by Jayne Joso
Chapter Seven
Unwashed Pyjamas
Gaia moved the model opera house that usually straddled the bathtub onto the floor and turned the taps. Better put the plug in. Better move the model out of the bathroom completely, permanently, and not just for the duration of bathtime. It was now time for this room to be a bathroom. Nothing other. She poured in bath foam. Fragrant steam.
Still wearing socks.
These must be removed.
Trying to think, of simple, easy things, step by step.
Cigarette out.
Bath, in.
Ahhhh!
Gaia often spent time considering which her favourite room would be in a house that might be home. Bedroom and bathroom always in stiff competition. Right now it was bathroom.
Hot, the hotter the better. Draw out all that painful, stressful energy, then manage to sleep, like the dead – no – but sleep.
Sleep.
Spluttering, eyes stinging. Sleep… but not in the bath… almost drowned fool woman. Soapy waters reach sinus and save a life. Coughing, cold and shivery, curls lying lank; skin like shrivelled fruit. Surface scum floating. Rinse off quickly, hop out, rub dry.
The opera house resumed its natural place over the deep grimy valley. It had lived there too long to be relocated… and she liked it. Whatever else, she’d always admired Charles’ work.
Tired and irritable, putting on the same-old unwashed pyjamas. It wasn’t that the laundry didn’t get done anymore, but lately it was way down low on the list of priorities, and was often just plain forgotten.
Cigarettes, and yes, whiskey. Time to write.
Letter: I hate him
Gaia to Selené
Dear Selené,
I hate him. I hate him so very much. I HATE HIM! Why, why secrets? His loyalty to you, well OK, but I was his wife. You and he seem to have shared such a beautiful friendship, why wouldn’t he have wanted me to know about it?
Then the house. It seems he was finally designing his perfect home, perhaps this was intended for me and him but he wasn’t sharing this with me but with you, only you. Oh you’ll think I’m jealous, childish and I don’t know what else, but think it damn you, think it! I hurt so much. I think it has passed a little, but then –
More than anything, I knew he didn’t want children, that I can’t deny, but I didn’t know he’d done anything about it, I wasn’t in on the snipping! Alright, he’d had it done before we even met, but he should have told me. Why oh why didn’t he tell me, was it so unimportant, was I so unimportant?
I found out about you, and look what a fool I made of myself, and for what? Only to find it’s a platonic relationship with a much older lady, someone I should have treated with so much more respect, someone who should have been invited to the funeral, you should have been at the funeral! He would have wanted you there. Look what the secrets have done, look what I have done!
I’m so desperately sorry, dear Selené, so sorry.
Gaia
Letter: Not running
Selené to Gaia
Dear Gaia,
Oh my dear, my dear, my dear! What wholesome anger, rage even. My sweet, it is but natural, and you must grieve. You must feel no guilt, but simply endure all the pain that is flying through, around and inside you – endure, embrace – My words might appear to be unkind ones, but their labour is in the service of your recovery. And to hide or try to escape life’s pains never works, they follow, they catch you, if not at that moment, then later and more deeply. It is as though pains that are put off accrue interest and you are ultimately made to pay in ever greater amounts the longer you try to outwit or run from them. Be brave now. Face Charles’ death, as indeed I believe you are in some measure. Yes, you are weak, but you are facing demons and not running from them. Not running. That is good. Ultimately you will become at ease again, and at readiness for pleasures – in time; but sweet you, not now.
You hate Charles, of course you do, and for now that is how you feel and how it has to be, be brave, face it, and do not run.
My love to you dear sweet Gaia.
Selené
Letter: You don’t care
Gaia to Selené
Dear Selené,
Why, why do you never just answer my bloody questions? Why can’t you just help me in a normal way? Why have I lost him? Why me? Why? Just help me, please.
Gaia
Letter: Just pain
Selené to Gaia
Dear Gaia,
‘Normal’, doesn’t come into it, that is a term whose inference I am not interested in. ‘Pain’ however, is quite a different matter. Pain is something people strive so hard to push away, people think they might soar over it, build a new bridge or road and bypass it. Clichés darling, clichés. You can’t. I have told you as much already, and you, Gaia, are no fool. Charles would not have shared his time with you had it been otherwise. Realise, your questions, your lambasting, is not something that needs a response. There are no answers to any of it. And as far as Charles, having lied, not told you certain things, good heavens! Does marriage give you rights to the contents of another’s life in their entirety? Does marriage require the parties to give up the seeds, blossom and detritus of all the private, secret spaces in their heart, mind and soul? I see there are ever more reasons not to marry!
This will seem harsh, but I must say it to you, and you must take it on – Charles, and all that he did and didn’t do, said and didn’t, lied or didn’t, kept secret or didn’t, is gone. And there are no answers, solutions, nor are there conclusions.
Charles, sweet thing, is dead. He is dead.
The dogs are playing up, I shall walk them later till their poor legs fall from beneath them. God I need a sherry –
There, half a glass and I am much revived.
Gaia, it is not a question of fault. Strive to keep guilt, and a fear of punishment at bay, and soldier on! Pain must be made as welcome in your life as pleasure if you are ever to walk in step with your life. It is all about balance – emotional pain is no poor cousin to the physical kind, and most are dealt a fair – though seemingly unfair – amount of each. Where was I up to… oh yes, balance – when you fall from gladsome times, you land in a bed of anguish and affliction, and when the hurt has run itself out as it never fails to do, you are lifted again to more favourable dwellings. That’s just how it is. So, you do as I say, and you might just be halfway alright.
So, no questions.
No guilt.
The sooner you welcome pain, the sooner it ups and leaves. Just look at how quickly pleasures end! The same can be true, at times, of pain. I do not underestimate your loss, I do not make light of your distress, but the faster you recognise pain as pain, and not as punishment, and stop searching for wretched explanations, the faster the pain finds its own level of register, and dissipates.
No matter how much we pollute this bountiful and cruel earth, the seas still move both in, and out. Keep breathing, keep breathing, and do not run.
Gaia, do not run. Hold fast.
Your strength
Selené
Letter: I will always hate him
Gaia to Selené
Dear Selené,
Why do I still feel I didn’t know him? I read your letters but whilst I take on what you say, it is still only in a theoretical sense. I feel like the most worthless of students, all I want to do is push the same questions at you, I want to push you, almost as though I would hurt you physically, and now I am crying again. I could never harm anyone, and never ever you, you are an unimaginable strength to me, my lifeline. Your words are tough, but I trust your intention to be kind; and you show such wisdom to me, but I do not manage to put it into practice. I can’t let go. I still feel the need for answers – that I might almost beat you for answers. – Why was he so
often in the most awful of moods? Was he always that way? Was he that way when I first met him and I have since forgotten? Did he hide these parts of his character from me until we were married? His ego too, limitless! Perhaps I was responsible for his darker moods? Why was he always so intensely selfish, egocentric, secretive? WHY, I ask you, beg and would beat you, why?
Gaia
Whilst the first of this rally of letters was replied to almost on receipt, giving a delay generally of not more than a week, this last letter of Gaia’s touched a nerve with Selené. The reply would take some time. It wasn’t that she was offended, nor was it her own grief surfacing and overtaking, which indeed it may have, it was more a sense of helplessness seeping in. How ever she replied to the young widow now, it had to be powerful, and whatever else, it had to work – the responsibility was immense. Gaia was circling in on herself, and down. This next letter might be that which keeps the young woman alive.
Selené knew at least that Gaia would wait for this reply no matter how long it took. The widow had in essence placed her life in the older woman’s hands. The hands of one she’d never even met. That level of vulnerability spoke volumes. That there was no one else she had turned to, no one else she felt she could or had wanted to rely on. No one else who’d be strong enough to help maintain her resolve not to take the pills she had collected and stored. She would go to the drawer of her dresser, roll one of the bottles across her palm, read part of the label as it moved – but tomorrow there might be another letter, or the next day, and in any case, the pills would still be there.
Selené took some three weeks to reply. In the meantime, Gaia read over the letters she’d received so far, sometimes finding just enough in one or other to help her ‘hold fast’, and if not, then ruminating on various reasons for the delayed response. Perhaps Tom was off work sick and the post office hadn’t enough staff to cover his patch; or his kids were sick; or Selené was sick or on a trip somewhere, but she refused to think that Selené had given up on her. She was sure that Selené would reply. She ripped the cord from around the neck of one of the bottles, then shook it, not much sound, it was full, and that was good, if needed. She put the bottle back and closed the drawer.
The three weeks came around and so did Tom Bradshaw with his delivery. Gaia got up early, woken by worries, made frantic with sadness. She saw Tom from the window, she ran down and pulled open the door. It gave him a start.
“Whoa, steady, you gave me a bit of a fright there!”
Gaia didn’t speak to him, neither did she look at him. Her eyes fixed directly on the stack of mail in his hand.
“Don’t snatch! Argh! You’ve… shit… you… you’ve drawn blood! Mrs Ore! Oh my! An’ those aren’t all for here…”
She dropped the letters to the floor. Her gaze settling on the back of Tom’s hand, deeply scratched. Women’s nails made Tom nervous at the best of times. That was down to Cara, she had the talon type.
“How did you do that?” was now delivered by Gaia in a confusing mix of sincerity and astonishment as she considered the slim cuts and blood on the back of Tom’s hand. Tom, totally perplexed, remained silent. This aggression was really out of character – he supposed. He was worried about the lady. Trying to make it look casual, he took a step back and with caution looked her over, he needed to make an assessment of things. Three months ago he’d seen her in pale slate pyjamas, now she was in dark slate pyjamas. Were they the same ones? Jesus! He stole a quick look into the house. It seemed quite dark inside, but from what he could make out, it didn’t appear too friendly on the hygiene front. “How did you do that?” she said again.
“How did I do that? How did I do that?!” The line had finally needled him, “You did it! Just this minute. How did I do it ?!”
She felt she partly remembered, but wasn’t entirely sure, things seemed foggy, “I did? I did, oh, oh,” and she went to take the injured hand in both of hers, and tenderly so, but he jerked his arm back and his hand out of harm’s reach.
“And like I said, Mrs Ore, those aren’t all for you, if you had a little bit of patience, I was just separating yours as I came up the steps. I know you’re, you’re still in, what-d’ya-call-it… mour… mournin’ but just slowww down some, slow it all up, yeah? Calm there now.” The last, revealing the compassionate self that made up much of Tom Bradshaw. Gaia, was tongue-tied; she remained still now for fear of inflicting further unintentional injury.
Tom backed away a little further, then marking where she stood with a stern look, he courageously gathered up the floored mail. He shuffled through it.
“You could come in.”
Tom looked startled, “No way!… I mean, oh, no, but thank you.” He put on a smile, a half smile, “Actually, only this one for you after all that… palaver.”
Gaia’s transfusion had arrived.
Letter: Testy characters
Selené to Gaia
Dear Gaia,
I am not yours nor anyone’s ‘lifeline’. Heaven forbid. Each must be his own. I am not insulted, but nor am I flattered.
I move strength towards you, all you have to do is move with it.
Now then, I will make some things plain to you and then you must let go of them.
With regard to Charles, there are certain things that have to be taken into consideration, and certain things that you have to realise. One of these is that his mother had both a very forceful and a very indulgent nature. She was a curious being. Best not examined too closely, I always thought. I nurture no great fondness for mothers. Mothers! Terrible things largely. Such an important role and one to which so few are suited. Certainly not me, hence my vowing never to become one. Self-hate, how wretched might that be?
What I am trying to say is that I don’t really understand why, during your marriage, you seem so surprised by certain aspects of Charles’ character. Aspects, which as far as I can see, even he, talented as he was at so many things, soon master at almost anything he set his mind to – no, Gaia – even he wouldn’t have been able to subdue and certainly not hide his being wilful, headstrong. I would go as far as to say that he was a man with an almost obedient reaction to his own thoughts and desires. One can only be thankful that these were never of too mean nor cruel a nature. He was always a gentle man, if he was never a gentleman. And to my knowledge, he was never one to waste time on self-analysis, let alone criticism. He simply was who he was, Charles! I make no attempt to defend the more testy aspects of his character, and Lord knows there were many. But Gaia darling, don’t you see? This was a man suckled on breasts with: WILL TO POWER tattooed across them! What did you expect?!
Now let that be enough! An end to the berating, of me, of him, and most importantly of yourself! It has become almost bullying, be careful, I will not tolerate more.
My love
Selené
Chapter Eight
Scratch Card-Lucky
Somehow or other Tom now felt, if not compelled, then at least as duty bound as he was already toward the widow of Charles Ore, and so, in some small way he wanted to help, wanted to cheer her up. He didn’t know how he would do this, but he suspected it would require a bit of cash. In Tom’s experience, cheering up womenfolk usually cost money. Cara took care of the money, all the money, and spare cash just didn’t exist. So finding extra cash, well this was going to take some luck. And whilst waiting for this windfall, Tom ruminated on what he would do with it. Hell, if a woman will wear pyjamas, she might at least wear nice new ones!
The following week Tom hit lucky with a scratch card. It wasn’t strictly speaking his scratch card, but come on, Cara had so many, she wouldn’t miss just one, and anyway, why should she get to have all the fun?
“Beginner’s luck? Well, it’s gotta happen to someone, might as well be me!” Tom beamed.
The kids didn’t really need anything and Cara had clothes enough to dress a stre
et carnival. One of those big out-of-control carnivals that started off community based and friendly but now attracted two-hundred-and-fifty-thousand, and they just kept coming back – minus the few that got killed each year. Tom hated how easily that stuff happened, specially since he’d had kids, specially since he’d lost one, and his dog had had to die too. Stupid dog. – He thumbed through one of Cara’s catalogues while she was sleeping – that looked about right – but maybe the widow was a size smaller than Cara. He checked through some of Cara’s stuff for sizes. It occurred to him just to swipe something of hers, but she’d notice, besides, Cara didn’t wear pyjamas. You didn’t get a big family by wearing pyjamas! Looking at the catalogue, he settled for a rose-coloured pair, thinking the colour was cheerful, hoping that might help bring Mrs Ore back to a rosier mood, he smiled. Yeah, a size smaller than Cara, he filled out the boxes and ordered. This was kinda fun, first time scratch card user becomes first time winner, and a natural at catalogue shopping. He took a proud deep breath. When he could get round to saving for a computer, he was sure to be a natural at internet shopping too – There’ll be no stopping me, he beamed. He put his friend’s address down on the order sheet – because shit, if Cara knew about it, he’d never explain it wasn’t another woman, and only the skinny Architect’s widow who he felt he sort of, ought to, kind of help out – he and Charles had been on first name terms after all. No, that wouldn’t wash with a woman like Cara.
Service is improving these days, he thought, all pleased as his friend called to say the parcel had arrived in the ‘twenty-four hours after receipt of order’ just as it had said on the page. Cool!
