by Ruth Harrow
I close her profile and try desperately to keep my thoughts away from anything that will constrict my chest and make me light-headed.
I haven't felt this bad for years. I can't let it get as bad as last time. It would upset me if Eva saw it.
It's almost midnight before Will gets home.
The mattress sags with his weight when he climbs in next to me. I try not to think about the hundreds of faceless people that have slept in this bed over the years, their bodies weary from rambling over the surrounding fields, sweating into the sheets.
I'm still scrolling idly through inane Facebook notifications when Will rolls onto his side to face me. He puts his hand onto my bare thigh. 'I'm glad you're still awake.'
His fingers start tracing circles.
I've missed my husband greatly throughout the evening, but now he is here I'm quite annoyed at him for leaving me for so long.
'Will the dentist be all right to open for business tomorrow?' I ask.
'What? Oh, yeah. They are all sorted. It wasn't exactly a big fix. It just took longer than I expected.'
He withdraws his hand and rubs his eyes.
'It always does,' I say, the words slipping from my lips. I don't want an argument, not tonight.
'It won't always be like this, Hannah. We don't have to save up so quickly for a bigger place either if you don't want to. We can take our time, live a little. But if you want a better house and your dream holiday then we need these bonus hours I am doing.'
'Dream holiday? What are you talking about?'
'Egypt, wasn't it? You were talking about it months ago. It was there on your screen a few seconds ago.'
I glance back at my phone, scrolling back through my Facebook timeline. It takes me quite a while to get through my posts. Underneath a charity fundraiser back in Spring, I find it.
A photo saved from a travel website along with a brief comment saying how much I would love to visit this year and make my dream a reality.
A passing thought I had posted in pixels.
I had completely forgotten I had made the post. Even then, I didn't think anyone would read it closely or make a note of it; I certainly didn't expect anyone to misread it and take it as fact the way Penny had done.
I also hadn't quite realised that anyone can see what I post. I always imagined only my listed friends could see everything, but now realise that everything I have shared has been public the whole time. Anyone could see it.
I look over my other posts whilst I still have the eye of an outsider and decide I haven't shared anything too intimate. Looking through these posts, my life seems so much more successful and glamorous than it really is.
I put my phone down and lean over to give Will a goodnight kiss. He responds and offers me his cheek when I was going for his lips. He then turns over and clicks off his bedside lamp, leaving me to wonder if I imagined the scent of alcohol on his breath.
13
Saturday 17th July 1993
My stomach flutters with excitement. It protests as I try and force down Mum's smoked haddock and dry mashed potato. I'm too excited to eat, but Mum would never let me leave for the cinema on an empty stomach so I behave myself and don't say a word. Not even when I find several bones and find myself having to pick them out of my teeth.
I'll have to spend extra time brushing them before I go. I hope I have factored in enough time.
Another wave of nerves flashes across my tummy. Luckily Mum hasn't noticed anything. She seems distracted lately. April says it is because our parents have fallen out with each other. They hardly ever talk between themselves any more in any case. Even I have noticed. Mum says Dad works too much.
I stack my plate away neatly beside the sink and am allowed to pad upstairs without question.
Yes.
I slip into April's room. She still hasn't returned from Viv and Reg's house. She is lucky, I bet she gets to skip dinner altogether. She will come up with an excuse, tell Mum she has eaten at a friend's house. She does that often and is never picked up on it. Mum gives her so much more freedom. It's not fair.
I drop myself at April's dressing table. Sometimes I like to sit here and, surrounded by all the famous faces on the posters, my reflection likes to pretend to be at some star-studded party. Today there is no time for childish games, however. I need to make myself look older; pretty and attractive like my sister.
Since April already has her hair and makeup done she won't mind me using her crimper. I plug it in and switch it on. Then she can't complain I will be in her way.
I pull bottles, tubes and compacts towards me, opening them all in turn. When I see my pale face looking back at me, however, I'm unsure which products to use. I don't want to look plastered in make-up like I don't know what I'm doing. Mum always says Mrs Hughes wears too much. I see what she means though – April says she looks like an overgrown doll.
I start with some blusher, building it slowly on the puff and rubbing it into my cheeks. Is this what April does? Why didn't I pay more attention to her exact technique before?
I'm pretty certain I have the right pout when I apply some lipstick. However, I find my hand unsteady and wavering when it comes down to it and I rub it off with some tissue and start again several times. Even when I have finished it doesn't look right. The deep scarlet looks striking against the milky tone beneath my freckles.
Nerves squeeze my insides – this is taking longer than I thought. I glance at the clock and remind myself that I still have time.
Eyeliner is even more tricky than I imagined. I just can't get my hand to stay straight no matter what I do. I avoid mascara altogether. Even April complains how it clumps together, making her lashes look spidery.
At least I get my hair looking quite good. Probably because April lets me do hers for her sometimes. I'm over halfway done and just have a handful of sections to go when a voice makes me jump out of my skin.
It is April. She appears behind me in the mirror.
'What are you doing in here?'
Over my shoulder, I watch her as she slips a used note into her music box by the window. The twinkling chimes that the tiny crystal ballerina revolves to are cut short when she slams the lid down unceremoniously.
'I was just getting ready for when we go out,' I say. 'I didn't think you would mind. You are always borrowing my stuff.'
'Well I do,' she says flatly. She looks different than when she left earlier. She looks harassed. Tired. 'I need to touch up my makeup before Will gets here.'
'That's fine. I've finished with it anyway.'
'I can see that.' She gives me a patronising look, eyeing scarlet smeared tissues strewn over her dressing table. 'You need to go back to your room now.'
'Hang on a minute. I need to finish doing my hair. I can't go anywhere with it only half done.'
'Yes you can,' she says flatly, without a trace of her usual warmth. 'Put down my things and get your own. Go on – out.'
As April leans down and selects some of the same dark lipstick I have applied on myself, a glint of gold near her prominent collarbone catches the glittering sunlight still streaming in from outside.
'Hey,' I say. 'That's my necklace you are wearing.'
'What are you talking about?'
'Gran gave me that for my birthday. I don't complain when you use my things.'
'It sounds a lot like complaining now,' she says moving over to the doorway. 'You make yourself sound like a five-year-old.'
'No, I don't,' I say, failing to not sound sulky.
'Whatever,' she huffs. 'You know, Hannah, I don't think you should come out with us. Maybe you could have a little party here with Mum instead. She looks quite glammed up too.'
'What? No – I want to come with you and Will.'
She shakes her head and slips on a pair of heeled shoes. 'Me and Will don't want a little kid hanging about with us anyway.'
'Will said that?'
'He doesn't have to. As if he would want to have to buy you a ticket out of his ow
n money. He only suggested it to be nice. He doesn't actually want you to be there.'
Now the panic rises more than before. 'Dad gives me pocket money! I could have saved up if I had known sooner. I can pay Will back for the ticket. Tell him, April!'
The doorbell rings. It can't be time yet.
'It's too late – that is Will come to pick me up.'
The heavy crimpers fall from my hand and onto the dressing table with a loud clatter. I ignore them. 'You did tell me the wrong time! I knew it!'
'Sorry, Hannah. Maybe you misunderstood me. Anyway, we have to go. I'll just tell Will you changed your mind. Don't worry about it. See you later, OK?'
I hear her dash down the stairs and the rumble of Will's voice before the front door shuts and I am left foolishly amid a cluster of April's makeup, hair half-styled. My face is fully made-up and the effect doesn't look that bad considering it is my first try. I do look different. Older, certainly.
But now tears threaten to ruin the edges of the eyeliner ...
A burning smell reaches my nose and I quickly lift the crimping gadget. They have left behind an obvious mark in the highly polished wood.
Mum will be furious when she sees. Although, I realise that she is more likely to blame April, as the device belongs to her and this is her bedroom, after all. She would be in trouble just for leaving them within my reach.
I place the hot crimpers sideways, just as they had fallen, only this time on a fresh area of wood right in the middle of the table. Now, however, I leave them longer, causing a larger and more angry-looking mark to erupt in the pristine polish.
One that April will not be able to simply ignore.
14
Glowing green fields and farmland flash by as we drive back to Little Bishopsford illuminated by the late afternoon sun. The four of us have spent the day out at Dudley Zoo and Castle and now Will drives us back. I would have liked to have stayed away longer, spent some time with Dad on neutral ground. It took me by surprise just how much I didn't want to go back to the village yet. It's not even four pm, but Dad says he has a surprise for us when we get back.
Eva seems excited. I hope she isn't too disappointed when Dad wheels out our old board games, or declares he has ordered new garden ornaments for outside; knowing him, it would be something like that.
When Will and I are seated either side of Eva on the old Chesterfield sofa in the living room, I find I am proved right. Dad enters the room with a stack of old photo albums.
I glance at Eva, expecting visible wilting that I pray Dad won't notice, but there isn't any. She seems even a little interested in Dad's offering.
Perhaps this afternoon has been good for her. I have been taken aback today by how my daughter hasn't sulked at a single thing. I would have expected her to protest that she was too old to be taken to a zoo, but she has participated placidly. She was even happy when her Granddad bought her an ice cream.
Memories spill out of the images as we turn the yellowed pages. Big, toothy grins beam out at us from miniature versions of ourselves in the pictures. April's is usually the most radiant face of them all. She can be the star of every photo with even just a small smile playing on her heart-shaped lips. I can tell all eyes are immediately drawn to her.
'She looks like she was fun to know,' Eva says simply, staring down at a picture of an April in her early twenties surrounded by backpacking friends, all young men. She is in the middle of the group and has a mischievous grin on her face, knowing eyes and a thirst for life. Her slender thumbs are slipped into the pockets of her ripped, flared jeans and her stance says she is ready to take on the world. This photo has captured forever my sister on the brink of a great adventure, no doubt about to make her mark on new territory with her friends whose names I sadly can't claim to know.
Will unwittingly catches my eye before he looks down at his hands again. I notice he keeps his distance from the album. Not wanting to look, as though afraid of what it might reveal next.
Guilt tugs at me when I think of how little Eva saw of her aunt. April sent carefully chosen gifts to her niece, very rarely bringing them in person in a fleeting visit.
I notice I'm chewing on the inside of my mouth again and mindfully stop before anyone notices.
We reach the final pages of the album and I feel as though a balloon has been deflated inside me.
The collection ends with some snaps of mine and April's respective graduations. Here she again has confidence that beams from the page, whilst I simply look awkward; pale and clumsy in a black cap and gown. Sandy strands from a badly-gauged fringe cling greasily to my forehead, whereas April's hair is sleek and forms a perfect amber sheet flowing over her shoulders.
But something isn't right. I flick back a few pages. I thought there would be more pictures than this. Not that I can visualise any in particular. Surely some of Will should be included too. I'm certain I remember him ending up in at least a few family shots.
I must be remembering wrong.
What is odd though is that the graduation shots appear at the end of the album, even after April's post-university travel snaps.
My fingers slip under the plastic of the first of the blank pages at the end. The film is loose, as though it has recently given up its memories.
'Dad, are there some photos missing?'
'Not sure, Love. I left the albums out so your mother could have a look through for the service. She couldn't find any she liked though. That's why we had to use April's Facebook picture, wasn't it?'
Perhaps Mum took some out for herself. That would explain the missing images.
Dad's afternoon surprise has left me feeling exhausted, drained of energy. He looks at me expectantly from his wingback leather chair. 'Well, what do you think, eh?'
'Yes, it was great ... seeing all these photos again. It brings back so many memories.'
Will gets up. He declares he will make us all some tea and disappears into the kitchen.
'I know what you mean,' my father says. 'I was sitting here last week myself going through these books. Having a little sob to myself, I was. I think your Dad is getting soft in his old age.'
'It's all right to have feelings, Granddad,' Eva says.
'That's what Penny said when she found me.'
'Found you? Don't you keep your door locked, Dad?'
'Of course not. I leave it open for guests to come and go during the day, don't I? I bet she thinks I'm a right old softie, now.'
'Don't worry about it, Dad.'
Later, I realise my father still has a bee in his bonnet about getting Eva to send something through the post. He insists on taking her out to the village paper shop to purchase a birthday card for her Grandmother.
'Good idea. I'll come with you,' I say, moving to the hall for my shoes.
'No need, Hannah, Love. We won't be long. Perhaps you and Will can come up with some ideas for how we can spend next week.'
I'm left alone in the hall as he shuts the front door behind himself and Eva. I caught only a brief glimpse of her before she was whisked out the door and vaguely register that she has applied some eyeliner around the corners of her hazel eyes. I hadn't noticed that when we were at the zoo. Have I been paying her enough attention with everything that has been going on lately?
I shall have to rectify that when we get home. I know I've certainly let other things slip.
Back in the lounge, I perch myself on the settee. Now that my daughter is beyond my watch, I feel a little on edge, unsure of what to do with myself.
Will comes into the room and sits down too, pulling me closer to him and putting his warm arms around me.
The mild scent of his aftershave fills my senses this close. He brushes my hair onto one shoulder as his lips brush the back of my neck. The bristling of his beard causes goosebumps to erupt over my arms.
'Alone at last,' he whispers, his breath hot against my skin.
A spectrum of confused thought swirls in my head. April as a child in this house; her and Will toge
ther in the village, holding hands and stealing kisses here and there, giggling and uncaring that I can see everything they are doing; April gone – her smiling face in the photograph beneath her eulogy.
I sit up straight and move to the edge of the seat. 'You know how close the newsagents is. They won't be long.'
'Neither will we.'
Will smirks and pulls me back again, his hands moving beneath the fabric of my top and stroking my sides teasingly. My body starts to respond, my hands slipping over his strong shoulders beneath the plaid shirt, but something just isn't right.
My thoughts skip to Eva, of how she is out alone with Dad. I feared him close to a stroke on our walk last weekend.
What would happen if he had a funny turn now? Would my daughter call an ambulance? Would she accompany her Grandfather to the nearest hospital in Telford and end up there on her own, unsupervised? Why did I let them go out the door together against my better judgement?
I pull away.
'What's wrong?'
'Nothing. It's just weird doing this here. It's too soon after ... Well, after these last few weeks and everything that has happened.'
'It's all right, Hannah. Nothing is any different between us. I've been looking forward to some quality time together for ages. We haven't done it since before you got the news.'
'I'm sure everything will feel more normal once we get home. Dad seems a lot better already. I'm sure by the end of next week we can leave him to get on with things.'
A muscle in Will's cheek twitches and he lets out a sigh of frustration and leans back on the sofa. One of his hands unnecessarily adjusts the scatter cushions beside him. 'We can't go home quick enough.'
I glance at the old carriage clock on the mantelpiece. 'I should start to get dinner ready for when they get back. Are you going to help me?'
'In a minute.'
Tonight, I have volunteered to make my speciality, spaghetti carbonara. I picked up the recipe in my student days and have been perfecting the recipe ever since. Neither of my parents have ever tried it, but it's a favourite of my daughter's.