Chapter 8
PRESENT DAY
I pushed open my bedroom door and it was like I’d stepped back in time.
The childhood belongings I’d hastily tipped out of my suitcase were exactly where I’d left them.
The bedspread was still rumpled from where I’d dragged my part-filled case off it.
My dressing table drawers were ajar and my wardrobe doors were open with several items of clothing in a dusty heap at the bottom where I must have knocked them off their hangers in my haste.
I pressed my hand over my mouth, shocked to see nothing had changed.
‘I told you your room was like it was before,’ Marianne said.
I picked up an item of clothing – a navy pencil skirt with a split up the back which I remembered making after I was offered my first ever job in the typing pool at the council – and shook it out, spluttering as I covered myself in dust. I tossed the skirt back into the bottom of the wardrobe and turned to Marianne.
‘I thought you meant you hadn’t stored anything in here, not that you’d never been inside since I left.’
‘Dad told me not to.’
I opened my mouth to tell her that he’d been dead for over two decades and she could do what she liked now, but that haunted look in her eyes kept me quiet. It wasn’t my place to interfere in her life, not that she’d listen to me if I tried.
My gaze passed round the room. The awful memory of that final day swirled round my mind alongside several happy memories of being here with Mum, making me feel quite emotional.
‘You can use my room if you want somewhere tidy to sleep,’ I said.
Marianne glanced at the dolls and games on the bed. ‘I’m not sure. It’s a bit messy in here.’
I bit my lip to stop myself from laughing out loud at the irony of that. ‘I can soon clear this lot away.’
She shook her head and left. I wasn’t sure if she expected me to follow her, but I couldn’t draw myself away.
I sank down onto the bedspread, taking it all in.
Back then, I’d been infatuated with Tom Cruise and the film posters from Top Gun and The Color of Money were pinned to the walls at the head and foot of my single bed.
Cliff had taken me to see both films, proposing to me after the latter.
My fingers brushed against something on the bed and I glanced down. ‘Scarlett Skye,’ I whispered, picking up the reversible rag doll Mum had made for me when I was little. ‘I thought I’d lost you.’
I was certain I’d packed her the day I left but I’d been unable to find her when I emptied my case at Cliff’s house.
He’d offered to drive back and get both her and my sewing machine but I hadn’t wanted to risk subjecting him to Dad’s wrath.
It was good to see Scarlett Skye now. The side showing was Skye – a blonde girl with brown eyes wearing a pretty blue-and-white summer’s dress.
I flipped the dress over her head revealing Scarlett – a brunette with blue eyes, red lips and a beautiful long-sleeved scarlet dress, perfect for a Christmas ball. I’d take her home with me today.
‘I’ve made you a tea,’ Marianne called up the stairs.
I placed the doll on my pillow and gingerly made my way down the stairs and into the kitchen, wrinkling my nose at the intensity of the smell, like sour milk blended with rotten chicken.
There was barely an inch of clear space on the worktops.
Empty ready-meal cartons and yoghurt pots were stacked high and there were dozens more bin bags precariously piled on top of each other.
‘Has the bin lorry stopped coming?’ I asked, wondering if that was the reason behind the rubbish building up.
‘No. They come every Wednesday.’
‘Is there a reason for you keeping the rubbish in here instead of putting it out?’
Marianne shrugged, picked up a mug of tea from beside the kettle and left the kitchen.
I reached for the remaining mug but something on the worktop caught my eye and my stomach churned.
I peered a little closer, hoping it would be black pepper or some sort of spice but it was definitely mouse droppings.
Shuddering, I poured my tea down the sink.
‘Did I make it too strong for you?’ Marianne asked, looking at my empty hands when I joined her in the lounge.
‘I had a drink just before I left home so I wasn’t ready for another. Sorry.’
‘My fault. I didn’t ask if you were thirsty.’
As she sipped on her tea, I looked around for somewhere to sit but drew a blank.
Everything looked so carefully balanced that I feared the removal of one bag would be like withdrawing a key stick from a game of KerPlunk, bringing everything toppling down.
I couldn’t make sense of the mess. Marianne hadn’t liked me going into her bedroom when I was a kid but, the few times I did, I’d been struck by how tidy everything was.
How had she gone from that to this? There had to be something wrong – physically, mentally or both – but was Christmas Day the right time to try to address it?
‘Why don’t we go back up to my bedroom?’ I suggested. ‘There’s space for us both to sit there.’
I thought she’d protest but she followed me up the stairs and we sat side by side on my bed in uncomfortable silence. Why was I here?
‘Would you like me to help you tidy up?’ I asked eventually, wondering if the mess could be the reason she’d invited me – a call for help, perhaps – although why make it Christmas Day?
‘You want to spend Christmas Day tidying?’ she asked.
‘No, but I wondered if that’s why…’ I tailed off as her eyebrows raised.
‘You think that’s why I invited you here?’
‘No, but…’ I shrugged, unsure how that sentence ended.
‘I wanted to see you,’ she said. ‘Make sure you’re coping without Cliff.’
‘Erm…’ I stared at her in disbelief. She was actually asking how I was? ‘I’m okay. One day at a time.’ It was such a non-answer but her question had stunned me.
‘Five years, isn’t it?’
I nodded, thrown even more that she knew how long it had been.
‘You must miss him.’
‘Every single day.’
Desperate not to cry in front of Marianne, I focused on the Top Gun poster.
I used to lie on my bed staring at it and wishing I could jump on the back of Tom Cruise’s motorbike, ride off into the sunset with him and start over somewhere new.
Cliff Kellerman in his russet-coloured Ford Cortina hadn’t exactly been my Maverick but he had given me the fresh start I so badly needed.
‘Were you happy with him?’ Marianne asked.
‘Of course I was. We were married for thirty-three years, you know.’
‘There isn’t always a correlation between the length of a marriage and how happy a couple are. Look at Mum and Dad. Married twenty-nine years and miserable for at least half of them.’
I frowned at her. ‘They weren’t miserable. They loved each other.’
‘You can love someone and still be completely and utterly miserable. Did you not wonder why…’ She sighed. ‘It doesn’t matter. So back to my original question, were you happy with Cliff?’
‘A repeat of my original answer – of course I was. He was a wonderful husband and my best friend and, as I said, I miss him every day.’
‘Good. Not good that you miss him every day. I mean the rest of it. I’m glad you were happy.’
Silence settled on us once more, only broken by Marianne’s intermittent slurping on her tea.
‘Why the questions about Cliff?’ I asked, bewildered by her sudden interest in my marriage.
‘Just wondering.’
‘But why?’
She shrugged and that was the conversation over – no more questions from her and nothing I wanted to share with her.
How could I admit that every day was a struggle for me when she lived like this?
I searched around for a topic of conversation.
It was pointless asking if she’d been anywhere because she never left the cottage.
‘Are you keeping okay?’ I asked.
‘I’m tired.’ She sighed. ‘Very tired recently.’
‘Is there anything I can—’
She stood up suddenly, cutting me off. ‘I need to show you something.’
Intrigued, I followed her into Mum and Dad’s bedroom.
There were boxes piled up in there but no bin bags so she evidently didn’t use their room to dump her rubbish.
She placed her mug on the bedside cabinet, slowly sank to her knees beside the bed, peeled back the rug and lifted up a couple of the wooden floorboards.
‘Everything you need is in here,’ she said.
‘Need for what?’
‘If anything happens to me.’
Her words sent a chill through me. She replaced the floorboards and flicked the rug into place before sitting back on her ankles, breathing heavily.
‘Are you okay?’
‘The boards are heavy. I just need a moment.’
‘Not now. I mean in general. Are you ill?’
‘I’m tired. I’ve already told you that.’
I offered her my hand as she rose but she didn’t accept it, grabbing for the bed instead then sitting down on it and retrieving her drink. ‘I might finish this in here.’
‘Okay. We can stay in here.’
I stared at the rug. If anything happens to me. Something was definitely going on.
‘Marianne, please tell me the truth. Are you sick?’
‘Do you mind seeing yourself out?’
‘Marianne! Talk to me!’
‘I’m tired.’
‘Then have a nap and talk to me afterwards.’
She raised her eyebrows at me. ‘Why would you want to stay? We’ve got nothing to say to each other. Go home, Yvonne.’
‘But I’ve only been here for ten minutes.’
‘And you were probably ready to leave after two.’
‘I never said that.’ Even though it was the truth.
‘You didn’t have to. We both know we’ve never enjoyed each other’s company so let’s not start pretending now. I needed to show you where the documents are and I’ve done that.’
I couldn’t believe this. What a waste of time. ‘That was all you wanted me for?’ I said, unable to hide my frustration.
‘Yes.’
‘Nothing you want to tell me?’
‘No. Absolutely nothing.’
‘Then why drag me out here on Christmas Day? You could have asked me to come by any other time.’
‘Did you have better plans for today?’