially as she didn’t know if he drank and she could hardly tell him that it had been a freebie. Maybe she should just leave it for the next guest. At least she would use the little sachets of coffee and shortbread biscuits she kept putting in her bag, once she was back at her bedsit.

  “No need to decide now,” Pete concluded “but if you fancy coming just meet us outside in the car park before ten”

  He smiled and left her to her finish her egg.

  She would have to make a decision now. A wave of panic swept over her and with it the familiar feeling of wanting to run away. Trying to get a grip of herself and desperately fighting the fear that had welled up inside she closed her eyes and gradually got her breathing back under control. She would love to see the castle gardens but feared the thought of having to talk to the others. Of more being asked of her than she could cope with. It was just too much. She would have to say no. The invitation had spoiled her mood. She was a failure and useless and the sickly mix of depression and self pity stuck in her throat and caused her head to throb mercilessly.

  She didn’t have any real plans. Just another walk and more time spent watching the water and the constantly changing colours of the sky and horizon. It had been enough. Good even. Now it felt as if the colours had faded and dusk had come much too soon.

  She left the restaurant, hardly noticing the seagull of which she had grown so fond. Every morning and evening, when the tide went out, the bird, came and tossed the seaweed here, there and everywhere with that fiercesome beak searcing for food. If throwing seaweed ever became an Olympic sport the gull was definitely gold medal material. She had wondered why it was always on its own. They mated for life didn’t they, like swans? A lump formed in Elizas throat. Had the gull lost its partner? Why was the world filled with so much loneliness and pain?. She hated it. She hated everything. Herself. Life. Why the hell had she ever got on that train and come here.

  “May see you later” As she slowly made her way back to her room. Pete’s voice once again cut through her thoughts. He was becoming a nuisance.

  MARCUS

  Marcus liked Ellen. He liked her house. He liked her laugh. He liked her body. Most of all he liked the fact that once they had done the business she got up, showered, dressed and put East Enders on. He didn’t love her and he didn’t have any idea how old she was. They had got talking in the pub one night about ten years ago and he’d been going round ever since. Except of course while he’d been inside. She had been the only one to write to him there. Then only because he owed her fifty quid. He didn’t pay her for sex. He hadn’t sunk that low but he did help out with bills. Her hairdressers bill alone must have been something as her hair was always a different colour and a different style every time he saw her. Blond, black, blue even. She had a face he would describe as interesting rather than pretty and a body that sported three tattoos. A butterfly. A cross and of all things a balloon with the words Mum and Dad in. She could be forty five Equally she could be thirty five. He didn’t really care. He’d got used to her but if she moved away he wouldn’t miss her. He hadn’t when he was inside and likewise he knew she wouldn’t shed a tear for him if he ever moved on.

  He never stayed the night and he never ate there. But she never rushed him and if she was expecting someone else later she never showed it. Occasionally he wondered about her past or who had gone round while he had been inside. Not often though. It was none of his business. Presumably something some
where hadn’t worked out. It was hard to tell. Her pale blue eyes gave nothing away and the absence of photographs and personal items in the rooms offered no clues.

  He put fifty quid on the table in the hall and let himself out. It was still early but he couldn’t face the pub. Perhaps he’d go to the chippy. He didn’t much like the Chinese bloke who ran it, but the chips were good and he realised that he was starving. He always was after sex. He’d go mad and have fish and pickled onions. He smiled and hummed as he turned onto the High Street.

  EDITH

  Edith turned on her side. She couldn’t sleep and yet another night was playing out frame by frame like a boring black and white film. Marcus had brought her fish and chips in when he’d come home. Enjoyed them too she had. Though they had given her indigestion. He’d not said much. Just put them down by her side with a plastic fork. He never stayed in her room long for which she was thankful. Less chance of him getting wound up if his visits were short. She’d thanked him and shortly after had heard the television go on. Unlike him to go to bed early but it was barely eleven when she heard his heavy tread on the stairs. She could hardly believe that she could have given birth to him. Six foot three and her barely five two. Maybe he was working again. She assumed he would go back to his painting and decorating. It wasn’t as if he had many options. School hadn’t suited him and his inability to concentrate for very long had made the lessons a form of torture for him. She could see that. These days he would be classed as having special needs. In those days he was just trouble. The mother in her felt sad. Had she helped him enough? Had she favoured Eliza so very much. It was just that Eliza was no trouble. With her head in a book and her placid temperament. Time and time again she had begged Richard to spend more time with the boy. Never happened though. Not really. Not until Marcus was fifteen and left school. Then it was too late. Richard got a gofer. Marcus got a bit of money in his pocket and another criminal was born. She wondered how many mothers were frightened of their sons. Or their daughters for that matter. Was Marcus evil? She wished the local vicar would come and visit her again. She had so many questions going around in her head. The pastoral visitor must be due again soon surely. Didn’t she come each month? Or was it every two months? Straining to remember things exhausted her so much. How had it come to this? And why were the nights so long? She tried to remember the words of the anthem that had been sung at Compline in the days when she still went to church. From nowhere they formed in her mind and in a ragged voice she sang: