by Sarah Hope
‘But...but...’ I stutter not really sure of what I want to say.
‘Get up those stairs Enid. Get up there now.’
The look in his eyes terrifies me so much I turn and grapple for the front door handle, knowing the best thing I can do is to get away from him. But before I can pull the door open I feel my hair being yanked backwards. Stretching around I grab my father’s hand to ease the pressure on my scalp as he pulls me towards the stairs.
Dragging me upstairs towards my room all I can hear is Mum screaming, telling him to stop.
At my bedroom door he grabs my shoulders and turns me towards him.
‘If I can’t trust you to stop seeing him, I’ll just have to keep you from seeing him. You’ll stay in here until he’s gone.’
With anger seeping from every pore in his body he pushes me into my room where I land with my back against my Nana’s old chest of drawers.
Drawing a deep breath in I’m filled with such a sharp pain from my back I can’t even attempt to lunge at the door to stop him shutting it on me. From the other side of the door I hear the scraping of wood, a chair I guess, coming across the landing from my parent’s room. Listening with tears of pain and despair streaming down my face I hear him position what must be the backrest of the chair up against the door so I will not be able to turn the handle to escape.
From the other side of the door I can hear him barking instructions at Mum not to let me out or go in to see me. A few minutes later the front door slams shut.
‘Enid, Enid are you okay love?’ Mum’s gentle tone seeps through the door.
‘Mum...’ is all I can manage from my position on the floor.
Listening I hear her running downstairs, probably to check that my father has really left, and coming back a few minutes later. The chair is scraped back across the floor and she opens my bedroom door.
‘Oh my darling girl,’ rushing over she sits down next to me, bundling me in her arms. Leaning back into the warmth of her body I’m hit with a wall of emotions, leaving me shocked and scared.
‘Mum, where’s he gone? He’s not gone to see Albert has he?’ The possibility that he’s gone to find Albert hits me.
‘Oh love, don’t worry, I’m sure he hasn’t,’ but I can see the doubt written all over her face, she’s never been one for lying. ‘I’ll go and get you something to eat. You can’t go all night without any dinner.’
‘Oh Mum, I’m not hungry,’ taking me in her arms again my whole body begins to quiver with each sob and I soak her top with my tears.
I wake up shaking, my pillow damp with tears and I realise how much the past is still affecting me.
I force myself to eat a breakfast of toast and orange juice before I say goodbye to Freda, take my handbag and go and wait at the end of the road for the bus into town.
After jostling for a seat with an unruly gang of teenage boys I gladly step off the bus and make my way to the library.
It’s Thursday today and sticking to my weekly routine I know I shall use the library computers to once again search Peter’s name and birth date in the hope that some newspaper article or something will have been added since last Thursday bringing up some detail to lead me to Peter’s whereabouts.
I have learnt a lot about the wonderful invention called the World Wide Web over the last seven months or so. Ever since that girl Rachel who lives across the road went on maternity leave, a lovely young lady named Shirley has taken over her job. She has taken a lot of time out of her busy schedule to teach me how these search engine thingies work and how to get the best results possible.
Knowing that she will leave when Rachel returns has meant that I haven’t felt the need to be extra cautious as to what she sees me searching for. When Rachel was working here I had to be very careful. I don’t want to be the subject of neighbourhood gossip. I know how much these young girls like to mull other people’s business over with each other and blow things out of proportion.
Arriving at the library at my usual time of 10:30am I make my way to the computers. Oh drat, my usual computer, the one in the corner that offers the most privacy, is already being used by a grey haired gentleman. I’ll have to take the second best positioned computer at the other end of the row of five.
I begin my search in the usual way by entering ‘Peter Reynolds’ into the search engine. I know it’s a long shot but I’ve always got hope. Waiting for the results to miraculously appear onto my screen always makes me feel a little giddy and I begin working my way through the various choices, or links as Shirley would have me call them. This always takes a while and even though there is very rarely a new link that appears I still go to each one just in case I have missed some small detail on one of my previous visits.
Next, I will search using the name of the hospital I gave birth in and Peter’s birth date.
Finally, and I always save the best until last, I type in ‘Adoption Uk’ and enter Peter’s details there, fingers crossed that there is some information there. That he is trying to contact me.
‘Mrs Reynolds, hello, I thought it was you. How are you?’
Panic stricken I quickly close the site I have been looking at by pressing the ‘x’ in the corner of the screen and look around to see who has been sneaking up on me.
My high, hopeful spirits slump as I focus in on Rachel wearing, I notice, her librarian ID card only a few steps behind me.
‘Good morning,’ I reply stonily. Is there no code of conduct, no manners about one’s privacy here? How long she has been stood gawping over my shoulder? What has she seen?
‘This is my first day back after having Thomas. I’m so glad to see a familiar face. Everything seems to have changed, such as...’
Struggling to focus on what she’s rabbiting on about I feel one of my funny turns coming on. The all too familiar dizziness and nausea overcomes me. My neck and left arm beginning to tingle leading to the same continuous unyielding pain in my chest.
As always I try hard to breathe through the pain but already I know this is futile. This is the worst one yet and I can’t help but begin to panic, my breath quickening.
‘Mrs Reynolds, Mrs Reynolds are you okay?’
I can’t answer as the dizziness becomes worse and it’s impossible for me to focus on anything.
‘Mrs Reynolds, oh Mrs Reynolds. Shirley can I have some help over here please?’
From somewhere behind me I hear a rush of feet and am soon comforted by Shirley’s reassuring voice.
‘Take deep breaths and try to stay calm love.’
As I begin to do as I’m instructed I can almost feel my heart slow and my eyesight comes back into focus.
‘Right Rachel, help me get Mrs Reynolds to my car I’m going to take her down to the drop in clinic in town.’
Feebly I try to protest but soon realise in Shirley’s strong grasp that I don’t stand a chance and let myself be led out her car.
‘Mrs Reynolds to Doctor Walsh please.’
Hearing my name I turn to Shirley who has insisted on sitting next to me as if at my spritely young age I might attempt an escape.
‘Thank you Shirley I shall be fine from here,’ glancing at her I’m met by one of her reassuring grins.
‘I don’t think so Mrs Reynolds. I’m not one to do things by halves. I’ll wait until you come out and run you home.’
Knowing I’ll get nowhere by trying to send her away I resign myself to the fact that she’s doing her good deed for the day and heave myself out of the chair and into Doctor Walsh’s office.
I try to take in everything I’m being told. After an interrogation of what my specific symptoms of my funny turns are, Doctor Walsh frowned at me, took my blood pressure, weighed me and to add further to my humiliation even measured my waist. And now he’s telling me he suspects I have angina. Angina? I can’t have angina I don’t do enough exercise to warrant any angina symptoms coming on. But just to contradict me he tells me an angina attack can be brought on not only by physical activity, as he ref
ers to it, but also stress, cold weather or even after eating a meal.
Am I stressed he asks me. Me, stressed? Not on your nelly will I tell him how stressed I am.
‘No, not at all Doctor, not stressed at all. So you see I’m sorry to have wasted your time but I do not have angina and so I really must go.’
‘Please don’t be overly shocked. It’s a common condition for ladies of your maturity. In fact ten to fifteen percent of women over the age of sixty five have angina. Angina symptoms occur when the coronary arteries narrow and harden therefore limiting the amount of blood able to pass through to the muscles of the heart...’
My brain switches off and I don’t hear the rest of his explanation. I know I’m getting on a bit but at seventy seven I always thought I would have enough time left. Time enough to find my son and rebuild the bond between us, the bond that has never and will never be broken within me.
‘Please don’t allow this to add further to your stress. Angina is not a dangerous condition on its own but we do see it as a serious warning sign that you are at a more increased risk than someone who does not have angina at suffering a more serious condition, the most common being a heart attack or a stroke.’
Oh great, not serious on its own but planted in me to tell me my future consists of a heart attack or a stroke, very reassuring. I think not.
‘Of course there are things you can do to help yourself, such as cutting down on any fatty foods you eat. You have already told me you do not drink alcohol or smoke which is good. So generally by trying to live an even healthier lifestyle you will be lowering your risk of having a heart attack or stroke.’
Words, just words I let wash over me. I feel as though I’m not really here. That he is telling someone else. Not me.
‘Right, I would like you to book yourself in with the nurse for a blood test to check your levels of cholesterol and in the mean time I shall refer you to the Cardiology Department at the hospital to confirm my diagnosis and to assess what risk you have of experiencing a heart attack or a stroke in the future. Depending on the results of these tests your angina will either be controlled through a combination of surgery and medication or more than likely just medication.’
And that is that, I am shown to the door, reminded to book a blood test and told I will receive a letter in the post instructing me to attend the hospital for tests. All in a day’s work for him I’m sure but I feel shocked to the core.
Chapter Eight
Lynette
Forcing my eyes open against the fuzziness of last night’s wine I prop myself up on my elbows and lean my head against the back of the sofa, stretching my legs out in front of me.
Almost three weeks have passed since Ste left and I’ve only slept in the so called marital bed twice; once on the first night and then on the night I told the kids, having used up so much emotional energy that day it seemed fitting to sleep there feeling the sparseness and loneliness of the bed. To punish myself I guess, so I felt worse than the pain I had inflicted of Charlie and Mandy. Sounds stupid I know.
‘Huh, fell asleep on the sofa again then? You do know it’s ten past eight and Charlie’s not even up yet don’t you?’ Mandy eyes me disdainfully and bends down, reaching for something, ‘Don’t let him see this. He doesn’t need to know his mother’s a pisshead.’
She drops my empty wine bottle in my lap, turns on her heels and stalks back upstairs, banging her feet on each step, each pound in the carpet reverberating in my head.
I hadn’t meant to leave that there but even so it rails me that she thinks she can speak to me like that. Then again I guess at least she is speaking to me again after all the silent treatment she’s been giving me. I’m fully aware she blames me for Ste leaving and probably for him not visiting her and Charlie too.
Ten past eight? Crap that really is pushing it.
Standing up with the bottle in my hand I grab the glass from the coffee table and head towards the kitchen. Taking it slowly so as not to jar my head I pause at the bottom of the stairs to call Charlie to get dressed and come down.
In the kitchen I drop the bottle into the overflowing blue recycling box and stack the glass precariously on top of yesterday’s breakfast bowls littering the work surface above the dishwasher.
Oh bugger, it’s twenty past eight now. The thuds on the stairs tell me Charlie is on his way down.
‘Charlie, why didn’t you put a clean jumper on?’ He arrives in the kitchen cheery faced as usual, ‘That one’s got paint up the sleeve.’
Pouring cereal and milk into the last clean bowl I push aside the remnants of last night’s dinner making room for Charlie at the table.
‘There wasn’t one Mum, I had to get this one from the dirty washing in my room,’ he plops down at the table and starts to eat hungrily.
Oh great, what will his teacher think of me sending him in with a dirty jumper on? I guess that should be the least of my worries. Shaking the thought from my head I place a glass of water in front of Charlie.
Two minutes later all is devoured and we make our way to the hall. Charlie puts his shoes and coat on while I look in the mirror and pinch some colour into my cheeks. That’s one good thing about falling asleep on the sofa – no nightclothes to change out of in the morning.
‘At last,’ Mandy comes pounding down the stairs, throws the front door open and strides to the car.
Having dropped Mandy off en route and parked the car on the road in front of the school I usher Charlie towards the office.
‘Mum, can we get here on time on Monday please? I’ve not played football with Jack and the others before school for ages and that’s when we sort teams out for breaktime.’
‘Yes, yes, okay Charlie,’ crossing my fingers behind my back I use my other hand to push open the office door.
Truth be told, apart from today when I did truly oversleep, I’ve been making Charlie late so I can take him straight to the office and not have to stand by the gates with all of the smug married mums. How am I meant to tell all my school mum friends that Ste’s left me? That I wasn’t good enough for him?
After being subjected to a vast amount of tutting and pointed looks towards the office clock I kiss Charlie goodbye.
‘Remember Jack’s mum is picking me up and taking us bowling tonight for his birthday.’
‘Oh yes, of course. Have a great time and I’ll see you later. Is Jack’s mum or dad dropping you off after right?’
‘Yep. Bye.’
Pulling the car into the driveway, my stomach knots as I realise there’s no Ste again. Losing concentration I grind the gears making a deafening crunch. Damn car. Yanking the handbrake up I lower my head onto the steering wheel and give into the racking sobs I’ve been holding back all morning.
How could I be so stupid? Yet again? Why do I keep letting myself think it’s all a mistake? That he’ll come home begging for forgiveness?
Look at the state of me. Even if he did come back he sure wouldn’t stay long. Not with me looking like this. Angling the rear view mirror to get a better look I pull my skin taut against my cheekbones. The bags under my eyes hang halfway down my cheeks and...
What the hell? What’s she peering at the nosey old bag? Am I not entitled to a minutes bloody privacy in my own car? Obviously not. She’s always peering through her net curtains, poking her nose into everyone else’s business.
Slamming the car door shut I turn to face the dreary bungalow opposite and take a bow. At any other time the embarrassment showing on her face would have given me a chuckle. But even embarrassing that old fool can’t raise a sliver of a smile nowadays.
Yuk, what’s that horrible musty smell? Pushing the front door closed behind me and following the smell into the kitchen it’s as though I’m seeing the house for the first time and I almost physically wretch with shame as I take in the mess. Dirty washing piled high in front of the washing machine; damp towels being the culprit of the smell. At least three days’ worth of used dishes and cutlery littering the work surface
s. How could I have let it get like this?
Looking at my watch I work out I have roughly five hours of uninterrupted child free time before Mandy’s due home.
Starting with the kitchen, first on goes a machine load of washing and then I clean and tidy the work surfaces, sticking the dishwasher on its first cycle of the day. Next I venture into the living room and reintroduce the carpet to the concept of a hoover.
Ah that’s better, four hours it’s taken me but as I take a look around I’m proud to say it looks like home again. If Ste were to walk through the door now there’s no way he could accuse me of being preoccupied.
Although, catching a glimpse of myself reflected on the television screen I notice with disgust the sunlight shining off of my greasy hair and I realise that I’ve not showered for at least three days.
Seriously what if Ste did turn up today? And why wouldn’t he? I mean if he was going to at all, why wouldn’t it be today? I can’t let him see me like this. Heaving myself up I head upstairs to clean myself up.
As soon as I step out of the shower I hear a car pull up on the drive, I wrap a towel around myself and run to the bedroom window which overlooks the front garden. Oh it’s not Ste after all but Jacks’ dad dropping Charlie off. It must be later than I thought. Pulling on some clean jeans and a blue top I rush downstairs to let them in.
‘Hello Bill. Happy birthday Jack. Have you had a good time?’ I bend down to kiss Charlie on the head and give him a squeeze, which he reacts by immediately shrugging me off.
‘Afternoon, Lynette,’ Bill answers me looking at the floor.
‘Thank you for taking Charlie out. I hope you all had a good time. Did you fancy stopping for a tea or coffee?’
‘Um... no we better not, we have to get back.’
‘Oh okay, never mind maybe next time.’
Thanking him again I close the door as they hurry back to their car. I hope everything’s okay with them. Bill normally stays for a coffee and chats for England after dropping Charlie off but today he didn’t even look me in the eye. He almost seemed embarrassed. I wonder if the kids have been playing up or something. I’ll have to ask Charlie what he’s been up to.
