haven’t been her for a very long time.
I return downstairs and fish the postcard out from its dusty hiding place with the fire tongs and burn it in the fireplace in the living room. I sit on the sofa, watching as the flames lick at the corners, dance across James Stewart’s lolloping smile, and then envelop him. When he and his strange rabbit sidekick have turned to dust, I sweep them up.
As I pour the ashes of the postcard into the kitchen bin, a new thought occurs to me. What if the postcard was meant for Oli from one of his university friends? What if they were too stoned to notice they hadn’t put his name or a message on it and I just burned it? What if he asks where it is? How do I explain what I just did without sounding certifiable? My hands shake as I reach for my car keys, and I steady myself on the kitchen table. I drop my head to my chest and inhale slowly—one, two, three—then out again. I do it again—one, two, three—then out again. I need to be calm. I need to think clearly; otherwise, I’ll have another episode. This is how they start; this is how I go from normal, sane, rational Sue to neurotic, paranoid “ I’d better lock Charlotte in her room for the weekend because Brian is away at a party conference and BBC news has a report about a child abduction in the next town ” Sue. One, two, three. One, two, three. Slowly my breathing returns to normal.
***
I feel calmer and happy when I return from the hospital. I felt better the second I stepped into Charlotte’s room and saw that she was still safe, warm, and being cared for. There was no change in her condition, and the nurses reassured me that she hadn’t had any visitors since Brian and I were with her yesterday. There is no reason to think James has found me. The blank postcard is just that. An innocuous blank postcard, sent to us in error or mistakenly delivered by the postman. I’ve barely slept since Charlotte’s accident. I can’t sleep at night for trying to work out why she did what she did. It’s no wonder my mind goes into overdrive sometimes.
For the second time today, I attach a leash to Milly’s collar and lead her out of the house. She smiles up at me, delighted to be out in the fresh air again. We only tend to walk her early in the morning and late at night, so an afternoon sojourn in the spring sunshine is an unexpected treat.
***
Judy opens the door with a scowl.
“Sue?”
I force a smile. “Hello, Judy. How are you?”
“Fine.”
I wait for her to ask what I want. Instead I am subjected to a long, slow eye sweep that starts at the top of my head with my gray roots, pauses at the wrinkles and dark circles that line my unmade-up eyes, flits over my best M&S coat, and settles, unimpressed, on my comfy brown Clarks slip-ons. Judy and I were good friends until we fell out when she took both girls to get their ears pierced for Ella’s thirteenth birthday without checking with me first. In retrospect, I may have overreacted, but we both said some pretty ugly things and the time for mending fences is long past.
“Great,” I say as brightly as I can manage when really I want to bop her on her sneering Chanel-smeared nose. “I don’t suppose Ella’s in, is she?”
“Ella?” She looks surprised.
“Yes. I’d like to talk to her about Charlotte. If that’s okay with you.”
Judy’s eyes narrow and then, just for a split second, a look akin to compassion crosses her face. I imagine she’s heard about the accident.
“Okay,” she says after a pause. “But keep it brief because she’s supposed to be studying for her exams.”
When I nod my assent, she turns back toward the hallway, pulling the front door toward her so it’s only open a couple of inches, and then shouts for her daughter. There’s a muffled cry in reply and then the door slams shut in my face. A minute or so later, it opens again. Ella peers out at me.
“Hi.” She looks at me suspiciously, just like her mother did.
“Hi, Ella.”
I return downstairs and fish the postcard out from its dusty hiding place with the fire tongs and burn it in the fireplace in the living room. I sit on the sofa, watching as the flames lick at the corners, dance across James Stewart’s lolloping smile, and then envelop him. When he and his strange rabbit sidekick have turned to dust, I sweep them up.
As I pour the ashes of the postcard into the kitchen bin, a new thought occurs to me. What if the postcard was meant for Oli from one of his university friends? What if they were too stoned to notice they hadn’t put his name or a message on it and I just burned it? What if he asks where it is? How do I explain what I just did without sounding certifiable? My hands shake as I reach for my car keys, and I steady myself on the kitchen table. I drop my head to my chest and inhale slowly—one, two, three—then out again. I do it again—one, two, three—then out again. I need to be calm. I need to think clearly; otherwise, I’ll have another episode. This is how they start; this is how I go from normal, sane, rational Sue to neurotic, paranoid “ I’d better lock Charlotte in her room for the weekend because Brian is away at a party conference and BBC news has a report about a child abduction in the next town ” Sue. One, two, three. One, two, three. Slowly my breathing returns to normal.
***
I feel calmer and happy when I return from the hospital. I felt better the second I stepped into Charlotte’s room and saw that she was still safe, warm, and being cared for. There was no change in her condition, and the nurses reassured me that she hadn’t had any visitors since Brian and I were with her yesterday. There is no reason to think James has found me. The blank postcard is just that. An innocuous blank postcard, sent to us in error or mistakenly delivered by the postman. I’ve barely slept since Charlotte’s accident. I can’t sleep at night for trying to work out why she did what she did. It’s no wonder my mind goes into overdrive sometimes.
For the second time today, I attach a leash to Milly’s collar and lead her out of the house. She smiles up at me, delighted to be out in the fresh air again. We only tend to walk her early in the morning and late at night, so an afternoon sojourn in the spring sunshine is an unexpected treat.
***
Judy opens the door with a scowl.
“Sue?”
I force a smile. “Hello, Judy. How are you?”
“Fine.”
I wait for her to ask what I want. Instead I am subjected to a long, slow eye sweep that starts at the top of my head with my gray roots, pauses at the wrinkles and dark circles that line my unmade-up eyes, flits over my best M&S coat, and settles, unimpressed, on my comfy brown Clarks slip-ons. Judy and I were good friends until we fell out when she took both girls to get their ears pierced for Ella’s thirteenth birthday without checking with me first. In retrospect, I may have overreacted, but we both said some pretty ugly things and the time for mending fences is long past.
“Great,” I say as brightly as I can manage when really I want to bop her on her sneering Chanel-smeared nose. “I don’t suppose Ella’s in, is she?”
“Ella?” She looks surprised.
“Yes. I’d like to talk to her about Charlotte. If that’s okay with you.”
Judy’s eyes narrow and then, just for a split second, a look akin to compassion crosses her face. I imagine she’s heard about the accident.
“Okay,” she says after a pause. “But keep it brief because she’s supposed to be studying for her exams.”
When I nod my assent, she turns back toward the hallway, pulling the front door toward her so it’s only open a couple of inches, and then shouts for her daughter. There’s a muffled cry in reply and then the door slams shut in my face. A minute or so later, it opens again. Ella peers out at me.
“Hi.” She looks at me suspiciously, just like her mother did.
“Hi, Ella.”
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