Stories From The Heart

by Amanda Prowse

  ‘We both did, Neil.’

  He nodded, acknowledging that he didn’t own the lion’s share when it came to how proud they were of Gemma.

  ‘We should treat her, Jacks, what do you think?’

  ‘I was thinking the same. What should we do?’ She folded her magazine and shoved it down the side of the sofa cushion.

  ‘Well, I know it’s a lot, but she’s been banging on about one of those iPod things for months. Shall we have a look in the catalogue?’

  Jackie smiled and placed her head on his shoulder. Her lovely husband, always putting his family first, always. It would mean another few months without going to the hairdresser’s, of buying everything ‘own label’ and scrimping on the meat, but Gemma was worth it.

  ‘Yes, let’s do that, Neil.’

  Neil slid his arm across her shoulders. She leant on him and could hear his heart beating.

  ‘Reckon she must take after her clever mum.’

  ‘Oh don’t be daft, I’m not clever.’

  ‘Yes you are; I hate it when you say that you aren’t. You don’t need fancy letters and exams after your name to be clever, and you are, you know. You’re amazing and I love you.’

  Jackie beamed, knowing that he meant it.

  ‘Who’s dropping her off?’ he asked.

  ‘No one. She’s walking, there’s a crowd of them apparently.’

  Neil nodded. ‘It’s right that she enjoys herself, she deserves it.’

  ‘Oh I know. I just hope she isn’t too late, I’m exhausted.’ This she offered, confident of her husband’s response.

  ‘Tell you what, you go on up and I’ll wait for her, she won’t be much longer.’

  ‘Are you sure, love?’

  ‘Sure.’

  Neil and Jackie Peters kissed, just a peck, but long and hard like it meant something. It was their way; they often kissed for the sheer joy of feeling the other’s lips against their own, they always had.

  Jackie watched as her husband pulled one of the tassel-edged cushions from behind his back and laid it on the arm of the sofa before placing his head on it. He always performed this little ritual when having a quick kip on the sofa, either on a Sunday afternoon after lunch or to recharge his batteries. He deserved it; he worked so hard. Jackie knew he would doze but would still hear the front door or even just her key in it; he was quite a light sleeper.

  She watched from the door as his toes flexed inside his socks. She had a tummy full of toasted muffins and all was right with the world.

  ‘I love you, Neil.’

  He opened his eyes and gazed at his wife, who hovered in the doorway. ‘I love you too. I wasn’t going to tell you, but I made my bonus again this month and I think I know what it’s going on.’ He smiled. ‘I still can’t get over it, Jacks. I mean, there’s me, delivering parcels for a living, but for Gemma it’ll be so different: Oxford University and then the world will be her oyster. She can be a lawyer or whatever she wants, but something important, something that matters.’

  ‘She could be an actress!’ Jackie added.

  ‘Ooh no, I don’t think so, that’d be a waste of that brain. Besides, have you seen half the things on telly now, they expect these girls to wear next to nothing and look like tarts. That’s not for our girl.’

  Jackie trod the stairs and cleaned her teeth, placing her toothbrush in the little china pot where the other three sat. She spent a few seconds prodding at the skin around her eyes, trying to work out why it was collapsing into something that resembled crepe paper, then she gave the already gleaming sink a quick wipe over with a damp cloth that she stored in the bathroom cabinet, along with spare loo roll and cans of deodorant and shaving cream. She came out of the bathroom and stood on the little square landing in her pink nylon nightie and peach-coloured towelling dressing gown, static making her fine hair stand on end. Her clothes were in a bundle over her arm; she figured that if she hung up the skirt, jumper and her all-in-one corset, they would do again for tomorrow.

  Jackie bent her head around the bedroom door and looked in on Stacey. Despite her protestations, Stacey was sound asleep, oblivious, having nodded off with one of her magazines lying open across her legs. Jackie folded it shut and popped it on the floor. She clicked off the bedside lamp and placed a kiss on her two fingers before touching those same fingers to Stacey’s little face.

  ‘Night night, darling. Medal from the queen indeed. Whatever next?’

  Stacey didn’t stir, little Miss I’m not tired was out for the count.

  Jackie’s bed was calling to her. What with Gemma’s performance and having to do an early tea and then getting everyone back to school, she was ready to hit her pillow. It had been an amazing day: all Gemma’s hard work, all those hours of rehearsals had paid off. Jackie smiled; she was a very lucky woman. Two great kids and a devoted husband. She felt safe knowing that her husband was downstairs waiting for Gemma – on duty, if you like.

  She crept downstairs to fetch her glass of water for the night and tiptoed through the lounge, trying not to wake her husband. He was already snoring, and his big hands were knitted over his stomach, meeting across the long, red, arrow-headed tail of his company’s logo: ‘Delivery Devils’. The room looked lovely and cosy in the lamplight; the Lladro ladies they had collected over the years stood with their parasols and full skirts, caught in mid-dance with their baskets of flowers at their feet. The cuckoo clock with its chains and pendulum ticked loudly, each tick and each tock bouncing off the magnolia woodchip. The electric fire with its redundant brass companion set looked cold and grey against its wooden surround, which was home to fourteen owls of varying sizes, each one reminding her of a different seaside holiday with the kids and none as precious as the first, given to her by Neil when they were in Broadstairs and she had been expecting Gemma. Everything was as it should be and in its rightful place. Pulling the door to, she climbed the stairs again.

  Jackie pulled back the candlewick bedspread and tried not to notice as the mattress sagged under her hefty frame. She felt ashamed of her size, even though it was her own fault. She desperately wanted to lose weight, hating her body and the way it made her feel every single day, worn down by the constant comparisons she drew between herself and every other female she encountered. Comparisons that left her feeling stripped of self-confidence; it was an ugly way to live.

  With the dawning of every new day, in the first seconds of waking, she hoped that it had all been a horrible dream and that she might see her hip bones jutting out above her pants and feel her sculpted thighs beneath her fingers, like she used to when she and Neil had first met. She longed to be his ‘little doll’ and not cuddly Jackie who had eaten his ‘little doll’ and wrapped her in a suit of dough. He said that he loved her no matter what and whilst she knew at some level that this was true, she still caught him looking at the firm bottoms and small boobs of the girls on television and it made her want to cry.

  Jackie considered what getting his bonus for the third month in a row meant: a caravan holiday in the summer, so she would have to try doubly hard to shed some weight. She wouldn’t let on, but she’d seen the brochure on the passenger seat in Neil’s van, bless him. She knew it would be a big deal for him, he would be really excited and she would act surprised when he told her.

  Despite being tired, Jackie didn’t drop off immediately, not until she had mentally gone through everything that she needed to do the next day. It was a habit that she had got into, reciting the list in her head: put the rubbish out, empty the laundry basket and wash the contents, get the chops out of the freezer, do the ironing, phone me mum, do a bit of a shop – we’re running low on milk, collect the girls and take them swimming, make the pud for Saturday night’s tea.

  Eventually she slept. The alarm clock that had been hers since she was a little girl ticked loudly, but the noise was so familiar that she was oblivious to it. She lay on her back and snored, her wheezing whistle reverberating around the room.

  She didn’t know what
made her wake at 3 a.m.: maybe she always did but then usually went straight back to sleep; maybe it was the Neil-shaped gap in the bed that made her wake up properly, reaching for him, only to find that he wasn’t there. Her mind worked quickly: if he hadn’t come to bed and had been waiting up for Gemma…

  Jackie didn’t put her dressing gown on, which in itself was strange. She never, ever went beyond her bedroom wearing just a nightie; it clung to her, allowing her shape to be seen too keenly. She always hid her body, but at that time of the morning she didn’t even think about it. Her clock had said three o’clock. Three o’clock! What on earth was going on?

  She jumped out of bed quickly and went straight to Gemma’s room. Jackie knew before she got there that Gemma wasn’t in it, not because of any psychic ability, but because the room was bathed in a yellow glow. Gemma always drew the thick, floral curtains to block the light from the street lamp outside her window, but tonight, as Jackie stood on the landing, about to walk into her daughter’s room, she could see that the curtains were open and she wasn’t in her bed.

  It wasn’t enough for Jackie that she could see the bed was made and unoccupied, with the top of the duvet turned over and tucked in and the pillows plumped just so; she had to walk over to it and touch the flat duvet and place her palm on the cold pillow slip. Proof.

  She turned to face the wardrobe and opened the doors, running her hands over the school uniform and home clothes that hung in two groups, segregated by a silver metal pole that held up the top shelf. Jackie bent down and peered beneath the clothes. A logical mind would have known that Gemma was not hiding in the wardrobe, but nothing about the situation at that time of the morning felt logical. Jackie stood up straight and placed her hand over her mouth, breathing deeply between her fingers before thundering down the stairs.

  ‘Neil!’ she shouted.

  At the sound of his wife’s voice he leapt from the sofa. He looked confused, as though he didn’t know where he was.

  ‘What, Jacks? Are you all right?’ He looked at his surroundings; it was clearly strange to him that he wasn’t in bed.

  ‘She’s not back!’

  ‘What?’ He rubbed at the back of his neck, which had been bent at an awkward angle, propped on one of their cushions. The fug of sleep clung to him.

  Jackie watched as he shook his head, trying to make himself alert, as if his brain was lagging a few seconds behind anything that he heard or said. She watched as he sniffed the air and looked relieved that there was no smoke, no fumes and no fire.

  ‘She’s not back! Gemma’s not in her room!’

  Jackie was speaking very quickly and could see that he had forgotten why he was downstairs and what he was waiting for. She said it again more forcefully and this time she made it clear.

  ‘Her room is empty! She’s not back!’

  ‘What time is it?’

  ‘It’s three o’clock. Three o’clock! Where is she?’ She knew her voice was higher than usual, almost a screech; it was as if she couldn’t control it, but she didn’t want to panic, not yet.

  ‘Jacks, calm down, just calm down, love.’ He placed his hand on her shoulder. ‘She’ll have stayed at Victoria’s. Maybe she couldn’t phone.’ He sounded rational and not at all anxious; it helped.

  ‘Actually she did say that she’d left her phone here,’ Jackie suddenly remembered.

  It began to sound plausible: her mobile was at home and if she had arrived somewhere late, then she would have been too shy to ask to use the phone. This was possible, and Gemma was always polite; she might have thought it rude to ask to use a phone. Oh, Gemma!

  ‘Well, there you go,’ he countered. ‘She probably thought it had got too late to walk home alone and didn’t want to wake us. She knows how we feel about her wandering around after dark. She’s a sensible girl; she’ll have stayed at Victoria’s. Don’t worry. Come on, let’s go to bed.’

  ‘Neil, she’s never done this before.’

  ‘No, I know, love, but she’s growing up, maybe we have to cut her a bit of slack.’

  Jackie nodded at him, he was right; if she stayed anywhere, it would be with Victoria, although it was usually by prior arrangement. Jackie trusted her husband. He always knew best and sounded quite calm, and this calmed her. If he wasn’t worrying, then neither would she, although that was much easier said than done.

  They trundled up the stairs. Jackie stopped on the third stair.

  ‘Have you left the lamp on, love? You know what Gemma’s like about the dark.’

  ‘Yep, the little one by the sofa.’

  ‘Okay.’

  Jackie wanted to make sure that if she did come in, she would be able to find her way.

  She lay next to her husband and stared into the darkness, letting her eyes wander over the shiny floral wallpaper, shag-pile carpet and heavy pink velvet curtains that had been there when they moved in; they shifted slightly in the draught from the small top window that was always ajar. The white metal bed frame with its ornamental flower-painted china knobs creaked as her husband turned onto his side, trying to get comfortable. The photograph of the girls when they were little, sitting on their nan’s sofa in their matching red and cream lace party dresses, hung above the bed; that had been a lovely day.

  Sleep was slow in coming. No matter how she tried to distract herself, she felt ill at ease. Why hadn’t Gemma phoned? But what could she do about it at this hour? The answer was nothing, absolutely nothing.

  ‘I tell you this, Jacks, I’m not taking away from what she’s achieved tonight, but I’ll be having words with Gemma when she gets home. I won’t have her worrying her mother like this, it isn’t fair.’ Neil’s words cracked open the silence and sent her mind whirring again.

  She pictured her daughter on the floor of Victoria’s bedroom. They were probably still chatting about the play and goodness knows what else. Neil dozed by her side, but she lay awake for a while. It felt strange that there were only three people under their roof that night and not her proper little family all safe and accounted for. Jackie didn’t like it. She didn’t like it one bit.

  Have You Lost Her?

  Jackie woke with a start, proving that she must have dropped off at some point, but she didn’t remember when. For a split second when her eyes first opened, she forgot why there was a twist of anxiety in her gut, a headache pawing behind her eyes and a lump in her throat. She quickly remembered. It wasn’t much past six, but Jackie climbed out of bed, wanting to get the day started. She knew that until she had heard Gemma’s voice, until she had done that, she wouldn’t breathe again normally, her heart and lungs would be unable to find their natural rhythm, not until then.

  She filled the kettle and pressed the little button to make it boil. As was her habit, while waiting for the click she took the J-cloth from the little gap at the side of the washing-up bowl, squeezed out the excess water and wiped down the draining board, then ran the cloth along the front of the cooker where the knobs were. She tried not to, but eventually she glanced at the digital time display on the cooker. Ten past six: was it too early to phone? She put two tea bags into two mugs and drummed her small, manicured fingers on the work surface. Sod it. If she woke up the Roberts household it would just be too bad. After all, it was a work and school day, they would have to be up soon enough.

  She held the phone close to her mouth, awkward at having to call at this early hour.

  ‘Angela?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘It’s Jackie Peters.’

  ‘Oh hello, Jackie, how are you?’ Angela’s manner was that of someone trying to be polite while at the same time wondering what the reason was for the early morning call from someone that she hardly spoke to. It had always been obvious to Jackie that the woman didn’t like her, no matter how hard she tried to disguise it by shouting very loudly that, ‘We must get together for coffee…’ Their girls had been friends for nearly six years now and Angela still hadn’t got past the shouting about it stage. Jackie used to wonder what Angela
would have done if she had said, ‘Yes, lovely, let’s do it now! What a great idea, Angela. Right now, let’s get together for coffee!’ She never would of course and Angela knew it.

  She and Neil always joked that the Roberts thought that they were in a different league, what with them having gone on two cruises, one Mediterranean and one Caribbean, and the fact that their three-bed semi was built in the 1930s, on a private development, whereas theirs was clearly ex-local authority, which, while they were exactly the same dimensions, meant a difference of about a hundred and forty thousand pounds.

  ‘Yes, fine. Well, sort of. I’m sorry to phone so early—’

  ‘It’s not a problem,’ Angela interrupted, her clipped tone suggesting otherwise.

  ‘I just wanted to have a word with Gemma.’

  Jackie knew she sounded apologetic.

  ‘Gemma?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Erm, did you think she was here?’

  Jackie could hear her heart beating loud and fast in her ears; her breath came in shallow pants and her response was at least a second slower than was normal.

  ‘Is she not with you, Angela?’ She spoke slowly; strangely, her voice was little more than a whisper, as though she didn’t want her question to be heard because she didn’t want to hear the answer.

  ‘I don’t think so, unless she came in with Vicks and they went straight upstairs. Would you like me to go and check?’

  Would I like you to go and check? She had to refrain from shouting, ‘Yes! Go and check now! Please, please hurry! Move your skinny, teaching assistant’s arse up those stairs and then come back quickly!’ Instead, she nodded into the receiver and her voice was once again small.

  ‘Yes, please, Angela. If it’s not too much trouble.’

  ‘Hang on a mo.’

  Jackie would hang on a mo; she would hang on, standing on the lino on the kitchen floor but feeling as if she was sinking into it. Her nylon nightie clung to her bottom, her hair was flat from sleep, and indentations from the folds on the pillowcase were still visible on her plump, rosy cheek. She repeated a phrase in her head: please be there, Gemma. Be there, Gemma. Be there safe and sound on Victoria’s bedroom floor, wrapped in a sleeping bag on the blow-up bed. Please be there, Gemma.