Three Things About Elsie

by Joanna Cannon

  Florence leaned forward. ‘Ronnie started the fire,’ she said. ‘All these years, I thought it was my fault, and it was him all along.’

  ‘I know he did, Flo. But it’s nothing to do with you. Nothing to worry about.’ Simon held on to her hand.

  ‘I need to let Elsie know. I need to tell her.’

  Miss Ambrose looked at Simon, and she gave a small shrug.

  ‘What have you done with her? Where is she?’ Florence tried to stand up, but she seemed to change her mind. ‘You’ve sent her to Greenbank, haven’t you? Whilst my back was turned?’

  Simon looked at Miss Ambrose, and tried to find some guidance in her face.

  ‘No one has sent anyone to Greenbank.’ Miss Ambrose knelt down as well. ‘Try to stay calm, Flo.’

  ‘Then where is she? Where’s Elsie? She can’t cope for very long without me, she gets confused.’

  Gloria returned with the compress, and it distracted Florence for a moment. She stared at Gloria.

  ‘You have very kind eyes, Gloria. You remind me of someone, but I can’t think who. Have you ever been to Llandudno?’ she said. ‘Have you ever ridden on a tram?’

  Gloria shook her head.

  Florence looked at them all. ‘Elsie would know. If Elsie was here, she’d know straight away. What have you done with her? Where is she? Elsie’s my best friend. There are three things you should know about her, and that’s the first one.’

  ‘And what’s the second thing we should know about her, Flo?’ Simon took the compress from Gloria, and wrapped it very gently around Florence’s ankle.

  ‘That she always knows what to say. To make me feel better.’

  Simon took the edge of the bandage and started to fasten it. ‘And the third?’

  Florence looked at him. ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I’ve forgotten.’

  ‘Well then,’ he said. ‘Perhaps the third thing wasn’t that important after all. Perhaps it didn’t make much of a difference in the end.’

  ‘But I need to find her.’ Florence tried to stand. ‘I need to make sure she’s all right.’

  Simon took Florence’s hands and looked into all the panic. ‘Elsie isn’t here right now, but it’s nothing for you to worry about. I think the best thing to do is try and get some rest. It’s been a long, strange, very sad day. My granddad always used to say everything looks better after a sleep. I think maybe he was right.’

  Florence stared at him. ‘You didn’t do it.’

  ‘Didn’t do what?’

  ‘You didn’t talk to me like a child in the whole of that little speech you just gave.’

  ‘No,’ Simon said. ‘Because that would have been a bit patronising, wouldn’t it?’

  Florence sat back in her chair, and she smiled.

  ‘I’ve left her with Natasha,’ said Miss Ambrose. ‘She’ll stay until Florence has calmed down a bit. She said she’d leave her with the television on. She likes the news, Florence. It gives her an opportunity to fall out with people.’

  Simon had just about finished clearing the plates away.

  ‘I didn’t know what to say.’ Simon drew the curtain a little further to. ‘When she was asking about Elsie.’

  ‘None of us do. I know Jack tried to tackle it a few times, but it’s so difficult. You did very well.’

  Praise wasn’t something Simon was particularly used to, and he held the words in his ears for a little while, before he allowed them to leave.

  ‘Who was this Elsie, anyway?’ he said.

  ‘No one really knows.’ Miss Ambrose reached into a cupboard in her office and took out a bottle of brandy. ‘We tried to find out when Florence first came to live here, because we thought we might be able to trace her, but it turns out she died years ago. When they were in their twenties, I think. She’s buried in the churchyard in town. Just by the chancel, in the corner.’

  ‘She talks to her all the time.’

  ‘I know.’ Miss Ambrose poured them both a drink in little plastic beakers. ‘It seems to give her some comfort, though, and it does no one any harm. There are times when I think Elsie is just a little piece of Florence. The only part of her left that hasn’t become confused. We’ve all just got used to it.’

  ‘How strange it must be, to believe something with such certainty, and then to find it was just your mind playing tricks on you.’

  ‘Dr Andrews said she did nothing but talk to Elsie during the whole of her assessment, and look at her dancing all alone when we were in Whitby. Dementia is a terrible thing.’ Miss Ambrose looked at him over her beaker. ‘You were very kind to her. With the ankle and everything.’

  ‘It’s funny.’ Simon hesitated, because he didn’t know if Miss Ambrose would want to hear, but he decided to go ahead anyway. ‘A twisted ankle is how my mum first met my dad.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘On a bus. Someone gave up their seat for her, or they never would have found each other. What are the chances?’

  ‘And if they hadn’t, you wouldn’t even exist,’ said Miss Ambrose.

  ‘I’m not sure that would be such a bad thing,’ Simon said.

  ‘Nonsense. In fact,’ Miss Ambrose poured another inch of brandy, ‘I think you should consider retraining.’

  Simon thought of his U-bends. ‘As what?’

  ‘A support worker. Care of the elderly. You have a kindness about you. I think you’d be brilliant at it.’

  ‘Would I? I’ve just signed up for ballroom-dancing lessons. It would have to fit in around my hobbies.’

  Miss Ambrose said, ‘Oh, I think that can be arranged. In fact, I think we should make quite a few new arrangements.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘Tai chi,’ she said. ‘For the residents. And ballroom-dancing lessons.’

  ‘I was thinking of computer classes,’ said Simon.

  ‘Excellent idea. And I think we should plant some cherry trees. A whole group of them, at the front.’

  ‘You won’t be here to see them grow, though, will you?’ Simon sniffed at the brandy, and decided he’d perhaps had enough. ‘What with your CV and everything.’

  Miss Ambrose clearly had no such reservations, because she poured herself another inch. ‘I’ve had a change of heart,’ she said. ‘Although it’s perhaps not a change. More of a revisit.’

  ‘So you’re staying?’

  ‘I am. I just needed to find my long second.’

  Simon decided not to ask, because Miss Ambrose looked at least ten years younger and he didn’t want to spoil it.

  ‘Anything else?’ he said.

  ‘Oh, plenty.’ Miss Ambrose smiled. ‘Gardening, for a start.’

  ‘Jack used to say planting seeds at his age was an act of optimism.’

  ‘I think that might be the best reason of all for doing it,’ said Miss Ambrose.

  10.54 p.m.

  It’s too late, now. All the people I thought might find me have disappeared back into their own lives.

  Jack won’t, of course. Somehow, I don’t think Elsie will, either. Elsie was my best friend. That’s the first thing you should know about her. The second thing is that she always knew what to say to make me feel better. There was a third thing, I’m sure of it, but it’s slipped my mind for now, so it can’t be all that important in the grand scheme of things.

  ‘There is so very much more to us than the worst thing we have ever done.’

  She said that to me on the beach. Elsie always knew the right thing to say. I can’t imagine how I would have coped without her all these years. She said exactly the same thing to me the night Beryl died as well.

  The last time I saw Beryl, Elsie and I were pressing our faces into the window of the town hall. We looked out into the darkness, cupping our hands against the glass to block out the lights, and we watched Beryl and Ronnie arguing in the car park and tried to hear what they were saying. Beryl and Ronnie falling out was nothing new, of course, but it was something else to look at when we got tired of other people’s feet. Alth
ough it was Beryl doing all the arguing; Ronnie just watched her in silence.

  ‘Do you see anything?’ I pressed my hands more tightly against the window. ‘Can you hear what they’re saying?’

  Elsie shook her head.

  ‘What if he hits her, Elsie? What will we do?’

  ‘Cyril’s out there, too.’ Elsie breathed into the glass and her words clouded the view. ‘He won’t hit her, not in front of someone else.’

  We watched Beryl pace out her anger across the tarmac. Backwards and forwards, throwing her arms in the air, shouting in his face. I saw the tip of his cigarette glow brighter in the darkness as he drew in lungfuls of smoke. After a few minutes, Beryl stopped screaming. Her eyes were inches from his, but just when I thought he might raise his fist after all, she turned on her heel and marched off towards the fields.

  ‘He can’t just let her go like that,’ I said. ‘It’s pitch black out there. She has no coat.’

  ‘She’ll come back. She won’t get very far,’ Elsie said, although she kept her eyes on the window.

  The three of us waited. Elsie and I watching through the glass, and Ronnie out there in the car park, watching the darkness.

  She didn’t come back.

  ‘I’m going after her,’ I said.

  Elsie followed me into the cloakroom. ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Florence. If anyone goes, it should be me.’

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘You’ll only end up arguing with her as well. I’ll go. I’ll bring her back for you.’

  I pulled on my coat, and my arms argued with the sleeves in a rush to leave.

  ‘Why do you care so much, Florence? Why?’

  I stopped fighting with the material, and I looked right into Elsie’s eyes, past all the questions. ‘Because I can’t bear anything to hurt you. Because whatever upsets you, I need to make it stop.’

  I could hear my own breathing. It was the only thing I can remember about that moment, and when I look back to us standing there, just the two of us, it’s all I can hear.

  ‘You’ll freeze to death,’ she said.

  I reached across to one of the pegs and took something. Something that wasn’t mine to take. ‘I’ll have this with me, I’ll be fine,’ I said. ‘Just fine.’

  And I wrapped her red scarf around my neck and went out into the night.

  HANDY SIMON

  The brandy had warmed Simon’s bones, but when he walked into the courtyard, the evening air rushed inside and cooled them all down again. September had clicked into October when no one was looking, and Simon thought it was always the biggest leap. Other months blended nicely together, but those two were always a bit of a jump, and everyone seemed to panic and start wearing big coats. He thought about calling into the staff room and borrowing something for the walk home, but he’d probably be fine once he got going.

  Cherry Tree was in darkness. Ten o’clock and everyone was in bed. His boots ate their way across the gravel, and the world was as silent as a Christmas morning. He was halfway across the car park, and considering the idea that he might never have existed at all, when he heard it. A dog. Barking with such urgency, it stopped Simon in his tracks. It was an unusual bark, too. A bit lopsided, and he couldn’t make his mind up if it was a very long way from him, or almost at his side. No one at Cherry Tree had a dog. No pets allowed, that’s what Miss Bissell had decided. Even though there had once been a very heated debate about a goldfish.

  He tried to follow the lopsided barking, and the dog seemed to know, because it became more urgent. He followed the path and turned the corner, where he found himself looking up at Miss Claybourne’s flat. There was a light. Just a faint one, in the hallway, leaking a yellow-orange on to the footpath. The barking stopped. He walked up to the front door and the whole of the courtyard was filled with the bright sparkle of the security light. Natasha must have left hours ago.

  ‘Miss Claybourne?’ He knocked very lightly on the glass. ‘Florence? It’s Simon. Is everything all right in there?’

  11.12 p.m.

  If I were to look back on my life and find the most important moments, I’m not sure I’d know how to choose. I’ve had plenty of time to think about it, lying here, but I still can’t decide which ones they were.

  Perhaps it was when I got into a car with Ronnie Butler. I remember it now. How the seats smelled of beer, how I held on to the dashboard and begged him to slow down. I reached out. I tried to steer him away from her. I did everything I could. I know I did.

  ‘You’ve got to find forgiveness,’ Elsie said; I just didn’t realise she meant I had to find it for myself. Perhaps that’s the most important moment. Not the moment of the mistake itself, but the moment in which you finally forgive yourself for making it.

  ‘When you thought I was the one in the car, you found forgiveness, Florence. So why can’t you find it for yourself?’

  I can hear her saying it. Even though she’s not here any more. It’s strange, because sometimes it feels as though she’s never even left my side.

  Perhaps the most important moments of all turn out to be the ones we walk through without thinking, the ones we mark down as just another day. Just another day we have to get through before something more interesting comes along. We benchmark our lives with birthdays and Christmases and holidays, but perhaps we should think more about the ordinary days. The days that pass by and we don’t even notice. Elsie once said that you can’t tell how big a moment is until you turn back and look at it, and I think, perhaps, that she was right.

  I think this may be the last of all my moments. I think my forever must have finally arrived. I didn’t imagine this is how it would happen. Lying all alone on the floor, waiting for someone who never arrived. I thought Simon might have been the one to find me. He’ll be clearing away the funeral tea now with Miss Ambrose, stacking plates and sweeping up crumbs. He’ll talk whilst he’s doing it, because that’s just how Simon is. He’ll probably talk to Cheryl more than anyone. I think she’s sweet on him, although he’s as daft as a brush and he hasn’t even noticed. Perhaps he’ll have a drop of brandy before he goes home, to take the edge off the chill, and then he’ll cross the courtyard and his boots will crunch at the gravel in the silence. He’ll be wondering about borrowing a coat before he starts walking, but then he’ll think about me for some reason and he’ll decide to call and check I’m all right. You get these feelings sometimes, don’t you? There’s no sense behind it, but for some reason, you know you need to do a thing and you’ve no idea why.

  He’ll notice there’s a light on in the hall, and so he’ll knock on the door, and he’ll shout, ‘Miss Claybourne? Florence? It’s Simon. Is everything all right in there?’

  He’ll keep saying it.

  ‘Florence?’

  Over and over again.

  I open my eyes. Someone has triggered the security system, and the room is filled with light. It hurts my eyes at first, and I close them against the glare. When I open them again, everything is back. The furniture and the curtains and the television. All the life I left a few hours ago before I fell. But the first thing I see, washed with light, is the mess underneath the sideboard. The pens and the coins, and everything that fell without me noticing. It takes me a moment for my eyes to find it, but it’s there. Right at the back. Resting against the skirting board.

  ‘Florence?’

  A brooch.

  A brooch with a smooth, dark stone, and a reflection almost like a mirror. A fossil. A piece of Whitby jet. It’s a perfect circle, flawless and shining with an inky black. Surrounding it is a silver rope, which holds it forever in a polished frame.

  ‘Florence?’

  Something you would buy for someone you love. Not something you would buy for yourself.

  ‘Miss Claybourne? Florence? It’s Simon. Is everything all right in there?’

  I stared at the brooch.

  ‘I’m fine, Simon. Everything is fine.’

  The strength to shout came from somewhere. From a place I didn’t know existe
d.

  ‘Are you sure? Is there anything you need?’

  The brooch stared back at me. Elsie found me again after all. I stopped myself from reaching out, but then I realised I really didn’t have to any more.

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘I don’t need anything. Everything I need is right here.’

  I heard him turn to leave, his shoes on the footpath outside. ‘I’ll say goodnight, then,’ he shouted.

  I waited just a fraction too long. I knew he wouldn’t hear, but I still shouted back. ‘I’ll be seeing you, Simon,’ I said. ‘I’ll be seeing you.’

  The light clicked and the room fell into black again. It was strange, because it felt more of a comfort now. More of a friend. I waited in the quietness for the music to return. For Al Bowlly. For a dancehall filled with who we used to be, circling a room, in shoes that pinched our toes but made us happy. Listening to music that wrapped itself around buried thoughts and made us feel less alone. A time we never wanted to leave.

  I never did tell anyone my secret. It’s strange, because I told them everything else. I even told them about Ronnie in the end. I just couldn’t tell this. In those days, you couldn’t say a word, and then it became too late. Elsie had found her Albert, and I had to use up the remnants of other people’s lives to decorate my own. I didn’t mind so much, as long as we could be friends. As long as she didn’t leave me. It’s strange, isn’t it? How love paper-aeroplanes where it pleases. I have found that it settles in the most unlikely of places, and once it has, you are left with the burden of where it has landed for the rest of your life.

  The music is very loud now. I can’t imagine where it’s coming from, although I think a part of me is beginning to realise. There was a point when I thought Simon had come back, when I thought I heard him knock at the door again, but the tap was too light, too gentle, and I knew it couldn’t have been him.

  I know I won’t have to wait long.

  I’m not sure I have enough time to remember it all again, from the beginning, because there’s so much to fit in.

  I have never done anything remarkable. I’ve never climbed a mountain or won a medal, and I have never stood on a stage and been listened to, or crossed a finishing line before anyone else.