21. Chapter 21 #2
‘It just so happens that I have decided to take some time away from the theatre.’ That would suffice.
Iris did not need to know more. ‘You and Hamish should go to his estate for a while. And when you are no longer in mourning, take Hamish on an adventure. He would love it so much. I can read contracts. Any place I have not been to, I will ask Benton about. Elise will help, as she always does. Some time away from here might be precisely what the both of you need.’
She wanted to tell her friend that if she rested, then the baby she longed for would surely come.
That the heartache would stop and that, in time, everything would fall into place for her.
That she would have the beautiful life she deserved.
But that was not always how it went. She could not make promises for any of it.
The four of them struck an awkward tableau, stiff and unmoving.
Wilhelmina released Hamish, and slowly, deliberately, sank onto the sofa beside Odette.
Iris blinked at her arrival, and, with a breath and a smile that held no joy, said, ‘Perhaps we should go away. Just for a few months. Hamish? What do you think?’
‘We never got that honeymoon, did we?’ he said. ‘If you want to?’
Just before the moment could grow awkward, Wilhemina rose, and Odette followed. They kissed Iris and Hamish on both cheeks, then took their leave and made their way downstairs. Outside, Wilhelmina shook out her shawl and threw it over her shoulders.
‘Before you go,’ she said, ‘will you come by Number 3? We have a visitor I would like you to meet.’
With a quick glance in either direction, Odette trailed her neighbour’s steps across the paved road.
On the path outside the townhouse, Lawrence stood talking with another man, taller, broader, and older than him, slighter greyer and somehow more battle-worn.
A little girl, reaching barely higher than his thighs, was hanging on to the thumb and pinkie finger of one robust hand.
She swung from them periodically, obviously trusting their steadiness and role in her game, believing they would hold and not let her fall.
Charcoal ringlets escaped from a white cap, and although they were clean, her shoes and dress bore the wear and tear of more than one summer’s use.
‘This is Harry,’ Wilhelmina said, as she slipped in beside her husband. ‘He’s a friend. A very, very old friend.’
Odette clasped her hands tightly over one another. Her friends were normally so sensible. Surely, they wouldn’t be bamboozled into introducing her to some devotee.
‘Lovely to meet you, Harry,’ she said.
‘Pardon?’ Harry watched her face intently.
‘I said, it’s lovely to meet you.’
‘And you!’ He extended a rough hand, the one not claimed by the small girl.
‘My hearing,’ he added, his voice thick with the same street accent that edged Lawrence’s words when he’d had too many brandies or was tired.
He tapped the shell of his ear. ‘I don’t hear so well.
Mostly, not at all. It helps to see your lips.
’ His voice remained level for the most part, but on a few words, it tilted into a louder volume.
‘Mina—I mean, Wilhemenia—says you sing. I haven’t been to your shows, sorry. For obvious reasons,’ he added.
The little girl, still swinging off his hand, let her knees buckle. Her weight pulled Harry down with such force he lurched to one side.
‘Sorry,’ he said, chuckling as he straightened.
‘She lost her mum a few months ago, and her da’ cleared out ‘fore she was born. I don’t have it in me to take her to an orphanage.
’ He squatted down, then moved through a flash of gestures, sometimes talking and mouthing, at other moments just watching his hands.
The little girl moved her hands in response, not as fast as Harry, but twice as confident.
Odette watched, fascinated. It was not so different from the hand gestures used by the stagehands as they relayed messages up ladders and across the stage, unnoticed by the audience while the performance carried on.
‘It’s our language,’ he offered. ‘Not ours, we didn’t make it up. She can’t hear at all, never has. Her mum was the same, and she taught her how to talk with her hands. I’m learning so I can talk to those who’ve never had no hearing.’
‘She’s very clever,’ Odette said. The little girl looked to Harry, who tapped out something with his hands. She beamed, then nodded. Odette laughed. She obviously thought herself clever, too.
‘What’s her name?’
‘You ask,’ Harry said. He made a movement, and Odette copied it. He made another. Odette followed. The little girl moved her hands.
‘What did she say?’ Odette asked.
‘Again,’ Harry said, along with a gesture. ‘Slowly.’
The little girl moved through the motions again.
‘E. M. M. A.’ Harry repeated in time with the gestures, and Odette couldn’t help but join in.
‘Emma,’ Odette said, with a smile she could not contain. ‘It is lovely to meet you, Emma.’
‘Does she like cake?’ Wilhelmina asked.
‘I don’t remember,’ Harry said, his hands painting shapes in the air. ‘You don’t like cake, do you Emma?’
A look of horror and outrage passed over Emma’s face, and her motions sped to a frantic pace. Harry laughed.
‘How forgetful of me,’ he said, with a tap and a swipe. ‘She does like cake.’
‘I will get the children to bring her some. They are probably in the kitchen. They are always hungry.’
Wilhelmina walked up the steps that led to the bright red door of Number 3 and opened it to call into the entrance hall.
When she came back down, she pulled Lawrence off to one side, and they drifted into a private conversation.
Meanwhile, Emma lined up her toes on the edge of the gutter and jumped down, then turned and jumped back up, her leather soles knocking against the stone.
Odette tapped Harry’s arm so that he looked at her. ‘My ears ring,’ she said, aiming for a tone somewhere between what he could hear and what others would not. ‘Sometimes it is so loud that I can’t hear anything else. Even the orchestra can’t get through. Is there really nothing that can stop it?’
Harry shook his head. ‘Would be a fine miracle, that, but no. It’s hard.
I didn’t want to think about it when it first started.
Then when the factory owner found out and laid me off, I was so angry.
Angry for years. But that was me. Thinking only of meself and what I’d lost. Couldn’t see where else it would take me. Or to who else, I should say.’
Emma extended her arms either side of her and balanced along the kerb, toe to toe, sometimes wobbling until she steadied herself.
‘The theatre has been my life. I don’t know who I am without it,’ Odette said, as loud as she could manage.
But clearly not loud enough, as Harry had turned away and missed her words.
Emma spun on her toe to face them again, and when she looked up, beaming, he said something to her with his hands.
She responded, so quick and deft with her fingers.
Odette touched his arm, then waited for him to face her.
‘What was that?’ she asked, trying to memorise the movement, wanting to learn.
He chuckled, as warm as a father. ‘She wants to know what happened to that cake.’