Beginnings

by L. T. Smith

Maybe just trail my finger along the curve of her face, the same face I had held in my hands just before she had left.

  Or to try and capture her gaze … those blue eyes to meet mine.

  God. I missed her. Missed her smile, her laugh, her voice. Missed the way her eyes twinkled when she looked at me. Missed the feel of her, the touch of her lips, her mouth, her tongue.

  And I wanted to pick up the phone and call her, just to hear her voice and know she was missing me too. But I had promised … too risky and all that.

  It was on the Tuesday morning that I couldn’t stand it any longer. I had finished all my paperwork and boredom had settled over me. The server for the internet had gone pear shaped so I couldn’t access any of my files, or the internet for that matter.

  There was only one thing for it.

  A visit to my sister, the dependable, nagging one, who had called me constantly for the last two months to tell me to get my lardy arse over to see her … or to stay with her, Craig and the kids for a while. We had only seen each other a handful of times since everything had blown up, as I said, I had kept myself busy.

  Poor Jo. She knew there was something wrong as soon as she opened the door. Like usual, my sister knew me better than I knew myself.

  The kids were sent to their rooms, and like sulking teenagers they stomped up the stairs to attack their CD players and vibrate the house. Two bollockings later, the volume decreasing to a mere thrum and pulse in the living room where I was sat with Jo, Craig having made excuses about tidying the shed.

  Bless him. He was the epitome of a brother in law – solid, yet scared shitless of hearing anything that involved me and my relationships.

  ‘What’s going on, Lou?’ Just like Jo … always to the point. ‘Have you heard from Ash?’

  It was bubbling away inside me, fermenting and threatening to spill over like a volcanic blast. All the emotions I had held down were clambering at the back of my throat. I kept swallowing repeatedly, hoping against hope that I could just tell her I missed Ash without all the amateur dramatics I was sure were going to follow.

  And that was just from me.

  Her face became more concerned as I sat silently, valiantly swallowing, clasping and unclasping my fingers around the handle of my handbag.

  I nearly managed it. Honestly. I had just digested the last vestige of misery when she slipped her arm around my shoulders.

  Then they were back. Over and out of my mouth in a semi wail and slamming against my sister’s chest in their fight for freedom.

  She held me, shushing me, stroking my back in her tender way and letting me know without the need for words that she loved me. That she was there. That she would always be there.

  I held on to her, gripped her, hung upon her like I was a frightened animal and she would save me. Again. Save me again.

  It was a while before I could even contemplate telling her what was the matter, but just like Jo she sat there and held me and waited.

  A feeling of peace enveloped me, a calmness I hadn’t felt for quite some time, and I just let it wash all over me before I could begin.

  ‘I miss her so much.’ There was no need to say whom, and Jo just pulled me closer making me feel like a teenager again. ‘I can’t even call her.’ Then I started to cry again, and splutter how unfair it was that I couldn’t see her or speak to her whenever I wanted to … how it wouldn’t hurt just to hear her voice now and again … like at bed time just to say goodnight.

  Jo let me go on and on and on, and she didn’t interrupt, just held me and nodded in all the right places. But in the end even she had to ask why I hadn’t gone to find her.

  ‘Don’t you think I want to do just that?’ I sat back and away from her, wiping my face with the back of my hand. ‘But I can’t … the case … too risky.’

  ‘What case?’

  Huh? Had my sister finally lost the plot after all these years?

  ‘What case? What case?’ My tone was incredulous to say the least. ‘The case. Spencer case…’

  She interrupted my flow. ‘But that’s over. It finished in the early hours of this morning.’

  The words I was going to say just sat in my mouth. And that same mouth was half open, my tongue hovering near my bottom lip forming the beginning of the word I had just been about to utter. Then it slipped back, the lips closing slowly, my face taking on a semi pout.

  When I concentrate, I frown. Can’t help it. I couldn’t grasp what she was saying, so I leaned forward and frowned more. And Jo moved back … slightly, but noticeably.

  It seemed like ages before the ‘What’s up, Lou?’ sounded.

  I frowned more. I think I was stunned, you know, rabbit in the headlights syndrome …

  Jo seemed a little uneasy, and I’m not surprised, I think if I had been in her position I would have been too. ‘So …erm … why don’t you call her?’

  That kind of snapped me out of my trance a little, and I lifted my eyebrows dispelling the frown once and for all.

  ‘Call her? Call her?’ It didn’t sound like me. Distant and very reserved. And that was definitely not what I was feeling. ‘Oh … I can do better than that.’

  I stood up sharply and snatched my handbag from the sofa. ‘Much better.’ Clipped and ready.

  ‘What’re you going to do, Lou?’ Jo stood up and placed her hand on my arm, and I just looked down at it and then back to her face. I don’t know what my expression said but she took her fingers off me like she had been burned. ‘Lou? Tell me.’

  ‘Are you sure the case is over?’

  She nodded, and I didn’t even ask for any more details, just turned and headed towards the door.

  ‘What are you doing? Lou?’ I just kept on walking. ‘Lou! Answer me!’

  I stopped at the front door, turned, and looked her squarely in the face. ‘I want to find out why she couldn’t be arsed to let me know the case was over.’ I grabbed the door handle. ‘And also find out what the fuck she’s playing at.’ Door open.

  ‘You can call her from here if you want.’

  ‘I said I’m not going to call her.’ Jo’s eyebrows raised into her hairline. ‘I’m going to ask her in person. I’m going to Manchester.’

  ‘When?’

  I smiled at her, winked and stepped through the open doorway. ‘I’ll call you when I get there.’

  CHAPTER FORTY

  BACK HOME, CHANGED, bag packed, in the car … and then I was on my way.

  The miles were eaten up with mutterings of increasing anger, and by the time I reached Chesterfield I was livid. I couldn’t wallow in self-pity – screw that. I was fuming. How dare she? How fucking dare she lead me on and make me believe that we had a future?

  ‘Can’t call you … too risky,’ I mimicked in a sarcastic tone. ‘I don’t want you to be in danger.’ Same sarcasm. I can’t even tell you how many times I said that as the miles pounded underneath my tyres.

  Images of the last time I had seen her danced in my head. The phone calls we had shared replayed themselves and instead of feeling the longing I had previously, the memories only fuelled my anger even more.

  It wasn’t until I got to Stockport Road that I realised I didn’t know her address. The dawning realisation hit me as I saw the sign for Levenshulme and I closed my eyes and slammed my head on the headrest.

  I pulled over into the car park of a local pub and just sat there wondering what I was going to do. I could have called her, but I didn’t want to alert her and give her time to think of an excuse. It would have been so much simpler if she was listed in the telephone directory. The only thing I could do was go to her parents’ house and ask.

  Decision made, I pulled out of the car park and headed for Levenshulme … a place I hadn’t visited in nearly twenty years.

  Well, it certainly wasn’t hot and sticky, and promise had long since fled the nest. These days my imagination conjured up images that could be pretty frightening, and a lot of those had actually happened. The once packed streets were empty of peopl
e, just cars parked haphazardly – and I doubted children could play tiggy it and kerby, as avoiding cars would be impossible. Noise and pollution were the new black.

  It was Levenshulme. Once an affluent part of Manchester, but now filled with students, ethnic minorities and a budding professional sector. The roads leading to Ash’s parents seemed so small and winding, and it dawned on me that it wasn’t because I was bigger now, because I hadn’t grown; it was because I had never driven here before.

  As I turned into their road, I felt sick. Nerves sick, I think … but sick nevertheless. It was weird how the road seemed exactly the same, especially after all the changes I had noted on the way to this spot. I felt sixteen all over again … like I did the very first time I had been to Ash’s after the first time we had been separated.

  After I parked the car opposite their house I just sat there and collected myself. I had been driving for nearly four hours, but it felt as if I had just left Norfolk minutes before.

  I was still angry. Bloody fuming, actually. I didn’t want to knock on their door and start ranting and raving at them for something they probably knew nothing about.

  So I sat and waited. Waited for a miracle to come along and make me rational … and I knew the only way I was going to find any peace was to knock.

  So I did.

  I got out of the car, walked up to the door and knocked. And then knocked again. Then rang the bell, and as I was just about to ring it again, the door opened.

  It was Ash’s mum. Older, but still the beautiful woman I remembered … even though she looked pissed off.

  ‘Why don’t you take the bloody door off next time?’ And then she stopped and looked me up and down, a growing realisation appearing on her face in the shape of a smile. ‘Well I never … its little Lou Turner isn’t it? Well, not so little anymore.’

  ‘In the flesh, Mrs Richards.’ It was out before I could stop it.

  ‘Well I never … how long has it been? Twenty years?’ As she was saying it, she was peering into my face just to make sure. I should have known what was coming next, but I wasn’t thinking straight.

  And after all those years it still hurt like buggery. She gripped my cheeks and gave my head a waggle and I was transported back once again to a time when I had a little bit of chubbiness to keep me safe.

  ‘Where are my manners? Come in, love.’ I couldn’t answer. So, I just nodded, then sighed with relief as she let go of her death grip on my cheeks.

  The house was still the same, and I fully expected to see Ash come bounding down the stairs, and then remembered why I had turned up here in the first place.

  ‘Mrs Richards?’ She stopped in front of me and turned. ‘Could you give me Ash’s address?’ I tried to keep my voice light, you know, not let any emotion trickle through.

  ‘No.’ I looked at her, surprised to say the least. ‘Not until you have a cuppa with me and tell me what you’ve been up to.’ Then she walked through into the kitchen, leaving me a little gobsmacked.

  I waited patiently whilst she was pouring the tea … even laughed and nodded in all the right places, but all I wanted to do was to find Ash. I went through her quick fire round with no problems until she asked ‘Are you seeing anyone?’

  The teacup seemed huge and clunky as I raised it to my lips to moisten my suddenly dry mouth. She leaned forward, expectant, so I just nodded as I was swallowing, then changed it to a shake of the head.

  ‘Make your mind up … are you or not?’ I could spy a slight smile at the corner of her mouth. The answer I wanted to say was yes, obviously, but with things how they were, how could I? Ash had not contacted me for two weeks and then I found out the case was over …

  ‘I always hoped you’d become a Richards.’

  I looked up from my cup and smiled at her. I remember one of her sons having a bit of a crush on me when we were kids, but that was a long time ago.

  ‘It would have been lovely to have you in the family, but I could tell you weren’t interested in Anthony or Stephen … even though Stephen thought you were the bee’s knees.’ She sighed and picked up her cup, and I followed suit taking a good long drink hoping to finish it so I could get away. ‘I really hoped you and Ash could’ve got together.’

  The tea shot out of my mouth and nostrils like a water hose, half choking me on the way out. I coughed and spluttered, wheezing a stuttered ‘What?’ as tears streamed down my face. Mrs Richards came round the table and thumped me on the back … repeatedly, which did nothing for the coughing … just increased the tears.

  With a final intake of breath, the coughing subsided, my face the colour of beetroot through embarrassment and exertion.

  ‘Are you okay now?’ Her face was dangling in front of my own, and all I could muster was a half-hearted nod. ‘Sorry about that … I always thought you two … ah … well … you know.’ I looked at her, wiping my eyes, but silently asking her to go on. ‘I thought you two were a couple when you were teenagers. And when you left, I thought Ash was going to pine away to nothing.’ She lifted the teapot up and gestured … I nodded as my throat was like sandpaper.

  She didn’t speak whilst she was pouring, just concentrated on the job at hand. It seemed like forever to fill two small cups …

  ‘Everyone was really worried about her … and one day she just walked into the front room, announced she was gay, and walked out the front door. We didn’t see her for three days.’ She slipped the cup over to me and then concentrated on putting sugar in her own as if what she had just said was completely normal.

  ‘And?’

  ‘And what?’

  ‘What happened? Where did she go?’

  Mrs Richards shrugged her shoulders, ‘She wouldn’t say. We were so worried about her, that by the time she came back, the announcement she’d made didn’t seem to matter.’ The tea she was stirring was whizzing around the cup, the spoon making a grating noise.

  I didn’t know how to reply. Just sat there, cup in hand.

  ‘It was just good to see Ash happy again.’

  ‘Why? Did she come back happy?’ I felt a little annoyed at this, although I have no idea why. It was twenty years ago after all.

  ‘Not then … she was still a miserable little bleeder. I mean when she came back from Norfolk.’ A greying eyebrow raised itself into nearly grey hair, the smile playing around her lips. Then she took a tentative sip at her tea, and I sat and waited. Again. ‘Ah … that’s a lovely brew, if I do say so myself.’ Another sip, and I felt like shouting at her to put the bloody cup down and tell me.

  But she still had that evil streak running through her, the one I found funny when she was tormenting her sons and husband … and Ash of course. She was waiting for me to ask her, and I wasn’t backwards in coming forwards. I would play her game.

  ‘What do you mean, “When she came back from Norfolk”? About the case?’ I leaned forward and gave her a crooked smile whilst inside I wanted her to just tell me what I wanted to hear.

  ‘No. That’s not what I meant.’ She leaned towards me mirroring the same smile. Then nothing.

  Bollocks.

  I was getting too old for this.

  ‘Well. Could you tell me what you do mean then?’

  ‘Yes.’ Another pause.

  ‘Pack it in and tell me.’ Patience had gone out of the window and was replaced by definite need to know.

  And just like her daughter, she threw her head back and laughed. Laughed until tears pushed themselves over her eyelids and charged willy-nilly down her face. Then I laughed right along with her. Don’t know why … just did. But like laughter in that situation, it wasn’t long until I was sobbing into the tablecloth.

  Her hand was comforting on my shoulders. Smooth strokes from left to right, sandwiched between a gentle circling motion. A shushing sound was right next to my ear, and I could hear her saying my name over and over again, willing me to ‘dry those tears’.

  But it had become too much. The anger. The frustration. The needing to know one
way or another. And the dam burst. And I was left sobbing my desolation into white linen.

  It didn’t last for long, just a short burst to alleviate the emotions whirring around inside me. Like usual. All I seemed to do was cry.

  When I eventually pulled myself together enough to look up, she was sat down in the chair next to me, her face radiating motherly comfort.

  ‘I’m sorry, Lou. I’m an evil old bugger sometimes … ask the kids.’ I pursed my lips in an attempt to say it didn’t matter, but still didn’t trust myself enough with my voice. So I shook my head and gave her a watery smile in compensation.

  Her hand covered my own and gripped it firmly before she just held it in her own. It was so warm and comforting to just sit there for a while without the burden of words. ‘When she came back from Norfolk, she seemed like the Ash we all knew … the happy Ash. It was like she had laid the ghosts to rest.’

  I kept quiet. Just listened.

  ‘She was busy with the case … you know … the Spencer one, so we didn’t see her as much as we wanted.’ Another squeeze on my hand. ‘But when we did, she was full of what had happened in Norfolk … full of meeting you again.’

  The she got up and walked over to the kitchen counter. I could hear her rummaging about in the drawers looking for something, and then she was back. A piece of paper slipped over to me, her aged fingers half covering it. ‘This is what you want. Go and ask her yourself, it’s not up to me to tell you.’

  Tentative fingers tugged at the corner, until I felt it within my hand. It was her address. Heaton Chapel. If I left there right away, I would be standing on her doorstep in just over ten minutes … less if I floored it.

  But I hesitated, just slightly, as I was still mesmerised by the address sitting so innocently in the palm of my hand. It took a nudge and a ‘Well … what are you waiting for?’ to kick start me.

  ‘Nothing. Nothing at all.’ I leaned forward and pecked her on the cheek, was just about to up and leave when I turned a grabbed her in a fierce hug. ‘Thank you … so much.’

  She hugged me back and I could hear the muffled, ‘Whatever for?’