Her unknown helper offered a suggestion. `I might be able to sort something for you. I manage a TV shop – one of the engineers might be able to fix it.`
I don`t fancy his chances, Sylvia thought - should I trust this bloke anyway?` But the set in its present condition was not worth anyone making himself a thief for. `It would be great if it could be mended. But if it`s going to cost a bomb, you`d better check with me first, or you might not get paid.`
He picked up the TV set, pulling a face as a loose part detached itself and clattered to the ground. `We`ll do all we can to keep the bill down, Mrs . . ?`
His slight hesitation reminded her she would need to give him her name. `Brandon.`
`Raymond Hood.` He nodded towards the battered TV set in his arms. `I would shake hands, but . . `
Miranda appeared from her doorway and trotted down the stairs, dressing-gown trailing on the rain-damp treads. `Are you all-right, Sylv? You look terrible.`
`I think I`m okay. It`s just the shock,` Sylvia drew a few deep breaths in an attempt to recover her sangfroid.
`Did they get anything else?` Raymond Hood asked, glancing up the empty stairs.
`I don`t know. I was only just coming back from work when I saw them there.`
`Better check and confirm before you call the police.`
Miranda sniffed contemptuously. `What`s the point? They never get nobody for these-sort of things. I don`t think they even bother looking, half the time.`
`You`ll need to report the burglary and get a crime-number for it, before you can claim on your insurance,` Raymond Hood pointed out, at which point both he and Miranda seemed to realise that Sylvia had made no move to climb the steps. She felt incapable of moving, gripped by mind-numbing fear. What if the two lads had not been alone? Supposing some accomplice of theirs was still lurking in the flat? And what sort of mess would the place be in? Knowing she must go and look, she had neither heart nor nerve to do so.
Raymond was first to realise the nature of the problem. `Are you scared to go back in, Mrs. Brandon?` As she nodded shamefacedly, he dumped the broken TV on the ground. `I`m not surprised. Would it help if your friend and I go in with you?`
Should she say Yes? Though his presence was reassuring, his arrival on the scene had been providential – perhaps too convenient? Had he some connection with the burglars? If he was their accomplice, he might hope to cast his eye over her flat to see if she had anything else worth stealing. So what, she thought – there`s nothing left, worth anybody making themselves a thief for.
With Raymond leading the way, the three climbed the stairs to Sylvia`s flat. One of the small panes of glass in the front-door was broken, close to the internal Yale-knob – this must be how the lads had got in. Raymond motioned to the women to stay back, peered cautiously inside, pushed the door open further and shouted, `Anybody there?` Would they answer if they were? Sylvia thought.
With no response forthcoming, he stepped forward to command a view of the room, and beckoned them to follow. `It`s okay. There`s nobody here, but it looks as though you got back just in time.` Sylvia saw her microwave and CD-player standing together near the door, next in line for bringing downstairs.
`Thanks. I would never have-dared come up by myself,` she said, fighting-off the urge to break down in tears. `What`ll I do now, phone the police?`
Miranda laughed without humour. `You can do, but like he says -` she nodded towards Raymond Hood - `it`s only worth it for the sake of the insurance.`
`I`m not insured. I haven`t had time to get round to it yet, and now it`s too late.`
`At least it`s a warning to give it some serious thought.` Trust a man to stand there being superior, Sylvia thought – as if money will make it all right – more to the point, am I ever going to feel safe here again? -- they probably knew I was at work. -- what if they come back again tomorrow?
`Have you anything to board this window up till you can get a glazier?` Raymond asked. Sylvia had nothing suitable, but Miranda remembered seeing a wooden cigar-box discarded in one of the dustbins. How could she possibly know that? Sylvia thought – does she go through them, to see if there`s anything worthwhile in there? Broken-up and held in position on the inside with sellotape, the bodged repair looked impressive while affording no protection whatever.
`Come up to my place and have a cuppa to get yourself pulled together,` Miranda offered. Longing to accept, Sylvia knew that if once she left the flat she would not dare to re-enter it on her own. Miranda must have guessed the reason, for she rephrased the offer. `Or you could sit down before you fall down, and I could make you one here.`
`Thanks, I`d like that.` For the moment Sylvia did not feel like being left alone.
When eventually Miranda went home to catch up on lost sleep, Sylvia could not feel at ease until she had fastened her door with both chain and bolts, and placed behind it a dining-chair bearing three empty bottles that would clatter to the floor if anybody tried to get in. She made another cup of coffee she did not really want, purely to occupy the first few tense minutes of being alone. Seated on the sofa, she sipped the hot liquid, trying in vain to conquer an overwhelming upsurge of fear and despair -- I don`t think I can live here any more -- they might come back, then what would I do?
As morning turned to afternoon, her initial shock gave way to a dull emptiness worse than the terror. Once again she was aware of how noisy the house and surrounding area were – the pipes that groaned every time anyone turned on a tap, voices arguing loudly in the yard below, a pneumatic drill from roadworks further along the street, the continual revving of vehicles leaving the traffic-lights. With no TV to blot out the sounds, it was all suddenly more than she could bear.
Leaping to her feet, she almost ran to the kitchen, possessed by a blind urge to do something drastic. I can`t stand this any more -- I`ve tried, but I just can`t, I`ve had all I can take -- last week I could`ve laughed at all this, today I`m so low, I don`t know where to put myself. A chilling thought struck her. Was this how Tom felt on his very last day? -- and was it then that he decided death was better than going on? -- right this minute I can see what attracted him to the idea.
She reached into the cupboard above the sink to close her fingers round a carton of Distalgesics. Somewhere she`d heard that a suicide`s relations are more likely to kill themselves than folks who`ve never known anybody that did. The thought hung around in her mind as she sat down at the table and shook-out the tablets – small, innocuous-looking, but potentially lethal. What`s stopping me from doing it? She asked herself -- Tom killed himself, and now all his troubles are over -- so will mine be, if I take these.
What about your grandchildren? her conscience demanded, butting in where it was not wanted.
`What about them?` she told it defiantly.
They`ve been brought-up Catholics. They`ll break their hearts crying, because they`ll think your soul`s damned to Hell. Why should they have to face that for the rest of their lives?
`Will they ever have to face it? More than likely, nobody will ever let-on to them what happened. It`ll all be hushed-up, and they`ll trot off to my grave to leave flowers, like they do for their other Gran, and never guess what I`ve been driven to.`
Perhaps that`ll be best, the nagging inner-voice suggested, possibly intending consolation but failing miserably in the attempt.
`How will it be best? What`s the point of killing yourself if nobody knows why?`
It`s kinder to the ones you leave behind. Notes generally blame people. Is it fair to try and make your family believe it was all their fault, because of what they did, or didn`t?
Incredulity took over in her mind. `Was that why Tom didn`t leave a note? Because he didn`t want us worrying over what he killed himself for? And that`s supposed to be kindness? It certainly wasn`t kind to me. I haven`t been able to get my mind off it, ever since.`
Isn`t it enough that he killed himself, without having to explain why? the inner voice enquired.
`What`s the point, if nobody knows what you did it for? They hav
e to know, Then maybe they`ll regret what they`ve done, and wish they had behaved better to me.`
Maybe they won`t. Perhaps nobody`ll care why you did it. With the emphasis now subtly shifted from Tom and toward herself, that was an even more depressing thought.
`I wouldn`t be surprised. Why would they care about me? They certainly don`t care about Tom. There they all are, getting on with their lives as if nothing had happened. Anyway, they`ll be better off when I`m gone. No need to worry any more about where I am or what I`m doing.` For fear of reawakening the distress her decamping had caused to Patty, she dared not run away again, and without the caravan she would have no means of doing so.
The conscience-voice interrupted her train of thought once more. What have they got to regret? Exactly what have they done? Got on with their lives, that`s all. What else were they supposed to do? Me, the girls, their men, the grandchildren, all of us being dead won`t bring Tom back again.
Wearily she answered her own question. `Is this existence worth battling-on for? But if killing myself doesn`t make any difference either, what`s the point? Everything`s pointless, all of it. This`s like listening to an argument that goes on for ever, round and round in your head, till all you can think about is making it stop. I`ve got to make it stop. I can`t go on living like this.`
The first two tablets were in her hand now, already on their way to her mouth, when a brisk thumping on her door startled her into dropping them with a shriek - who the devil is this? - some folks have a great sense of timing.
Inclined to ignore the interruption, she realised that she could not very well get away with that. The cry she had uttered would have been clearly audible to the visitor. As if to confirm her belief, the thumping sound recommenced, to the accompaniment of a voice she was not at first sure she recognised. `Mrs. Brandon! Mrs. Brandon! Please can you answer the door before I drop this?`
Intrigued by vivid and improbable mind-pictures of what This might be, Sylvia went to open the door. On the threshold stood Raymond Hood, caught in the act of kicking the lower panel, unable to knock properly because of a TV set cradled in his arms. `Oh. It`s you,` she said, wondering what he would have thought, had he known what his arrival had interrupted.
`Yes, I`m afraid so. Sorry. I didn`t mean to give you a fright. I`ve brought this for you.` She stood aside to let him into the flat, where he dumped the TV on the dining-table with a sigh of relief. `That`s better. They don`t weigh heavy, but I`m apparently not as fit as I think I am. You must be energetic, climbing those stairs every day.`
Sylvia had never thought much about it, and could not see why it mattered. `That`s not my old TV.`
`No. It was past redemption, just like you thought.`
`It was kind of you to come and tell me, but I`m not sure if I can afford a new one.` (Why the hell am I worrying about what it`ll cost, if I`m going to kill myself? she thought -- I`ll never have to pay for it.)
`This one isn`t new. It`s been kicking around the workshop ever since we got it back from a house-fire.` Now that she looked more closely, she could see that the slightly-distorted outer-case was a peculiar colour on one side, probably the result of heat and smoke-damage. `It`s not fit for renting out again, but I thought it might tide you over till you get something better.`
`It`s bigger than mine was. How much is it going to be, then?`
`Say, a couple of quid a month, just to take care of any service-calls it might need. It`s not in good enough nick to charge full-rental for.` Sylvia decided she could afford that, grateful that he had been too much of a gentleman to try and make her a present of it, a gesture she could not have accepted.
`Thanks very much, Is there anything I have to sign?` Aware of a lack of good manners, in view of the trouble he had put himself to, Sylvia motioned him towards a chair. `Can I make you a coffee?`
`Thanks. That would be lovely.` In setting the table she had to push the tablets aside. He glanced briefly at them, but -- to her relief – said nothing. How could she have explained her state of mind to a stranger?
Over the drink they chatted about nothing in particular, finding mutual interests in Old-Time Dancing and folk-music. `Georgina and I used to go to a dance-club in Heaton, but I`ve never been there since we separated. One of the worst things about not having a partner is keeping-up your social life. You feel like a spare-part when everybody else`s with somebody. It`s not the same, going by yourself.`
`No,` Sylvia agreed, `Specially at a dance or a party, sat-there like a wallflower while everybody else`s having a great time.`
He nodded in sympathy. `You don`t get out much either, then? Are you divorced, as well?`
`No. I`m a widow.`
His face took on the look of apologetic confusion common to all tactless enquirers. `Oh! I`m sorry. I shouldn`t have asked. It`s none of my business.`
Sylvia shrugged. `It`s all right.` She did not amplify the remark, and he did not press for further details, probably still embarrassed by his assumption that she was another victim of a broken relationship. But his company – however briefly – had done her good. After he left, she found herself analysing their conversation and taking comfort from the thought that, although alone, he was managing to rebuild his life. Perhaps, given time, she would be able to do the same.
Another knock at the door – who could it be this time? The visitor was Miranda, a harassed expression on her face. `Can I come in, Sylv?`
`Course you can.` Sylvia stood aside to allow her to enter, noticing at once that the girl`s eyes went straight to the table where the tablets still lay, partly covered by a tea-towel.
`What you doing with all them, Sylv? What are they, anyway?`
`Distalgesics.`
`Have you took any?`
`Not yet.`
`Are you sure?` Miranda demanded, staring her full in the face. `Because if you have, you better say.`
`Honestly, I haven`t. Why would you think I was going to?`
`That chap from the TV shop knocked at my door and said he thought you maybe shouldn`t be left on your own right now.`
Sylvia sighed with exasperation. `Is nothing private in this place?`
`No, it sodding-well isn`t,` Miranda retorted. `Not if I`m ganna find mysel` being questioned by the Pollises when they come across you stone-dead in here three-month hence, and the papers`s all full of how folks`s not good neighbours no-more.`
Sylvia swept up the tablets and held them out to her kind-hearted – if tactlessly outspoken – companion. `Take them away with you. I just might be tempted otherwise`
`Have you got owt-else like that anywhere?` Unwilling to trust her, Miranda checked through cupboards and drawers uninvited, until convinced that Sylvia had told the truth. `You better-not have, mind. If I come home the-night and find you`ve topped-yersel`, I`ll nivvor speak to you again.`
The sheer silliness of the comment broke through the black clouds around Sylvia, setting her off on another attack of the hysterical laughter that had so frightened her in the lorry-park. Through streaming eyes, she was aware of Miranda`s shocked face, and the girl`s strong arms pushing her down on to the sofa. `Sylv! Stop that, wumman! You`ll do yersel a mischief in a minute. I think we better get the doctor. The shock`s been over-much for you.`
Because arguing was too much trouble, Sylvia allowed her to make the call. Doctor Ellis, already out on his rounds, was not able to come for nearly an hour. Miranda refused to leave, until he arrived full of apologies that might or might not have been sincere. He asked questions and prescribed a sedative which Miranda at once ran to bring from the chemist`s shop a few doors away. `Is there anyone your friend could send for, to sit with you?`
`No.` Delia would be at work, Paul too busy, Edgar out on the road, and Patty – with her six children and a pregnant bitch to cope with – had problems enough already.
`Lock your door, then, and try to get some sleep.` That sounded like a counsel of perfection but, surprisingly, she did drift into slumber for almost two hours. Awakening, she found herself still nervou
s, but able – probably because of the sedative - to face life again.
It was a good thing Raymond Hood had called with the TV. Remembering just what his visit had interrupted, she felt sickened by the narrowness of her escape -- And I wondered how Tom could possibly have contemplated killing himself! -- I could`ve done it, no bother, if Raymond Hood hadn`t turned-up when he did. But he had come, and the TV was a godsend, filling in what would otherwise have been another lonely evening.
Raymond Hood called on Sylvia again the following week. `Just checking that the TV`s all right?`
`Yes, it is, thanks.` Its babblings filled the spaces in her brain, obviating the need to sit and think.
However the polite enquiry was not the only reason for his coming. `When we got talking the other day, I seem to remember you said you liked folk-music?`
`Yes, I do.` That was one more thing she and Tom had not seen eye-to-eye about -- so much for what I thought was our perfect marriage – did we have anything in common at all, except for the house and the girls?
`I`ve been given two tickets for a folk-music concert, Janet Bennett, the singer and harpist, is on, and some other big names. I`ve got nobody to give the second ticket to, so I thought of you because you said you enjoyed Northumbrian music. I know it`s a bit of a cheek, asking, but would you like to come and keep me company? I don`t feel like going by myself.`
With almost no thought at all, Sylvia accepted. She was alone, free and weary of her loneliness. Making friends with this man could not possibly do any harm. After all, she was no inexperienced girl – if things looked like getting out of hand, she could always bring the friendship to an end.
Fancy going out on a date, at my age! Sylvia thought, taking critical stock of herself - my hair`s a mess – should I have it done? Her heart said Yes, but the depleted state of her bank-balance countered with a firm No -- it`s not a real Date anyway – he only asked me so the tickets wouldn`t go to waste. It would be a pleasant night-out, breaking the TV-dominated monotony.
She decided against telling Delia and Patty. What was there to tell? -- it`s not as though I`ve got myself a boy-friend - we`re just two people with similar interests, going to a concert together because we didn`t feel like going alone.
A Long Road Through The Night Page 14
