The Unknown Bridesmaid

by Margaret Forster

  ‘I was mad at her, that’s all. I couldn’t stand her a minute longer. I hate her. You don’t know what it’s like hating someone you’re made to live with.’

  ‘Karen knew you’d stolen that bag.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘She had to make you take it back.’

  ‘I wasn’t going to do that, no way. The shop hadn’t even fucking well missed it.’

  ‘Karen was in charge of you. It was her job to—’

  ‘Oh, shut the fuck up!’

  Julia turned, without speaking, to leave the room. ‘Where are you going?’ Gill said.

  ‘I’m shutting up,’ Julia said, ‘and going home.’

  ‘Just because I swore? Oh, for . . . oh, I don’t believe it, taking offence, just because, it’s your job, you said it was, you can’t just eff off, is “eff” all right, is it?’

  ‘Yes, it’s all right,’ Julia said, ‘but I’m finished anyway. I know enough to give my opinion.’

  ‘But I haven’t said nothing yet, you don’t know nothing.’

  ‘You’re shouting.’

  ‘Yeah, I’m effing shouting, you’d shout if you was me, someone walking out on you just like that. Job done, I don’t fucking think . . .’

  The shouting went on as Julia walked down the corridor. She’d go back in half an hour.

  Julia, as she grew older, still saw a lot of Iris’s girls, especially Elsa, the older one. Elsa loved Julia, She’d shriek with delight when Julia arrived, and leap into her arms and hug her fiercely. ‘You’re the favourite,’ Iris said, ‘you’re her idol, Julia.’ At first, Julia liked being an idol. She found being adored pleasing. But as Elsa grew, and became an incredibly energetic child, demanding so much more of her idol, wanting to play games that were becoming tiresome, Julia found the experience not quite so agreeable. Elsa was never still. At four years old, she literally was only still when she was asleep. ‘Come on, Julia!’ she would yell, and try to drag Julia into the garden just as Julia felt like slumping on the sofa. ‘Let me read you a story,’ she’d suggest, but Elsa was not interested in being read to. The demands on Julia’s time became heavier and coincided with a total lack of energy on her part. She was a teenager now, and didn’t care for bouncing about all the time, or chasing Elsa round the garden. She started saying to her mother that she didn’t feel like going to Iris’s house, it was too tiring, being at Elsa’s beck and call.

  Her mother was quite shocked. ‘Tired? At your age? Really, Julia, that’s ridiculous. You can say you can’t be bothered with Elsa any more but don’t claim to be tired. That’s just an excuse.’ Julia shrugged. Of course it was an excuse, but her mother needn’t have pointed this out. ‘Anyway,’ her mother said briskly, ‘you’ll have to get over this so-called exhaustion because I’ve said we’ll have Elsa to stay next week.’

  ‘To stay?’ Julia said. ‘You mean, sleep and everything?’

  ‘Yes. It’s the least we can do. Maureen can’t manage the two of them and Fran is the easier, so I said we’d have Elsa, and Iris was not to worry. Elsa’s not been told yet, it would make her too excited. She’ll be thrilled to bits.’

  Iris was going into hospital, for an operation. Julia had only the vaguest idea of what an operation might mean, but once she had wondered aloud – her newly contrived subtle way of asking questions – whether Iris was having a leg cut off, or something cut off, and her mother had said no, she relaxed. The mysterious operation went on being mysterious, and Julia asked no more. She was told that when Elsa came, she was not to mention anything about hospitals or operations, but just to say, if Elsa wanted her mummy, that she would be home soon.

  Elsa didn’t once ask. She was entirely happy to be with Julia, whom she followed everywhere, even to the toilet, which embarrassed Julia greatly, much to the scorn of her mother, who informed her that urinating and defecating were natural functions and not something to hide from children. This enraged Julia, who knew perfectly well about natural functions but saw no reason to perform them in front of others, even Elsa. It was one of the contradictory things about her mother: you’d expect her to be prim and proper in this respect, as in all others, but she wasn’t. She never closed the bathroom door, which horrified Julia now. She liked the door not just to be closed but locked when she was using the bathroom. But Elsa howled and roared and hurled herself at the closed door whenever Julia tried to get some privacy, and then Julia’s mother came alongside Elsa and demanded that Julia stop being so silly. Later, her mother took the bolt off the door. It was only a slim metal bolt, which would never have held the door if a determined onslaught upon it had been made, but it had been a great comfort to Julia.

  Elsa slept with her. Not in the same bed, officially, but on a camp bed next to Julia’s bed. She stayed in it perhaps five minutes after Julia’s mother had wished her goodnight, sleep tight, and then she was straight into Julia’s bed. She snuggled up to her, and played with Julia’s hair, and her little body was warm and soft. It was not at all like cuddling a toy, nor even the big bear she’d been so fond of. When Elsa finally fell asleep, after Julia had sung all the nursery rhymes she requested, Julia tried to detach her from her own arm, which she had insisted should be around her, and to move her body away from her side, to which it clung. But this was impossible to do without waking her, as Julia soon discovered, so she had to let the little girl stay as she was until, in her sleep, she naturally moved and Julia was free.

  Julia didn’t complain about this to her mother because if she did she would have to explain her feelings about Elsa sleeping with her, and she couldn’t have done this because she didn’t understand them herself. It made her uncomfortable to think about the possible reasons why she didn’t want Elsa there. It was about bodies. She said that to herself: it is about bodies. She didn’t like having Elsa’s body curled up against her own. But why not? What was wrong with it? That was the bit she couldn’t explain. It was dangerous, somehow. But who, or what, was in danger? Julia had bad nights trying to work this out and was cross with Elsa in the mornings.

  It was the first week of the Easter holidays, and they were ‘blessed’ with fine weather, as Julia’s mother put it. ‘Good,’ she said, seeing blue sky and sun when she opened the curtains, ‘you can be out in the garden with Elsa.’ Julia wanted to say that she was too old just to be sent into the garden to play with a four-year-old, but she didn’t. It would be no use. And she preferred being outside with Elsa rather than inside, it was true. Outside, Elsa running manically about, wasn’t as exhausting. Julia became quite skilled at thinking up games which involved Elsa running up and down while Julia stood still. ‘I’m timing you, Elsa,’ she shouted. ‘See how many times you can run from the kitchen door to the fence at the bottom of the garden. Ready, steady, go!’ Elsa loved ready, steady, go. She never managed to wait for the ‘go’ but charged off at ‘steady’, and then was made to do it again.

  Julia, timing her, but cheating, couldn’t help but reflect on the power she had over Elsa. Elsa, she realised, would do anything she suggested. It crossed her mind that if she said go and jump in the fish pond Elsa would unhesitatingly do it. Julia knew her mother would be furious if she did any such thing, but then she could pretend it had been Elsa’s own idea. Quite easy, really, to plant the idea that, contrary to appearances, she had no control over Elsa, then she’d have some fun. The minute she’d thought like this, Julia had another thought, a mischievous thought, definitely only a bit of fun. There was some gravel on the garden path. Julia picked up a handful and offered some to Elsa. ‘Let’s see who can throw the furthest,’ she said, and threw some of the tiny stones ahead, up the path towards the house. Elsa was delighted with the new game and, just as Julia had known she would, was not content with picking up just a few stones to throw but began scooping up whole handfuls and hurling them wildly, with no sense of where they were going. She was running along the path as she did this and, inevitably, was near the glass doors of the French windows when she chucked her last handful. The cla
tter against the glass brought Julia’s mother rushing out. Elsa was screaming and laughing, then rushing back to gather more stones. ‘Stop it, Elsa!’ Julia said, and then, to her mother, who was examining the panes for damage, ‘Sorry, I couldn’t stop her.’

  For the rest of that day, Julia was particularly kind to Elsa, but the following day the same impulse to make the little girl do something she should not do overcame her. At the end of the garden there was a gate, usually locked (but Julia had recently discovered where the key was kept), which led onto a lane leading to a pathway along the canal. ‘Shall we have an adventure, Elsa?’ Julia whispered, and of course Elsa jumped with excitement, then mimicked Julia’s ‘shh’, and put her finger to her lips, just as Julia was doing. Julia got the key and, with difficulty, opened the gate, with Elsa squealing and shhing beside her. Once out in the lane, Julia did exaggerated tiptoeing along, holding Elsa’s hand, and then once on the towpath they both ran until, out of breath, Julia stopped.

  ‘Where’s the adventure?’ Elsa asked, stumbling over the word.

  ‘This is it,’ Julia said, ‘unless you want to go on a boat. Do you want to go on a boat, Elsa? Do you?’ Elsa nodded vigorously. ‘Come on, then.’

  There was only one canal boat tied up on this stretch, quite a smart boat, newly painted by the look of it, and with red-and-white gingham curtains at the windows. Julia, holding Elsa’s hand and telling her to be very quiet, studied the boat. It was hard to tell if the owner was in residence or not, and, if he was not, whether he would come back soon, but she thought, from the lack of any sound, and the very tidy appearance, that it was empty. Experimentally, she picked up a tennis ball she’d noticed lying in the undergrowth and tossed it onto the boat. It made a satisfying bang on the deck before bouncing off into the water. Nobody appeared to investigate the noise. ‘Right, Elsa,’ Julia said, ‘let’s go on the boat.’ This wasn’t easily managed. The boat was lower than the path and though Julia, by sitting down, could get her feet on the deck and then stand up on it, Elsa couldn’t. So Julia first had to manage this before holding her arms out and telling Elsa to jump. The jump was a bit too enthusiastic and Julia was almost knocked over, so she was cross with Elsa. Suddenly, this ‘adventure’ seemed stupid. Julia couldn’t remember what the point of it had been meant to be.

  Because there had been a point to it. She knew that. In the back of her mind there had been a plan, or if not a plan then an urge to make Elsa suffer for being such a pain. It wasn’t pleasant to think about it, so Julia tried to shake it off, but this thin smear of nastiness lingered. Elsa meanwhile was wandering around the boat looking in at the windows and shouting she could see a cake, a chocolate cake and two plates. Smartly, Julia dragged her away. ‘Time to get off,’ she said, ‘they’ll be coming back soon,’ and she led the way back to the point where they’d climbed onto the boat. She went first, finding it much harder to clamber onto the bank than it had been to get onto the boat, and then she turned to help Elsa. But jumping was no good here. She needed to lift Elsa, but she couldn’t do it. Elsa pulled and Julia was going to fall back on the deck, so she let Elsa go. Then she stood up. Elsa’s now tearful face stared up at her imploringly. ‘Sorry, Elsa,’ Julia said, ‘you’ll just have to stay there till the owner comes back,’ and she began to walk away, the rising note of Elsa’s screams quite alarming to hear.

  She only walked a couple of yards. She never had any intention of abandoning Elsa, of course she didn’t. But in that short fragment of time she felt an intense excitement which immediately made her feel shaky and sick. Quickly, she turned back, and shouted to Elsa to stop it, stop it, and then she lay down full-length on the bank and told Elsa to stretch her arms as high as she could and slowly, slowly, she was able to haul the child up, but only just. If Elsa had not been so light, she would not have been able to do it. ‘There,’ Julia said, panting, ‘now stop crying, there’s nothing wrong with you.’ But clearly there was. Elsa did stop crying, but she went on trembling. Julia held her tight and soothed her and told her what a brave girl she’d been and what a great adventure they had had. ‘Don’t tell anyone about it, though,’ she added, ‘it’s our secret, OK?’ Elsa didn’t nod in agreement. She was silent all the way back to the gate, though Julia chatted away to her and sang her favourite songs. When they were safely in the garden, Elsa broke away from Julia and ran into the house. Following her, Julia found her mother looking astonished and Elsa with her arms wrapped round her mother’s legs.

  ‘Good heavens,’ her mother said, ‘what’s brought this on? What’s the matter with Elsa?’

  ‘Oh, she’s tired,’ Julia said carelessly. ‘I walked her too far.’ Her heart beat rather hard as she said this, but Elsa, for the moment, stayed silent. That night she stayed in her camp bed. Julia was excessively kind to her, but it made no difference, she wouldn’t be coaxed into Julia’s bed. Next day was the last day, then she went home.

  Julia’s mother had a phone call from Iris. Iris thanked her for having Elsa, said she was so grateful, and grateful to Julia too. Elsa, it seemed, had had such an exciting time with Julia that she’d been having nightmares. Iris said this quite nicely, Julia’s mother reported, but there had been ‘an edge’ to it. The nightmares were about boats and chocolate cake. ‘What on earth could have caused that?’ Julia’s mother asked her, watching her closely. ‘You didn’t take her onto a boat, did you?’ Julia said of course not, but they’d seen a boat and seen a cake through one of the windows. She excused herself the lie because strictly speaking she hadn’t ‘taken’ Elsa onto the boat. Elsa had jumped.

  After that, Elsa was not so keen on Julia. ‘It’s to be expected,’ Julia’s mother said, ‘she’s growing up.’

  Afterwards, Julia regretted telling her friend Caroline about the boat thing. She couldn’t remember why she’d broken her own rules by confiding in Caroline. Needing to confide anything to anyone was a weakness. But she had done it, while walking to school the next morning. Caroline was odd. It was this oddness that had drawn them together, though they were each thought odd in a different way, Julia because of how she kept herself to herself, and Caroline because of her accent and her appearance. She was from Motherwell, near Glasgow, and had a strong Scottish accent, and she had a brutal haircut, clipped round her ears and in at the neck, which looked strange when her figure was so full-breasted and womanly. Girls were not comfortable with Caroline but Julia was interested in her because she was different and clever.

  They were both clever, particularly at maths and science. Julia’s cleverness was of the quiet, unobtrusive variety. She didn’t speak much in class and it was not until marks were given out that her ability was revealed. But Caroline was a show-off. She had her hand almost permanently raised aloft in lessons, answers to everything at the ready and always correct. Neither girl made any approach to the other, but they had been put together to work by their chemistry teacher. Outside the laboratory they went their separate ways but then they began meeting each other accidentally on the way to school and soon this developed into a habit and from this they discovered they shared a liking for a sharp comment about a whole list of things. Neither of them yet knew much about the other, so the name Elsa meant nothing to Caroline when Julia suddenly began this tale, told in a laconic tone, of dumping her cousin on a boat and almost leaving her. Caroline said nothing at first. She realised that Julia was pitching for some reaction but she wasn’t sure if she was supposed to be shocked or amused, or something else. It seemed to her that Julia was trying to tell her something, that this story about the cousin indicated some undercurrent worrying her. So Caroline said nothing, except that maybe Julia should keep away from this Elsa.

  ‘Why?’ asked Julia.

  ‘Well,’ said Caroline ‘you seem to like hurting the kid, no?’

  ‘No!’ said Julia. ‘Of course I don’t, that’s stupid.’

  She didn’t speak to Caroline for the rest of the day.

  When Julia got home and saw a letter lying on the mat behind
her front door, she thought it might be to say she’d been appointed as a magistrate, but one glance, as she picked it up, showed her it could not be. It was a personal letter, the address written in a round, almost childish hand. Julia held it, playing her mother’s annoying game of spending ages wondering who this unexpected letter could be from when all she had to do to find out was open it. But she rather liked the suspense. A letter was, after all, now a rare event. Who wrote to her? Caroline, occasionally, very occasionally, and Iris, on her birthday and at Christmas, but everyone else emailed or phoned.

  The letter was from Sandra who Julia had neither seen nor heard from for something like forty years, ever since she and her mother had left Cumbria. It was written on two small sheets of blue paper with another thicker page folded up and stuck between these two sheets. Julia read the letter first, without unfolding the other sheet. It reminisced about their primary schooldays together, with Sandra apparently having crystal-clear memories of incidents Julia could not recollect at all, and then moved on to (as Sandra put it) bringing Julia ‘up to speed’ on how her own life had developed. She was married and had two children, both boys, of twenty and nineteen, who still lived at home. Sandra was a full-time wife and mother, which she didn’t regret at all (the ‘at all’ underlined) but nevertheless she was full of admiration for what she’d heard from others about Julia’s career, and often thought about her, and how well she’d done.

  By the time Julia was onto the second sheet of paper, she was wondering what the point of this letter was going to turn out to be. Could it really just be a ‘for old times’ sake’ letter? Or was Sandra writing with a purpose and if so what would it be? She noticed that right at the beginning Sandra had revealed how she had got Julia’s address, a complicated sequence of encounters with someone who knew someone who knew someone else who knew Julia’s cousin, Iris, who had provided the address. Once she had it, Sandra had felt she really must write, especially as – and here the point of the letter began to emerge – she had recently seen, in the extract from the magazine she enclosed, a photograph she was sure was of Julia.