It
feels strange coming home again after all these years. Of course, given the
manner of my leaving, I knew it would be a long time before I could return.
Only a short visit of course. I’ll need to get back soon. And it's Christmas. I always loved Christmas and so does Steph.
The old house appears much the same
as when I last saw it. How many years is that? Ten? More? It looks in need of
more than a lick of paint. The window frames are almost bare wood—probably most
of it rotten. A couple of loose slates perch precariously half over the gutter,
and the chimney looks a bit dodgy.
The vine almost covers the greenhouse
now. Wonder if there was a grape harvest this year? Wonder if Mum did anything
with them? Does she ever?
I’ve let myself in and I can hear
her bustling away in the kitchen; radio playing some middle of the road song I
don’t recognise. I’m not ready to see her yet. Don’t want her fussing over me.
No, it’s Steph I’ve come to see.
I make my silent way past the
brilliant white Christmas tree with its twinkling multi-coloured lights, up the
carpeted stairs and along the landing to her room. She’s there, waiting for me,
all pink and white.
‘Hello, sweetheart.’
Her small face lights up and she
reaches out to me. I give her the biggest cuddle, lift her up and twirl her
round and round, until she squeals with laughter. Sweet little golden haired,
blue-eyed Steph, my baby sister. Not a baby now, of course; she must be twenty-five
at least. But then, Steph could never properly grow up, you see. Something
wasn’t right in her head. A difficult birth had deprived her of oxygen for a
few vital minutes too long.
‘Angie. I’ve missed you so much. I’ve been so lonely without
you. There’s no one to play with. Are you going to stay this time? Please say
you’ll stay. We’ll have such fun.’
‘Now, Steph, you know I can only
stay a little while and then I have to go back.’
She tugs at my sleeve, her mouth
set in a stubborn pout. ‘Then take me with you. I don’t mind. Really. I’d love
to go with you.’
‘But what about Mum? She’d miss you
dreadfully. And there’s Dad. He’d be lost without his best girl.’
Yes, I know Steph’s always been
Dad’s favourite. ‘She needs all our love,’ he would say to me, ‘because she’s special. You’re blessed, Angie. Looks,
brains. You’ve got it all.’
All except a father’s love.
A heavy sigh wells up inside me and
I let it out.
Steph’s expression changes from petulant to
concerned. She frowns and her blue eyes open wider. She takes my hand and
squeezes it. ‘What’s wrong, Angie?’
I force a smile and pat her hand. ‘Nothing’s
wrong. I’m just so happy to see you, I’m a bit choked up. That’s all.’
Steph smiles. She touches a stray
strand of my hair. ‘Do you dye it now? It’s still just as black as ever.’
This strikes me as amusing and I
laugh. ‘No, Steph. I don’t need to.’
‘Mum’s hair’s very grey now. She
did try bleaching it, but it didn’t suit her. She said she looked like a tart
on a Saturday night at the dogs. Whatever that
means.’
I smile at the typically Mum
expression.
Steph’s face lights up in the
broadest smile. ‘Do you remember when Mum and Dad took us to Standish Moor? I
was only six. Of course, you were grown up and all you wanted to do was eye up
the boys, but Mum said fifteen was far too young for such nonsense. She told
you to play with me, and we had a race up the hill.’
I remember only too clearly; the
blustering wind, threatening rain, freezing cold, scrambling over rocks and
heather to get to the top. All it would have taken was for some bloke who looked
like Heathcliff to come thundering past on a black steed and I would have sworn
I’d stepped into Wuthering Heights.
‘You beat me,’ I said and we both
laughed. ‘You were smaller and could squeeze around the rocks easier.’
‘You had silly shoes on and refused
to wear your boots because you said they made you look frumpy.’
‘They did.’
‘I had pink Wellingtons. With kittens on.’
‘You did. I remember.’
I take her hands in mine and we
whirl around the room. Her laughter echoes with sheer childish pleasure.
‘Oh, let’s go to the park, Angie. I haven’t
been to the park in so long, I can’t remember. And we could play on the swings.
You could push me.’
Her smile freezes. I stop dancing.
We’ve both heard it. Footfalls on the stairs. Mum. Am I ready to see her yet?
No. Not the right time. Too soon. But one day…
I must hurry, or she’ll catch me
with Steph. That would never do.
‘I have to go now, darling. Give
your big sister a goodbye kiss.’ I clasp her to me and know that if I was actually
holding her thin, little body, it would be shaking with her sobs.
‘Oh Angie, Please take me with you.
Please. I don’t want to stay here any
longer. I’m so tired.’
‘I know, love, I know. But it’s not
time yet. Soon though. I promise that next time I come and visit, I’ll take you
back with me.’
The footsteps are coming closer, as
Mum paces steadily along the landing. Steph tenses. I wrench myself free from her
spirit’s iron grasp and step back into the shadows.
Mum opens the door. I’m shocked how
much she’s aged since I last saw her. She looked haggard then, but funerals do
that to people, especially when they’ve just lost a daughter. Parents shouldn’t
have to bury their children. It isn’t the natural way of things. Soon poor Mum
will have buried both hers and she doesn’t deserve all this tragedy in her
life. But then, I know she won’t have to suffer too much longer.
I only hope Dad raises his head
long enough from the whisky bottle to help her through these last weeks.
Mum’s sitting beside Steph’s bed. She
takes one limp hand in hers. Wires pump everything from oxygen to food into my
little sister as she lies there, peacefully sleeping in her coma. She slipped
into it two days ago. Her doctors don’t expect her to wake up again.
Mum leans forward and kisses her
pale cheek. Steph’s eyelids flutter.
‘Steph? Are you awake?’ I know Mum
realises hers is a forlorn hope, but anything that she can cling to will be
welcome, as she is forced to watch her daughter slip away from her, a little at
a time.
Steph’s voice startles me. She is
so close. ‘Will Mum be all right, Angie?’
She slips more easily into my universe
these days. Before, when we would meet in the hospital, it required a
monumental effort for her to send her spirit to me. Now, she just slides right
in—a sure sign her time is nearly done in her world. Her world. What am I saying? It used to be my world too, before…
Hospitals. I’ve always hated them.
And I hated watching my little sister lying there, helpless, while they pumped
her poor tortured body full of toxic cocktails. As if she hadn’t suffered so
much already. Wasn’t it enough the day she woke up to a nest of her golden hair
lying on the pillow? I couldn’t reach her then. It was too soon. I had to stand
in the shadows and watch her sob her heart out, while Mum held her and rocked
her gently. Just as she had when Steph was a frightened little girl, aware for
the first time that she was different to her schoolfriends.
Somehow, my sister found serenity
through the pain. And she found me.
But Steph’s waiting for an answer.
‘She’ll be just fine, Steph. Don’t
worry.’
‘Will she come and join us one day?’
‘Yes. I’m sure she will.’
‘But not Dad.’ She shakes her head
and her curls swing from side to side. She must see my look of surprise. ‘Not
Dad, Angie. He was cruel to you and Mum. I don’t want him with us.’
‘He loves you. He would want to be
with you.’
‘No!’
I swear, if she could do it right
now, she’d stamp her foot.
‘All right, darling,’ I say, and
plant a kiss on the top of her head. ‘I won’t come for him.’
I swear the inert body on the bed issues
a sigh of relief. My imagination of course.
I give her spirit a little push. ‘Now
you must go back.’
‘But you will come back? Promise?’
‘I promise. Very soon.’
‘And you’ll take me with you?’
She’s growing fainter. I can only make out a shimmering outline, an almost
transparent image of her bodily form.
As she dissolves back into her
body, I just have time to say, ‘I promise. I’ll take you back with me next time.’
I linger a few moments, watching
Mum, as she strokes her beloved daughter’s hair.
‘’Bye, Mum,’ I whisper. ‘See you
soon.’
She turns in my direction. Maybe
she heard something. Maybe the slightest of breezes has tickled the back of her
neck. I know she can’t see me. Not in these dark shadows. Her face registers
confusion, as she scours the dimly lit room with tear-reddened eyes.
Then she shakes her head and turns
back to her vigil, while I slip away.
