Three Things About Elsie(72)

I was going to draw the curtains, but something stopped me, and I took one last look through the glass and out towards the ocean.

‘I hope she’s all right,’ I said. ‘I hope she can find her way back.’

I held the material in my hand. Never before had it felt so difficult to close a curtain.





10.01 p.m.


I don’t know when I first started sleeping in that chair.

I only remember staying up one night, because I couldn’t stomach the thought of going to bed, and it just happened. I didn’t mean it to. I borrowed two pillows from the bedroom and I used the little blanket on the back of the settee. It was quite comfortable, when you got used to it, and if you tucked yourself in, it wasn’t that cold. I didn’t dare leave the fire on, of course. Not after everything that happened. I kept it plugged in, though, for company, and I watched a red light dance through the imaginary coal and pretend to be a flame.

I would never have been found out, either, if Miss Ambrose hadn’t dropped in without any kind of forewarning. I always put the pillows back on the bed, and ruffle up the eiderdown, just for appearances’ sake, but she caught me out before I’d had a chance to do it.

‘Florence,’ she said. ‘Have you been sleeping in the chair?’

I chose something to look at.

‘Because if you have, I’m going to have to put you on night-time visits.’

I turned to her. ‘I don’t want someone coming in and putting me to bed, like a toddler.’

‘Then can you please go back to sleeping where everyone else sleeps?’

I wanted to tell her I felt better sleeping in the chair, that when I went to bed, all I did was lie there and listen for Ronnie walking around in the flat, that I could never find my sleep, because my mind was too busy trying to think of a reason for all the noises. But how can you talk to somebody when even their eyes aren’t listening to you?

‘So that’s settled then?’ she said.

I folded my arms as a reply, and after a few seconds, I heard the front door close to. I did think about carrying on with it, but Miss Bissell has a knack of knowing what you’re up to, even if Miss Ambrose rarely has the first clue.

I’d give anything to be in that chair right now.

I can just about see it from where I am, if I turn my head, but it’s getting more and more difficult because the longer I lie here, the less my body wants to do what I’m telling it to. It’s easier just to look at the nonsense under the sideboard, although I can’t make that out at all now. It’s so dark.

I keep thinking about Mabel and those little children. I’ve never really had much of an opinion about children. You don’t, really, if you have none of your own. It’s not that I ever set out not to have them, life just seems to pick up speed all by itself, and before I knew it, I was having a little retirement party at the factory. Drinks in white plastic cups. People you’ve never even said hello to before, waving their goodbyes. And you get home, and it’s only then you realise you forgot to make a family. It makes you think, though, when you see children close up like that, how they’re like tiny versions of yourself, carrying on where you left off.

Mabel said she’d pop in and visit. She hasn’t sent word, but people just drop in on you sometimes, don’t they? Look at Miss Ambrose. Mabel will be in such a state when she finds me.

‘Whatever have you been doing, Florence? How did you manage to get yourself down there?’

She won’t move me. You’re not supposed to, are you? I read about it. In a magazine. She’ll wait for the ambulance men instead. She’ll talk to me while we wait, though. About the town hall and the dance, and all those quicksteps we used to do. She’ll keep talking in the ambulance, and she’ll still be talking when we get to casualty. She’ll talk to all the other people in the bay as well, because that’s the kind of person Mabel is. She’ll be wearing a white top and a skirt full of flowers, and all the flowers will dance when she walks across the room. Her hands will smell of soap, and when I say something to make her happy, her whole face will find the laughter.

She’ll talk to the sister when we get to the ward. They’ll find something in common, because Mabel always finds something in common with everyone. I’ll look over, and the sister will check the watch that’s pinned to the front of her uniform, and she’ll nod, and Mabel will be allowed to sit with me. There will be lamps on at the nurses’ station, but all the other beds will be in darkness, and the rest of the ward will be bathed in a liquid quiet. Mabel will pull her chair closer, so she can whisper. She will brush the hair from my face, and pull the blankets straight, and tell me everything is going to be fine. And it will be. Because sometimes, that’s all you need. Someone to be there. Someone to watch over you, as you fall into sleep. Someone to tell you everything is going to be fine.





FLORENCE


The dining room seemed like a stranger in daylight. We all studied the plates of scrambled egg and the little sachets of brown sauce, as though we couldn’t work out what they might be doing there, sitting in front of us. The tables were covered in thick white linen and there were grains of sugar scattered around, where someone had failed to brush them up adequately. I was keen to point this out to the waitress, but after Elsie and I had a discussion, I settled for sweeping them up with my hands instead and dropping them on to the floor very theatrically. The tables were so close together, my elbow occasionally brushed against Miss Ambrose’s cardigan sleeve.