Friday reading

In which there is a shake up at the Mission, Deb gets a letter and her desperation mounts.

When Colley handed me Rose’s letter I cried. Now, now, don’t take on so, he said, embarrassed. But I couldn’t help it. The sobs kept coming in waves bumping out of me and sending more tears flooding over my cheeks. Here, pet, he said. Come around here. He led me to the back of his van, out of sight of the girls in the kitchen. I crouched down, folding myself over the ache inside, clutching the envelope to my chest. The man’s big hand rested lightly on my back, and he repeated, There, there. There, there.

  When the storm had passed I straightened up, feeling dizzy and wrung out. Thank you, I said, my head bowed. I’m sorry. I rubbed my eyes with the back of my hand.

  I know nowt about what goes on in there, Colley said gravely. But I don’t think it’s any good for scraps like you.

  I hiccoughed and looked at his serious face. It’s not all that bad, I began to say but suddenly another wave of sobbing hit me.

  He stood there, his hands dangling by his sides. I could take you away from here but they’d come after me and charge me with kidnapping. There’s a lot of powerful folk mixed up in their business.

  I wouldn’t know where to go, I said. Only maybe, I smoothed out the envelope with the Irish stamp on it. It’ll depend what my friend says here.

  Yes, well I’d better be about my business now or there’ll be hell to pay. He hauled a crate of spuds out of the van and carried it to the kitchen door.

  I tucked the letter into the pocket of my jeans and rubbed my face with my sleeve before following him.

  As we entered the steamy, clattery kitchen he gave me the flicker of an apologetic smile.

  I kept the letter in my pocket until my lunch break. I wanted to read it when there was no one around and to take my time over it, like savouring a bar of chocolate. Just knowing it was there lifted my heart as if it was a talisman capable of warding off evil.

Heather had been gone three weeks and every day since she left a new story did the rounds. She had embezzled money. She was having an affair with Jonah – we laughed at that one. Or she was in cahoots with someone else on the board to flit to an island in the sun with the money. She was gone to set up a new mission. She’d had a breakdown. Heather wasn’t her real name. She was a man in disguise. A secret agent. A turncoat. The devil.

The only one who remained silent was Dilys. No amount of coaxing could get her to open her mouth. Maybe the truth was that she didn’t know anything but enjoyed being the centre of attention for a while. Which when you think about it was understandable. No one took much notice of her otherwise. Looking at her as I did then a horrible fear began to gnaw at me. Not fear of her, you understand, but fear of becoming like her. Once upon a time she must have had a family, a circle of some kind. Where were they all now? Had they shunned her and sent her away or had she left, the way I did and got lost?

I knew I could go back to you all but then I remembered why I had left and I felt suffocated. Which was worse, to be trapped in that place with other strays or to go back and be unhappy at home? My head moiled with all these questions, fears and apprehensions. I told myself to wait for Rose’s letter, she would help I knew. That is I needed to believe she would but every day that passed without a letter the fear nibbled another piece of my confidence away.

Meanwhile, we got a new headmistress, at least that’s how the other girls and I thought of her. This one came from Spain. Pilar. She arrived with the woman on the board, whose name we never heard. We called her Miss Prim because of the boring white blouse she wore, buttoned up to her chin, with her suits.

They arrived on a Saturday morning, all of us peeking out the windows and around doors to get a look at the new boss. Pilar brought any amount of suitcases and bags with her so a few of us were drafted in to haul them upstairs for her while Miss Prim went ahead explaining the daily routine to her. I was behind Miss Prim’s broad behind which kind of creaked with the armour of her tights and skirt. She was so neat and clean and proper that I wondered did she ever kick back and let it all hang out.

 Pilar joined us at prayers and afterwards Miss Prim introduced her, ending up with, I know you girls (‘girls’ included Dilys and Hilda and all the other older women too but maybe they just looked more ancient than they were) you’ll make Pilar very welcome, won’t you now? Did she expect a resounding ‘Yes’? If so she was disappointed, we stared blankly at her and at Pilar, who tried to smile but seemed to find that action painful. Then Jonah got up with all his bluster and blow about God has sent us this new leader a pillar of wisdom a tower of strength a model of virtue a beacon of hope a lighthouse in our troubled darkness and the Mission of the Guiding Light bows down in humble gratitude, holy rolling on and on.  Amen.

Photo by Todd Trapani on Unsplash

  For all that she came from the land of sunshine and oranges Pilar was a chilly bitch. She rarely spoke and when she did her English was so accented that we struggled to understand her. She had a weird silent way about her and scared the living daylights out of us by suddenly appearing out of nowhere. She seemed to know when we were slacking because there she’d be just when we lay down on the beds we were making or slipped out the back door for a smoke.

Cigarettes were contraband but someone always managed to get a pack on their shopping day. Sal gave me a few anytime she landed in for a night. They were like manna from heaven. I swear I never got such a hit from fags as I did in that place. You know that first jolt when it hits your lungs and blood stream and everything shifts sideways? Then the delicious shudder running under your skin? The blue smoke curling into the air was seductive too, misting the sharp edges of the house of rescue, which was beginning to feel more and more like the house of doom.

Even though the day was cold and drizzly I went out to my favourite corner in the garden to open Rose’s letter. I huddled in its shelter, imagining that I could catch the trace of scent from the blossoms which had long since faded and fallen. I smiled at the SWALK she had written on the back of the envelope but the contents were so disappointing that my warm feeling quickly changed to cursing her. The first let down opening the envelope was to find only one scutty sheet of paper folded inside, and the second was to find that she had written on only one side of the page. I began to read, hoarding every word, then re-read and re-read till I had it off by heart, yet at the same time I was raging with frustration and despair.

Dear Deb, (Rose wrote)

  Your letter took me by surprise. If it really was from you. I’m worried about you and the people or person you are with. Before I do anything practical to help you I need to be sure the letter genuinely came from you. I won’t send money until I am sure.

  I plan to be in London after Christmas visiting my Uncle Mark. He would be able to help you in your quest unless you have changed your mind and are ready to come home.

  Draw a portrait of me and send that to prove you are really you.

  I miss you Deb and I have lots to tell you about our mutual friends, M and JW.

  Send me that portrait soon and I’ll be on the job.

  Lots of love,

  Rose  xxxxxxx

As I folded the letter and slipped it back into the envelope I was thinking maybe I should tear it into tiny morsels and eat it like they do in the flicks. That way I could be sure no one would find it. Instead, I chose the alternative of keeping it on me at all times. Like the proud women in costume dramas I kept it in my bra. I never before wished for big boobs but it would have been easier to keep it in there if there was a bit more flesh to ‘lift and separate’ like they say in the ads!

  That night in my room I got out my sketchpad and charcoal. I passed the charcoal over the page and stopped. I had been making sketches while I was there, sometimes just of things around me, a glass of water, the bedside table, my runners (which were looking pretty grotty by that stage) and a few self-portraits using the tiny mirror stuck inside the wardrobe door. Sometimes I messed around with my left hand which produced different pictures altogether, more fanciful, more free. The two sides of my brain vying with one another, pulling me this way and that maybe. Which was going to win?

 I shut my eyes and tried to conjure Rose’s face. But I was blank. It’s the hardest thing in the world to do – did you know that? To bring the whole face of a person you love before your mind’s eye. I think it’s because after a while of loving and knowing the person you don’t really look at their face anymore. Or you look but what you see is more than their face. You hear them speaking, if resting, you wonder what they’re thinking about. There’s a music in your head around the person, all the times you have talked to them and laughed and cried with them and touched them hovers around their face. Memories crowding their features.

  I tried and tried and tried till my fingers were sore. All night, I sat up conjuring Rose’s image, her smiles, and quips and moments of darting outrage. The picture I came up with had my face in the background, like a shadow peeping over her shoulder. It was the best I could manage and I needed to get it in the post the next day. I had to get out of that place before I went crazy or sank away out of myself altogether.

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