The Girl in the Corner

by Amanda Prowse

  The boy who had cheated.

  Rae grabbed the paper bags with the gifts for her parents and knocked on the front door.

  ‘She’s here! She’s here, Maureen!’ she heard her dad call out, and it made her heart sing. She knew there were no other people in the whole wide world who would greet her arrival with such excitement. It made her feel like . . . like a rock star.

  Her dad opened the door and she walked into the hallway, where he wrapped her briefly in his arms. ‘Goodness me, you look very well. Did you have a lovely time?’

  ‘I did, Dad.’ She followed him into the sitting room and took a chair next to the sofa.

  ‘Hello, sweetie!’ her mum called, bounding in from the kitchen. Her joviality amid the normality of her daily routine made Rae catch her breath. She wondered how it could be that, while things for her were so changed, life in her childhood home in Purbeck Avenue carried on as it always had. She felt the urge to fall into her mum’s arms and be held, or to sneak upstairs, kick off her shoes and slip into the single bed of her old room, listening as her parents pottered below with the hum of the television and the occasional whistle of the kettle, safe and sound under her bedspread without too much to trouble her.

  ‘Are you okay, darling? You look miles away.’ Her mum touched her arm, gently.

  ‘I’m fine! I am absolutely fine, Mum!’ she lied. ‘Got you this – just a little something.’

  Her mum peered into the bag and pulled out the crocheted tablemat.

  ‘Oh, will you look at that, Len? Thank you, Rae, it’s beautiful. I’ll put it on the sideboard, under Nan’s vase.’

  Rae smiled at her mum, knowing that putting it on display meant approval; otherwise it would have been popped into the drawer along with the terracotta coasters she had brought them from Spain last year, clearly not to their taste, and the rather crudely painted, small plaster figurine George had made them of Dumbledore.

  ‘It’s so nice to see you. How about a cup of tea?’

  ‘Yes, please, Mum. We have no kitchen and so even making a hot drink is a nightmare. We have put a kettle on a tray on top of an old fridge in the dining room, but it’s not exactly convenient. And builders are swarming all over the place.’

  ‘Yes, we heard! George rang while you were away and he said Hannah and her friend were mucking about and the kitchen caught fire, is that right?’ Her mum shook her head, as if unable to imagine such a carry-on.

  ‘I don’t know that they were mucking about. Apparently they were heating up a pizza and forgot about it. The irony is she didn’t order one in, as they were economising! If only they hadn’t economised and had spent the extra money on a big pizza to be delivered, it would have saved us a few thousand pounds forking out for a new kitchen!’ Rae gave a wry laugh.

  ‘Goodness me. Well, at least no one was hurt. I couldn’t sleep, could I, Len? Worrying about what might have happened. I once had an oven glove catch fire on the stove when you kids were little and that scared me half to death. I thought I had turned the gas off and I hadn’t, not fully. No actual fire, mind you, but a horrible smouldering mess and we did have to get a new oven glove. I’ll go and get that tea.’

  ‘You look tired.’ Her dad sat forward in his chair and folded his newspaper in half, placing it on the side table. Of her parents, her dad was the one she was more likely to confide in, for no other reason than that he was less likely to react emotionally and fret: a practical man who she knew could offer practical advice.

  ‘I don’t know why. I’ve done the best part of nothing for two weeks; I have no reason to be tired.’

  ‘Maybe it’s the travelling. Travelling can take it out of you.’

  ‘It can,’ she agreed.

  ‘And worry – worry can be exhausting.’ He spoke knowingly and she got the impression he wanted to say more. Her heart leaped at the thought that their situation might have got back to her dad. How would it be if he knew Howard had let her down, let him down . . . ? This dilemma made her realise that if she was worried about how her parents viewed Howard, then she must at some level believe it possible that they, as a couple, had a future. Is that it, Rae? A couple of dissenting thoughts and a daydream about a barman – is that the extent of your rebellion? She felt her cheeks flame with embarrassment.

  ‘It can,’ she agreed, again.

  The two sat wrapped in an awkward silence for a moment or two, he seemingly waiting for her to divulge more and her waging an internal battle, wondering whether it was best to speak up or shut up. Her dad verbally steered them back into safe waters.

  ‘I have an appointment next week at the hospital, just a blood test thing and a check-up; waste of time probably.’ He tutted, but the sparkle in his eye told her that he was actually looking forward to it.

  ‘Oh, well, I’ll take you, Dad; just let me know when.’

  ‘Are you sure, love? I know you are busy.’

  ‘Of course!’

  Her mum came in with a tray laden with three floral china cups in matching saucers and it made her a little sad – seeing how she had brought out the best tea set, knowing she would have had to stand on her tiptoes and stretch to reach the top shelf for the precious china. The stuff was usually reserved for strangers on whom she wanted to make a good impression, or the infrequent visits of VIPs. Rae was aware that, of late, she was considered both. She pictured coming home from school and sitting in this very spot with her bare feet tucked under her legs, watching television with a chipped mug in her palms, and swallowed the wave of nostalgia.

  ‘Thank you for our grocery deliveries, Rae – it is quite amazing.’ Her mum took up the space next to her dad. And there they sat, like they had throughout her life, with him on the left and her on the right. This was how they sat on the sofa, or in the car, and how they lay on their mattress. Rae thought briefly of the lumpy whale and took a sip of her tea. ‘The van pulls right up outside and he knocks on the door and gives me a list of all the things he is about to bring in.’

  ‘Yes, I do the list on my computer and so I get a repeat order for you with any extras you might need,’ Rae explained.

  ‘It’s absolutely marvellous,’ her mum continued, as if Rae hadn’t spoken. ‘He puts the bags right in the kitchen and it always feels like Christmas! So many lovely things. And it’s all the brands we like – Dad’s favourite yoghurts, our biscuits, everything; just as we like it. Quite amazing!’

  ‘Yes, I do the list on my computer and I tell them what to bring.’

  ‘And all the groceries are sorted into different bags: things for the freezer and some things for the cupboard. It’s wonderful, all that brought to our door without us having to leave the house.’

  ‘Like magic!’ Rae smiled.

  ‘It is, Rae!’ her mum agreed, nodding. ‘Just like magic.’

  ‘So didn’t you have a lovely time at your party!’ her dad stated.

  It felt like a lifetime ago when she considered how much she had learned since then, remembering the carefree dancing with Hannah and Debbie-Jo, drinking champagne and chatting to George and Ruby – and only hours later being on all fours on the floor as her husband wept his way through his confession.

  ‘I did.’ She clattered her teacup on the saucer. It was a sham! The whole bloody thing was a sham! A distraction! the voice shouted in her head. ‘Did you . . . did you enjoy it, Dad?’

  ‘Oh, yes, it was lovely to see George and his young lady, Ruby – she’s a poppet – and of course Hannah. I do wish she’d meet someone nice too and settle down.’

  ‘Well . . .’ Rae began, only to be cut short by her mum.

  ‘Debbie-Jo and Lee stayed here afterwards and there were a few sore heads floating around the next morning, I can tell you.’

  ‘I think we kept the bottle bank busy that week – lots of empties. But it was lovely; a nice surprise.’ Rae smiled. ‘I appreciated everyone coming such a long way.’

  ‘And what about your caravan gift from Debbie-Jo? Wasn’t that something?’ her dad beamed.


  Rae nodded. Shit! She had in the midst of her life upheaval quite forgotten about the caravan gift.

  ‘That reminds me: Debbie-Jo needs the dates from you for Lee’s parents. Can you let her know?’ her mum cut in.

  ‘I will.’ Rae mentally added the job to her list.

  ‘It’s so lovely down there.’ Her dad spoke fondly. ‘Your mum and I went for a long weekend last Easter. It’s a smashing little place. We used to stroll to the fish and chip shop and ate tea every night on a little deck overlooking the play area. Kids were laughing, sun was out. As I said: smashing. I suggested to your mum we could go back but she’s not too keen, are you, love?’

  ‘It’s not that I’m not keen, Len. I thought it was a lovely place and we had a nice break, but it’s this damn heartburn.’ She swallowed with the heel of her hand on her chest. ‘It drives me round the twist and I’d rather be in my own bed feeling poorly than anywhere else.’

  ‘You’ve still got heartburn?’ Rae remembered it being mentioned a few months ago; but unlike most of her mum’s ailments – which got forgotten or faded, knocked off the top spot by a new illness with its own range of symptoms – this one seemed to be lingering.

  ‘Yes, nearly all the time. I take antacids like sweeties, but they don’t seem to do any good.’

  ‘You need to go and see your doctor.’ Rae spoke sternly in the way she did when she was trying to get the kids to do her bidding. Not that she had much control over them. She pictured her burned-out kitchen, mostly now lying in a bin.

  ‘I’ve been, but I might go again.’

  Her dad reached across and patted his wife’s leg.

  ‘You need to,’ said Rae. ‘Go again, tell them it’s getting worse and that you want tests; and if they don’t do anything about it, tell me and I will take you see a specialist. I mean it. Don’t let them fob you off.’

  ‘Rae, you sound proper bossy!’ Her mum laughed, like this was a revelation.

  ‘That’s me! Bossy! I think you might be confusing me with Debbie-Jo or Dolly!’

  ‘Did Dolly have a nice holiday? Did she keep out of trouble? I know the lads came out – Howard called us. He couldn’t keep away from you.’ They smiled at each other; the lads, now nearing fifty, whom her parents still pictured as the teenagers who used to park outside and beep the car horn before whisking their daughter off for a night out, returning her before 10 p.m.

  ‘Are you crying, Rae?’

  Rae touched her fingers to her cheek. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, Dad. I didn’t know I was. I don’t know why!’ She beamed to prove the ridiculous nature of her tears. ‘I just feel a bit—’

  ‘A bit what, love?’ Her mum looked concerned.

  ‘I don’t know, Mum. I guess I was just thinking how surprising it is to everyone when I sound bossy or assertive. Me!’ She sniffed. ‘And I wish that wasn’t the case. I wish I was more like Dolly or Debbie-Jo. Do you remember when we were little and she would always be singing and performing . . . and I’d be . . . I’d be clinging to the wall.’

  ‘She was a proper little show-off.’

  ‘I think you encouraged her!’ Rae laughed now, genuinely, blowing her nose into her tissue and wiping her eyes.

  ‘Oh, we did! We did!’ Her mum smiled. ‘We had to. I mean, you were always clever, smart, reading books and stuff. You had something about you, but Debbie-Jo, she only had her singing and dancing and I thought we needed to encourage her, give her confidence. You were a different kettle of fish, Rae-Valentine.’ Her mum looked at her, holding her gaze.

  ‘I remember telling you I wanted to be a chef, to learn how to cook . . .’ she reminded them with more than a whiff of admonishment.

  ‘Yes, but we wanted a special life for you,’ her mum insisted. ‘An office job. You had the potential, Rae.’

  ‘You did, love. I had spent my working life on the road in a van, getting my hands dirty, grime under my fingernails, but you?’ Her dad shook his head. ‘We saw you behind a desk.’

  Rae looked at her sweet parents and recognised that for her blue-collar dad it was quite some aspiration. To sit behind a desk was seen as an accolade. She felt words stutter in her throat.

  Her mum fixed her with a stare. ‘You were special and I was just waiting for the day you roared – and I knew that when you did the world would listen. Isn’t that right, Len?’

  ‘It’s true.’ Her dad nodded. ‘Your mum used to say, “When that girl finds her voice, she will also find her feet and there’ll be no stopping her!”’

  ‘I didn’t know that.’ Rae swallowed the news like it was sugar and let it flow through her, sweet and restoring. ‘I always felt . . .’

  ‘Felt what, love?’ Her mum leaned towards her.

  ‘I always felt my life was about to start. I have spent years waiting for it to start.’ And I am still waiting! Still a little lost, but more aware now than I ever have been that what I have and who I have become is not enough!

  Her mum laughed and her expression was one of confusion. ‘But you have a wonderful life! Two fantastic kids, a good marriage, you’ve just come back from Antigua! And you are getting a new kitchen. So much to look forward to.’

  Rae opened her mouth and tried to summon the words that might adequately explain how she felt – that she was on the outside looking in, being all things to all people but not the person she needed to be for herself . . .

  ‘So Hannah is home this weekend? She said to come to yours for a party. How are you going to manage with no kitchen?’ Her dad changed the tone and the topic and it was probably for the best. Stick to the good topics. The easy stuff.

  ‘Oh, we’ll get the restaurant to cater it.’

  ‘Of course. But I do stand by what I said: I wish she’d find someone nice and settle down.’

  ‘I think she is seeing someone, actually, Dad.’

  ‘Oh?’ They both sat forward, faces eager for detail, excited and happy all at once.

  ‘Who is it?’ her mum asked.

  ‘Well, she is bringing her home this weekend, I think, so we can all meet her. And her name is Niamh, which I think is Irish. A pretty name.’ Rae placed her empty cup and saucer on the tray and sat back in the chair, waiting . . .

  ‘So when you say she is seeing someone . . .’ Her dad was trying to get the facts straight.

  ‘Yes, she is seeing Niamh. I mean, it’s her story to tell and her news. But it’s ironic that Hannah, who found her feet and her voice when she was very small, hasn’t been that happy, not really. Until now, that is – and she sounds really happy. Possibly for the first time. And that’s all we want, isn’t it? For our kids to be happy? It doesn’t matter how or why or who they are with; it’s all about being happy – that’s the goal! That’s everything!’

  She saw the look that passed between her parents before they nodded at her with an expression on their faces that was almost sad, and she wondered how much they knew of her situation. Her mum reached out and placed a hand on her knee.

  ‘It is, Rae-Valentine. It really is.’

  TWELVE

  Rae folded the clean bed linen and placed it in piles on the bed before standing and looking out of the window down at the street below. She gazed up and down the crescent, watching the lights pop on behind drapes and windows closing as the nip of dusk bit on a day of bright autumn sunshine. She saw Mr Jeffries through his kitchen window. He appeared to be singing loudly; not that she could hear a thing, but by the look of his stance – one hand raised at his chest and the other in the air – along with the taut oval of his mouth and his closed eyes, she would guess opera. It was fascinating to watch and yet it felt like an intrusion, staring at this man in his moment of abandon. She looked away. It made her think of Debbie-Jo, whose talent for performing had been encouraged, and she wondered how different things might have been for her, Rae-Valentine, if she had been pushed in the same way. At least now she understood why. It wasn’t that her parents had been holding her back. They were in their clumsy way trying to redress the bala
nce in their daughters’ lives: she had apparently had the choice of several futures . . . She just hadn’t known it. Maybe she could have been smart like Hannah and gone to university, or become a chef, or she could have been a confident world traveller like red-knapsack girl.

  Too late now . . . all too late . . . How could I make it happen? Where would I start? She wished the path ahead were not so mired in fog; she wished there were clear pointers helping her find her way.

  Out of the corner of her eye she saw darling little Fifi trotting daintily along the kerb with her mum in tow. Rae saw the woman look back over her shoulder. She smiled down at her, wishing they lived in a world where it wouldn’t be weird to invite her in and introduce her to the family. She hated to think of her being lonely, too shy to mix when she lived on this busy street of this amazing city.

  ‘What are you up to?’

  Howard’s arrival made her jump – and there was that familiar air of mock accusation he never ceased to find amusing; as if it were unthinkable that his quiet and reliable wife would ever do anything surprising.

  ‘Just looking out the window.’

  ‘So I see. Are you nervous?’

  ‘About my little girl coming home? Of course not.’ She shot him a look. ‘I can’t wait. And it will be lovely to have George and Ruby here.’

  ‘You know what I mean.’ He sat on the edge of the bed.

  ‘I guess the only thing I am a little nervous about is other people’s reactions – maybe unnecessarily so, but I’m worried that everyone asking questions about Hannah and her life, as if it is a big deal, might just turn it into one.’ She turned to fully face him. ‘I want everyone to be comfortable, relaxed. All of our guests, of course, but mainly Hannah and Niamh. It’s important.’

  ‘I know. And it means the world to me, Rae, that we can show this united front, show Niamh that we are the family Hannah will have described us as.’