“She died in the house fire. Mummy started it on purpose. We weren’t meant to survive, but somehow I did. My little sister didn’t, though,” I said. I sounded strangely calm as I said these words. I looked away when I’d finished, knowing that Raymond’s face would be expressing emotions that I wasn’t quite ready to relive yet while he processed this information. He started to speak, but struggled.
“I know,” I said calmly, giving him a minute to compose himself. It was a lot for anyone to take in. It had taken me decades, after all. I told him a bit more about what had happened to Marianne, about what Mummy had done.
“Now that I’ve finally been able to talk about what she did to me and what she did to Marianne, I can’t possibly continue to have Mummy in my life. I need to be free of her.”
He nodded.
“Does that mean you’re going to . . .”
“Yes,” I said. “Next Wednesday, next time I speak to her, I’m going to tell her that we’re done. It’s time to cut contact, for good.”
Raymond nodded, almost approvingly. I felt calm, sure of the way forward. It was a novel sensation.
“There’s something else I need to do too. I need to find out everything that happened to me, to us, back then. I remember some of the details, but now I need to know all of it.” I cleared my throat. “So, will you help me, Raymond, help me find out what happened, the fire?” I said, not looking at him, my words barely audible. “Please?”
Asking for help was anathema to me. I’d told Maria that. “And how’s that been working out for you so far?” she’d said. I didn’t appreciate her somewhat pointed tone, but she was quite right. That didn’t, however, mean that it was easy.
“Of course, Eleanor,” he said. “Anything. Whenever you’re ready. Whatever you need.” He took my hands in his and squeezed them gently.
“Thank you,” I said, quiet, relieved. Grateful.
“I think it’s amazing, what you’re doing, Eleanor,” he said, looking at me.
This is what I felt: the warm weight of his hands on me; the genuineness in his smile; the gentle heat of something opening, the way some flowers spread out in the morning at the sight of the sun. I knew what was happening. It was the unscarred piece of my heart. It was just big enough to let in a bit of affection. There was still a tiny bit of room left.
“Raymond,” I said, “you can’t know how much it means to me, to have a friend—a genuine, caring friend. You saved my life,” I whispered, scared that tears might come, here in the café, and embarrass us both. Now that I’d started crying in public more often, it seemed that I would do it at the drop of a hat.
Raymond squeezed my hands tighter, and I fought, and won over, the urge to whip them away and put them behind my back.
“Eleanor, don’t thank me. You’d do the same for me, you know you would.”
I nodded. To my surprise, I realized that he was right.
“I remember the first time I met you,” he said, shaking his head and smiling. “I thought you were a right nutter.”
“I am a right nutter,” I said, surprised that he’d think otherwise. All my life, people had been telling me that.
“No, you’re not,” he said, smiling. “Aye, sure, you’re a bit bonkers—but in a good way. You make me laugh, Eleanor. You don’t give a fuck about any of the stupid stuff—I don’t know, being cool, office politics or any of the daft shite that people are supposed to care about. You just do your own thing, don’t you?”
I was crying now—there was no avoiding it. “Raymond, you swine,” I said. “You’ve made my smoky eyes dissolve.” I was quite annoyed when I said it, but then I started to giggle, and he laughed too. He passed me one of the café’s inferior paper napkins and I wiped off the dark remnants.
“You look better without it,” he said.
Afterward, we walked toward the point where we’d part in search of our respective bus stops.
“See you soon, then?” he said.
“Oh, you’ll be seeing me sooner than you think!” I said, smiling at him.
“What do you mean?” He looked puzzled, and mildly amused.
“It’s a surprise!” I said, gesturing with my hands and shrugging extravagantly. I’d never seen a magician perform onstage, but that was the look I was trying for. Raymond burst out laughing.
“I’ll look forward to it,” he said, still smiling as he fumbled in his pockets for his cigarettes.
I took my leave of him in a somewhat distracted frame of mind, my thoughts returning to Marianne and to Mummy. I had work to do now. The past had been hiding from me—or I’d hidden from it—and yet there it was, still, lurking in darkness. It was time to let in a little light.
39
Back to work! A cockerel’s dawn crowing had woken me from my slumbers. This glorious morning sound was powered by an AA battery and delivered through a tinny speaker, and was brought about by my setting my alarm clock the previous evening, rather than, as is the case in our avian friends, raised levels of testosterone and sunlight. It is fair to say that my bedroom is a testosterone and sunlight-free zone at present. But winter does pass, I told myself—remember that, Eleanor. Glen was slumped over my feet on top of the duvet, keeping them warm as she did her best to ignore the alarm.
Excited at the prospect of the day ahead, I dressed in a new white blouse, a new black skirt, black tights and the boots I’d got a while ago for a gig I should never have gone to. I looked smart, practical, normal. Yes, I was going back to work.
Years ago, one of the foster families I lived with had taken me, alongside their own children, on a “back-to-school shopping trip.” All three of us were allowed to choose new shoes and a new schoolbag, and were kitted out with a brand-new uniform (even though my skirt and blazer from the previous year still fit perfectly well). Best of all, the trip culminated with a visit to WHSmith, where the riches of the stationery aisle were ours to plunder. Even the most recondite items (set squares, butterfly pins, treasury tags: what were these for?) were permitted, and this booty was then zipped into a large, handsome pencil case which was mine, mine, mine. I am not generally a wearer of perfume, preferring to smell of plain soap and my natural musk, but, were it possible to purchase a bottle in which the scent of new pencil shavings and the petroleum reek of a freshly rubbed eraser were combined, I would happily douse myself with it on a daily basis.
I ate breakfast (porridge and a plum, as usual) and left in good time to catch the bus. Glen was still asleep, having moved under the duvet to occupy the warm space as soon as I vacated it. I left her some fresh water and a big bowl of kibble but I doubted she’d even notice I’d gone until she heard my key in the lock again tonight. She was very easygoing that way (although not, it had to be said, in lots of other ways).
The walk to the bus stop was more interesting than I remembered, perhaps because I was seeing it with fresh eyes after such a long absence. There was an excessive amount of litter and no litter bins; these two facts were surely correlated. This part of the city was aggressively gray, but green life still struggled into being: moss on walls, weeds in guttering, the occasional forlorn tree. I have always lived in urban areas, but I feel the need for green as a visceral longing.
Just as I was about to reach the junction where I cross to catch the bus, I stopped dead, my eye drawn to a sly movement, a measured dash of brownish red. I breathed in, the morning air cold in my lungs. Under the orange glow of a streetlight, a fox was drinking a cup of coffee. He wasn’t holding it in his paws—as has been clearly established, I’m not insane—but, rather, had dipped his head to the ground and was lapping from a Starbucks cup. The fox sensed me watching, looked up and stared assertively into my eyes. “What of it?” he seemed to be saying. “A morning cup of coffee, big deal!” He went back to his beverage. Perhaps he’d had a particularly late night out by the bins, was finding it hard to get going on this cold, dark morning. I laughed out loud and walked on.