The Girl in the Corner

by Amanda Prowse

  Howard now stood at the bar with his mates gathered around him, holding court, and Rae took a seat with Maureen and Len, her mum and dad, in a booth.

  ‘Will you look at them?’ Her mum spoke with pride as all eyes turned to Debbie-Jo, who was dancing with gusto, and Hannah who was doing her best to keep up with her aunt’s vigorous moves. ‘She is still such a beautiful dancer.’ Maureen smiled with a twinge of sadness to her voice, making it almost a lament.

  Rae felt the familiar flicker of inadequacy and looked away from the dance floor. She disliked the lick of jealous flames in her gut and swallowed the ridiculous desire to remind her mum that this was her night.

  Suddenly she remembered being six again, swinging her legs back and forth as she sat between her parents with a hot swarmy feeling on her skin, wishing she were elsewhere, the bare underside of her thighs sticking to the plastic seat with nerves, Miss Rawlings smiling sweetly at her mum on this, her parent/teacher evening.

  ‘I think it’s fair to say that Rae-Valentine does not have a big voice. Sometimes I am pretty certain that she might know the answers, but hasn’t got the courage to raise her hand. Could that be right, Rae-Valentine?’

  She’d felt the eyes of all the adults in the room on her face as it coloured. She’d given a subtle nod and Mrs Rawlings’s mouth formed a wide smile with her lips tucked in, which to Rae seemed part kindly and part disappointed.

  ‘I have tried to coax her,’ the teacher then explained with more than a hint of exasperation, ‘but this seems to send her deeper into her shell – and the last thing I want to do is put unwanted pressure on her. It’s a fine line.’ She sucked air in through her gritted teeth, the way Rae had seen her dad do when contemplating a problem; this was usually followed by a scratch on the head.

  ‘It’s just how she is,’ her mum added matter-of-factly, gathering her handbag on to her lap with a sigh, like they were discussing something broken, or the weather – something non-negotiable and over which they had no control. ‘She’s always been quiet. Her big sister, on the other hand!’ She chuckled with a renewed lift to her voice at this glorious change of topic.

  ‘Oh my word, yes!’ her dad chipped in keenly, to emphasise the extraordinary nature of Debbie-Jo.

  ‘Ah, Debbie-Jo,’ Miss Rawlings said. ‘I teach her English, quite a little actress!’

  ‘Well, there’s no forgetting her, that’s for sure. Our little future star – that’s what we call her.’

  Rae-Valentine had looked at the adults and wondered if she were actually invisible. This was her parents’ evening and it had taken less than a minute to skip over her and move on to the subject of Debbie-Jo. She’d listened to the joyous singsong note in her mum’s voice when discussing her older sister, and had realised with an ice-cold stab in her chest that she was not memorable. And if she was not memorable that could mean only one thing.

  She was like furniture: static, forgettable.

  The music picked up tempo and drew Rae to the present. ‘You look lovely, Mum. You got your hair done.’

  ‘I did.’ Her mum patted her neatly coiffed do. ‘I told Pamela it was for your silver wedding and she remembered doing my hair for your wedding day! Can you believe that?’

  Rae nodded and smiled at this lovely example of the contented life her parents led. They lived in the same house, shopped in the same stores and used the same barber, hairdresser, doctor’s surgery, post office as they always had. Never striving for the next thing. Happy. She felt a small flush of embarrassment that this was not her life, not the Latimer way, where it was all about setting the next goal and striving for it. She knew her parents must at some level judge their seemingly extravagant, fast-paced lifestyle. She popped the diamond necklace inside the neck of her dress.

  ‘Twenty-five years . . . I remember when you first brought Howard home,’ Len chuckled. ‘You know, I wasn’t too sure – thought he might be a bit of a flash Harry – but then I saw how he looked at you and he told me . . .’ He stopped talking and caught his breath, his eyes bright and moist with tears. ‘He told me he’d treat you as I would treat you and that was good enough for me.’

  Oh, Dad, my lovely dad . . .

  ‘Long time ago, eh, Dad?’ She smiled at him and sipped from her glass of champagne.

  ‘And look how happy you all are. We were worried sick, weren’t we, love? Not that we let on.’ Her mum nudged her husband, who sniffed. ‘We had been saving up a wedding fund for you and Debbie-Jo for years. We had two Post Office savings accounts and each came with a little book and whenever I could, when there was anything spare, which wasn’t often,’ Maureen chuckled, ‘I’d put a pound or two or even just fifty pence into one of the accounts and it mounted up nicely. Well, you were only young and Debbie-Jo was on the ships, so I thought I had all the time in the world to save up more. I couldn’t believe it when you said you were getting married! I have to be honest – my first thought was, how in the world are we going to afford it?’

  ‘You and me both.’ Rae’s dad joined in, his words striking the saddest note in her chest. The last thing she would ever want was to put her parents under financial pressure; she hadn’t thought about it at the time, hadn’t properly considered the cost, swept up in the whirlwind of planning, beyond excited at the picture Dolly and Howard painted as she selected fabric, chose a frock, picked bridesmaids, sniffed flowers and sampled cake.

  ‘Anyway,’ her mum continued, ‘I remember one night you came home and you had wedding magazines and brochures in your hands and you were talking about all the things you wanted – the dress, the flowers, the party afterwards – and my heart sank, but I didn’t want to be the one to burst that bubble of happiness. I had never seen you so full of joy or so confident. I felt sad, but not because you were getting married – of course not; I was pleased you had found your Howard.’

  ‘Why were you sad, Mum?’ Rae whispered. She studied her mother’s face as, for a second, it took on a look of distress that cut Rae’s heart like knives. ‘Because of the money?’ The word jarred on her tongue, like something awkward, uncomfortable.

  Her mum shook her head. ‘Not only that, but I think that’s when I realised that this was the world you were entering. And it was a world very different to mine, where I could vacuum the whole of the downstairs of my house without unplugging once, a small world in every sense. And you were moving up to a family with swimming pools and fast cars.’ She paused. ‘I thought I might be losing a bit of you, because I knew we wouldn’t be able to keep up.’

  ‘It wasn’t moving up, not at all. I love you, Mum – so much. I have always been so proud.’

  ‘Oh, I know, I know, love.’ Her mum cut her short, patting the back of her hand. ‘But I remember we paid for the cake in the end, and it took all the money we had in both Post Office accounts. Luckily Debbie-Jo wasn’t in any hurry – she and Lee weren’t that serious then, and that gave us a few years to top hers up – but I looked around on the big day and . . . oh, it was beautiful!’ She smiled with her hand on her chest. ‘But I didn’t really feel part of it. It was like you had been swallowed up by the Latimers. And in all the extravagance and wonder of the day, I was conscious that our contribution was that little cake.’

  ‘It was a wonderful cake, Mum, and you were part of it – you are my parents.’ Rae struggled to control the warble in her voice.

  ‘Oh, I know that!’ Her mum tutted, as she did when any display of emotion left her feeling exposed. ‘Ignore me. I’m just in a reflective mood. And I shouldn’t be; this is a celebration, right?’ She lifted her tonic water in Rae’s direction and drank.

  ‘I was so young, giddy really, without a clue about most things,’ Rae admitted. ‘And if I could go back to that time, I’d do a lot of things differently.’

  I’d make sure you were more involved, Mum, and not let Dolly take control. I would have a small wedding in the pub, like you two did, and I would not take Debbie-Jo’s wedding fund to buy a tier of a cake I never even got to taste . . .<
br />
  Debbie-Jo executed an elaborate spin and came over to the table, where she reached for her glass of champagne. ‘Pass my bag, Mum.’ She pointed to her brown leather handbag, stowed by her mum’s feet. Rae watched as her mum struggled to retrieve it.

  ‘Now . . .’ Debbie-Jo balanced the bag on her raised thigh and foraged inside before producing an envelope. ‘Me and Lee didn’t know what to get you.’

  ‘You shouldn’t have got us anything. I’m just really happy you came all this way!’ Rae enthused.

  ‘Well, as I say, we didn’t know what to get. It’s difficult, right – what do you get the girl who’s got everything?’ She laughed and Rae saw the stiffening of her mum’s posture, and the narrowing of her mouth, indicating that this might be a recurring topic she was sick of discussing.

  ‘And we decided’ – Debbie-Jo took a glug from her champagne glass – ‘that the best thing we could do would be to give you an experience.’

  ‘Oh, you didn’t have to—’ Rae began.

  ‘Just open the bloody envelope!’ Her sister sloshed her glass in the direction of the slim gift balancing on her palm.

  Rae did as she was told and slid her finger under the gummed flap. Her eyes scanned the homemade vouchers, her eyes struggling to make out the fine print in the dim light of the booth.

  Debbie-Jo leaned in. ‘Lee’s mum and dad have got a caravan in Devon, just outside Torquay, and they said you guys can have any week, out of season; just let them know the dates and it’s yours . . .’

  Rae looked at her sister and back to the vouchers in her hand. Her first thought was how much Debbie-Jo and Lee would benefit from a week away and guilt flushed through her veins. ‘Debbie-Jo! Oh my goodness, that is so kind. It’s brilliant! Thank you!’ She pulled her sister into a hug and saw the happiness split her mum’s face in two. This she understood: any closeness displayed between her kids sent a bolt of happy right through her.

  ‘You’re welcome, sis!’

  It was a glorious moment, as the music blared, laughter danced on the air and champagne flowed; she felt the stays of kinship pull her and Debbie-Jo a little closer, and she liked it a lot.

  Hannah came to the booth and grabbed her hand. ‘Come on, Mum, dance with us! Come on, Auntie DJ! Back on the dance floor!’

  ‘I’m rubbish at dancing!’ Rae protested, hating the idea of anyone watching her.

  ‘Then drink more champagne. I find the more I drink the closer I get to dancing and singing like Beyoncé,’ Hannah confided.

  Rae threw her head back and laughed, happy to see her little girl without the crease of tension on her forehead. She sipped from her glass and was surprised to find, as the evening progressed, that Hannah was right. The three of them danced with abandon and it was great – a wonderful, wonderful party where her nerves were replaced by joy.

  People were generous with their compliments and they sang as they danced. Rae, now gasping for breath after her exertions, stood by the bar with Howard and looked around at the large family gathered here in their own restaurant. She saw the little kids in their best clothes running around the floor, George and Ruby smooching at a table in the corner, and felt a warm sense of belonging.

  She and Howard looked at Dolly, who balanced on the small step by the bar and clapped loudly to get everyone’s attention. The music stopped and everyone on the impromptu dance floor sighed their displeasure.

  ‘Don’t worry, we can turn it back on in a minute, but I just wanted to say before we all consume too much champagne and I forget to do this: Rae-Valentine, my beautiful friend, I have known you since we were kids – and in fact if it wasn’t for me, you and Howard would not have got married in the first place, so really it should be me getting gifts tonight, not you, and I do need a new deep-fat fryer . . .’

  Everyone laughed. Rae felt Howard step closer to her and stand at her back, his hand on her shoulder. His proximity brought comfort and reassurance, as it always had. She briefly tilted her head and rested her cheek on the back of his hand.

  ‘Howard and I got our heads together, as he wanted to get you something really special for putting up with him for twenty-five years—’

  ‘Should have got her a bloody medal!’ Vinnie shouted across the room.

  Dolly shot him a look of disdain, despite everyone’s laughter. ‘Shut up, Vinnie! That’s him on the couch tonight.’ She was playing to the home crowd and everyone, herself included, loved it. The laughter and applause was loud and heartfelt. ‘As I was saying . . .’ She sipped her champagne. ‘Howard, my wonderful brother, wanted to do something really special and I think he has.’ She beamed at her friend. ‘Howard has booked a holiday to Antigua! Fun fact: you are going to the Caribbean, baby!’

  Rae turned to her man. ‘You are kidding me!’

  ‘Nope, just you and me. Two weeks of sun and sea and sleep . . .’ He smiled at her. They both laughed, knowing that only a few years earlier it would have been sun, sea and sex that held such allure.

  ‘I am so lucky.’ She reached up and kissed him. ‘I love you, Howard.’

  ‘I’m the lucky one. Happy anniversary, darling. Never forget how much I love you.’ His pressing tone bought a tear to her eye.

  Rae caught Debbie-Jo’s eye. She looked crestfallen, and was making her way out of the front door, probably in search of air. Lee followed at an urgent pace, as if it was all a little more than they could cope with.

  THREE

  It was a little after 1 a.m. when they arrived home from the party. Howard headed for the TV room while Rae slipped her high heels from her feet and flexed her aching toes against the cool tiled kitchen floor. It had been some while since she had danced, and even though sleep pawed at her she was reluctant to bring an end to the glorious night. She now pottered in the kitchen, arranging the stunning display of anniversary cards, putting the house to sleep and tidying things away. She still carried with her the warm afterglow of celebration, smiling to herself as she recalled the event in slow motion: Dolly making her laugh, her dad tucking into a plate of tapas, holding up morsels as he tried to identify them and eating them nonetheless, Howard dancing manically at the end of the night with his tie around his head, his jacket discarded, the kids and their cousins swaying arm in arm with Dexys Midnight Runners playing . . . Happy memories.

  On opening the fridge door she eyed a misshapen lump of Brie and a small dish of syllabub, half-eaten. She felt her mouth salivate, wanting to eat both, but closed the door, knowing she wasn’t hungry, just greedy. Her willpower gave her a small buzz of self-satisfaction. She wanted to try to shift a pound or two from her tum before they left for Antigua in four weeks’ time. Antigua! Her stomach bunched in excitement.

  She had waved the kids goodbye as they headed to a club and knew their happy faces meant a good night’s sleep for her, content that there was no emotional fire that needed extinguishing – not tonight. Dolly had texted her to once again remark on what a fantastic night it had been. Maureen had whispered, as she left on Debbie-Jo’s arm, that she needed paper towels, bacon and hand soap. It made Rae smile that, despite the evening of merriment, her mum still had half a mind on the contents of her kitchen cupboards and tomorrow’s lunch. Debbie-Jo and she had shared a clumsy goodbye hug, where once again Rae thanked her for the vouchers.

  With her booze glow now faded, Rae picked up her pen and jotted on her list:

  Paper towels

  Bacon

  Hand soap

  Mouthwash

  And crossed through

  Water tubs

  Turn compost

  Then added

  Lose weight for Antigua!

  And underlined it.

  She would do a shopping order for her parents in the morning and get it delivered.

  Howard had closed the door of the TV room, probably to watch a documentary with cars, motorbikes or police in it, possibly all three; either way it was noisy and shouty, the kind of thing that didn’t really appeal to her. She loved this time of the night and
it was rare for her to be up and about. The air felt calm, as if the whole city had sighed, finished its chores and was sleeping soundly. Rae thought of her kids and thousands like them who would be doing anything but.

  She switched off the kitchen lights and cleaned her teeth, removed her make-up and blissfully shrugged off her bra before slipping her nightdress over her head. She wondered if it might be a night for sex. It had been a little while and it seemed only fitting after such a glorious evening and on this, their anniversary. Despite her increasing sleepiness, she sprayed her décolletage with perfume and decided to read until Howard appeared. She had Jessie Burton’s The Miniaturist on her bedside table and was looking forward to diving back into her world.

  Having climbed between the freshly laundered sheets, she looked up out of the window towards the west end of the street, fascinated, as she always was, by the light peeking through drapes and blinds, where people like her settled in for sleep. Her community: closely packed together in this pretty street and yet all separate like fish in tanks, their whole world defined by the four walls in which they swam. She placed the book on her lap and rubbed hand cream into the backs of her hands and between her elegant fingers, the scent of geranium a joy to inhale.

  Rae looked up as her husband stood in the doorway. He loitered, as if he couldn’t decide whether or not to come in.

  ‘Hello, you. What a night! I keep replaying it over and over in my mind. Thank you, Howard; you and Dolly did a great job. It was wonderful.’

  She stared at him, a little confused, as he looked straight through her.

  ‘What have you forgotten, darling?’ She smiled, knowing that she too was at an age where she would run up the stairs and forget what she had come for. ‘I’ve locked the back door and switched off the kitchen lights,’ she added, knowing he sometimes stood and tried to recall whether he had performed his nightly security check.

  ‘I . . .’ He placed the flat of his palm on the doorframe.

  ‘What, you waiting for an invitation?’ She laughed, pulling back the duvet a little and, waggling her eyebrows, striking the most seductive pose she could muster now that tiredness was catching up with her.