A Time to Tell

by Maria Savva

  ‘One week,’ said Gloria.

  ‘What?’ Catherine raised her eyebrows.

  ‘She can stay here for one week.’

  ‘Aunty, this is as much my mum’s house as it is yours.’

  ‘No, it isn’t,’ Gloria replied stiffly. ‘My late father left this house to me in his will. I have all the paperwork to prove it.’

  Catherine blinked exaggeratedly. ‘Whatever happened between you and Mum must have been pretty bad if you can’t forget it after all these years.’

  ‘She can stay for a week.’

  ‘Please, Aunty, she has nowhere else to go. I can call you next week and check that everything’s okay.’

  ‘One week should give you ample time to make other arrangements,’ said Gloria, scowling.

  Catherine eyed the kitchen clock. ‘I really have to get back to the children.’

  As she passed Cara on her way out, she gave a sympathetic smile. ‘Bye, Mum. I’ll be back to see you soon.’

  After watching Catherine depart, Cara sat alone in the empty hallway. The house was no longer familiar enough to be called home. Tired after the long journey, all she wanted to do was lie down on her bed and sleep. Her own bed was miles away, though, and she doubted she would be able to sleep in a strange bed in a house full of reminders of a traumatic period in her life, under the same roof as someone she had hoped she would never see again.

  The longer she sat there, the more Cara felt lost and humiliated. ‘If you do find it difficult living with Aunty Glor, you can phone me,’ Catherine had said. Cara wanted to shout as loud as she could for Catherine to come back and to take her home.

  The light had begun to fade due to heavy cloud, so not much light filtered through the glass in the front door. It seemed clear that her sister intended to avoid her all day. Eventually Cara coughed, to assert her presence.

  Gloria emerged from the kitchen and walked over to her, grasped the wheelchair’s handles and pushed the chair into the living room. She switched on the television and left the room without uttering a word.

  Cara stared at the screen vacantly, not really interested in watching it. Where had Gloria gone? Even having an argument would be better than this. It filled her with dread to think she might be living this way for the foreseeable future.

  Soon, she felt the need to go to the toilet. Her wheelchair wasn’t easy to manoeuvre, designed to be pushed, and her arms were too weak for her to attempt to move the wheels herself. She knew she should call out for Gloria, but would she respond? Cara tried to distract her mind from wanting to go to the toilet, but soon the urge became too great.

  ‘Gloria!’ she shouted, swallowing her pride. There was no sound. Had she gone out? Cara waited, feeling sure her sister would ignore her even if she was still in the house. ‘Gloria, where are you? Please come here, Gloria!’

  Gloria walked into the room and stood before her, arms folded.

  ‘I have to use the toilet. Could you help me, please?’

  Gloria didn’t speak but took hold of the wheelchair’s handles.

  ‘Thank you, Gloria.’

  Her sister wheeled the chair through the hallway and lifted her onto the toilet seat. ‘We’ll have to unpack your suitcase, and I suppose you must be hungry.’

  ‘Yes, thank you.’

  Somehow, the small act of helping her go to the toilet had altered Gloria’s perception in some way. Her attitude noticeably changed in just a few minutes.

  Cara watched as her sister took out the clothes from the suitcase and placed them into the old wardrobe in the bedroom. Gloria did not speak, but every now and then she smiled at her sister, as one might smile at a stranger.

  This transition in Gloria’s behaviour made Cara feel more positive. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so impossible to live with her, after all.

  That night, Cara lay awake in bed in the room she and Gloria had shared as children, on the ground floor at the back of the house.

  Some of the original furniture was still in situ, including the mahogany dressing table and the wardrobes she’d used as a girl. Some features had changed: there was only one single bed, instead of two. It wasn’t her old bed, which had iron bedposts and springs; this modern one had a wooden headboard and comfortable mattress. The walls had been repapered with a peach-coloured, floral-design wallpaper. She could still remember the deep burgundy tone of the old wallpaper and felt glad it wasn’t there anymore; the bedroom looked different enough not to cause her to dwell too much on the past.

  Unable to sleep, she sat up in bed in the darkened room and drew the velvet curtain so she could see outside. The view was of the back garden.

  With no real view to keep her occupied and no television or even a radio, how would she spend her days?

  Although more comfortable in Gloria’s company this evening, they were still far from becoming best friends.

  Peering out of the window, Cara noticed the pathway leading to the forest where she and Beattie had discovered the tree house. She wondered whether the tree house still existed. Sighing at the retrospection, she closed the curtain.

  She settled herself down on the bed to sleep but felt edgy. Closing her eyes, she tried to imagine being back at Furley Avenue. ‘Oh, Penny!’ she said under her breath.

  As she recalled her granddaughter’s harrowed face, tears welled in her eyes. She prayed Penelope, Andrew, and Carl would be safe and that David would never find them.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Cara woke up the next morning, disorientated. Sleep had evaded her for most of the night. She’d forgotten she wasn’t in Penelope’s house and consequently had to take a moment to find her bearings on opening her eyes in the unfamiliar environment.

  Her thoughts were invaded as the bedroom door slowly creaked open and Gloria walked in followed by a small-framed young girl. The girl wore a long purple dress that appeared to be too big for her. Her frame was childlike and Cara guessed she could be no more than a teenager. Her long blonde hair was tied up in a ponytail, which only served to accentuate the fact that her cheeks and neck were red, caused by her apparent shyness or nervousness.

  Cara tried to compose herself, running a hand over her hair and inwardly cursing Gloria for not knocking on the door before entering with the stranger.

  ‘Good, you’re awake,’ said Gloria. ‘I’d assumed you would be sleeping. I can introduce you now.’

  She walked over to the window and drew the thick beige curtains. Afterwards, she returned to where the girl was standing. ‘This is Rosetta. She’s going to be your carer.’

  The young girl smiled and her cheeks reddened even more, colouring her prominent freckles a deep red-brown. ‘Hello, Cara,’ she said politely.

  ‘Hello,’ replied Cara, still trying to digest what she’d heard. This girl was going to be her carer? She doubted Rosetta had any experience in caring for anyone.

  ‘Rosetta lives in Hammond Street, so she’s nice and local,’ said Gloria. ‘She’ll be here from nine to six each day. She’ll be responsible for your meals, and she can take you out around town.’

  Cara nodded. Suddenly, the rest of her life flashed before her. The predictability of it. Sentenced to live out the rest of her days in misery. Alone and unloved.

  ‘Right, Rosetta, let’s go to the kitchen. I’ll show you where everything is.’ Gloria led the young girl by the arm.

  ‘Gloria,’ Cara heard herself say.

  Gloria, already outside the bedroom, turned her head and looked in from the doorway.

  ‘I need to talk to you,’ said Cara.

  ‘All right, we’ll be right back when I’ve shown Rosetta the kitchen.’

  ‘No, I need to talk to you in private.’

  ‘I’ll be back in a few minutes.’

  She did not return. Instead, Rosetta came back half an hour later carrying a tray containing Cara’s breakfast.

  ‘Where’s Gloria?’ Cara asked impatiently as Rosetta struggled to place the breakfast tray on the bed without spilling the contents.


  ‘She’s gone out.’

  ‘Out?’ Cara sighed deeply.

  ‘She said she had to buy some groceries,’ explained Rosetta, smiling as she sat down on a chair next to the bed.

  Frustration creased Cara’s brow. She wanted to speak to Gloria about finding alternative living arrangements. Having a carer made her feel even more estranged from her family and heightened her sense of abandonment.

  ‘It’s a lovely day today,’ said Rosetta. ‘Later, we’ll go out and I’ll show you the town. Gloria said you haven’t been here for years.’

  Cara forced a smile. It would be difficult to find an opportunity to talk to her sister: she suspected Gloria had employed Rosetta as a way of avoiding contact with her.

  Picking at her breakfast, Cara glanced up at Rosetta and her frown was greeted with a warm smile.

  ‘Gloria told me you lived in London before moving here,’ said Rosetta, transcending the abyss of silence.

  ‘Yes, that’s right.’ A deep feeling of loss and sadness engulfed Cara. When Rosetta mentioned London, it felt as though she had reopened a fresh wound. Despite it having only been a day or so since she’d last seen Penelope, the distance between them made it seem like a much longer period of time. Cara had seen her granddaughter every day for the past five years, yet now she might never see her again.

  ‘I’ve got a friend who lives in London,’ said Rosetta.

  Cara heard the front door open and close: Gloria had returned.

  ‘Rosetta,’ said Cara.

  ‘Call me Rosie. Everyone else does.’

  ‘All right. Rosie, could you remind Gloria I want to speak to her?’

  ‘Of course.’ The young girl left the room.

  Cara heard her speaking to Gloria but could not make out the words.

  Shortly, Rosetta re-entered the bedroom. ‘Have you finished your breakfast, Cara?’

  ‘Er… Yes, dear.’

  ‘Good.’ The girl walked over to the bed and took the breakfast tray. ‘I’ll take this to the kitchen, then we’ll go out.’ She smiled and turned to leave.

  ‘Roset—, sorry, Rosie, did you tell Gloria I want to speak to her?’ Cara asked, an anxious tone to her voice.

  ‘Yes, I did,’ said Rosetta, looking back over her shoulder, ‘but she says she’s too busy. She’ll pop in to see you later, when I go home.’

  Cara’s mood darkened as she became aware that she was doomed to spend another day, perhaps even another week in this place, until one of her children got in touch so she could ask them for help.

  Cara breathed in the fresh air as Rosetta pushed the wheelchair along Cheshire Road. She was glad to be out of the house and away from the simmering tension it held. It was a bright, sunny day, the atmosphere quiet and calm. She could not help feeling more relaxed.

  When they reached the corner of the road where it adjoined the high street, someone called out from across the road: ‘Rosie!’

  ‘Mandy! Is that you?’ Rosetta sounded thrilled and the wheelchair sped up. Cara turned her head and saw a young girl, with very black hair, running towards them.

  ‘Mandy!’ said Rosetta again when the girl came to a halt beside the wheelchair. ‘You’ve dyed your hair black! I nearly didn’t recognise you, and you’ve pierced your nose!’

  ‘Yeah! I told you I would. And…’ She opened her mouth, laughed, and stuck out her tongue to reveal another piercing.

  Cara blinked in surprise.

  ‘Through your tongue? Wow! Did it hurt?’ asked Rosetta.

  ‘Nah,’ said Mandy, waving her hand to dismiss the idea.

  ‘Well, you’ve become trendy now you’re living in London,’ said Rosetta, giggling. ‘And how come you’re back in town without telling me?’

  ‘I sent you a text this morning,’ Mandy replied.

  ‘Oh, I forgot my mobile at home,’ Rosetta grumbled. ‘We’ve got to get together. How about tonight?’

  ‘Yeah, I said that in my text!’ Mandy laughed.

  ‘So how long are you gonna be in Huddlesea?’

  ‘A few days; Uncle Paul has a job in town, so we came with him.’ She looked at Cara, appearing to have just noticed her.

  Cara smiled at her, and Rosetta introduced them.

  ‘I’m working as a carer,’ she explained to her friend.

  ‘That’s nice,’ said Mandy. ‘Okay, Rosie, I have to go, because I’m meeting Uncle Paul for lunch. I’ll call you tonight and we’ll arrange something, okay?’

  ‘Yeah, great!’

  After Mandy left, Rosetta told Cara about her. They were best friends at school, but Mandy’s family moved to London over two years ago as her stepfather, whom she called “Uncle Paul”, found a job there.

  ‘We keep in touch by phone and I knew she wanted to come back to Huddlesea, but I had no idea she would be here today. It’s so great.’ She wheeled the chair further along the high street.

  Cara’s mood became nostalgic as she recognised parts of the town. She saw the water fountain in the centre of the main square and smiled at the sculpture of the angel playing a harp in the middle of the fountain. She recalled the day when the statue was first placed there: everyone in town had gathered to watch a fireworks display that night, shortly after the Second World War. Having never seen a proper fireworks display before, Cara had been fascinated by the waterfall of colours cascading from the sky above.

  Further along the high street they passed the old library and the town hall. The buildings were a little weathered with age but otherwise just the same as Cara remembered them. There were many new shops replacing the old ones lining the high street of her memory. There were restaurants serving all types of exotic foreign cuisine. At times, she felt as though she was in London as they meandered further along the street full of modern shops and bars.

  ‘Are you all right, Cara?’ asked Rosetta, after a brief silence.

  ‘Yes, dear, I’m enjoying the sights.’

  ‘Good, I’m glad.’

  Rosetta pushed the wheelchair at an even pace, stopping from time to time outside shop windows.

  Without warning, the wheelchair came to an abrupt halt in front of a restaurant. Not having expected to stop there, Cara was forced to hold on to the arms of the wheelchair to avoid falling out.

  ‘Look, Cara, there’s Mandy and her uncle Paul having lunch!’ Rosetta laughed and waved, trying to catch her friend’s attention, as she peered through the smoked glass restaurant window.

  Cara saw Mandy sitting at one of the tables towards the rear of the plush Chinese restaurant, next to a man. He turned towards the window but did not appear to notice Rosetta, who had stopped waving. The man looked familiar to Cara.

  She squinted, in an attempt to see him more clearly. He wore dark glasses and had a beard.

  Surely not! It can’t be. Adrenaline raced through her veins.

  The man removed his glasses, turning back to face Mandy. They were talking to each other, studying the menu. Something about the way he moved, the tilt of his head, triggered long lost memories.

  Rosetta steered the wheelchair away. ‘Shall we go home?’

  ‘All right, dear,’ Cara replied distractedly. Why had Rosetta and Mandy called him Paul? Was it possible two people could look that similar? She’d only seen him for a short time, but she felt quite certain: the man in the restaurant was Benjamin.

  Back at the house that evening, after Rosetta went home, Cara sat alone in her bedroom. Most of the afternoon she’d been lost in a daydream, unable to concentrate on much. Rosetta had tried her best to initiate conversation but all attempts had mostly been met with silence or nods from Cara. Cara feared the girl may have been left with the impression she might be ill or, worse still, senile.

  The image of Mandy’s uncle, Paul, was burned into Cara’s mind. She’d now convinced herself that the man was definitely Benjamin.

  For years, Cara had waited for a sign. She preferred to imagine he’d fled abroad. Although this did not stop her worrying about him, it soothed her to s
ome extent, being more of a real reason why he didn’t keep in touch. Living abroad he could not easily visit, could not send her letters or phone her if he was concerned about the police tracking him down.

  She did not want to face the possibility that he’d never wanted to contact her, but Mandy said she lived in London and had travelled from there with her uncle. If he lived in London, her theory about him being a “man on the run” was no longer plausible.

  Cara had often pictured the day when they would meet again. In her dreams he was thrilled to see her, he hugged her and told her he’d missed her. These dreams seemed unrealistic in light of what she had learnt. He’d been living in the same city as her but not once thought of getting in touch.

  Going back to the pain of not knowing what had become of him would have been preferable to knowing she didn’t matter to him.

  Gloria walked into Cara’s bedroom later that evening and sat on the chair beside the bed. ‘You wanted to talk to me,’ she said, without looking at Cara. Her demeanour suggested she’d rather be anywhere else.

  Cara lowered her eyes. Gloria had always been spiteful whenever their paths crossed in the past. Was it her way of dealing with the guilt over Beattie’s death? Cara doubted that. In her opinion, Gloria didn’t have a conscience.

  Gloria peered at her through cold and distant ice-blue eyes. ‘Well?’

  Cara remembered how badly she’d wanted to talk to her sister in the morning about making arrangements to leave the house, but in the course of just one afternoon everything had changed. How could she leave now?

  ‘Um… I just thought it would be nice to have a TV, or a radio in the room, if you have a spare one,’ she improvised.

  ‘Right. I will have a look.’ Gloria yawned. ‘I’ll say goodnight then.’

  Cara watched her sister stand up and walk towards the door, then said: ‘I know you didn’t invite me to come here and you can’t stand to be around me; you’ve made that quite plain. Just so you know, I wasn’t exactly overjoyed about having to come here.’