In Servitude

by Heleen Kist

  Dad had cleared his throat. ‘Of course, that was very clumsy of you, Grace. For punishment we’ll call you “Egg” until the new year. And then forgive and forget.’

  Ever since, the name Egg had become analogous with forgiveness and, as it sounded today, there existed no sweeter word. I moved in for a hug, which he gave—though hesitantly at first. In the distance someone grunted. An umpire yelled ‘in.’

  ‘Is Mum awake?’

  ‘Yes.’ He moved my hands from his shoulders and got up. ‘Come.’

  Mum’s complexion was still pale and her skin looked paper-thin. But her eyes sparkled as they took in Coronation Street. Dad whispered in my ear. ‘You’ve caught her at a lucid time. They come and go, but she’s been good all day so far.’

  I inched forward into her field of vision. ‘Hi Mum.’

  ‘Hello darling. Were we expecting you?’ She looked at Dad for confirmation.

  ‘No. But it’s Sunday. And I’ve decided to come see you every Sunday.’

  ‘Oh that’s nice. We had the grandkids over yesterday. I’m sure Stephen is doing the best he can, but Glory used to dress those boys better.’ She seemed to fish for the remote around her lap. ‘Can you turn this off?’ Her frail arms succeeded in pushing her onto her feet. ‘I’ll make us a nice pot of tea.’

  ‘It’s okay, Mum, I can do it.’

  She batted me away. ‘Don’t fuss, Grace.’

  Banished and bemused, I joined Dad on the sofa.

  After a while, cautious not to jinx it, I said, ‘She’s looking well.’

  ‘As I said, it comes and goes, but it is a little better than before. The doctors said she had been dehydrated, which wasn’t good for her body but also accounted for the increased confusion. The nurses put her on fluids and gave me some tips on keeping her drinking. It’s not always easy.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I left open-ended what for.

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Will you be able to keep her at home?’

  ‘Maybe for a little while, but don’t let today fool you. She is not well.’

  ‘Does she know?’

  ‘Yes. We’ve had the conversation when it’s been possible. And she’s at peace with it. She knows what we can afford. I never mentioned why. And don’t you dare.’

  ‘No, of course not.’

  The tinkle of cups and saucers neared, and we repositioned ourselves in casual expectation.

  ‘Here we are.’ Mum walked in and deposited the tray on the coffee table. ‘Here is some tablet, also. It’s from a neighbour down the street. She insists on making it and then hands it out to everyone. This batch is thankfully quite edible.’

  Dad chuckled.

  ‘The reason I came today is that I’ve come to share amazing news about something Glory did. Well, and I helped.’

  ‘Oh?’ they said in unison, and the floor was mine.

  As I described the sequence of events since discovering the photos on Glory’s phone, my mother sat transfixed and muttered the odd ‘my goodness.’ Dad’s eyes widened at the first mention of Excelsior and we exchanged warning looks. I avoided any hint at why Glory might have been closer to the wholesaler than most other customers and focused on her discovery of Marius’s plight and decision to do something about it—never mind why. By the time I reached the climax of the Romanians safely inside the ambulance, Mum was holding her clasped hands under her chin, gripped.

  ‘They’re in a safe house now, for a few days, where they will get the help they need to rebuild their lives,’ I said.

  ‘Isn’t that marvellous?’ Mum asked of Dad. ‘They’ll be rejoicing in heaven, won’t they, dear?’

  ‘Yes, God bless her.’ It seemed as though he was humouring her, not yet convinced of his daughter’s saintliness himself.

  ‘It should make up for the criminal money things, don’t you think, dear?’

  I gasped and nearly dropped my cup. Dad’s head darted back and forth between us two, as if he’d missed a whole conversation.

  ‘What are you talking about, Mum?’ I enquired in a light and airy tone.

  ‘What?’

  ‘That thing you just said. About Glory.’

  She shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I’ve heard you two talking. It was complicated. Did I say something wrong?’

  Had she been awake after all? And lucid? It wouldn’t surprise me if she’d heard the whole thing—what Dad asked of me—but chose to pretend. My parents and their incredible skill of suppressing the unspeakable.

  Dad redirected. ‘I’m very proud of what you did, too. Very proud, the way you picked up what Glory had started.’

  ‘Thanks. That means a lot.’

  ‘Will you take the last piece of tablet?’ Mum asked.

  ‘No thanks. In fact, I’ve got to go see Alice. I called to say I’d drop by.’

  ‘How are those cute little girls of hers?’

  ‘They’re big teenagers now, Mum.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘I’ll be back next Sunday, okay?’

  Mum nodded, then summoned me with a wave. ‘Come here.’

  I walked to her armchair and bent through my knees to be at eye level. ‘What is it?’

  She placed both palms on my cheeks, cocked her head and stared at me intently. What was she doing? She pulled gently, and I let her guide my head to hers. Then she pressed her dry lips on mine. ‘Good girl.’

  The shock knocked me off balance and I nearly fell on my bum. I couldn’t remember the last time she’s been affectionate with me—childhood, for sure.

  She was already looking away again and motioned for Dad to help her out of the chair. I placed my fingers on my lips, where hers had been. Not another word was said.

  Dad held Mum’s elbow as she got up and shuffled to the kitchen.

  I put my shoes on to leave and wrapped my light-blue scarf around my neck. Mum began circling like a dog trying to catch its tail.

  ‘Where is it?’

  ‘Where is what, Mary?’ Dad asked.

  ‘I had the PE bag in my hand a second ago,’ she said.

  My nerves jumped to attention. ‘What PE bag?’

  ‘The one Glory forgot to take to school. You can bring it to her. She’s always hiding it. I swear, this girl has missed more sports than she’s ever done.’

  Dad sighed and shook his head.

  Faced with this baffling switch, I experienced an overwhelming urge to not upset her. ‘It’s okay, Mum. I have a spare set. I’d better go, or I’ll be late for class.’

  ‘All right but tell her we’ll have words when she comes home. Now shoo.’ She swatted me out the door before I was able to say goodbye to my poor dad.

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  Alice’s girls were lounging in the kitchen in onesies, legs draped over the rattan armrests, so engrossed in their smart-phones that my presence went unacknowledged.

  ‘I swear they have been in that exact position since the moment school broke up on Friday. I have no idea what I’ll do with this bunch all summer.’ Slapping a series of feet, Alice said, ‘Girls, say hello to Grace. And go shower.’ The fluffy creatures mumbled greetings and dragged themselves away while their mother opened the glazed patio door for air. ‘That’s better. You remember listening to Nirvana? Well, this is what teen spirit actually smells like.’

  ‘You’re mean.’ I chuckled.

  ‘No, I just tell it like it is,’ we chanted in chorus, paying tribute to an age-old gag about her predilection for tactless candour. A flush of warmth filled my chest, toasty snippets of intimacy and laughter, the flints of a twenty-year friendship.

  Once the kettle had boiled, she enquired about Mum’s condition and I described the changes I had witnessed moments earlier, from her usual self—stinging criticisms and all—to her unexpected affection and her sudden, upsetting detachment from reality.

  ‘Judging from Dad’s face, that wasn’t the first time things had changed so quickly.’

&
nbsp; ‘No. Probably not, given where she is at. Still, sounds as though the new hydration regime is working a little. And he appears to be managing okay, for now.’

  ‘Yes, for now. Dad still thinks he’ll put her into a home, though.’ My tone held an accusatory note. Not just for Dad. Also for her, for her role in planting the idea of expensive care homes in Dad’s head.

  ‘I know it’s hard to imagine. But you haven’t experienced the day-to-day demands of dementia. I’m sure he’s doing his best. He’s the most devoted husband I have met. He’d do anything for her.’

  Didn’t I know it.

  ‘Anyway, that’s not why I came today,’ I said. ‘It’s been an incredible two weeks, and it all kicked off when I found some strange photos on Glory’s phone. Listen to this…’ This was my fourth time running through the story—first with Dave, then Stephen, then my parents—but it did not lose its shine. My heroic sister freeing the shackled slaves. It also never failed to floor the listener.

  ‘Wow.’ Alice reclined into the seat, digesting the tale.

  ‘Isn’t it wonderful?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, it is.’ A crinkle in her forehead hinted at a question.

  ‘What’s up?’

  She shook her head and flashed a reassuring smile. ‘Oh, nothing.’

  ‘No, I can see it. There’s something.’

  ‘I was trying to picture Glory going through this and it seemed a bit out of character, that’s all.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘No, really, it’s nothing.’

  I poked her in the rib. ‘Come on. Spit it out.’

  ‘I feel it would have been unlike her to keep everything so quiet, to be so secretive about it. But then I suppose Glory died before getting a chance to bask in glory, so to speak.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ I challenged her, sensing a veiled insult.

  ‘Oh, shush. Trust you to jump to her defence. Have you noticed you’ve totally downplayed your role in this rescue? You made this happen, too, Grace. Don’t forget. You should be celebrated.’ She patted my hand to reinforce my contribution. ‘All I’m saying is: she wasn’t the type to do things purely out of the goodness of her heart—’

  ‘That’s unfair.’

  ‘Is it? I’m curious…Is this Oliver guy good-looking?’

  It seemed an odd question, at first. ‘Well, yes, I guess. He’s tall and athletic. But he’s got a beard.’ I scrunched my nose in disgust. The memory of Glory’s penchant for facial hair popped up and made me uncomfortable, like a perturbing grain of truth. ‘What’s your point?’

  ‘Last time you thought she was bored, maybe seeing someone. Is it possible she was hoping to impress handsome Oliver with this escapade into human trafficking?’

  Rationally, I knew she could be right; but viscerally it felt wrong, disrespectful. ‘Don’t say that.’

  ‘That doesn’t make her a bad person, Grace. We all have different personalities, our own quirks. Nobody is all good or all bad. If my job has taught me anything, it’s that people are a product of their character as much as of their circumstance. Put someone in a stressful situation and they may act contrary to their nature, but for the most part, people are who they are. And Glory wasn’t like you, always jumping in to save others.’ I frowned at this simplistic characterisation. ‘Glory needed attention, and that drove a lot of her actions. Particularly attention from the opposite sex. If you’re being honest with yourself, you know it’s true…But it’s fine. I’m not judging her. I loved Glory too. I miss her too.’

  ‘You’re speaking as if she only cared about herself. But she cared about others, about me. She was always there for me, too.’

  ‘She was. I’m not saying she wasn’t. I saw how close you were, how much you loved each other. And how could you not? The saviour and the narcissist mutually reinforcing this feeling of togetherness. But I equally saw that whenever she “was there for you”—or for me, for that matter—there was usually also an audience.’

  The finger quote-marks she used infuriated me. But I was prevented from lashing out by new scratchy grains joining the first at the speed of memory, sinking me into a quicksand of truth. Reshaped recollections: there had always been an audience, or some boy.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I’ve gone all psychotherapist on you. An occupational hazard. But I accept I’ve completely overstepped my boundaries. Please forgive me. I don’t know why I even opened my mouth. I guess with you picking up so much of Glory’s load, and with your parents, I’m worried about you. It may not be obvious right this minute, but I just want you to be happy. And for you to do what you want. Not what you think you owe your sister or what someone else needs from you.’

  ‘I understand. You meant well. But you’re wrong. And whatever you or anyone says, I’ll remember Glory my way.’ I squeezed her knee and got up to leave. She rose, but I gestured for her to stay. ‘Don’t worry. I’m okay. Really.’

  And I meant it, figuring that by now I’d survived the worst.

  Chapter Sixty

  The next morning, the café buzzed with kids frolicking around, their mothers seeking strength in caffeinated coping potions on what was the first official day of the summer holidays.

  Sascha’s diligence and skill were clear not only from the latest till receipts, but from the way she floated through tables, like a chatty fairy casting healthy-but-delicious treats in all directions. Perhaps because my attempts at bonhomie weren’t as genuine, they were met by stone faces. I determined I wouldn’t keep this job up much longer. Watching our committed manager, an idea brewed in my mind.

  A party of four was leaving as Stephen entered with the boys, and I waved for him to grab the table before someone else did. Adam and Noah knew the place well, as they’d occasionally hung out here after school with Glory, but they wouldn’t have seen it so vibrant and the buzz seemed to infect them with excitement. Stephen looked surprised, more than anything, but he would never have visited during working hours anyway.

  ‘Hey guys. Lovely you’re here.’

  ‘Hey Auntie Grace. That boy there, that’s Hamish. He’s in P2C.’ Noah pointed at a blue-eyed child, crowned by a cascade of golden curls, doodling on the kids’ place-mats with a coloured marker. A picture of angelic perfection that would blow the springs off any woman’s biological clock. Even I felt a hint of a twinge in my lower belly.

  ‘Well, we are very near school, perhaps he forgot it was the holidays and came this way out of habit.’ I flipped my finger across his nose to underscore my joke, which elicited a giggle. ‘What can I get you gentlemen?’

  ‘I’ll have a cappuccino please. Can you get the boys an elderflower cordial? And can they share a brownie?’ Four little eyes lit up at that last word.

  ‘Sure thing. What’s planned for today?’

  ‘I’m off work so I can take them to the Science Centre. Then from tomorrow they go to camp. It’s conveniently at the high school. Oh, and because it starts at eight, I can take care of mornings.’

  ‘And Blue?’

  ‘I’m good. Thanks. The walker who takes him out at lunchtime says she can jump in whenever I need, but while the weather is nice we don’t mind a little walk in the morning, do we boys?’

  I cleaned their table, each wipe sweepier than the last, reflecting the gradual unburdening of my daily routine. Soon, my life would be mine again.

  Cups balanced in hand, I flowed past the clientele to the rear. While preparing their order, I drank in the scene of my sister’s family, with a melancholic smile.

  They’re okay, Gi. They’re going to be fine.

  Against these soothing thoughts, my heart constricted. They were going to be fine—without me.

  One of the customers signalled to pay, and I was pulled back to reality. A reality I had by now accepted did not consist of black and white. A reality where it was the exception, rather than the rule, to be free from perpetual conflicting emotions. Reality was grey.

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p; I asked Sascha to take care of the woman while I re-joined my kin. As the brownie was being torn from my hands, my attention was drawn to an unexpected but welcome shape in the doorway: Marius. My new friend scanned the café and

  burst into a smile when he noticed me, only for his face to sink as his gaze dropped. In a blink, he spun around and exited onto the street. Alarmed by his sudden retreat, I rushed through the door.

  ‘Marius! Marius, wait up!’ He walked South, and I caught up with him after two shop fronts. ‘What’s wrong?’

  Everything about him projected fear. ‘That man at your table. He cannot see me.’

  ‘Stephen? The man with the two boys?’

  ‘He is a friend?’

  ‘Yes, that’s Glory’s husband. His name is Stephen.’ He gasped and covered his mouth. ‘What is it? Tell me.’ I pried his lips clear by pulling at his wrist.

  ‘I see him with bad men.’

  ‘What bad men? At Excelsior?’

  ‘No, a delivery place. I see things. They think I do not understand but I hear. The men are criminals. Glory’s husband I saw with big gaingster. I remember he turn around—cold eyes—he see me.’

  Despite his mispronunciation, I understood straight away he meant Brian Scott. ‘Oh, g-A-ngster,’ I corrected. ‘Yes. Don’t worry, Marius. It’s okay. Yes, they are bad men, but they were bad to Stephen. They were blackmailing him. Do you know what that means?’ He nodded. I shook my head in an exaggerated motion. ‘Stephen did nothing wrong. He was a victim, like you. He is a good man.’

  He seemed unconvinced.

  ‘And it’s over now,’ I said. Come. Come and have a coffee. Tell me how you’ve been. About the safe house.’ I tried to steer him by the elbow, but he resisted.

  ‘No. I not come now. I come tomorrow same hour for you. Okay?’