by Rosie Fiore
Esther nodded and concentrated on getting through the Friday evening traffic. Sally was content to witter on. She didn’t seem to expect a reply to her remarks. Esther supposed she had spent years talking to, or rather at Joan, once Joan’s faculties had deserted her. She had probably got out of the habit of reciprocal conversation.
When they got to Esther’s street, dusk was beginning to fall.
‘Oh, this is lovely!’ Sally breathed, totally agog, as if she’d been brought to the Palace of Versailles.
‘It is nice, isn’t it?’ said Esther, parking the car. Seeing it through Sally’s eyes, she was struck anew at how pretty it was, with its grassy verges and evenly spaced trees laden with blossom. She could see the lights were on in the house, and she glimpsed Lucie’s sleek dark head moving around in the living room on the first floor. This would be all right. Of course it would be.
Sally stumped up the stairs and just from that brief exertion became a little out of breath. Esther steeled herself for ten minutes of gushing, and out it came – about how pretty the house was, how nicely appointed, what a lovely view. What a beauty Lucie was, and the image of Esther, how tasty the bowl of crisps was, how delicious her glass of sparkling water. Esther quickly realized that Sally’s constant stream of chatter came from nervousness and shyness; she was determined to try and put her at her ease. She eventually persuaded Sally to sit down and asked Lucie to keep her company while she checked on dinner. ‘Maybe you could put some music on, Lucie,’ she suggested as she went into the kitchen.
She enjoyed her few minutes alone in there, getting salad ingredients out of the fridge and pouring herself a glass of wine. She’d only be able to have one as she was driving Sally home, so she might as well enjoy it now. The lasagne was bubbling away in the oven. She popped in a loaf of frozen garlic bread and went out to see how Lucie and Sally were getting on.
They were standing close together, going through the CD rack, chatting animatedly.
‘I saw the Pet Shop Boys at Wembley in 1989,’ Sally was saying, taking a copy of Elysium off the shelf and turning it over to look at the track list. ‘It was a gradual slide downhill from there for them, till this album. This was their last with Parlophone. I’m interested to see how they do with their new label.’
Lucie turned to look at Esther, her eyes wide and her mouth in a round little O. Esther returned the open-mouthed gaze.
Sally looked up and saw both of them staring. ‘What? You’re surprised I know about the Pet Shop Boys? I’ve always loved music.’
And as she said it, Esther remembered. Sally had always had music playing in her room when she was young – cassette tapes piled up on her bedside table beside her clunky top-loading old tape player. She had generally been more knowledgeable about the pop acts of the day than either Isabella or Esther, and had often recommended things for them to listen to. There was no reason why that interest should have faded, and even if she perhaps wasn’t internet-savvy, music magazines and radio could have kept her connected to the world of music. It gave them a conversational opening, and she encouraged Sally to choose things for them to listen to and talk about. That got them through until dinner, and they sat down to eat with Prince’s ‘Raspberry Beret’ playing in the background and Sally flushed and happy.
Over dinner, talk turned to computers and the internet. To Esther and Lucie’s surprise, Sally didn’t own a computer, had never owned one, hadn’t used one for more than ten years and didn’t even have an email address.
‘I didn’t see the point,’ she said, helping herself to a second portion of lasagne. ‘When I was working, it was all still Windows 95 and dial-up, even in the office. It was slow and clunky and I didn’t enjoy using it at work. Why would I have wanted a computer at home?’
Esther imagined for a moment what a difference it might have made – an opportunity for her to connect with people or maybe join an online forum for carers. Friends. Support. Information. What a difference indeed.
After dinner, Lucie went to her room and returned with her laptop. She got Sally to sit beside her on the sofa and showed her YouTube, asking her to name bands then calling up their videos. Then she showed her Spotify and set up a playlist of obscure recordings as Sally named them, excitedly. There was a moment of confusion when Sally noticed that there were no cables attached to Lucie’s laptop, and they had to explain wireless broadband to her.
‘Could I have that at home?’ she asked.
‘Well, you have a landline telephone, so I can’t imagine why not,’ said Esther. ‘I’ll look into it.’ She went to fetch her iPad to research setting up broadband connections. That was briefly delayed because Sally had never seen an iPad, or indeed any kind of tablet computer. She was excited by it, clearly preferring the touch-screen technology to a keyboard and mouse. Once she had reluctantly given it back, Esther ran a search and found a useful page on the BT website. ‘You’d need to get a computer,’ she said, ‘but there’s no reason why we couldn’t set up your broadband package and get it connected within a few days. It depends which service you want.’
‘I want the best one. All the bells and whistles. Everything.’
Esther was a little surprised. ‘Okay, well, you can get a package with extra TV channels—’
‘I don’t need more TV. I’ve watched enough TV to last me a lifetime,’ said Sally. ‘And I’ll go out tomorrow to buy a computer. I’ve seen those PC World shops. There’s one near me. Would they be able to help me with a computer?’
‘I’m sure they would,’ she said. ‘Well, as soon as you’ve got your computer, I’d be happy to help you order your broadband.’
‘Can we do it now? So it’s all set up sooner?’
Esther was astonished at this forcefulness. It was as if a light had gone on in meek little Sally. She had glimpsed something new and she clearly wanted it.
Sally rummaged in her bag. ‘I’ve got my bank card,’ she said, ‘if we need to pay for it now.’
Later, after Esther had driven an excited, chattering Sally home, she returned to find Lucie curled up in the corner of the sofa, her feet tucked under her, looking at something on her laptop. It wasn’t late, and it was Friday night, so she didn’t mind that Lucie hadn’t gone to bed.
‘Thanks, sweetheart,’ she said, flopping down on the sofa beside Lucie and patting her ankle. ‘You were very nice to Sally. And kind.’
‘I liked her,’ said Lucie. ‘I’ve never met anyone like her before.’
‘Like her how?’
‘She’s like the man in the story, the one who goes to sleep for a hundred years.’
‘Rip Van Winkle.’
‘Yes. It’s like the world has moved on, into the future, but she’s been left behind.’
‘I think it’s at least partially deliberate,’ said Esther. ‘I mean, she must have seen stuff on television. It’s not like she’s been living in a bunker.’
‘It must have felt a bit like that. So cut off… Even if she saw something she was interested in but didn’t understand it, who could she ask about it?’
‘I suppose,’ said Esther, but she still felt a little unconvinced by Sally’s total innocence. Or maybe she was just annoyed by it. Imparting and gaining knowledge were the cornerstones of her life. She couldn’t understand wilful ignorance. It made no sense to her. She found it perverse.
‘I’m a bit worried about her though,’ said Lucie, looking up from her screen. ‘I mean, how is she going to pay for all of this?’
‘Pay for what?’
‘The computer, broadband… She doesn’t work, does she?’
‘No. Well, I imagine she has some kind of carer’s allowance. Although possibly not anymore. I have no idea what her financial situation is. She’s a grown woman, I’m sure she knows what she’s doing.’
And even though Esther wasn’t convinced this was the case, she wasn’t about to quiz Sally on her income and outgoings.
CHAPTER FOUR
Some people talked to their mothers every day. O
ther people lived with theirs. Esther rang her mother once a week on a Saturday morning. It was an arrangement which suited them both, and other than birthday cards and a pre-Christmas annual visit, this was their sole contact. It wasn’t that they didn’t love each other, it was just the way they had always conducted their relationship.
Esther’s mother Laura was a fit, strong woman in her mid-seventies. She had been born on the Isle of Wight and, with Esther grown up and her husband gone, had opted to return there fifteen years before. Her life was full, busy and active – she gardened and was involved in the local church, she was a member of a local walking group and she read widely and critically. She loved Esther and Lucie, of that there was no doubt, but she was fiercely independent and not grandmotherly at all. Not even especially motherly, Esther had to admit.
Laura had always worked; she was a teacher and it had been her transfer to a north London school that had caused the family to move from Richmond. She had cared for Esther, been kind, fair and reliable, but somehow separate. As an only child, Esther had quickly learned to be self-sufficient, particularly emotionally. She didn’t resent this at all – she hadn’t been a clingy, needy child. She hadn’t missed having a stay-at-home mum like Isabella had, to fuss her; she had liked the fact that her mother didn’t need her. Joan had always seemed to be waiting for Isabella and Sally to come home and had always wanted to know the details of their lives. When she was younger, she had rather liked going round to their house and hearing Sally and Isabella sharing accounts of their days as their mum bustled about preparing an after-school snack. But as they got older, they found ways to avoid Joan’s incessant questioning. Isabella began spending much more time at Esther’s house, where Laura, even if she were there, would leave them to their own devices and other than asking if they wanted anything to eat, never questioned them about anything.
When Esther rang her mum, she would share the week’s news, and usually Lucie would take the phone and have a chat with her grandmother too. Laura would fill them in on the goings-on on the island, and would tell them about the season’s growth in her garden. She was very even-tempered – always positive, always full of energy and plans for the weeks and months ahead.
After Joan’s funeral and the evening with Sally, Esther felt unaccountably low, and she was looking forward to hearing Laura’s cheerful voice. ‘Hi, Mum,’ she said, and she inserted a little fake merriness into her tone.
‘Hello, Esther,’ said her mum. ‘I haven’t a long time to talk. I’m off to the garden centre with some friends. They’ve started doing lunch there, and we thought we might do some shopping and then sample their menu. I’ve got to get back by mid-afternoon though – we’re going to a play tonight, and I have to sort out my hair. It looks like a bird’s nest.’
Esther had to smile. She lived in London, the cultural capital of the world. Her mum lived on a tiny island and yet she seemed to find more to do.
‘I shan’t keep you, just wanted to let you know Joan died – you remember Isabella’s mum? I went to her funeral the other day.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ said Laura. ‘What did she die of? She was a bit younger than me, I think.’
‘Dementia, as far as I know. That’s what she’d been suffering from. Sally had been looking after her, ever since Isabella died.’
‘Sally? Oh, the funny little sister, the one with the blonde curls. Such a little cherub she was.’
‘I think the past few years have been hard on her,’ said Esther carefully.
‘Still… dementia. The worst possible way to go. You die long before you die. I should hate it.’
‘Well, you’re showing no signs of it yet.’ Esther smiled.
‘Still seem to be in possession of most of the marbles. Now, before I go, how’s my wonderful granddaughter?’
‘Lovely. A delight as always. Doing well at school, being sweet to her mother.’
‘She needs to rebel a bit, that girl. Tell her I said so. She needs to get a tattoo or start smoking.’
‘I shall not tell her that!’ Esther laughed. ‘She’s twelve! Plenty of time for rebellion yet.’
‘Must dash. Love to you both,’ said Laura, and blew a noisy kiss down the phone. Esther rang off, feeling somehow better.
Late one evening about a week later, Esther was curled up in the corner of the sofa, absent-mindedly flicking through some news articles on her iPad while the television droned on in the background. Lucie had gone to bed, and she was trying to work up the energy to go up herself. When the phone rang, she jumped. She glanced at the clock reflexively – it was after ten o’clock. Her mum had always told her not to ring anyone later than nine, otherwise they would assume it was bad news. Was this bad news? Or just an annoying cold call? Either way, she didn’t want the ringing phone to wake Lucie, or alarm her, so she leapt up from the sofa and answered it.
‘I’m so sorry.’ Sally’s breathy voice cut in immediately, almost before Esther had finished saying hello. ‘As the phone started ringing, I looked at the clock and realized it really was too late to be calling. But then I didn’t want to hang up and make you worry.’
‘It’s no problem,’ said Esther, taking the cordless phone and sitting back down on the sofa. ‘No problem at all. I wasn’t in bed or anything. Just watching a bit of TV.’
‘Ah,’ said Sally. ‘Did you see the sewing thing earlier?’
‘The sewing thing?’
‘A very interesting programme, all about the history of patterned textiles. They had to be imported, you see. English manufacturers couldn’t make them.’
‘Sounds interesting,’ said Esther neutrally. ‘Sorry I missed it.’
‘The fabrics were printed, you know, not woven. I mean, they were woven, but the patterns were printed on, not woven in.’
‘I didn’t know that.’
‘Beautiful, some of them.’
‘I’m sure.’
There was a longish pause.
‘How are you keeping, Sally? Everything all right?’
‘Oh, fine, fine, right as rain. All a bit quiet, that’s all.’
‘I’m sure. After all that time looking after your mum, it must be strange having time to yourself.’
‘It’s lovely,’ said Sally, but she didn’t sound convinced. ‘I mean, I can go anywhere, don’t have to worry about when to be back, or whether someone’s here for Mum…’
‘That must be a big change.’
‘I went for a walk today. I haven’t been able to go out just for a stroll for so long. I happened by your old house, actually.’
That was a bit odd. Esther’s parents had lived down a narrow, crooked cul-de-sac, off a small side street. The road didn’t lead anywhere, nor was it near any major roads or shops. One wouldn’t ‘happen by’ there – either you’d be going directly there, or you wouldn’t be there at all.
‘I haven’t been there for years,’ said Esther. ‘After my dad died, and my mum retired, she moved to the Isle of Wight. She sold that house and I’ve never had cause to go back. It’s only a few miles from here and I haven’t thought about it in years. How funny.’
‘I remember it so clearly,’ said Sally. ‘I went there a few times with Isabella, to visit you. It was so lovely, hidden away among the trees, all white and serene… And you, like a fairy princess, living there alone.’
‘Gosh, is that how you saw it?’
‘When I was little, yes. We had our little house, and Isabella and I shared a room. She was always nagging me about staying on my side. And if any of my stuff ended up on her side, she’d take it, or break it, or throw it in the bin. And you had that big house all to yourself, with your mum and dad. And your own lovely room with a four-poster bed.’
‘It wasn’t a four-poster!’ Esther laughed. ‘It was just one of those funny cheap canopy things you hang from a hook on the ceiling above a single bed. So eighties. The drapes were nasty nylon things. They were very scratchy, and they used to make me all hot and claustrophobic. In the end, I ju
st tied them in a big knot above the bed and left them to gather dust.’
Sally laughed too. ‘Now you’ve spoiled a lifelong illusion for me. I always used to think of you as a princess in your beautiful white house, sleeping in your golden four-poster bed.’
‘How funny! How differently we all see things. I was an only child, all alone in our boring house and I envied you and Isabella, together in your cosy room, sharing things, having each other to talk to before you fell asleep.’
‘Well, you had nothing to envy! We weren’t cosy and close like some sisters are. I think the age gap was just that little bit too big. Just as you said when you spoke at Isabella’s funeral, she thought I was just an annoying little sister. A pain. Never a friend. She told me a thousand times when we were children that she wished she could swap me for you.’ Sally sounded as if this still genuinely upset her.
‘That’s just sibling talk,’ Esther said. ‘Not that I’d know, not having any of my own. And when the chips were down, when she really needed someone, who did she need? You. Her sister. Her real sister.’ Sally didn’t respond, and Esther found herself pushing on insistently. ‘And you were there for her.’
‘Right till the end,’ said Sally.
Sally rang again two days later, also late in the evening. This time she wanted to talk about a birthday party Esther had had when she was ten. ‘Your mum made you one of those Barbie cakes, where you use a real doll and she has a crinoline skirt made of cake. I always wanted one of those.’
‘I remember it!’ said Esther, delighted. ‘Oh, I haven’t thought about that in years. My mum always did such beautiful cakes. I got a whole castle one year, I remember. She’s still a wonderful baker, and she’s always producing lovely cakes for her church on the island.’
‘I remember that castle cake too,’ said Sally, and then added quickly, ‘I mean, I didn’t see that one. I didn’t come to your birthday party that year. Isabella told me about it. I thought it sounded amazing.’
