Read Online The Woman Before Me by Ruth Dugdall - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Ruth Dugdall
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the duvet and make it a den.
I placed the empty nest on her pillow, so she would see it when she opened her eyes.
She was so pale, her long blonde hair lying in a rope on the pillow. I tiptoed right up to the bed. She hadn’t stirred and I suddenly wanted to kiss her. Surely that would be allowed, if I were careful not to wake her. I climbed onto the bed, and lay down close to her, afraid of being caught but entranced by my beautiful mother. If she woke she might shout for Dad to fetch me away, and I would get a good hiding. But it was worth the risk, just to be near her.
I touched her cheek with my hand, cool and dry. Her parted lips were cracked. I leaned over and brought my lips to her cheek, then to her lips, feeling the roughened skin on my mouth. But there was no warmth there either. I wanted to hug her, to press my warm body over her cold one. She held something in her hand, her fingers grasping the neck of a bottle almost empty except for a few of her pink sweets. I pulled at it, but it was as if her fingers had been welded to the glass.
Then, a muffled sound came from the wardrobe.
I froze, thinking of the monster I feared lived in wardrobes, as I watched the door inch open. Expecting a furry paw, or claws, I held my breath, cowering into my mother’s stiff body. Instead, the open door revealed Peter. His mouth, smeared with sugar, was a round wound of an ‘O’. “I saw her do it,” he said, “but I couldn’t stop her, ’cos then she’d know I was hiding in here and she’d tell me off for eating all your sweets”.
Between his feet was the empty ice cream box. His eyes were red and puffy and dried tears streaked his face.
“I saw her take all her pills, and now she won’t wake up.”
11
Black Book Entry
What I remember most about my mother’s funeral was the hushed voices of dark clothed strangers, huddled in corners of our flat, whispering as I walked by. No-one would talk to me so I sat in the corner of the front room and waited. Dad came over, swaying as if he’d had too much beer like he always did at Christmas, and patted me on the head, pulling my hair with his heavy hand. “You’re a good girl, Rosie.”
Mrs Carron came over, and handed him a whisky. I heard him say ‘Thank you, Isabel,’ and that was how I found out her name, but she was always Mrs Carron to me. When she came to kiss me all I saw was teeth, and I moved away so she caught my jaw with a tight peck. She was younger than you’d think a widow should be, and though she was dressed in a black skirt her blouse was red and silky. She had shiny lips and big gold earrings and I didn’t like the way she looked at my Dad, like our cat used to look when it brought a bird in from the garden. She led him away, into the front room and the door was closed behind them.When they’d gone I wiped my face where Mrs Carron had kissed and the back of my hand was smeared with pink lipstick.
I didn’t know where Peter was and I didn’t care. No-one in the room came to talk to me, but I saw them look over often. I felt like I’d grown horns or something. And then a group by the door separated to let a round woman in a large fur coat enter. She had a tiny hat like a porkpie balanced on her head, and a piece of black lace over one eye, but I could still see it was Auntie Rita straightaway. I jumped right up and ran to her.
“Oh my, Rose, what a big girl you are! You’re going to be quite the bobby dazzler in a few years.”
She took a tissue from her shiny black bag and spat on it, wiping the remaining lipstick from my face and tutting. She smelled strongly of roses, and I wanted to bury myself into her soft coat.
“It’s not real fur, but who’d know?”
“It’s very soft.”
“I need to take it off. It’s too hot in here.” She peeled back the fake animal skin, revealing a tight black dress and fat knees in thick tan coloured stockings. “I must sit down, Rose. My legs are like lead weights.”
Rita sat on a wooden
I placed the empty nest on her pillow, so she would see it when she opened her eyes.
She was so pale, her long blonde hair lying in a rope on the pillow. I tiptoed right up to the bed. She hadn’t stirred and I suddenly wanted to kiss her. Surely that would be allowed, if I were careful not to wake her. I climbed onto the bed, and lay down close to her, afraid of being caught but entranced by my beautiful mother. If she woke she might shout for Dad to fetch me away, and I would get a good hiding. But it was worth the risk, just to be near her.
I touched her cheek with my hand, cool and dry. Her parted lips were cracked. I leaned over and brought my lips to her cheek, then to her lips, feeling the roughened skin on my mouth. But there was no warmth there either. I wanted to hug her, to press my warm body over her cold one. She held something in her hand, her fingers grasping the neck of a bottle almost empty except for a few of her pink sweets. I pulled at it, but it was as if her fingers had been welded to the glass.
Then, a muffled sound came from the wardrobe.
I froze, thinking of the monster I feared lived in wardrobes, as I watched the door inch open. Expecting a furry paw, or claws, I held my breath, cowering into my mother’s stiff body. Instead, the open door revealed Peter. His mouth, smeared with sugar, was a round wound of an ‘O’. “I saw her do it,” he said, “but I couldn’t stop her, ’cos then she’d know I was hiding in here and she’d tell me off for eating all your sweets”.
Between his feet was the empty ice cream box. His eyes were red and puffy and dried tears streaked his face.
“I saw her take all her pills, and now she won’t wake up.”
11
Black Book Entry
What I remember most about my mother’s funeral was the hushed voices of dark clothed strangers, huddled in corners of our flat, whispering as I walked by. No-one would talk to me so I sat in the corner of the front room and waited. Dad came over, swaying as if he’d had too much beer like he always did at Christmas, and patted me on the head, pulling my hair with his heavy hand. “You’re a good girl, Rosie.”
Mrs Carron came over, and handed him a whisky. I heard him say ‘Thank you, Isabel,’ and that was how I found out her name, but she was always Mrs Carron to me. When she came to kiss me all I saw was teeth, and I moved away so she caught my jaw with a tight peck. She was younger than you’d think a widow should be, and though she was dressed in a black skirt her blouse was red and silky. She had shiny lips and big gold earrings and I didn’t like the way she looked at my Dad, like our cat used to look when it brought a bird in from the garden. She led him away, into the front room and the door was closed behind them.When they’d gone I wiped my face where Mrs Carron had kissed and the back of my hand was smeared with pink lipstick.
I didn’t know where Peter was and I didn’t care. No-one in the room came to talk to me, but I saw them look over often. I felt like I’d grown horns or something. And then a group by the door separated to let a round woman in a large fur coat enter. She had a tiny hat like a porkpie balanced on her head, and a piece of black lace over one eye, but I could still see it was Auntie Rita straightaway. I jumped right up and ran to her.
“Oh my, Rose, what a big girl you are! You’re going to be quite the bobby dazzler in a few years.”
She took a tissue from her shiny black bag and spat on it, wiping the remaining lipstick from my face and tutting. She smelled strongly of roses, and I wanted to bury myself into her soft coat.
“It’s not real fur, but who’d know?”
“It’s very soft.”
“I need to take it off. It’s too hot in here.” She peeled back the fake animal skin, revealing a tight black dress and fat knees in thick tan coloured stockings. “I must sit down, Rose. My legs are like lead weights.”
Rita sat on a wooden
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