Beholden

by Fox Brison

  “Knocker. Door knocker. The big brass knocker.” Stop saying knocker for crying out loud.

  “Oh right, yes. Impressive, isn’t it?” She smiled coyly.

  Not the only thing that’s impressive, but I managed not to blurt that thought out.

  “I found it in a reclamation yard in Yorkshire. Let me take your jacket.” I turned and as she shimmied off my jacket, her hand trailed the full length of my arm.

  “In Yorkshire? Really?” I folded my arms after noticing her tender touch had produced a nippletastic reaction of my own.

  “Aye. I spent my weekends and holidays travelling the length and breadth of the country locating original pieces. I wanted authentic wherever possible.”

  “You must have had an understanding builder.” I didn’t have much experience in that regard, living in a council house they took care of most things, but there was the odd occasion when I’d had to have fixed something that my mother fell into and broke whilst legless. Those experiences did not cast certain local builders in a good light.

  “I’ve been described as many things, but understanding isn’t one of them.”

  I stared at her blankly for a minute allowing first the ambience of the living room to settle and then her words. Fuckity fuck. “You mean… you did all this by yourself.” And by all this I meant took a masticated sow’s ear and turned it into a silk purse decorated with diamonds and gold filigree. From what I could gather the house had been a cross between something seen on Rogue Builders and Extreme Hoarders with a bit of crazy cat lady thrown in for good measure when she bought it. Speaking of crazy cat lady… “And who are these gorgeous twin babies?” Kneeling down I held out my hand, and one of the giant ginger cats that had appeared nuzzled into it; the other scarpered.

  “That’s Bow, and the nervous nelly hiding behind the sofa is Arrow.”

  “Bow and Arrow?”

  “Robin Hood was my favourite Disney movie as a child.” An expression flashed across her face, but it was so fleeting I couldn’t get a handle on it. “They want their supper. Come on through and I’ll get you a drink.”

  We left the cream living room with it’s sage green sofas that were giant puffs of marshmallows, and headed through a large arch at the back of the room. Wow, where’d I put my sunnies? I squinted. The kitchen was bright white… walls, cabinets… there simply was no colour; don’t get me wrong it was lovely, simply… sterile. There wasn’t a thing out of place, no dishcloth on the drainer, no mug next to the kettle. It looked like it had been fitted that very morning.

  “Coffee?” she asked, opening a cupboard and removing two little tins of cat food – Gourmet Gold, no supermarket basics for these two. She emptied them into white (naturally) ceramic dishes, one with Bow on the front, the other with Arrow, before placing them on the floor. My eyes were drawn to her bum. Jesus. I quickly looked out of the window before she caught me ogling her. Gently, she gave each cat a loving tickle behind the ears, and then she stood, slowly.

  Maybe being a furry wouldn’t be so bad after all, I thought enviously.

  She tapped the cupboard door and it closed softly. It wouldn’t be any fun having a row in this house; there were more arches than doors, and even the ones that were present took five minutes to shut! “Actually do you have a coke?” I asked and she handed me a cold can from the integrated fridge. “Did you do all the building work yourself?”

  “Most of it.” She waved her hands like it was no big deal. No big deal? She should have the London Philharmonic blowing every trumpet in the brass section! “I hired professional tradesmen for the plumbing and electrics, plus the windows and roof, but apart from that it was all my own handiwork. I’d just started working at Shaw, Cameron and Carlisle, so money was tight and the hours were long. It took me several years, but looking at it now it was well worth it. And I realise I’m chuntering along with the tedium of my life. Sorry.”

  “Don’t be. Remember we need to get to know one another. This house is important to you, and I can see why. But I didn’t realise architects were so hands on.” I immediately flushed, damning both my innocent double entendres and Celtic heritage. I would have liked just for once to stay pale and not feel my neck start to resemble a strawberry and vanilla marble cake. I took another large gulp of coke to shut me up and noticed the can was almost empty. I must be dehydrated.

  “Some are, some aren’t. I spent my summers at uni learning the trade from the bottom up, it helped me pay my way through St Andrews, and gave me the indispensable knowledge needed to recognise when contractors are taking the piss. I can still mix a mean batch of cement if push comes to shove. These callouses aren’t from holding champagne glasses.” She held out her hand and I instinctively clasped it, smoothing my fingers over her palm and the callused ridges, a result of all her hard work. I imagined it stroking my breast and feeling all the blood rushing southwards, dropped it like a hot potato. Luckily she didn’t notice. “I’ll phone for the Chinese then we’ll take a look at the car.”

  “Sounds great.” She made the call (whilst I took a moment to douse the heat) and then showed me through to the garage where I stuttered to a stop. The car wasn’t so much a wreck as the shell of a wreck.

  “Beautiful isn’t she?” Adele whispered, lovingly caressing the front wing. “Have you ever seen curves so perfect, and seats designed to cradle your body as you negotiate the winding coastal roads?” She leant over and pointed to the dashboard, cracked and broken. “The speedometer inching higher, slowly, powerfully… the growling thrust as you change down a gear to produce more revs…”

  More revs? If she keeps talking, I’m going to be so revved up I’ll be dragging her into the back seat.

  “Can you visualise it, Joanne? The beauty? The power? The honesty of this car?”

  “Yes.” I choked out huskily and cleared my throat whilst desperately trying to regain my composure, which I seemed to have lost somewhere between my house and hers. “Will it take you long to restore?”

  “Oh years probably,” she waved her hands again, as if all she needed to do was change the spark plugs. “Re-creating beauty cannot be rushed.” Almost unconsciously, she touched her neck and the doorbell thankfully rang, interrupting the far too intimate moment. “I hope you’re hungry because I got enough to feed the five thousand!”

  “I’m famished,” I slavered.

  But not just for bloody prawn toast!

  Chapter 27

  Joanne

  Adele wasn’t exaggerating, she had ordered the entire menu. Everything was scrum-diddly-umptious and I tried dishes I would never normally have chosen. “So you want to be a nurse?” she asked when she finished a mouthful of kung po chicken.

  “That’s right.”

  “And how’s it going?”

  “Slowly. I left school with a higher in attitude and nothing else. I was a right tearaway, pure torture to teachers and social workers that always had my best interests at heart, even though they left me with a mother scarcely able to look after herself never mind a young daughter. Miraculously,” I said sardonically, “every time the child welfare officer visited my mum was as sober as a judge without a funny bone and the house was spotless.”

  “Luck? Or did someone drop the ball?”

  “I’m not sure.” I sighed. “I sometimes wonder if I’d have been better off being in care. I don’t know, perhaps it was a case of better the devil you know. I was actually more worried that without me there to look after her, my mam would die. Some nights I’d sit next to her bed poking at her every now and again, until she grunted and took a swipe at me.”

  “Oh, Joanne, I’m sorry,” Adele took my hand and squeezed it.

  “It wasn’t all bad and as easy as it may be, I can’t blame her for the choices I made; I’m ashamed to say I was going down the wrong road.”

  “So what happened to make you alter your path?” She didn’t take her eyes from mine. The grey pools were dark tonight, yet surprisingly calm, so different to the storm of emotion I was u
sed to seeing.

  The food was forgotten as we talked. “Two things happened in quick succession. First, Ashleigh became pregnant and gave birth to a gorgeous bundle of blond haired blue eyed perfection. She asked me to be Jack’s godmother and I was so choked with the honour, I resolved to get my life back on track.”

  “My sister and her wife have been talking about having kids, but she’s only just started a new job. I think they should wait, it’s a big commitment.”

  “Honestly? I don’t think there’s a right time for anything. Sometimes you just have to take the risk or lose the chance.” I turned pensive, because for a long time I didn’t think I had the chance of anything more than my mam had, so what was the point of taking a risk? And then… “It’s weird the way life moulds you. Nature begins the job; I have the same addictive personality my mother owns, but it was the second act that truly made the difference…” A trip to the emergency room when I was seventeen demonstrated in stark black and white what might happen if I continued following in her staggering footsteps. “I watched mah mam’s stomach being pumped, nurture, or rather her anti-nurturing, told me to buck up my ideas. So I cleaned myself up, got a job at the factory and began saving like crazy.”

  “Thus Florence Nightingale was born.” Adele smiled warmly.

  “Not quite. I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do, at first I just knew I wanted to do something, something other than wile away my life dreaming of climbing a mountain, yet never bothering to buy the pitons and crampons necessary for the task. One day it just came to me, a calling I guess.”

  “It isn’t exactly the best paid or easiest profession in the world.”

  “No but they saved my soul, unknowingly perhaps, and even though watching them care for my mother showed me that they had a thankless vocation, still it was one that allowed them to sleep with a smile each night knowing they’d made a difference in the world.” I chuckled wryly. “So teenage tearaway to trainee nurse… hopefully. I have the little matter of my exams to get through first!” The conversation flowed effortlessly and I was genuinely shocked when I noticed it was twenty past eleven.

  “Jeez, if I don’t get home to bed, I’ll be sewing the collars on backwards tomorrow.”

  Adele glanced at the clock on the ebony mantle. “And I’ll be adding Doric rather than Ionic columns!” I laughed even though what she said whooshed at thirty thousand feet over my head. “Time certainly does fly.” She smiled. “Trite but definitely true in this case.”

  “Even though I bored you to death with Harry Potter for half of it?” Harry Potter had been an escape for me when I was younger; I’d read the books and imagined the letter arriving for me… I dreamt about making a spell to sober my mother up… I’d wished for a life less ordinary. The only thing I did have was a friendship as strong as Harry, Ron and Hermione’s.

  “I wasn’t bored, honest. I might even watch the films.”

  “You should read the books first, they’re better. I have them all. When you drop me off, I’ll give you one.” I blushed. Tonight was epic in terms of getting to know one another, but it was mon-u-mentally epic in terms of my accidental double entendres.

  “I’d like that,” she breathed and I almost died.

  It was raining, so no bike ride home. I was disappointed and relived. I wasn’t sure what it would’ve been like in the complete dark. We raced towards the car when something by Adele’s gate caught my eye. I stopped, the rain plastering my hair to my head and dripping in rivulets down my face. “What’s that?” I asked, pointing to the scattered remains of a bunch of red roses. My unease trebled because they looked like they’d been repeatedly smacked against the stone pillar at the entrance to her driveway.

  “My guess? It looks like someone was dumped tonight,” Adele joked. “Joanne?”

  “Hmm? Oh right. yes. Dumped.” A barb of nervousness stabbed my stomach and my eyes cautiously scoured the cars parked up and down the street.

  “Hey, Joanne, are you alright?” Adele reached out and cupped my elbow.

  “Yeah, yeah I’m fine, stuffed is all,” I bluffed.

  And in my peripheral vision I saw a car pull out from behind a black Range Rover and take off in the opposite direction.

  I wasn’t becoming paranoid, I was already there.

  Chapter 28

  Joanne

  Closing the door behind me, I locked the chubb and crossing the road, hurried to the newsagents. It was chilly and still, but not quiet. Nine am on a Sunday morning in Dalkeith was never going to be completely silent. Several layers of sounds created a city symphony, each section playing different parts that ultimately created the whole. The brass section included angry cars in the distance, complete with the occasional trumpet forte of a horn blown by a disgruntled driver; the strings performed by the sparrows and tits was light and flirty, floating like clouds in the summer sunshine; banging doors and pounding feet? Well that belonged to the percussion section. Then the crescendo as I neared the junction where the road from our estate joined the main drag into town. And a final triangle tinkle when the bell in the corner shop rang out.

  “Morning, Joanne,” Mrs Patterson said cheerfully.

  “Morning Mrs Patterson.” I returned the greeting whilst grabbing a basket. Today was the first time I was visiting mam; I was chock full of nervous excitement as I picked up a few of her favourite treats… Cadbury’s Fruit and Nut and a packet of viscount biscuits, before dashing home to finish packing her a few extra clothes. I also planned to throw in some books – she wasn’t a big reader, but I thought it might help pass the time.

  I was almost home when I lifted my arm to wave to Mr Nicholson outside number forty. My hand was half way in the air, in a rather bad parody of a Heil Hitler salute, when I paused.

  That strange car was parked in the street again.

  I’d asked around, but no one knew who it belonged to, although new people had moved into number sixty three, so it was reasonable to think it could belong to someone they knew.

  However, I had passed the reasonable stage after the second three am wake up call.

  I fumbled with my keys eventually unlocking the door, and slammed it firmly closed behind me. I rattled the safety chain on. It took a couple of attempts, but finally it was in place. I was becoming a prisoner, to my fears and to a faceless stranger who thought being the centre of their attention was something I should be grateful for.

  Was it time to involve the authorities? I was reluctant because I’d read stories about what women went through when trying to get the police to investigate harassment and stalking complaints, one victim even being charged with wasting police time; I also didn’t want them looking into mine and Adele’s relationship too closely. However, the whispered “Whore,” echoing in the darkness was a sinister turn and contained enough venom to poison a whole village.

  Love/hate weren’t different sides of the same coin with this whack job, they were the same side.

  ***

  Two bus rides later I was stood at the gate of the drive leading up to the Miller Galbraith Rehab Centre. It reminded me of the entrance to a country park; a leafy lane bordered by swathes of grass peppered with large oak trees. I pressed the buzzer when I arrived at the main building and waited to be let in. From what I could see through the window, the lobby was quite busy, patients shuffling (the recent intake) and others laughing and joking. Finally, a nurse saw me.

  “Hello can I help you?” she asked.

  “I’m here to see Mary Cassidy,” I explained nervously. “Ms McGill said it would be alright to come today.”

  “Of course, come on in. Your mam’s just back from art therapy, so she should be nice and relaxed,” she said. “We’ve a lovely new lady taking the class and she’s wonderful with the patients. Really calm and encouraging. She brightens their day no end.”

  Hmm, I think someone has a little cruuushh, I sang in my head. “Art therapy? I think the only thing I ever saw my mam draw was a hangman figure!” I smiled. “Has she settled i
n okay?”

  “Och you know, as well as can be expected. The first few weeks are the hardest. Now Mary isn’t allowed out, but there’s a nice wee day room down the hall with a television and games, and tea and coffee facilities.”

  “Thank you,” I looked at her name badge, “Sam. I’m sure if all the staff here are as kind as you, she’ll be doing great.”

  “You’re very welcome, hen. Ah here she is. Mary, you have a visitor.” The nurse left with a squeeze of my arm.

  “Hi, mam,” I said brightly and bent to kiss her cheek. She just glowered in response. Well if this is her relaxed… She looked well though. Her eyes were bright and clear and her cheeks had a healthy pink glow. It suddenly dawned on me that this was the first time I’d seen her completely dried out, and I also realised, unfortunately, that every time I thought she was, she must have been sneaking a wee dram somewhere. If politicians could harness a drunk’s cunning duplicity they would be re-elected by a landslide.

  “I brought you magazines, coffee, chocolate and more clothes. You must be seek of the same three outfits.”

  Still no response.

  “I got another distinction for my essay at college.”

  Nothing.

  “This is lovely.” I picked up a small watercolour of a vase of flowers. And it was lovely. “Did you paint this, Mam?” Her signature was at the bottom so I assumed she had. I continued asking her questions, was she keeping up with her stories, had she made any friends, what was the food like, but apart from the odd grunt she was totally shut off.

  “Do you hate me?” I whispered. Finally, that garnered a response.

  “No,” she croaked. “Oh, Jo-Jo, I love you more than you’ll ever know. It’s just I don’t know what to say to you. I’m so ashamed. In therapy we talk about why we drink. I didn’t realise how selfish I’d become, or what I’d put you through until I heard myself in those sessions.” She wiped a tear.