Chapter 6 Tori
Tori
Wish Others Well
Dear Notebook,
Yesterday’s meeting was a joke. Group of strangers somehow rebuilding abandoned cottages, and only half of them up for it?
Can’t breach contract so will do my cottage eventually, but not yet.
Don’t need responsibility and hardly cope with getting out of bed every day, never mind anything else.
It’s three o’clock and have only re-read opening chapter of book four times, stared at wall for two hours, dragged old clothes on after quick sink-wash, and eaten buttered bread.
Not convinced about this Roseto business (though did read two interesting articles last night) and have zero intention being part of some pointless community-based project.
Was so hard being surrounded by people. Also, Site Manager got too close and the guy from council kept looking at me.
Shuddered, reminding me of last time was in crowded room… no— no— don’t— please—
Hand drops to jagged, ridged scars on abdomen. Stop, Tori. Deep breaths. In, out. In, out.
Get hold of myself. Should unpack. Only got out kettle, toaster and microwave yesterday.
Didn’t bring much from flat in Southside, but will never return to multi-cultural Birmingham.
Gave most clothes to Sabina. Party dresses, short skirts, tight tops, heels, handbags.
Won’t use again. Best friend may as well profit from my trauma.
Only packed laptop, books, kitchen utensils, TV, toiletries and casual clothes.
Sold squashy sapphire sofa and matching armchair, assorted gem-coloured cushions, turquoise rug, beech coffee table and fuchsia towels.
Threw out bedding and gave remaining stuff to charity. Don’t want memories of previous life.
Lounge looks like barren wasteland. Only TV unit occupies corner of peachy pearl-toned wallpapered room.
Dad sorted streaming box and Wi-Fi hub, checking to make sure technician left before my arrival.
Need new sofa but can’t afford it, and not as if needed for company.
Am okay being alone. Though maybe gives too much time to think about things don’t want to…
Huh. Someone at door. Knocking, calling my name. Sigh. Quicker just to answer.
Was Albie in white espadrilles, chinos and Hawaiian shirt, like something out of Miami Vice.
Have never met someone dressing so quirkily.
Asked how I was then said he needed fresh air, and could I go to walled garden with him because arthritic knees playing up.
Think it’s just pity, which I hate. Makes me more of a victim, even if people don’t know what happened.
Replied saying I had work, avoiding eye contact in case could tell I was lying.
Haven’t worked in months, have written nothing professionally since IT happened.
Creative tap turned off, with no ability to tell people’s stories.
Was off sick initially, and both Editor and HR rep confirmed the paper would wait a few months, but in the end, couldn’t face returning.
Being reminded of what was lost. Resigned once mortgage completed (dad helped with sizeable deposit, and as guarantor) then went freelance.
But can’t seem to write, hence running out of money.
Will have to do something soon. Don’t want to ask my parents for anything else.
Seeing Albie again reminded me of article he mentioned about care home.
Maybe track it down and do an updated piece? Might kick-start me.
Feel bit bad turning down his request. Maybe lonely, and needed company? But not in mood for chatting or being outside, although did crank open window earlier. Smells ripe in here. Might be me. Huh, should probably have shower. Been a few days. Just won’t look at naked body.
Another day. Breakfast was leftover Easter eggs dad smuggled into one of boxes, while gazing at distant green fields bordered by hedges and dotted with cows and sheep.
Scent of freshly cut grass drifted through window, lifting spirits.
World didn’t feel as bleak as usual. Hum of engine somewhere.
Maybe Site Manager mowing back lawn? He looks familiar, can’t quite place him.
Knock at door. Shocker. Bet it’s Albie/Gandalf again. Wonder what he’ll be wearing today. Thought amusing, despite myself.
Yep. Was new best friend. Brought several novels from manor library, said saw me looking other day. Pushed Wuthering Heights and The Buccaneers into my hands, remarking I look like, ‘a classics girl.’ Surely, more bag lady, in patterned baggy trousers and slouchy sweater?
Albie in dark blue jeans, cowboy boots and denim shirt with tartan pockets. Only thing missing was Stetson. Auditioning to be in Wild West film, or Yellowstone series? Didn’t ask.
Thanked him for books, secretly touched.
Think he was hoping for invite, but not ready yet.
Before leaving, told me he understands I want to be left alone, went through something similar.
Tearfully explained wife, ‘My darling Rose,’ died many years ago.
Shut himself away for long time. Death was sudden, tragic road traffic accident, hit by car while out shopping.
He was angry at driver, people, the world, but doing kindnesses for other people helped.
Started sitting on committees, volunteering in charity shops, and supporting school children with reading.
Didn’t feel so alone, gave him sense of purpose, and aided recovery.
Finished with, ‘If you can find it in your heart to wish others well and help them even when you’re in pain, you will be okay in the end. ’
Didn’t know how to reply, so just nodded.
After he left, threw books on counter and scrap of paper floated out.
Wish others well in old-fashioned cursive writing.
Hmmm. No actual good deed to be done, only sending positive vibes into universe?
Seems bit vague. On other hand, doesn’t cost anything.
And just because own life has gone to shit, doesn’t mean want other people’s to.
Now, can hear Albie watching TV. Walls should be thick enough to block sound but maybe there’s a crack somewhere.
Bridgerton intro music plays, and genuine smile creases face.
Loved first season – especially Eloise’s feistiness, and close-knit family like mine in the before – and glad Daphne had courage to punch creepy suitor.
Only wish I’d fought him off when he first came up to me in bar.
Just wasn’t expecting it. Dua Lipa blasting from speakers, loosened by cocktails, bantering with Sabina, Molly and Amber about cute guys in booth—
No. Not that night. Remember another one. Cuddled up on sofa with friends, wine glasses in hands, sharing chocolate bar… laughing, chatting, happy. Talking about celebrity crushes including Amber’s massive one on footballer with impressive, muscular thighs.
Single knock at door. Albie again? Climb off bedroom window seat where reading, answering less reluctantly than before. Balls. Think Gandalf growing on me.
No, cake tin on doorstep, left with handwritten note. Must be the day for them.
You didn’t stay for cake in the library,
so I wanted to make you this. Glad to be
one of your neighbours. Hope you don’t
have any allergies! Just in case, PTO.
Hope to see you soon, K x
Delicious lemon drizzle, large and perfectly round with tiny curls of lemon-rind sprinkled on smooth white icing. Mouth is watering. Will take at least week to eat. Turn note over. Listed ingredients and baking method with another message.
This recipe is a closely guarded secret,
so please don’t share it. Sometimes we
need to occupy our hands so our minds
can process, and our hearts can heal.
Baking has always helped me.
I hope in time, it helps you x
Don’t understand how farting around in kitchen with flour and eggs will make me feel better.
But there’s a warm spot in middle of chest and am grateful.
Kirsten thoughtful and kind. Makes me think of Albie’s comment at meeting about choosing kindness, every day, and his missive to wish others well.
Maybe not everyone in world is kind, but maybe not everyone unkind either.
Cut off slab of cake and take back to pillows on floor with mug of tea, switching on mindless TV. For a moment, long for mum’s homemade Italian cannoli, filled with creamy ricotta and sprinkled with crushed pistachios. But now live too far apart for me to request some.
Didn’t notice call because phone on silent.
Picked up voicemail, listening to Sabina’s lilting tones.
Hey Hun, just checking in. Missing you. How’s your new pad?
Can’t wait to visit. We’ll have so much fun exploring the countryside!
Bet there’s beautiful scenery. I’ll pack my wellies.
How are the new neighbours? All soft southerners, ha-ha?
Just wanted to see if there’s anything I can do, as you wouldn’t let me help you move.
[Pause] I know you’re being careful about giving your address out, but you know you can trust me, right?
I mean, we’ve been friends since I wet myself at primary school [Laughs] Remember that twat Mo Armstrong pointing and laughing, and how you shouted to stop being so mean, before hugging me?
I’ll never forget that kindness. [Another pause] You’ve always been so good at helping others, and championing people.
Please don’t lose that part of yourself.
[Deep breath] Anyway… work is ace, and Matty says, ‘Hi.’ He misses you, especially the way you rip it out of him.
Someone’s gotta keep him humble. Call me, okay?
I need to hear your voice. Love you… Bye.
Sabina’s voice brings years of friendship and nostalgia flooding back.
Nerve-wracking plays and boring assemblies, first day of secondary school, rolling skirts up at waist to shorten, cheap cider down local park, writing articles for school newspaper (usually about local cause or injustice) playing on hockey and netball teams, gigs, cinema, hanging out with boys, concerts, shopping at infamous Bullring shopping centre. Later, clubbing and hangovers.
Sabina knows me well. I used to help others.
Need to remember who I am. Can’t let him take everything.
Am glad she sounds happy. Hope all friends and family are.
Want the best for them. Perhaps Albie is right?
If can find it in my heart to wish others well, and help them, maybe will be okay.
After so many months of clawing depression, and with a fresh start, worth trying?
Can’t carry on like this. Need to try and leave darkness behind. Otherwise, what was the point of moving, other than to escape?
Scribbling a quick note, darted out of front door and slipped under Albie’s, holding breath.
Harmless old man. Need to start trusting judgement again.
Take a chance, let someone in, even if anxiety causes waves of nausea.
Although could be too much lemon cake… Anyway, didn’t wait for answer, came back into flat and re-settled on pillows.
Surprising sense of achievement. Smiled as thought of note.
11 a.m. tomorrow? Library? Tori
Somehow know he will be there. Leant back on self-made nest and stared at ceiling. Frowned. Am sure there was a hairline crack before, but now ceiling is smooth. Mind playing tricks.