by Anne Donovan
I’ll need time tae think, Jas. I put my haund on his airm. Let’s get back to the reception.
We arrived just as everything was fizzling out.
Where have yous been? asked Rona. You just missed Mona throwing her bouquet. Caitlin caught it. And it could of been you.
Never mind.
After we’d said our goodbyes to Mona and Declan, Jas made sure his ma got a taxi. Then we stood on the steps of the hotel watching folk pass by, enjoying the warm evening.
D’you feel like talking? asked Jas. We could go for a walk if you like.
No in this, I said, tugging at the skirt of my frock. Anyway, I think I need a bit of time on my ain, think things through.
Sure. Jas took my haund and we started to go up the steps towards the hotel entrance. All of a sudden it hit me – I knew what I had to dae. I stopped, let go his haund. Jas, wait here – I’ll be back in five minutes.
Patric had booked hotel rooms for our family and some of Declan’s relatives. I rushed upstairs to the room I was sharing with Rona, changed intae my jeans and shoved a few things in a bag. As I was locking the door she arrived.
Leave it, Fiona. I’m just gonnae fix my make-up and the light in that toilet doonstairs is terrible. She looked at me. Did you have to change? You looked nice.
I’m going out with Jas. I paused. Rona, don’t worry if I don’t come back to the room the night, okay?
Like I’d be shocked?
See you the morra.
In the dark the flat looked mair familiar than it had in daylight. The light of the streetlamps softened its bareness and made the plastered walls look like pink marble. On the way I’d got the taxi to stop at my da’s, packed a rucksack while Jas waited for me. I opened it, took out a blanket and spread it on the living room flair. We sat side by side, leaning on the wall opposite the windae.
Jas put his airm round me. This is cosy.
Don’t get too comfy.
It took a while to persuade Jas to leave me alone in the flat. I cannae, he said, when I’d explained what I wanted to dae. It’s no safe.
I’ll be fine. There’s a better lock on the door than when we stayed here and there’s neighbours around. This is something I have to dae.
When he left I went intae the room that I used to share wi the twins, curled the blanket round me and lay on the flair, looking out at the trees. This was the first time in my life I’d ever spent the night alone in any house. In spite of what I’d said tae Jas, I felt a bit nervous, listening to the creaks and squeaks as the building settled doon intae night, but there was comfort in the familiar tenement noises; the sounds of a tap running in the flat upstairs, lights being switched off below, folk getting ready for bed.
I was wide awake. I wrapped the blanket round me like a shawl and walked through the empty rooms. Would this be the first night of many I’d spend in the house again, or was it a kind of farewell? When I’d had the notion to stay here, I’d decided on impulse, with some vague idea that the house itsel would provide answers.
But there were nae ghosts here. I remembered things that had happened, ordinary things like us having breakfast or watching TV, but they were memories I could of had anywhere. It wasnae like visiting the Brontë parsonage, where you could feel so strongly the presence of the family who’d lived there. However much I wanted, I couldnae call up the spirit of Mammy, call on her wisdom to help me decide, as if she was alive. I had to rely on the spirit inside me, the one she’d helped tae shape and form.
I stood on a creaky floorboard and the sound shattered the silence. This house had never been silent. And if Jas and me got married and had children, it would be filled with noise again.
For Jas it seemed simple.
If you want it, it’s ours, he’d said. But, even if we bought it, done it all up, decorated it the way we wanted, could it ever really be ours? How would my da feel about us living in the house that had been his hame? I didnae think I was ready to get married so soon either – I wasnae like Mona who dreamed of walking doon the aisle in a white wedding dress. Of course I loved Jas, but I was overwhelmed.
I watched the moon creep into view in the uncurtained windae; three-quarters full with misty trails across its surface. I opened my rucksack and took out the copy of Wuthering Heights I’d brought with me, turned to the familiar passage.
‘Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.’
In the twenty-first century we don’t live like this, with a great love, with a passion as vast as the ocean and pure as the stars. We are tentative and conditional; all the get-out clauses are written fae the moment we set eyes on someone. We don’t believe there is one person for us – we try out partners as we send for things on the internet, knowing we have thirty days to return them. No one expects to get married without living with their partner, or at least sleeping with them, and if it doesnae work out there is always amicable, civilised divorce. Makes sense. In our age we recognise the truth of human nature; our society accommodates it.
Jas isnae like that.
But even though he can swear to be always loving and faithful, what about me? When we were first thegether I thought I loved Jas and we’d always be happy, but one sight of Amrik and I dumped him. Could I trust mysel no tae rush off with someone else again? I hoped I’d learned something from what happened with Amrik, but suppose that’s how I am – mibbe I’m just that type of person and Jas isnae. Even though he thinks he only wants me, he’d be better aff wi someone like hissel, someone faithful and loving.
Outside, in the long summer night, the sky was dark blue above the familiar shadowy trees. I reread the words of Cathy’s testimony. Deep, fine, moving words.
But look at what happened in Wuthering Heights. Cathy and Heathcliff separated, only reunited in death, and as for Shelley and Mary – they had their share of problems too: unfaithfulness, dead babies, tragedy.
But they still believed, they had an ideal. I knew that however improbable it seemed, I wanted to live my life by an ideal: nae compromises, nae conditions. And I couldnae imagine daeing that with anyone but Jas.
Four Years Later
THE MORNING SUN flickers through the room, light dappled by the trees outside. I’m alone in the flat, painting the room that’ll be our baby’s when he or she is born in three months’ time. I bend over my bump awkwardly as I sweep the brush near the skirting board to outline the golden fish – I’ve already stretched high tae paint stars on the ceiling though I’ll no tell Jas I stood on a ladder while he wasnae here.
It’s a year since we got married. Doubly married, with Catholic and Sikh services. I got all jittery afore it – I’d lived here by mysel for three years and got used to my ain company – part of me dreaded having tae share my space. But I end up missing Jas when he’s at work, looking forward to his return.
I still love spending time alone, working in the room I used to share with the twins, now a studio with white walls and shelves full of objects waiting to be turned intae art. Mona can hardly believe it but. I hate it when there’s naebody in the house, she says. No much chance of that in hers. With a bit of financial help from Patric, she and Declan got a big flat where they live with my da, Rona, Grace and the new baby, Kieran. Janice has had a son too – James, who’s three – and Mona watches him two days a week. Rona has a boyfriend who spends hauf his time there and Mrs Kaur and Declan’s family are close by.
When I first came here it was strange for me too, never having lived alone in my life. I loved the feeling of space and light and freedom, but it took me a while tae feel that the house was mine, to reconcile the echoes of the past life with the new one that was beginning tae unfold. Often, when it was very quiet and still, I found mysel thinking of Mammy, and I’d put my heid on the table, greet.
Patric and Amrik are still thegether. Still in London, still moving on whenever the mood takes them. Last year they lived in a Georgian house in the east end – the owner had tae go abroad for a year so Patric looked after it. The guy had d
one it up and furnished it exactly as it would of been in the eighteenth century with candles for light and a wee bath you filled wi hot water fae a jug. You have to come and visit, Fiona – you’ll love it, living like the Brontës. It looked brilliant wi the candles and wood fires and all that, but of course Patric had showers at the health club and they ate out maist of the time. Amrik, with his disregard for his surroundings, was perfectly at hame there but I think Patric was happy enough tae move on to their next place, a huge modern apartment overlooking the river. He’s still working on hauf a dozen projects at any one time, heavily in demand for all kinds of styling work, while Amrik continues to pursue his music in his ain way.
Since Art School I’ve divided my time between teaching two days a week and my ain work the rest of the time. I’ve had commissions and sold stuff, even got shortlisted for a big prize. I’ve nae idea how much I’ll be able to dae after the baby comes, and that scares me. But that fear isnae as great as the feeling that overwhelms me when I feel the baby move, delicately, like a butterfly brushing the inside of me.
I find mysel working in pastel and chalk, avoiding sharp objects and harsh colours, gaun quiet and still inside. I know all that will change – I mind all the other babies in the family – the huge fuss and noise and mess each one created. Mona’s unbearable now, lording her superior knowledge of motherhood, phoning me tae chat endlessly about contractions and teething. But it’s cool. She’s my sister after all.
I finish my painting, look round the room. One side is filled with the mural; fantastic fish swim in a silver sea and birds hover round a tree with turquoise and lilac leaves. The other walls are emulsioned in soft white, blank spaces to be filled by the future. Above the mantelpiece there’s a picture of the Guru alongside one I painted, of Our Lady. It won’t ever form part of a show – it’s too personal, hasnae the irony that would make it real art in the eyes of folk like my tutor – but I think Mammy would of loved it.
Mary, in blue jeans and a white tee shirt, is hanging out the washing in her back court. I know she’d of had dark skin and eyes but this madonna has a peelywally west of Scotland complexion and eyes that hover between blue and green. Jesus is dark-skinned, lighter than Jas but no much; he’s haunding her the pegs and they’re smiling at each other.
I wash my brushes in the sink in my red kitchen, sit at the wooden table with a cup of tea. I imagine Jas in the shop, making up prescriptions with his long, beautiful fingers, speaking seriously to a customer about contraindications, joking with another in Punjabi. I look out the windae at the trees where a bird is cheeping and chattering as birds dae.
Also by Anne Donovan
Hieroglyphics (2001)
Buddha Da (2003)
Copyright
First published in Great Britain in 2008
by Canongate Books Ltd,
14 High Street, Edinburgh, EH1 1TE
This digital edition first published in 2008
by Canongate Books Ltd
Copyright © Anne Donovan, 2008
The moral rights of the author have been asserted
British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data
A catalogue record for this book is available on
request from the British Library
ISBN 978 1 84767 391 6
Every effort has been made to trace copyright holders and to
obtain their permission for the use of copyright material. The
publisher apologises for any errors or omissions in the following
list and would be grateful if notified of any corrections that should
be incorporated in future reprints or editions of this book
The lyrics quoted from ‘Blanket On The Ground’ are by Roger
Bowling © Sony/ATV Songs LLC. Administered by Sony/ATV
Music Publishing. All rights reserved. Used by permission
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