Bella was beautiful. Too beautiful for her own good, the people said. She had clear, bright blue eyes framed in an oval face, flawless pale skin and auburn hair which wound in a thick coil at the back of her neck. She was tall, statuesque and charming. Light footed and cheerful, she sang wherever she walked – in my view, her detractors were simply envious!
She could have married any man in town, so it came as a surprise when she took to David McIntosh, the youngest of four boys, from a shabby family living in a shabby house outside town. Mind you, they were very hard workers, but wee Davie would have his days cut out, finding and keeping a home fit for his Bella. There was general sneering behind hands and much gentle mockery when she swore she loved him, and she would prove them all wrong. Very soon there was a babe in arms, and another one on the way. Bella began to miss the parties, and the company of her school friends. They weren’t thinking about babies – not yet!
The unthinkable happened. Bella left Davie and her three small girls. She left a note to say she was sorry, she still loved them all, but she needed to be alone for a while. Well! The gossips had a field day! Each story was an embellishment of the last, until you could have sworn that Bella had abducted by aliens. Meanwhile Davie put on a brave face and brought up his three daughters with the help of his family, while working. He was a slightly built man, and I swear, the strain of it nearly killed him.
About eighteen months later he got a letter from a solicitor saying that Bella wanted half of everything – the house, the bank account. There wasn’t much, but Davie did his best to split into equal shares. He and his girls moved back in with his folks for a while, and he rented out the house. This did not go down well with his mother. There was hell to pay.
Through it all, Davie was bringing up his daughters as best he could, telling them stories and tucking them in at night. He always spoke fondly of their mother, making sure that the children remembered her. He never gave up hope that one day, she would come home. Most folk looked on grimly, whispered “I told you so” to each other, and lent a hand now and then.
One evening – it must have been years later because I mind that the eldest Ellen, had just left the junior school – six o’clock, who should come walking down the street? You would hardly recognise her. She was thin as a rake. Her hair had been cut very badly short and her face was a mess. She struggled to keep standing, but there was no mistaking Bella. Davie was in the kitchen making the supper as one of the daughters answered the door. When “this woman” said she was their mother, the girl shut the door and tried to lock it. “Dad! She says she’s our Mum!” She left her standing on the doorstep.
He told me afterwards, he pushed past the girls and took the woman into the kitchen. He set an extra plate at the table and they all ate supper together. Bella slept on the sofa until after the girls were all at school the next day. She had obviously been living rough. She said she was sorry, she never realised until it was too late, how lucky she was, how much he had loved her. She swore she loved him, wanted nothing more than to stay, but would understand if he didn’t want her back. They talked for ages, until it was agreed that Bella could stay. I don’t think Davie would have let her out of his sight, actually, but he had to be sure that Bella would not leave again. The girls were really upset by the whole thing and thought he was just asking for trouble.
Davie is happy, though. You can see it in the way his face gleams. He has grown about three inches and seems to jog, rather than walk these days. I think they will make it. I hope they do.
Please share:
April 25, 2014
Anything for a blue badge
Fran Macilvey acceptance, choosing, conditions and diseases, disability, learning, patience, politeness, travel, truth, welfare cerebral palsy, Fran's School of Hard Knocks 3 Comments
Anything for a blue badge.
Now the Local Council had got in on the act, sending her a forty page form to renew her blue badge. She sighed. Such bureaucratic heavy handedness used to be reserved for the alphabet people, the DLA, PIP, WTC, HMRC, TLA agencies. But now, even the suits in the downtown offices seemed to approach parked cars with a cudgel. Since when had parking become so contentious?
Yes, she qualified for a DLA exemption, and here was a copy of her current letter of award.
Yes, she had a disability, although when asked to indicate its precise nature and extent within the boundaries of the small box provided, she was unable, sorry, to provide the entire requisite details.
Yes, she had always had a disability, still had it and always would have, God save her soul from its crushing drudgery. She would have loved to lose it, say, or leave it behind unclaimed at a lost property somewhere, but no. Perhaps it would be fairer to indicate how, in her own words, her disability had had her.
No, her disability was not progressive, but Yes, its effects did vary though again, she was unable to indicate the full nature and extent of its variableness even within the box outlined or on the extra space provided overleaf. How does one articulate loss, sorrow, heaviness, isolation, poverty, pain, humiliation and sheer boredom? She did her best, indicating that there were days she didn’t feel like getting out of bed, but she had to, nonetheless; that there were times when she had to crawl, because walking was impossible. That the wind and rain often put paid to her plans for some fresh air. That the complexities of driving into town were only made possible because she knew a place to park nearby.
She filled in the form, doing her best to suppress mounting irritation. She posted it off and within a few weeks her new badge came, all shiny and laminated, and with a picture of her unhappy visage on the back. It was a valuable, vital piece of kit for travel into town, her badge of freedom. Such a pity that she had to reveal so many personal details in order to get it.
Please share: