When John came back, his hair was neatly combed over to hide the bald pate. His face looked shiny from recent shaving; he had put on a new white shirt and a fresh pair of trousers. Marion could smell his aftershave. When he looked at the unconscious girl, it was as if he were seeing her for the first time, and his face filled with hope and wonder. No one had ever looked at Marion that way. Suddenly she felt as though she were no longer present in the room; it was just John and the girl. He picked her up with reverence, as if she were a princess in a fairy tale, the sleeping beauty, perhaps, with all that curly dark hair flowing down her back. Marion knew that when you cared about someone and they were happy, you should be happy for them, but who cared about her happiness? Certainly not John—he hadn’t even thanked her after all she had done for him. He carried Violetta down to the cellar, leaving Marion alone in the kitchen.
TEDDY BEAR
The weeks following Violetta’s arrival, John spent almost all of his time down with the visitors. Each evening he put his dinner on a tray and took it to eat in the cellar. When he did come up, he seemed to have too much on his mind to even say a word to Marion. Not even the occasional “Good morning” or “Everything all right, Mar?” So rarely did she talk to anyone during this time, she sometimes worried that she might lose the power of speech altogether.
“You have to get out, Mar,” she said out loud to herself one afternoon in early October, after lying on her bed staring at the ceiling for nearly an hour. She had developed the habit of talking to herself just to make sure her tongue didn’t wither away. “Stop just lounging about, feeling sorry for yourself. Get out of the house and do something.”
Bracing herself against the cutting wind that blew in from the sea, Marion walked into Northport Town Centre. On the high street she stopped at an Age Concern shop. Though many people complained about the charity shops in Northport, with their smell of old books, dust, and clothes that have been put away slightly damp, Marion enjoyed exploring them in search of hidden treasure.
The woman behind the counter wore a blond wig and makeup that, in Marion’s opinion, looked too showy for her thin, wrinkled face. Marion went to the back of the shop where they kept paperback books, old records, and other items that weren’t clothing. There was a pile of DVDs with lurid pictures of men with guns and explosions, lovers kissing, and comedians grinning foolishly. They were five for a pound, which seemed a very good value, though she wasn’t sure any of them were her type of thing.
Looking through the box of secondhand toys, she came across a naked Barbie doll on which someone had drawn nipples and pubic hair with black felt-tip pen. She was shocked that such a thing had been put out for sale in the shop; surely whoever sorted through the donated items should have chucked that obscene doll into the bin, or at least tried to remove the black felt-tip and put some clothes on it? Marion glanced over her shoulder and saw the woman at the counter was watching her carefully.
Tossing to one side a robot with an arm missing and a plastic horse, she came across a huge stuffed dog with golden-brown fur, floppy ears, and an enormous drooping snout. Marion felt a rush of pity for the animal. She wanted to wrap her arms around its cushiony body, to bury her face in its threadbare coat. But the dog was far too big for her to buy; she would look ridiculous carrying it down the high street. After giving its nose a guilty pat, she began searching through another box.
She picked up a sweet yellow teddy; what was left of its fur had set into hard little tufts, and it smelled faintly of sick, so she put it back down again. Then she came across another bear with lovely white fur and a big red bow around its neck. It looked almost brand-new. Marion knew that it was wrong to love the new toys better than the old worn ones, but something about the white bear sent a shot of joy through her heart. Then she found a tiny plush ladybird at the bottom of the box that she didn’t have the heart to leave behind. She took both toys over to the cash register to pay for them.
“So are these for your grandchildren?” said the woman, picking up the worn little ladybird.
Marion looked down at her hands gripping her leather purse and noticed the backs were creased and covered with brown freckles. It seemed strange to her that people should think she was old enough to be a grandmother when she still felt like a large, ungainly child.
“I don’t know if I’d buy secondhand toys,” said the woman, “you don’t know where they’ve been, do you? If I gave these to my Karen’s kids, well, she would probably chuck them straight in the bin.” She sniffed. “Little Kieran has asthma, and things like this are a magnet for dust and germs, you know. Karen likes everything new and modern. Anyway, I am sure your grandkids will enjoy them all the same.”
“I don’t have any children or grandchildren, as a matter of fact,” said Marion.
“So who are you buying them for?”
Marion bristled with irritation. Why was this awful person asking her so many questions? Really, she should tell her to mind her own business.
“For myself—I collect them.”
The woman raised eyebrows that had been clumsily sketched with a dark brown pencil.
“Hum—well I wouldn’t have thought of them as collector’s items exactly, I mean they’re not like those posh German bears you see on Antiques Roadshow, are they?”
Marion wished the woman would just let her pay for the toys so she could leave. Then she began to examine the big white teddy bear, puffing it up as if it were a throw cushion and straightening out its bow.
“This is a nice one, though, almost brand-new.” Her small circle of shrimp-colored mouth wrinkled, and she gave Marion a suspicious look as though she had been trying to leave the shop without paying for the toy.
“I’m sorry, but I’ll have to charge more than a pound for this teddy.”
“Well—all right, will you please just tell me how much?” asked Marion impatiently. It depressed her to realize that this was probably the longest she had spoken to anyone in weeks.
The woman looked at the bear.
“I don’t know, maybe five pounds?”
Marion was shocked. “Really, that seems a lot.”
“Well, it is for charity, isn’t it? And just think how much you would have to pay for a nice teddy like this in a proper toy shop. Ten or fifteen quid at least.”
The woman pressed the teddy’s nose between her breasts in a manner that Marion did not like at all. Realizing that she had no choice but to pay, she handed over the cash quickly.
• • •
ON HER JOURNEY home, the way she had been treated in the shop churned in Marion’s mind. She thought that the awful woman with her cheap makeup and wig probably only took the job so she would get the chance to boss people around; she obviously wasn’t charitable by nature. She really ought to write and complain. Then she thought: “I hope she gets some awful disease. I hope she gets cancer.” A rush of horror that she could come up with such an idea overcame Marion, and she quickly scrubbed it from her mind.
When she got home, she took out the big white teddy to admire him. He really was so lovely with his thick silky fur and blue eyes made from real glass rather than plastic. It had been worth dealing with that awful woman just to rescue him. While she was thinking about what to name the bear, she filled the kettle to make herself a cup of tea. It puzzled her to see the blue ottoman from Mother’s bedroom standing by the door to the cellar. Then the door opened and John came out. He normally shut it behind him immediately, but this time he walked into the kitchen leaving it ajar. She felt suddenly fearful, as if some unwelcome spirit might escape through the gap, and she wished he would close it.
“More teddies, Marion? What are you like, you daft old bird.”
She bit down hard on her lower lip to punish herself for being so stupid. Why hadn’t she hidden the toys away before he’d seen them? John picked up the new white teddy bear to examine it.
“Well, he’s a handsome chap, isn’t he?”
“Yes, looks almost brand-new. I wonder why s
omeone took him to the charity shop?”
“So what’s for dinner, then, love?”
“I was going to do cod with boiled peas.”
“And mashed potatoes?”
“Yes, I could do some instant Smash if you want.”
As he was about to leave, John did a strange thing. He planted a little kiss on the top of her head and then put the big white teddy bear into the ottoman and carried it down the cellar. Marion was so astounded by the kiss that she barely stopped to think what he might be doing with the ottoman and the teddy bear.
• • •
AFTER A DINNER of cod that somehow managed to be dry and watery at the same time, instead of going straight down to the cellar, John came into the living room and sat down on the sofa next to Marion. He was in an odd mood, as though he wanted to tell her something but didn’t know how.
They watched a documentary about a volcano that wiped out a whole city in Roman times. It was not Marion’s sort of thing, but it made her happy just to have company and for him to find something interesting even if she did not. Usually when they watched something that was her choice, he would make little huffing noises or remarks about how stupid it was; even if he didn’t say anything at all, she could somehow feel his boredom and annoyance, so she would be unable to relax.
“The volcano erupted without warning,” said the presenter, “and many people were killed by falling ash while going about their everyday business.”
“Is everything all right, John?” she asked him after the program had finished.
He hesitated before replying, as if running several answers through his mind. Then he nodded cautiously. “Yes, Mar, everything is fine. Better than ever.”
• • •
WHILE MARION WAS getting ready for bed she heard a strange noise, a low humming followed by a few musical notes. After a few moments, she realized it was her phone that she kept beside her bed. It rang so rarely that she had forgotten what it sounded like, and was surprised that it still even had enough battery left. She picked it up and fumbled with the keys for a while before managing to read the text:
hi M hope you well am home from uni this week and wondered if could pop in say hi tomorrow 2pmish xxx Lydia
Marion trembled with happiness. “At last something good has happened. This is a sign that things are going to change for the better!” She said it out loud, even though she had spoken to both John and the shop woman that day and would be talking to Lydia the next, so she hardly needed to exercise her tongue in private at all.
• • •
THE FOLLOWING MORNING, when she returned from shopping to buy things for Lydia’s visit, Marion found Mr. Weinberg waiting by the gate.
“Did you find your little dog, then?” asked Marion, trying to maneuver her shopping trolley around him. Of course she knew he hadn’t, but she couldn’t think of anything else to say. The old man squinted at Marion as if he had no idea who she was. She was about to go into the house when he spoke.
“Who is the gurl?”
Marion felt as if she had been poked in the chest by an icy finger.
“What girl?”
“I saw her going into your house last week.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“I know I saw it last week late at night. Going into the house with you and your brother. Young with black hair. She is your relative maybe? I don’t think because she does not look English, this gurl. Maybe some Eastern European. Hungarian, I think, or Romanian, from the look of her. Maybe she comes to verk for you as housekeeper? I haven’t seen gurl since.” He leaned towards her as he said “gurl” in that strange, northern way. “But I saw your brother with pink suitcase. Putting in rubbish bin.”
Marion could smell his dirty odor of rotten vegetables and stale sweat. Could he tell that she was shaking? She leaned against the gatepost to steady herself. The best thing to do was to just ignore him. He is a very old man, she reminded herself. He must be over ninety; he lives alone; no one will listen to what he says.
She smiled and then said in a cheery tone: “No, no, Mr. Weinberg, I haven’t seen your little dog, but I will check in the garden one more time just to make sure.” Then she turned away and put her key in the lock. While she was struggling to open the door she felt sure that he was still standing there, staring at her with those gray watery eyes, but when she turned around to look, the old man had gone.
Marion unlocked the door and went into the house; she immediately noticed several large white packages stacked up against the wall. There were so many of them, she could hardly get past. John suddenly appeared and loaded several of them into his arms.
“What in heaven’s name are all those, love?”
John avoided her eyes.
“Nothing that you need to worry yourself about, Marion.”
Then he carried the packages back through the house towards the cellar.
Marion was too busy getting things ready for Lydia’s visit to think about Mr. Weinberg or John’s mysterious packages. She filled around a dozen soup bowls from Mother’s Royal Crown Derby dinner service with crisps and sweets. The bowls, with their regal red-and-gold design, perhaps did look rather too grand for snacks, but they were the only matching ones that Marion could find. Cheese-and-pickle sandwiches, the crusts cut off rather clumsily, had been placed on the huge platter that must have been intended for use at some formal dinner party with a roast suckling pig or large fish in aspic laid out on it. Much of the junk that had previously cluttered the kitchen she had hastily shoved into the dining room. John had gone to the Royal Oak public house and wouldn’t, she hoped, be back until early evening.
• • •
MARION KEPT CHECKING the text on her phone to make sure she had got the right day, and each time she read it, she felt a little rush of anxious excitement. She made sure to keep her phone in her pocket just in case there was another message. For the visit she had bought all of Lydia’s favorite things: Haribo gummy bears, Cheesy Wotsits, Pringles, and a family-size tin of Quality Street. While she was waiting for Lydia to arrive, she was so nervous that she ate a whole bowl of salt-and-vinegar Hula Hoops and had to replace them.
When Marion opened the door, she was surprised at how tall Lydia had grown. And she looked so beautiful, with those big blue eyes, glowing skin, and long red hair tied back in a ponytail. Dressed in a crisp white shirt over jeans, she could have easily been a model in one of those fancy magazines. She had brought a bunch of the most perfect tulips Marion had ever seen, each flower bright and alert without a tinge of brown. The girl hugged her and they went into the kitchen together, just like old friends.
“Oh, Em, you really shouldn’t have gone to all this trouble,” said Lydia, looking at all the sandwiches, bowls of crisps, and sweets laid out on the table.
Marion’s glow dimmed when she saw Lydia’s face. It had been a mistake putting out all that food. These were the kind of things children liked to eat, not sophisticated young women. Lydia would have no doubt preferred sushi or those little plates of Spanish food. Of course Marion mustn’t let it show that her feelings were hurt.
“It wasn’t any trouble,” said Marion. “Don’t worry if you’re not hungry. I just thought you might feel tempted to have a little nibble at something.”
Lydia’s tummy was as flat as an unread paperback; she probably watched her weight carefully like her mother. No doubt if Marion had had a daughter, she would have spoilt her rotten, and she’d have ended up fat just like her.
Lydia sat down at the table, one slender white arm sprawled lazily in front of her, the other supporting her head as if that delicate neck couldn’t manage the job by itself.
“Would you like some Coca-Cola? Though I suppose now you are all grown up, you might prefer tea or coffee.”
Lydia yawned, waving a hand across the healthy pink interior of her mouth.
“I’ll just have water, Marion, do you have any bottled fizzy?”
“Oh, I’m so stupid, I should have
bought mineral water,” said Marion, then slapped the back of her own hand in punishment.
“Tap water is absolutely fine.” The girl yawned again, then gave Marion a gracious smile. “Don’t worry yourself. I don’t know why you went to all this trouble just for me, but it was really sweet of you all the same.” She spoke like someone thanking a child for a homemade birthday card.
They sat and chatted for a while, Lydia answering Marion’s questions about university with a sleepily polite voice while sipping from a glass of tap water.
Did she have lots of studying to do? Mmm—puts head to one side—Yes, quite a lot. Were the subjects interesting?—shrug, weary smile—Sometimes, it depended on the lecturer. You must go to lots of fun parties?—sigh—They could be quite boring, really—I don’t go to all of them, of course—brushes strands of hair from her eyes—Only if people I know are going. What are you going to do when you leave?—Oh gosh—giggles as though this is ridiculously funny, puts hands over face—I have absolutely no idea—travel for a while maybe, work abroad—laughs—Yes, work abroad, but I don’t know doing what.
While they were talking, Lydia kept fussing with her phone, stroking the glass screen as if it were a beloved pet. Who could she be messaging? wondered Marion, feeling a sour hatred for them. She imagined a group of attractive young people, picnicking in a park or drinking in some trendy pub, begging Lydia to come and join them. “I just can’t,” Lydia would reply, “I’m stuck with this boring old woman who keeps asking me endless questions.”
Now and then Lydia picked a crisp or sweet from one of the bowls and nibbled on it, but Marion felt she was only doing this out of politeness. After a while Marion began to run out of things to say and began to worry that she might have asked the same question more than once and Lydia would think she had dementia. If only Lydia were a little girl again, how easy it was to make her happy with sweets and stories about fairies and elves.
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