Beneath the Skin(93)

Towards the end, when Antonia had left school at sixteen and spent more time at Sophie’s than at her own home, Candy went from faith to fervour, spending an inordinate amount of time at their local Catholic church. In fairness Antonia has never asked, but neither has the information been offered by Laura or any of the staff at The Ridings. Has Candy ever gone to church either from The Ridings or, in the early days, from prison? Has she asked to? Is religion ever mentioned at all?

Shifting her focus back to the carer, she follows her to a locked door. Her heart racing, she watches the woman punch numbers into a keypad, then follows again down a white-washed corridor until they reach Candy’s room.

The door is ajar, but still Antonia knocks, before pushing it back. Entering the bedroom, she smiles. ‘Hello Mum! You’re in here today,’ she says in a bright voice.

Candy is sitting in an armchair, staring fixedly at a small television in the corner. It’s a cold early December day outside, but the sun is insistent, shining brightly through the large window. With the heat of the radiator, it feels like summer.

Antonia perches on the bed, ready to wait patiently. ‘They like their routine,’ she remembers. It’s Sunday today, so that’s fine, but it’s different because she and Candy aren’t in the lounge, so she wants to tread carefully.

Letting out her breath, Antonia looks around. She hasn’t been in Candy’s bedroom since her mum first moved into The Ridings and she was so blinded with apprehension that day she took nothing in. She’s always assumed she’s guided each Sunday to the lounge because the carers and the nurses are hiding something beyond the locked doors. Restraining straps, a dirty bedroom, no toilet seat or bars on the windows. Perhaps even worse if she allows her imagination to dwell. But the room is lovely. It’s an en-suite bedroom, the walls are clean and white, the floral bedding matches the curtains.

There are several greetings cards on the window ledge, all slightly curved from the heat of the radiator. She stands and bends down to peep without touching. There are the cards she’s written that year. Valentine’s Day, Mother’s Day, birthday. And Easter, bloody Easter. ‘All my love, Chinue xxx.’ But there are other cards too. Birthday and Easter greetings from ‘The Staff at The Ridings’ and others from individual members of staff, Rose, Emma and Joe. Then she sees a card with a photograph of two chubby black babies attached with a paper clip.

‘Is it all right if I look?’ Antonia asks her mum.

‘They’re your second cousins. Twins,’ Candy replies, her eyes still on the television screen.

Antonia picks up the card and reads. ‘Dearest Candy. I thought you would like to see your brand new great-nephews. Twins, as you can see. I wonder if they will be as mischievous as we were! Love always from Thandi. PS We often think of Chinue and hope she is well.’

Antonia sits down again, still holding the photograph, feeling winded. Thandi, her mother’s twin. She married a Nigerian. The last time Antonia saw Thandi, she told her to fuck off.

Mike thumps awake. The complexity of the dream always escapes the moment he opens his eyes, but he knows that he’s bleeding, bleeding to death from stab wounds to his chest. He looks over to Olivia and touches her shoulder gently, as though to forgive the Olivia he knows was in the dream.

‘Bad dreams, guilty conscience,’ his grandmother’s always said with a sour face, her arms folded over a huge bosom.

‘Then I must be having a grand old time. Shame I’m too ancient to remember,’ his grandpa would reply, his eyes twinkling.

‘It’s only a dream, Mikey. Don’t worry, I’m here.’ They were his mother’s words. Soft and loving words. Mikey was always secure in her warm arms, knowing that she’d never hurt him or his sister, though protect them she would, to the ends of the earth.

Mike tries not to think of Antonia, but he does. Especially in those moments after waking from the dream, his heart hammering with relief. She was a young teenager, not so very much older than Rachel. A teenager who was awoken in the small hours to find her father bleeding to death, her crazed mother holding a blade and the dog howling. It sounded like a dream or a nightmare, a film even, but it wasn’t. She called an ambulance and her mother was arrested. The mother pleaded guilty at the trial and was sentenced to life imprisonment. Then later she was sectioned and remanded to a secure hospital. Such a horrendous trauma for someone so young and so vulnerable. Then being left all alone to fend for herself. Like now, just like now.

Mike releases his breath and turns, remembering her troubled expression that night as she told him. Her face was so close to his that they almost touched and she whispered the words, her eyes far away, her hands trembling in his.

He hasn’t seen her for weeks, simply dropping Rachel at the end of the White Gables driveway and collecting her from the same spot at the allotted time. ‘How’s Antonia?’ he asks Rachel lightly in the car on the way home, hoping to glean just a little something of how she’s faring. He knows she’ll meet a man soon enough. The thought is almost unbearable.

‘What was that, love?’ he asks, turning his head towards Olivia on the other pillow. Olivia has mumbled something he didn’t catch.

‘I said that you called me Antonia.’

‘Did I? I had a bizarre dream. Sorry, I’m only just waking up.’

Olivia turns in the bed and gives Mike a playful thump. ‘Rule number one, Mike, never call your wife by the wrong name, especially when she feels like a beached whale.’ She strokes her large bump and looks thoughtful. ‘Have you seen her lately? Do you pop round any more?’