Fran Macilvey

Short Story – Mum – Part Eight

It was dark by the time Audrey stood up and decided she would like a cup of tea. The entire contents of the bureau, the letters – which fell like confetti on the carpet – and the suit, all went into the kitchen dustbin, covering the remains of last night’s chicken noodle soup. Sometimes Audrey recycled her food waste, and at other times, she just chucked it. Now, she was particularly grateful for the congealing saucy mess that smeared all over these precious letters. Recycle paper? Not this time.

With a rage, a fury that she had never felt before, Audrey collected every scrap of paper, every peeling corner of envelope and tape and threw them in the rubbish. The suit, so unworn and old-fashioned, went out. The suitcase would have gone too, but Audrey, disinclined to waste, at the last minute, left it where someone would find it and take it home. Look what I found sitting on the curb, Amanda. A lovely retro briefcase…

Pamela came for afternoon tea the following weekend, and noticed that the bureau was missing.

“How are you, Mum?” she asked, glimpsing care in her mother’s eyes.

“I’m fine love, really. Glad to get the clearing finished, to be honest. I think it’s about time we took a holiday, actually. Dad’s pension has been collecting and I think it’s time we spent some of it, don’t you?”

As her daughter nodded in agreement, enthused about hiring a small house for maybe a weekend and taking the whole family, Audrey pulled her into her arms for a hug. “Thank you for being such a wonderful daughter to me.”

My daughter she thought, with pride.

***

The End

***

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Short Story – Mum – Part Seven

“Come on, girl, you knew this would be hard…” Audrey whispered, as her hands shook.

She unfolded and placed all the letters in a pile, not daring to look at the contents. The world could wait, to shift on its axis. The same handwriting, the same salutations… My dear Naomi…. Darling Derek …the brief, to the point and unambiguous style Audrey recognized.

Without even needing to read, Audrey understood, of course. How could she not, with the affectionate writing clearly before her to give substance to snippets and snatches of conversation down the years, to telephone calls abbreviated. She had never been stupid, exactly, but always the last person to know. She had always taken what she saw at face value.

Facing her now, was the reason for the suitcase, Derek’s suitcase; the reason for the blue dress hanging at the back of Naomi’s wardrobe, that Audrey had given her when Naomi was first pregnant. The reason for the man’s grey flannel suit found in the suitcase: hidden for so many years because there was no way that Derek could come home wearing a suit that Audrey would not recognize. It was there on her husband, in the photos that she had not remembered snapping. Pamela. It was so obvious, now. How could Audrey not have seen it. Had she been blind?

At first Audrey had thought her sister was ill, pining for fresh air and good food. She laughed her out of despondency and they went away, taking the bus to the seaside or to the matinee at the Palais cinema. Audrey looked after her younger sister, always had done; and she had believed they shared all their secrets.

Audrey had bought that dress for Naomi to cheer her up. Thinking of it hanging wistfully at the back of her bedroom door, for some obscure reason, Audrey was comforted. Naomi liked that dress enough to keep it. Had she loved her sister, after all?

Then Naomi had become fatter, more tearful and frightened. Audrey watched, horrified, then a bit relieved, when her sister whisperingly asked her if she might take the baby? After all, Derek and she were trying for a family, weren’t they? Who would know, except the three of them? It could be kept quiet if the two sisters acted together…. But who was the father?

Audrey hadn’t pressed. What was the use of knowing which useless layabout it had been? She asked Derek whether he would be willing to take the baby.

He had been delighted. Of course. Now, Audrey could see that she had been a bit blind there. Which man would take on someone else’s baby without asking at least some questions? Derek hadn’t asked, he had just nodded and started crying, saying he would be pleased to help.

Yes, he had helped. He had got very involved with Naomi’s child, with Pamela. He had taken her off for weekends. Obvious now. It had been the three of them.

***

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Short Story – Mum – Part Six

Having stowed the suitcase in the boot of her car, Audrey was just locking the bureau when the doorbell rang. “Just coming!” she called, hastily pocketing her new keys, tucking away Naomi’s slip of paper and wiping her face with her hands. Two blurry shapes hovered on the threshold as she fixed on a polite smile. Standing blinking, she heard a voice asking, “Got a wardrobe for moving today, eh?”

“Yes, that’s right. Come in, it’s just through here…” and was relieved to turn away for a moment.

“Oh, it’s just a small thing, is it?” said the broad, genial man clearly in charge, bringing with him a thin, sloping junior with downcast eyes.  “We’ll have that over to you in two ticks. Going to 15 Welltower Gardens, you said?”

“Yes, that’s right. I’ll come and let you in. It’s not far.”

“Right you are then, missus.”

The sight of two men standing ready to do her bidding was unaccountably cheering. She smiled as the bureau was carefully carried out of the house, stowed in the back of an enormous van and driven away. She caught up with them and then stood by as they brought it into her house. It looked a bit ridiculous parked alongside the elegant coffee table in the living-room, but Audrey was thinking about the briefcase, the suit and the bureau’s contents. Paying the two men in cash, she closed the door with a sigh of relief. Tomorrow, she would be at her sister’s house again for the handover, but she had the rest of today to investigate and to wonder, what was so secret, it had to hide for twenty-five years?

Fingering keys and breathing deeply, Audrey faced the bureau and lifted the lid. That the contents were private was obvious. But there were faces in among the letters, the scraps of photos of houses, lanes and tall gents she recognized. Some of these were from her life too, and Audrey was puzzled as she lifted each picture gently and squinted down, remembering. There, a picture of her husband laughing, of Pamela dangling bare legs on a seaside wall. Of Naomi looking so happy…when had that been?

Dreaming would not answer her questions.  Audrey impulsively collected every scrap out of the drawers, checking under the blotter, at the back of the desk and feeling round edges. Everything retrieved, she looked at the emptied-out cabinet and sighed: now it stood devoid of its secret hoard, such a sad, neglected item, but on closer inspection, surprisingly promising. Shades of earlier grandeur might be restored and polished up.

Carefully, Audrey lifted small, folded letters out of crumbling envelopes and read. There were so many, that finally she decided to sort them in date order, to make more sense of them. She knew Naomi’s rounded, childish script, and the other, more sloping and spare. A hole opened up, small at first, like a slow puncture of alarm, hardly conscious, but gathering weight as the day wore on.

***

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Short Story – Mum – Part Five

At the back of the top shelf in the bedroom wardrobe, Audrey found something: an old suitcase, well out of sight and coated in dust so deep that she doubted it had been touched since Naomi had moved in twenty years previously. Without a chair to stand on, she managed to prod at it with her fingers, poking through the slatted shelves until it toppled forward with a sigh. Then it was a simple matter to grab the handle and slide it down onto the floor. It was surprisingly light. Sticky grime concealed a brown leather case with elegant, stitched handles. Not one that Audrey had ever seen before. When she tried the hasps, they held fast, and she had no wish to break them or spoil the leather. There must be a key, or a combination somewhere. Distractedly turning around the room, she remembered the bureau and hurried through to the lounge.

She tried all the hinges, the locks, all the angles on the desk that she could get any purchase on.  Nothing moved. She studied it from all angles, looking so closely that she might have been hoping to coax it: Where do I find a key for you, eh? What should I do now? Naomi had been straightforward. She had never had time for devious or clever games, so a key had to be nearby. Perhaps stuck to the base? Kneeling down and lifting a corner of the bureau experimentally, it was surprisingly easy to peer up and see – nothing taped there – and then walk it forward. On the newly exposed carpet, there was only a small piece of paper, a scrap torn from the edge of a newspaper. Seeing Naomi’s strong, confident handwriting down the margin of a “Glasgow Herald” scrap, Audrey wilted sorrowfully. All this would never bring her sister back.

It looked like a phone number, a three-four sequence, but not one she recognized. It might be worth a try. She fetched the suitcase, wiped the top with the cuff of her cardigan – instantly regretting the grey line which marked the knitted blue fabric – and tilted it onto her lap. Sitting alone on the carpet she felt like a schoolgirl tampering with something forbidden, trembling and fearful that someone would march in on her and give her a row. But these last of her sister’s belongings were hers now, a realization that finally brought home her loss. Rocking forward, she held her knees and cried, the tears dripping off her face and marking her trousers.

It was the thought of the removers coming that made her sit up suddenly. Idly fingering the locks of the briefcase, she twisted round the stiff combination until she selected the numbers in their left-right sequence. Audrey was so lightheaded from crying, she forgot to be surprised when the suitcase opened first time. As easy as that, the hasps flicked up, she lifted the lid and the hinges slid stiffly into position.

She found a brown envelope and a man’s grey suit. The jacket, Audrey had not seen before. Before unfolding it and allowing her fingers to feel something she might prefer not to, she opened the brown envelope, which contained keys, letters and papers. Hurrying, aware that now was not the time to be looking too closely, Audrey lifted the keys, two of them, small, identical and tied together with yellow string. It was satisfying to put them in the keyhole of the bureau and notice how smoothly they turned in the lock. Lifting the lid revealed shelves and two drawers. Solving the puzzle so easily, Audrey quickly scanned the contents of the bureau, spotting what looked like post-war photograph albums, several diaries, a fountain pen, a blotter and some stationery. All of this would be gone through, but not now.

***

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Short Story – Mum – Part Four

“Where is the key, though? I must’ve spent the last fifty minutes looking for it!”

That morning, Pam had been at the hospital with her small daughter, Susie, a fragile infant susceptible to every illness, who was currently suffering from chicken pox. With Susie off from playgroup and rather listlessly amusing herself at her mother’s heels, Pam was at Naomi’s house, trying to find a key into the bureau which stood in its usual place under the window in the lounge. It was the only decent piece of furniture.

“Perhaps we should leave it just now, darling. I would like the bureau actually; it would go well in the living-room, a step up from the table in the corner. Somewhere to keep my papers and things…” Audrey had just arrived from her art class and was relaxing with a cup of tea. “Shall we clear the kitchen now? It might be an idea. We only ever use the kettle and the cups…”

Together they started emptying cupboards and baking drawers and discarding the kitchenalia, some of which – the scissors, the potato peeler and the corkscrew – had been well used. Anything which looked new – the garlic press, the “Creuset” kitchen pots, the plastic sieve – was regarded suspiciously. Either it had turned out useless or was too heavy to lift. Doubtfully, Audrey considered whether she might have a use for the pots. Would they end up as merely a decorative addition to her kitchen? Pamela, just starting a family and with many years ahead of her, might be persuaded.

Though Audrey was sorely tempted to ask a firm of house clearers to come round and take everything away, some stubbornness insisted, “Not yet, not quite yet…” Until then, baking trays, cereal bowls and the remains of packets were to be considered, sorted or discarded. The hours passed easily, slowing down whenever Audrey unearthed memories trapped within recipe books that had belonged to their mother, or found the tea cosy that Ina had made from felted wool and kept through the war. A set of scales that had once looked so proud were now relegated to the top of the cupboard and hard to fetch down; and the steps that had been used to fetch Dad’s plum jam and marmalade from the high shelves in their old house, would have to find a new home. Several good charities locally would gratefully accept donations.

Gradually the house emptied until all that was left were the carpets and the bureau. Audrey arranged to have that delivered to her house the day before the Council were due to take possession and change the locks. In preparation, Audrey roused herself very early. By seven she was already pulling her own front door shut behind her and moving briskly up the path. She drove the two miles to her sister’s house and cautiously let herself in. Strange to think that tomorrow, these keys would no longer fit the door.

Expecting the removers to arrive at ten, Audrey walked through each room, checking to make sure that nothing was left. It was straightforward: the house was simply laid out and quite bare. Even so, Audrey checked all the cupboards and scanned the lie of the carpets, partly to put to rest uncomfortable memories of her sister’s occupancy and partly to make sure….

She just wanted to be certain.

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