by K. L. Slater
Next to the window is the wooden dining chair that Mrs Barrett asked me to bring up here just a few months after her husband died.
Harold Barrett was a small, wiry man with a tight mouth and mean eyes.
In his fitter years he was a keen gardener, always preferring plants and the vegetable patch at the bottom of the yard to spending any time with the meek boy who watched him digging for hours from over next-door’s fence.
I remember waiting until he turned his back to shake the soil from a clutch of spindly carrots or similar, and then I’d seize my moment to dash into the house to see Mrs Barrett.
She used to bake a lot in those days, and there would always be something nice for me in one of her tins to have with a glass of juice.
‘Is he here again?’ Harold would grunt when he shuffled in from the garden, and Mrs Barrett would always answer him curtly whilst smiling at me, her mouth stretched almost too wide for her face.
‘Yes, he is here again, and I for one am pleased to see him. Even if nobody else is.’
Harold’s eyes would harden like little brown nuts and he’d shake his head and walk away without saying another word.
Despite Mrs Barrett’s assurances that I was most welcome, my guts would feel like mush inside. Her face said one thing, her words another… I felt uncomfortable but didn’t know why.
It was a feeling I’d learn to get used to with other people over the coming years.
When Harold died, I asked Mrs Barrett why she was moving the chair.
‘Well, I’ll be eating alone now, you see,’ she said, her dull eyes staring at the wall. ‘I’ve no use for two chairs any longer.’
That’s why I initially made the effort to pop round a bit more; for a chat, at least. To try to make Mrs Barrett’s brown eyes sparkle again. But nothing really worked. Still, I suppose it felt a bit like I was paying her back for all those times she’d been a friend to me during my difficult younger years when Father was trying to make me into the brusque, macho son he’d have much preferred.
Yet something about seeing her alone, getting older with the empty years stretching out in front of her, made my scalp tighten, and I found myself less and less keen to come around here.
But now that her new visitor – Holly – is here, the atmosphere in the house feels altogether different.
In a way, I’m glad the chair is coming downstairs again. It shows Mrs Barrett has someone to sit down with again.
It occurs to me that to get to the chair, I’ll have to walk past the end of the bed. I take a step inside the door and then see that there are garments strewn across the quilt, including a bra that looks as if it has been cast off with some urgency.
I’d never openly admit it, of course, but I’ve never actually touched a bra or even seen one up close except in a shop. You can’t linger in department stores to look at stuff like that, not when you’re a single man of a certain age, anyhow.
I’ve never been able to work out how, when the other customers and assistants don’t know you personally and can’t possibly know if you’re married or have a girlfriend, they somehow seem to know with an unspoken certainty that you have no business being near women’s underwear.
People look at me like I’m some kind of creep; a weirdo, one woman hissed as she brushed by me at the three-pairs-for-two knicker island in Debenhams.
I’m just curious, that’s all. I mean, there’s nothing sinister in wanting to have a look, is there? Although it’s probably that sort of curiosity that got me into so much trouble last time.
I’ve seen Mother’s bras, of course, hanging on the washing line like great rigid white bowls. They’re an engineering miracle.
The flimsy bra on the bed is the colour of unfurled spring leaves, and the modest cups are smothered in layers of delicate lace that look as if they might shred under one’s fingers.
I slip my finger inside my collar to loosen it slightly.
‘David, is everything OK?’
I visibly jump and spin round to find Holly at the top of the stairs.
‘Oh! Yes, I…’
‘The chair’s right there, look. In the corner.’
She squeezes past me. Her body feels warm against my arm and I press myself back into the door frame, my entire face burning like a candle.
She doesn’t notice, just strides across the room. Using her foot, she pushes away an open suitcase that lies in front of the chair.
‘Sorry about the mess.’ She sweeps her hand around the room. ‘I confess I’ve only just started unpacking. Shameful, really.’
There’s a large framed photograph on the bed. The light from the window is shining directly on to it, so I take a step nearer and tilt my head to get a better look. I see a male face with pale hair and dark eyes.
She follows my eyes and snatches up the picture.
‘You can get to the chair now,’ she says tightly. ‘I think Cora might be waiting for it downstairs.’
I nod and walk past her, stooping to pick up the chair. I hesitate at a rustling noise behind me.
I glance sideways and watch as she gently wraps the photograph in tissue paper and places it in the top drawer of the chest.
She covers it with a folded sweater and then closes the drawer with a muffled thud that somehow seems to have an air of finality about it.
Chapter Sixteen
Cora
Cora sat in her armchair by the window with a nice fresh cup of tea and a slice of toast and marmalade, cut in two neat halves.
Holly was a good girl. She’d seemed so grateful for the modest meal Cora had served up last night. A salmon fillet and vegetable medley – nothing special, and yet her young visitor’s eyes had lit up as she declared she hadn’t eaten anything as posh as salmon for an age.
What a treat it had been for Cora to sit with another person again and chat about this and that without the pressure of saying the right thing or tripping herself up in some way, as had been the case with Harold before his illness moved him permanently upstairs.
As the cancer took a firmer grip, his temper had worsened. Far from showing appreciation for his wife’s constant care and attention, he had grown increasingly critical.
‘This steak is overdone,’ he would bark. Or, ‘Same old boring sandwiches again. Can’t you come up with something new?’
But one day, it was as though someone else entirely took over Cora’s body, and she could only sit back and watch.
Harold had picked up a sandwich and peeled back the top slice of the dainty triangle to look beneath. When he saw the thick-sliced ham and tomato underneath with a thin spread of mayonnaise just as he liked it, he huffed disparagingly and dropped it back on the plate like a piece of dirt.
Cora had stood up quite calmly and whipped the plate from under his nose. She’d picked up his mug of tea from the bedside table and simply walked from the room with a serene look on her face, turning back only to pull the door closed behind her with a hooked foot.
Harold had bellowed insults for what seemed like hours.
Cora had taken her own sandwich and tea into the lounge, closed the door and put Antiques Roadshow on with the volume turned up at least twice as loud as Harold ordinarily allowed it.
The faint rumble of his bellowing eventually grew dim and then stopped. When Cora crept up over an hour later, he had fallen fast asleep, still sitting up in bed.
She left him as he was and slept on the sofa.
The next morning when she took up his breakfast, the incident wasn’t mentioned by either of them, but Cora noticed he never complained about his meals again. Her only regret was that she hadn’t done it years ago.
Over tea, Holly had been excited about a job she had applied for at one of the agencies in town. It was working in retail at some posh department store, apparently.
Cora knew of a few such shops in the city but had never set foot in any of them. Harold had always baulked at the price of goods in the more stylish window displays and moved her hastily on.
> Vaguely it occurred to her that she might know someone who worked in such a shop, but the information, though it danced tantalisingly close to her consciousness, did not come quite close enough for her to grab it.
She hadn’t told anyone, not even Dr Geeson, but in recent months she’d noticed this sort of thing happening more and more. It was the same sensation as trying to grasp the contents of a dream upon waking. The harder she tried, the more it evaded her.
On occasion, she could recall a vague sense of something she had once known or been told, but the detail was a devil to recover and Cora had reached the conclusion that it was far easier to give up than to feel continually frustrated that she could only grasp a thread of it.
Of course, there was no denying she was getting older, but she was far from over the hill. A bit of forgetfulness she could handle, but the trouble was, the newspapers and magazines seemed to be full of articles on dementia: how you could tell if you had it, what you could do to avoid it… Far from being helpful, Cora found it all rather a worry.
Holly’s voice broke into her troubled musings.
‘The agency just emailed my details over to the store. I’ve an interview at ten thirty in the morning!’ she told Cora excitedly. ‘It’s just a retail assistant position, not great money, but I’ve checked and I can easily get there on the bus. I never thought I’d be given an opportunity within days of arriving here.’
‘And this is a full-time position?’ Cora said, her voice brittle.
She wasn’t really interested in Holly’s job and felt quite peeved that her new companion had already found something else to do with time that could have been spent listening to Cora’s interesting stories.
Holly had seemed so fascinated by them when she’d first arrived, but now, this wretched interview was suddenly all she wanted to discuss.
‘Yes, full-time Monday to Saturday, with a day off in the week.’ She thought for a moment, a runner bean speared mid-air on her fork. ‘Oh yes, and once I’m up to speed, I could request two Saturdays a month off if I want them.’
‘As I’ve said before, you needn’t rush into anything on my account.’ Cora sniffed. ‘You don’t want to take some dead-end, low-paid job just for the sake of it, do you now?’
Holly’s face dropped, but Cora couldn’t help herself.
‘You know, I could probably lend you a bit of money to tide you over, if you needed it.’
‘Thank you, Cora,’ Holly said, laying down her cutlery. ‘That’s really kind of you, but I wouldn’t dream of putting on you like that. If I get the job, I’ll even be able to pay you some rent.’
‘Nonsense, I wouldn’t have offered unless I meant it. And I think of you as my guest or a visitor, not a tenant.’
Holly paused, keen to make herself properly understood.
‘It’s not just the money, Cora. It’s about starting a new life here in Nottingham. Perhaps I could make a few friends at work and go to the cinema or the bowling alley… just normal stuff that people of my age do, you know?’
Cora stood up and picked up her plate.
‘Oh, are you finished already?’ Holly exclaimed, watching her face. ‘You’ve only eaten half your meal, I hope I didn’t—’
‘I’m just not hungry any more,’ Cora said curtly. ‘I think I’m going to have a little lie-down.’
Chapter Seventeen
Holly
That night, Holly fell fast asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow, but then, in the early hours, she woke and tossed and turned for what seemed like forever.
At some point she dropped off again, and quite deeply, because the alarm trilling out at seven thirty woke her with a start.
A warm feeling flooded her solar plexus, followed by a fluttering in her stomach when she remembered her interview today. Three hours and she’d be there… This could be the start of solving her problems and making a fresh start. Far earlier than she’d expected.
She pushed her feet into her old slippers and grabbed a worn, bobbled cardigan from the bottom of the bed.
She looked down and saw the laptop, the amber light on the front now turned to green, indicating it was fully charged. She’d thought about it a few times, this important portal to finding and contacting Evan, but she hadn’t really felt strong enough to deal with what she might find.
Today, though, felt like a good day, a lucky day. She promised herself she’d take a quick look later. She couldn’t afford to crush her spirit, but she had to try every avenue out there.
She owed it to herself, and to Evan, to be vigilant.
And if she got the job today, one of the first things she’d already decided she’d treat herself to was a fluffy white dressing gown like the one Geraldine had worn. Well, not exactly like that one, of course – Holly could never afford a Ralph Lauren robe – but it would be something just as soft and comfortable.
It seemed a bizarre and indulgent thought to have, but it would signify something powerful to her. She’d learned from the past that the value of staying upbeat was immeasurable.
That would be, of course, if she had enough left over after starting to make inroads into the mountain of debt she’d incurred over the past year.
The payday loans, overdrafts and credit cards had all been used not to buy fancy clothes and make-up or fabulous restaurant meals, but to pay for her various methods of trying to find Geraldine and Evan.
A private investigator, cabs, train fares, online searches and, finally, the documentation she’d needed to collate to come back to her home town… it had added up surprisingly quickly.
The fluttering sensation moved up to Holly’s throat.
She’d lain awake in the early hours, but for once, it hadn’t been the debt that was unsettling her. She’d been fretting that she’d upset Cora in some way. She couldn’t fathom exactly how; she was just judging it on Cora’s grim expression and the way she had snatched up her unfinished plate so suddenly.
They’d been having a perfectly nice conversation and Cora had made a real effort to prepare a nice tea. Then, out of the blue, a strange look had come over her face and she’d simply stood up and left Holly sitting at the table to finish her meal alone.
Perhaps the older woman was getting a little confused. Holly had noticed the other day that the tea canister had been put back in the fridge and the fresh milk in the cupboard.
She’d decided not to mention it. Cora was in her seventies and Holly didn’t want to make her feel uncomfortable. After all, no harm had been done; she’d probably just got a lot on her mind.
Holly decided she’d go downstairs now and make Cora a cup of tea. Perhaps they’d have breakfast together and put last night behind them.
She could only try.
* * *
Two hours later, Holly boarded the bus for the twenty-minute ride into town.
She’d given herself an hour to get to the interview, but still she couldn’t get rid of the uneasy churning in her stomach. She knew herself well enough to determine that the best thing she could do to avoid the steel grip of anxiety was get into town early and walk off the nervous feeling once she arrived.
She paid her fare and took a seat, already feeling calmer now that she was on her way and wouldn’t be late for her interview.
As the bus trundled away, she turned to catch a glimpse of Baker Crescent.
It was odd to see that the curtains were closed again at Cora’s bedroom window. The door to that room had been ajar this morning and Holly had glanced in to see a neatly made bed and drawn curtains. Cora had already been up and pottering around downstairs.
Holly wondered if she’d had gone back to bed, although she had her pegged as a bit of a stickler for rising early and getting things done.
She thought about the contents of the letter she’d found in Cora’s bedroom and smiled.
She wasn’t sure how, but maybe the closed curtains had something to do with that. There was no rush to find out; time would tell. The last thing Holly wanted to do was make Co
ra aware she knew her secret. She would no doubt be annoyed, and quite rightly.
Before she’d left the house, Holly had made tea and toast as planned and Cora had seemed her usual bright self again, so she’d decided not to mention last night’s little misunderstanding – if that was what it was.
She hadn’t mentioned this morning’s interview either; she got the feeling Cora was somehow irked about her news. But as she’d left the house, Cora had called goodbye and wished her luck. It had been a relief.
As the bus inched its way through the traffic, Holly stared out of the smeared, cloudy glass at the park beyond.
Despite being on the threshold of spring, the air still had a spiteful nip to it. At least the sun was out now, brightening the young pale green leaves on the bushes that surrounded the park’s gaudy children’s play area.
Holly too felt brighter, as if some of the weight had already been lifted from her shoulders. It was a welcome feeling, one that had been absent from her life for too long.
It was only a matter of time before Geraldine caught up with her. That was why it was imperative for Holly to go on the offensive, take her by surprise. Getting in first was the only real chance she had of setting things straight.
The bus slowed down again, groaning like a great beast as it eventually stopped and let two people off.
A group of older boys who looked like they ought to still be at school boarded the bus. They sniggered and leered at the other passengers in that way teenagers sometimes did when they thought they knew everything there was to know about life; that nothing could touch them.
They stormed past Holly’s seat cackling and sniping at each other like a pack of dogs.
She looked out of the window and waited for them to pass.
She could sense the dark thoughts crowding in at the periphery of her positive attitude like jackals. Just waiting for a chance to bite.
She took a deep breath and closed her eyes for a second or two.
