by Susan Lewis
‘I’ll put the chicken in about twelve,’ Corrie answered, ‘so come then. Then we can all go off down the pub for a drink.’
‘Right you are.’ Paula turned to Edwina. ‘Sleep well,’ she said, kissing her cheek, ‘see you in the morning.’
As Corrie walked Paula out to the hall she closed the sitting-room door behind her.
‘Sorry,’ Paula said, before Corrie could speak. ‘I just didn’t think.’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ Corrie assured her. ‘She knows only too well how badly I want to get out and do something with my life. I just wish I bloody well didn’t.’
‘Well you do, and trying to deny it is only making it worse. But I didn’t mean to bring it up in front of Edwina.’
‘It would make life so much easier if I could only meet someone and be happy the way you are.’
Paula shook her head. ‘It wouldn’t work. It’s not enough for you here, and you know it. It never will be.’
‘It’ll have to be,’ Corrie said, then smiled at the concern in Paula’s eyes. It was a smile that all but transformed her otherwise homely face; a face that wasn’t beautiful, but could be made so much more striking if Corrie only made the effort.
‘What, darts on a Saturday night, roast chicken on Sundays and aerobics on Tuesdays?’ Paula said. ‘I don’t think you’re up to all that excitement, Corrie.’ Her expression became serious. ‘You will meet someone, though, I know you will. And he’ll be really special, you see if I’m not right. And you’ll have the career too. It’ll all work out for you in the end.’
Shaking her head, Corrie said, ‘if I could do a deal with God I’d live the rest of my life with my frustrations, if only He’d …’
Paula took Corrie’s hand and squeezed it. ‘I know,’ she whispered, looking up into Corrie’s face.
Corrie remained at the door, watching Paula battle her way through the wet and windy night until she reached the end of the street and turned into her parents’ garden gate, the last house before the village square.
When Corrie returned to the sitting room Edwina was sitting on the sofa. The soft light shining through the fringes of the lamp, which stood behind the comfy fireside chair, cast an amber circle across the worn patterned carpet at her feet and over the cluttered bookshelves behind her. There was an odd flicker of a shadow as the wind howled outside and blew a draft around the curtains, and as it whistled down the chimney the fire, in its small cast-iron hearth, shifted and resettled.
‘Come and sit here,’ Edwina said, patting the cushion beside her.
Corrie looked up in surprise, then seeing the expression on her mother’s face she gave a short smile.
‘I know what’s on your mind, sweetheart,’ Edwina said. ‘So come along, let’s talk.’
Corrie shook her head. She had never hidden anything from Edwina, there had never been any reason to since theirs was a very special relationship, making them as much friends as they were mother and daughter, but Corrie didn’t want to have this conversation. They’d had it many times before and it served no purpose. No matter how frustrated, confused and, yes, different to those she had grown up with, Corrie felt inside, nothing in the world would persuade her to leave her mother; to go away from the little Suffolk village of Amberside to find the life she almost constantly dreamed of. And that, she knew, was what her mother was about to do. And she in turn would fob Edwina off with her usual excuse that if she were to take herself and her ambitions out into the world she would be sure to end up making a fool of herself, trying to be something she wasn’t.
Tonight she didn’t feel like going through the charade, and neither, she guessed, did Edwina. But Edwina’s concern tore at her heart, for in truth they both knew that the way Corrie felt about herself really had nothing at all to do with the reason she wouldn’t leave this grey little village with its infernally dull routine and colourless people.
Taking the hand her mother held out Corrie stooped to kiss the once beautiful face, now bloated and pale. The eyes, a young woman’s eyes, might have lost their sparkle now, but not the tenderness Corrie had known all her twenty-six years.
‘You look tired,’ she said.
Edwina squeezed Corrie’s hand. In her heart she longed to tell her daughter to go, to stop wasting her young years on a dying mother, who might yet live to see fifty. By then Corrie would be past thirty. But she knew that nothing she said or did would persuade Corrie to leave her. They were devoted to each other, and how Edwina despised the illness that was ruining both their lives.
For a while they talked about Paula, missing her sparkle now she’d gone. Then, sensing that her mother was once again going to try broaching the subject of her illness, of how Corrie mustn’t take it upon herself and get on with her own life, Corrie went to the cramped kitchen at the back of the cottage to make a hot drink before bed.
She filled a saucepan with milk, wiped down the draining board, then set out their two mugs. Too soon there would be only one mug to lay out, and she didn’t know if she could bear it. It was five years now since Edwina had first discovered she had cancer. Five terrible years during which the tumour had been removed from her breast and they had thought she was cured. That had given them a two year reprieve. Two years during which Edwina had seemed younger and more vivacious than ever. They had made so many plans. But now there was a secondary cancer. The one that in five days, five months, maybe five years from now, would finally claim her.
As she moved about the kitchen Corrie found herself reflecting, as she had so often in these past few years, on how much easier life would be, not only on her, but on Edwina too, were she only able to settle down to wanting the same things as Paula. A husband, a baby, a part-time job in the local Spar and a life as safe and secure as it was predictable. She knew how happy it would make Edwina to see her married, to know that when she died Corrie wouldn’t be all alone. But life was never that straightforward and though Corrie had a very real fondness for some of the boys, now men, she had been to school with, she couldn’t begin to imagine being married to any one of them. Not even Bob, the only real boyfriend she’d had, who was now married to Maureen Dennis, and with whom she had thought herself in love before he’d two-timed her with Maureen, had even come close to quenching this damnable, burning desire for a life that she hardly dared to imagine. For a while though she had thought Bob her saviour, that at last she had met someone who could stifle her restlessness. And she would have married him, had he asked her, had he not met Maureen and got her pregnant.
There were no regrets now though, for she knew, had things been different with Edwina, that she would consider Maureen Dennis to have done her a favour. A man who had grown up in Amberside, whose idea of fun was darts on a Saturday night and an occasional visit to Ipswich when they were playing at home, just wasn’t for her. No more than a life spent running her mother’s dress shop in the village square, and the odd knees up at the bingo hall was the life for her. She had taken now to living her life in her dreams, letting them run away with her until she found herself living the fast, glamorous and demanding life of a career woman, like those she read about in magazines. Almost any career would do, but to be able to work in television, to rush about the country – the world – filming dramas or documentaries or even news, well that would be the ultimate. Occasionally she would envisage her leisure hours too, what few she would have given the demands of her career, spent like the sons and daughters of the families who lived in the grand houses in the nearby countryside, who came on summer weekends to throw parties while their parents were away on holiday. All last summer she had watched them from the window of the dress shop, pressing buttons into the wrong button holes as she dressed a mannequin, and more often than not she had found herself smiling through tears of frustration at the fun they all seemed to be having as they sped through the village in their open-topped cars, music blaring and hair flying in the wind. She had no idea what any of their names were, the people in the big houses had very little to do with
the village, except an occasional visit to the pub or a rushed trip to the grocer’s. None of them ever came into the dress shop. They’d probably never even noticed it the displays were so dull and styles so sober compared to the glittering designer creations they wore. She imagined them returning to London on Sunday evenings to resume their jet-set existence by night, and pursue their high-powered, demanding jobs by day; how she longed to go with them, to be one of them.
‘By the way,’ Edwina said, as she took the cup of hot chocolate Corrie was handing her. ‘I know you and Paula like to tease me, but you wouldn’t really consider advertising for a man, would you?’
Corrie who was stoking the fire, turned slowly to show her mother a look of mock surprise and confusion. ‘Well I was thinking of putting a note in Norman the newsagent’s window offering French lessons. Why, don’t you think I should?’
‘Not really, sweetheart, apart from anything else you can’t speak French.’
‘I don’t think one has actually to speak it,’ Corrie said, with more feigned innocence.
‘In Amberside that’s just what they would expect,’ Edwina laughed. ‘Now, turn on the TV, let’s spoil ourselves and snuggle up on the couch in front of the late night movie.’
‘Ooooh,’ Corrie thrilled, ‘just let me get my slippers on first.’
– 2 –
WHEN PAULA’S BABY girl was born two weeks later Corrie and her mother took the bus into Ipswich. A few minutes after they arrived at the hospital with their gifts of flowers, champagne and baby paraphernalia Dave came bustling down the ward, having just returned from taking his parents home. Corrie and Edwina stood to one side and watched as he lifted the baby into his arms, gazing down at her with such awe and devotion that both women were very nearly moved to tears – until Corrie saw the expression on Paula’s face and they both burst out laughing.
Dave took their teasing in good spirit, but still, even when she started to whimper, wouldn’t be parted from his daughter.
‘She’s hungry, you idiot,’ Paula said.
Dave looked up at Corrie and Edwina with a grin so wide it looked painful. ‘Amazing isn’t it? She knows when she’s hungry.’
Paula’s face was a picture as reluctantly he handed the baby over. Then he proceeded to watch, mesmerized, as little Beth started to suckle.
‘She’s brilliant, isn’t she?’ Dave cried in triumph. ‘Look she can even …’
‘Dave! Shut up!’ Paula said. Then turning to Edwina and Corrie. ‘You should have seen him when I was giving birth. If it hadn’t been for the fact a head was on its way down, he’d have had his head up there. Got in everyone’s way, including his own. Then when it started getting really bad, what does he do? He starts cracking jokes! Tell them what you said to the midwife. Go on.’
Dave’s face was all innocence.
‘Well there’s me,’ Paula said, ‘holding onto his hand for grim death, screaming my head off, and feeling like I’m giving birth to a table, and he he can’t stand the pain. “God, you’ve got one hell of a squeeze,” he says to me. Then he turns to the midwife and says, “Do you think I’ll ever play the piano again?”, “Oh, I’m sure you will,” she tells him. “Funny,” he says, “I couldn’t before.” ’
Dave looked so stupidly pleased with himself, that despite the laughter Corrie was hard put not to show how moved she was at how deeply Paula and Dave loved each other. Her own mother and father had been that much in love and she wondered if Edwina was thinking of that now and remembering the times when they had looked down at their new-born baby the way Dave and Paula were looking at theirs.
The introspection was fleeting and with Paula teasing Dave so relentlessly while he sat there beaming with pride, Corrie couldn’t resist a few jibes of her own. She and Dave were always scoring points off each other, and today, with the heady combination of champagne and euphoria, they surpassed themselves. In the end they caused so much hilarity on the ward that they managed to attract quite a crowd around the bed.
Finally Edwina and Corrie made their farewells. When they got out onto the street Corrie was still animated, so much so that as they walked towards the bus stop and she chattered on to Edwina about the baby she ended up walking, smack! bang! into a lamp-post. She saw stars.
Edwina caught hold of her arm, but as dazed as Corrie was she could see her mother was trying very hard not to laugh.
‘Oh, my God! Was anyone looking?’ Corrie gasped. ‘Please, tell me no one saw.’
‘No one saw,’ Edwina assured her, laughing as a grinning news vendor quickly averted his eyes.
‘I shouldn’t be allowed out,’ Corrie wailed. ‘Something like this always happens to me. And ow, it bloody well hurts.’
‘Come on, I’ll treat you to a cup of tea somewhere,’ Edwina chuckled.
With no reason to rush home since Auntie Harriet was minding the shop, Corrie was about to agree, when she got a clear look at Edwina’s face – just these couple of hours away from the house had taken their toll. But Edwina wouldn’t hear of going home straight away.
‘It makes a nice change to be in the cut and thrust of a town,’ she said cheerfully, looking around her. ‘It’s been so long since I saw traffic and high buildings, and so many people.’ Suddenly she shrieked and her hands flew to her head as a gust of wind nearly took her from her feet. ‘My wig!’ she cried. ‘I nearly lost my wig!’
Laughing, Corrie straightened it, then lifted the scarf from Edwina’s neck to tie it around her head. Edwina often made sport of her wig, but other than the doctors Corrie was the only person alive to have seen Edwina without it.
‘What a pair we are,’ Corrie laughed as she tied the scarf under Edwina’s chin. ‘Oh God, I don’t believe it!’ she cried, as a bus swerved dangerously close to them and splashed a puddle right up to their knees. ‘Well, that’s settled it anyway, straight home now. We can’t have you hanging about with wet feet, you’ll catch your death of cold.’
All the way home on the bus Corrie made Edwina laugh by bemoaning the fate that seemed intent on fashioning a life of pratfalls and faux pas for her, when she was doing her best to be so adult and sophisticated. ‘If ever I write my autobiography,’ she said, as they alighted from the bus in the village square, ‘I shall be compelled to call it “The Confessions of an Eternally Embarrassed Woman.” ’ And with that they both exploded into laughter as Corrie hit the button of her umbrella and it flew off the end of the stick.
Five minutes later they were in the dimly lit hallway of their cottage, taking off their coats.
‘Tell you what,’ Corrie said, shrugging her coat back on, ‘why don’t I pop back up to the square and get us a couple …’ Her words suddenly dried as she turned to look at her mother. ‘Mum!’ she cried. ‘Mum! What’s happening? Mum, are you all right?’
‘Yes,’ Edwina said faintly, hanging onto the stair rail. ‘Yes, just a bit dizzy, that’s all.’
Corrie looked at her watch. ‘Oh Mum! You should have taken your medication half an hour ago. Come on now, come and sit down, I’ll get it for you.’
She led Edwina into the sitting room, then raced upstairs to the bathroom. Her heart was pounding, her mind a vortex of terror. She stood over the wash basin, gripping the edge. She took several deep breaths, let them out slowly and waited. But when the fear finally left her, she was submerged in anger. A deep, violent rage that made her shake all over. That hideous disease! It was always there, waiting to spoil what little fun they had. Like a monstrous child it would never allow itself to be starved of attention. She looked down at the pills in her hands and had to fight the urge to scream. She wanted to hurl them at the window, smash the glass, destroy the bottles. Lash out and hurt … Hurt what? There was nothing she could hurt. Nothing she could do. For no reason a sudden image of Dave, holding little Beth in his arms, flashed through her mind, and she squeezed her eyes tightly, not wanting to face again the emotions it stirred in her. But she couldn’t deny it. She wanted her father now. She wanted him for hersel
f because she felt so alone and helpless. She wanted him for Edwina because he was the only man Edwina had ever loved … They needed him now …
Stop it! she told herself vehemently. Just stop! And tearing herself from the encroaching arms of self-pity she ran back down the stairs with her mother’s pills.
It was later that evening, after Edwina had taken a nap, and Corrie had been to check on Auntie Hattie at the shop, that Edwina walked into the kitchen and found Corrie in the darkness staring out at the rain.
‘Sweetheart?’ she said softly.
Corrie turned around. For a while they simply looked at each other and Corrie’s heart twisted inside her. Her mother was so soft, so gentle, so ethereal. Then Edwina lifted her arms and Corrie went to her, laying her head on her shoulder.
‘There, there,’ Edwina soothed as Corrie’s tears flowed down her cheeks. ‘That’s it, let it all out now.’
‘Oh, Mum, it’s just so awful,’ Corrie choked. ‘It’s so unfair. You’re so young, and I love you so much.’
‘And I love you too.’
They held one another tightly for a long time, until Corrie said, ‘I can’t help it, Mum, but I keep thinking of Dave, you know, when he held the baby. I keep thinking of what it was like for you then – I mean, when I was born.’
‘Ah, yes,’ Edwina sighed, smiling as she stroked Corrie’s hair, ‘I thought you were thinking about your father at the time.’
‘Will you tell me about him?’ Corrie sniffed. ‘I mean, I know I’ve heard it before, but …’
‘Of course, sweetheart. Now come on, it’s chilly out here, let’s go and sit by the fire.’
Corrie nodded, and forcing a smile as she ripped a piece of kitchen towel from the roll, she said, ‘I’m behaving like a great big baby, aren’t I? Sorry.’