by Various
“Good. Tired. Better for seeing you. Finally.”
“How long do we have?”
“A couple of hours at least. I told him I had an appointment later on and would be late.”
“I can’t tell you how good it is to be with you. Without anyone else around, I mean. How long has it been, three months?”
“You know it’s been impossible.”
“What can I get you?” asks a sudden twang that makes me jump.
“Two teas please. And a couple of slices of that cake over there,” replies George. At the sound of his voice I lie still again, though I’m still confused at his presence.
“Thank you,” says the twang, before fading away.
“So, how’s the baby?”
“Thank you,” says the twang,
“She’s fine.”
“Oh, she’s fine? You found out it’s definitely a girl then?” “
Yep, but I’ve only told Jean…and now you.”
“What about him?”
“He doesn’t know. He wants a boy.”
“Well, he doesn’t know he’s not getting either, does he?”
“Of course he doesn’t. Look, we need to work out what “Of course we’re going to do. We need a plan. Because I can’t risk being around him once she’s born, it’s too…dangerous.”
“I know. But wait…oh, thank you,” he pauses, as something tinkles around us. “Look, I’ve been meaning to ask you, are you sure?”
“Sure we should be with you? Or sure this baby is yours because if you’re asking me again, I –”
“I know we’ve been over this, but it’s been a while and I just need to hear it again.”
“She’s yours, I’ve told you. He was in a drunken stupor for practically the whole two-week period I got pregnant – he can’t even remember that he was too drunk to perform.” Her voice softens. “Trust me, OK?”
“OK. So, what are we going to do? Do you want to move some things in to my flat, so they’re ready?”
“We can’t live with you, not there; we need to go away. Don’t you understand? If he finds us…you saw what he did just because you phoned, once. If he finds us, he’ll kill you. Maybe even me…or worse.”
“I wouldn’t let that happen.”
“You don’t know him, you might, you might not be able to protect us. No one knows him like I do. He’s…he’s not normal. Things are black and white in his world. He knows what he wants, and nothing will stand in his way. If it’s all going according to his plan, he’s kind, considerate even. But the second some small element of his life veers off course, he’s… unpredictable.”
“Then we’ll go away. I have an aunt, in Wales. I’ll ask if we can stay with her for a few weeks, get ourselves on track, and I’ll get a job there. It’ll be fine…listen, leave it to me.”
“If you’re sure. There’s not much time. And nobody else can find out.”
“It’ll be fine. Your turn to trust me.” Her beats have slowed now, and She is calm. I sense She is happy, but not in a way I’ve felt before. There is a sense of comfort with George that no one else brings. His words, and his voice, are soothing to us both.
“Now,” he instructs, “tell me more about this little one. How many weeks are left?”
“Six,” She answers, “six weeks and you’ll be a dad. How does that feel?”
“Amazing” I hear George say, as I slip away and leave them to their intimacy
I can no longer tell how well I know any of them,to their intimacy. not even Her. She is my protector, my provider, but She is no longer enough. I was meant to also look to him, but now I’m not so sure. Despite his rage, he fulfilled our needs, but a void has been exposed and She is filling it with George. Whilst George is fleeting, he is there every day. And although he frightens us, George has no influence at all. I think I have underestimated Her power to protect me, to maintain this haven I’ve come to love. Perhaps I’m meant to remain here after all, in this room without a view; I’m increasingly aware that I cannot.
They don’t know much about each other, he and George. I hear one, and then the other, never both at the same time. I think She’d like to be with George, more than we are with him, but I sense something is brewing, and She is biding Her time. At least She includes me, whomever She is with, though the more we switch between the two, the more I feel distanced from Her. It’s as if our bond is thinning, and we are ready to be apart; I need more than this chamber, and She will not attempt to convince me otherwise. The beats thrum on with a steady pace, like a countdown to some end I cannot fathom.
We no longer go to the whispering nest, with its beeps and clicks, nor converse with Jean and the others. I don’t know where they’ve gone, these familiar sounds that brought me comfort for so long.
At first there was only I, but then I realised She was there too. I went where She went, heard what She heard. She threw in all the elements that are now slowly being stripped away, until I am raw and ready to create my own. She speaks to me less now, though I listen harder.
We travelled some way this morning, to a quiet place where George’s voice was the only sound I recognised. When we arrived, he was in front of us, but when we went inside he switched and followed us round. He stays close, but is hesitant – I can sense him edging around.
“Everything’s packed,” he informed Her when we entered.
“So I see. And your aunt, you’re sure she’s happy for us to stay?” She sat down, and stroked my head. I hear things the other way up now, as if I’ve moved a little away from the sound.
“Yes. Well, I didn’t tell her the exact situation. But she didn’t ask too many questions either. She’s getting old, I doubt she’ll want to get too involved. I told her it was just until we found a place to rent – she said she might even know someone with an available flat. I’ll have to see about a job though – it’s hard to look for one from over here.”
“But you said you have some savings, didn’t you?”
“A small reserve, yes. And you?”
“I told you…whatever I’ve saved I’ve had to use on the bills and on the baby. I hope you’re not going to rely on me because I don’t have very much left at all and you said you were happy to take us on, both of us, without any qualms.”
“Relax, I meant it. I was just enquiring, that’s all. I’m not expecting anything from you other than my daughter.” His voice moved closer. “I’m not taking this lightly either, I know we can’t let him find us.”
“Damn right we can’t.”
He always makes Her feel better, George. When we arrive, She is tense, apprehensive, and after we’ve been with him a while She calms down. Sometimes I feel I am communicating with George without Her knowledge, as if George and I are colluding to loosen Her up. In reality though, I am unwillingly complicit in any game She chooses to play. I feel sorry for George; She plays him for a fool because sometimes She says exactly the same things to him as She does to George and no one knows it but me.
I sleep more when we are with George. With him there is no danger, no sudden movements, gasps or cries. Just mumbles, rumblings and the occasional address. His actions are more like Hers, though their thoughts secretly conflict. She has peace on the outside but the same turmoil within, whipping me up in a frenzy of untruth. She concocted me somehow between him and George, and only She knows where I’ll lie.
I awoke as She raised herself and said goodbye to George. I heard them touch, felt him press upon me as a parting gesture before She moved us away. But as we went to leave with a clack and the outside poured in She recoiled suddenly, and I knew within one word that he was there.
“Hello,” he says, and the world falls still.
And here we are, the four of us, together for the first time. Swaddled in the games, the mistrust, the promises, the expecting. Their breathing trembles, Her beats speed up, but I – the most significant insignificance – am not afraid.
She moves backwards rapidly, as far away into the space as She can ge
t.
“What are you doing here?” She asks, holding Her voice steady through the shallow breaths that squeeze and release me in fear.
“What are you doing here?” He echoes, each word getting louder as he approaches. “You must be George,” he states, a little away from us.
“Get out,” says George feebly in response, lacking conviction as always.
He laughs, but then hisses, “not without my wife.”
“She’s not going anywhere with you” determines George, but She is jerked away from George with a cry and he remains where he is. There is nothing George can do now, and we all know it. The scene will play out as he sees fit…or unfit.
“Sit there,” he commands as we are flung down and I am stuck now, unable to turn away from any of them.
“Don’t you touch her!” shouts George, rushing over, but a loud smack results in him moaning from a point lower down.
“Is this your little love nest?” he shouts, as more thuds resound and George groans with each one. “Is this what you’ve been planning all along?” Thud. “As if I didn’t know? As if I would believe everything she tells me.” Thud. “As if I even thought this baby would be mine.” His voice booms, on and on, until suddenly there is no sound other than Her whimpers. George is nowhere to be heard.
I hear him rushing back towards us, pulling us upwards with all his strength. I am loathe to react, incapable of changing anything. I have done enough damage.
Then it hits me, a massive blow, an earthquake to the room that has become my endangered prison. My world shakes, my body crumbles in a space too small for it to fold. My mouth opens and shuts in shock, liquid ingested and then filtered out. My head is spinning, and I can no longer tell Her position in relation to my own. I hear nothing but the rush of blood – the first sound I ever heard. I have come full carnal circle and fall into the black.
Time passes. When it clears, I can hear Her whispering to me. “Please baby, please, please be alright,” She’s saying, over and over again, and Her hands circle the chamber, pushing against me gently. I squirm against them a little, to let Her know I’m listening. And I’m alright, I think, we’re both still here. I’m wiser now, I can hang on. I know when to react, and how. I’m stronger, and better, and I’m used to the sound of Her voice, including when She’s sobbing pathetically like She is now. I don’t know where he is, but even he can’t surprise me any more.
But then, I feel a huge compression, like everything is closing in on me and I can’t move. I’m totally squashed; not like being caressed or shoved because it lasts longer and I can’t respond at all. I can hear Her though – She cries out in surprise and we drop, and then She’s crying whilst I’m still being squeezed from all sides. Then it’s over, back to normal…except…it happens again, another wave pushing onto me and the only thing I can do is try to wriggle downwards, the weight on me all filtering down into my neck. There’s an opening, suddenly, as something close to my face falls away and then the liquid surrounding me rushes out, leaving me bare and naked. I’m going too, I think, I’m being thrown out, finally. And it strikes me – then I’ll finally be under their control.
3
D.E. Rhylis
Your face smiles back at me from the photograph. It has pride of place here on the top shelf of the bookcase. The place where I insisted that it should be after we lost you. Lost you so suddenly, robbed of goodbyes.
Thank goodness that I sent you the photographs of the family living abroad. It had been against my better judgement as they were precious to me too and I was afraid that they would somehow get lost. I know that you saw them before you shut your eyes for the last time. They were tucked down the side of your favourite chair here and were found when we got here that night. Steven and his girlfriend, Ian and I.
Soft, silky fur. Warm and comforting. Calming my whole body as my hand slides down its length. Further rewarding me with a soft thump of a grateful tail as it moves to show love returned. Sandie is now curled up asleep on your chair. She used to sleep on your knee when she was a puppy, your constant companion. When you had gone, she wouldn’t lie anywhere else to sleep and still sleeps there. Curled in her usual position. The chair has to go soon. It is worn but it’s a link to you. There is a reluctance to let it go. We will get her a new basket. Soon.
A tear now falls onto the warm comforting bundle of fur but she does not stir, feeling safe and secure in these familiar surroundings. Not allowing myself to cry much at the time, having to stay strong for the rest of the family. Being more used to dealing with death, they had looked to me.
I had been the strong one, too, when you were alive, on your return from the hospital stays. My brother wrapping you up in cottonwool and pulling the sofa up nearer to the fire. Followed by the usual phone call to say you weren’t progressing.
I would arrive and ask why you were not dressed. The hard one everyone thought. I would help you dress and say that you could go and lie on the bed if you really felt unwell, and that while you were in nightclothes you would remain a patient and feeling ill. I had been trained well I thought back in those days. Now I wish I had wrapped you in cottonwool too. If you hadn’t died so suddenly we would probably be homeless now. You knew that we were running into trouble after I became ill and was made redundant. You didn’t know the extent of the debt that we were in at the time. All those threats and being scared to answer the telephone. People had said that I had a good career. Illness and redundancy have the same effect on anyone, no matter what they do. You had helped us out a lot during the last few months before you died and now I will never be able to pay it back. The tide turns so quickly.
You used to get cross with me during the time I worked abroad and I returned home to visit you. Always stopping off at the huge supermarket on my way to you to stock up on all sorts of goodies and arriving in a taxi amid all the carrier bags and cases. We would laugh. You would scold and I would laugh more. I always arrived by taxi.
“When are you going to learn to drive?” you would say.
I still can’t drive, so afraid of failing. I didn’t and still don’t like to fail at anything. It had taken being ill myself to realise that all the hours spent working for someone else, the twenty-four-hour on call, the invasion of my private life and a set of clothes by the bedside ready to slip into should there be an emergency, were unimportant. It is the people that you love and that love you that really count.
You never stopped believing in me and that gave me the strength to achieve my goals and realise my dreams when I was younger. I was good at what I did.
“You must stop this,” you would say, “I don’t need all this food. There is only me here you know.”
Your eyes would light up though and amid the hugs of delight at my being here I would open the fridge and discard the food that was out-of-date. You forgot to do that more and more frequently towards the end and I would fill up the fridge and freezer with your favourite foods and treats. Later you would search both and have the same expression on your face as an excited child at Christmas.
“I will never be able to repay you for all this,” you used to say.
“What’s to repay?” I would answer. All the sacrifices that you had made over the years meant a lot to me.
I was returning from a business trip when it happened. The usual phone call to you was not made before I went away, but the note with a contact number and the photographs had been sent a couple of days earlier. You had been getting so forgetful. The telephone calls that came were frustrating and disturbing.
“Why don’t you send photos anymore?”
“Look on your shelf Mum, the latest photos are there.”
There would be a pause and a sound of a shuffling of feet as you went to look.
“Oh yes,” you would reply.
“Well fancy that. When did you put them there then?”
“Hello! It’s me. No one phones me anymore and no
“Hello! It’s me. No one phones me anymore and no one visits. I coul
d die here and no one would know.”
“Look on your calendar Mum, I was there two weeks ago and Steven called in yesterday.”
There would be the usual meetings with social services, home helps and someone to come and help you shower and dress each time you were discharged from hospital. Being so far away worried me and you wouldn’t dream of moving. It was reassuring for a while just to know that people were popping in and out and that you were alright.
Then I would wait to see how long it would be before you dismissed them all. Not wanting them to invade your home, space and life. The only person you kept on was a lady from the care agency to do your shopping and a bit of cleaning. The phone calls then changed to. “Someone has stolen my brooch but I know who has it. It’s her!”
Most of the things that you said were missing, we found tucked away in the most unusual places when we were sorting out your possessions. Each time we found an item that you had claimed to be stolen stirred memories of the phone calls made. There was no reasoning with you.
Living away meant a long car journey to get to visit. It took half a day if I came by train. Being on call a lot of the time meant that I sometimes had to beg to get someone to cover for me while I came. If I needed to answer a call to my mobile phone, you would get irritated by it. It was a new job that I couldn’t afford to lose, though I knew that I wasn’t really recovered enough to be doing it.
Steven popped in twice a week, though you had made it clear that you didn’t like his new partner very much and I know that you had argued. You had both made your peace though before you went, which was a blessing for my brother or he would have been racked with guilt.
I had felt a turmoil of emotions after one of your phone calls to me, telling me that his partner had driven you to your appointments at the hospital and also to the solicitors. Part relief that someone was there to take you but also anger and part jealousy. A woman that I didn’t know was taking my mum to her solicitors. Why? I had wondered.