Dot. Araminta Hall

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      4 … Trying

      I know I’m not perfect, my goodness no one needs tell me that. But I have tried my best, really I have, and yet all the evidence would suggest that I’ve failed pretty spectacularly. She should have told her years ago; in fact it never should have been something that needed telling, it should have simply been part of her knowledge, like the fact that I like marmalade for breakfast or that summer comes after spring. But I have known for years that my daughter is not going to; she’s not going to do anything much more than function. I don’t really blame her; I don’t think I gave her much of a start in life or much to hang on to in the way of understanding about love and relationships. In my defence I would say I found it very hard after Howie died to be properly present in anything, which I do realise is a poor excuse, but is at least true. I know she hates me and thinks I’m ridiculous and stuffy and maybe she’s right, but I do care, if only I could find the right words.

      I decided to tell Dot this morning because it’s her fourteenth birthday today. I don’t know why it suddenly seems the right thing to do, but I think she’s started wondering about things like who you are and where you’re from and I don’t want her to waste time wondering about things that should be obvious. Goodness, we all have a hard enough time working the rest out, we don’t need to start off on a losing foot. I sat on my bed, dressed and ready, waiting to hear her get up. When I heard her on the stairs I opened my door and asked her to come in for a minute. Of course she was surprised enough by this request not to question me. I know they both think I’m ridiculous about my things, but I have to keep them safe. Possessions are not just materials stuck together to make something, they hold time in their structure, meaning in their make-up. We are the guardians of their knowledge and without them we might as well all crumple up and accept the dust swirling around our feet. I appreciate this is an outdated concept in our disposable society, but I don’t see life getting any easier by virtue of the fact that we can throw everything away. And besides, when you understand all of this, you realise that you are only a guardian in life, which somehow makes things easier, or at least it has for me. What you do and how you behave matters because that is what carries our history, we are what makes up the human race and that is a responsibility worth taking seriously.

      Dot looked out of place in my room in her jeans and T-shirt, her hair tangled, so I smiled to put her at ease.

      ‘Sit down,’ I said, but then she went to my bed and was about to sit on the lace and I had to shout at her to stop and so we got off on the wrong foot. It’s just that the lace was my mother’s veil on her wedding day and her mother’s before that and mine. I had hoped it would one day be Alice’s but I think we all know that’s never going to happen. So I’m keeping it for Dot, although chances are she’ll never wear it either, even if she does get married.

      I didn’t know how to begin and so I launched straight in. ‘It really should be your mother who tells you about all of this, but I can’t see a day when she might and so I’m going to.’ I hoped Dot understands that she must not repeat this conversation to Alice, she certainly nodded in a very serious way that made me want to sit next to her and soften the blow with a steady arm around her shoulders. But we are all made a certain way and I am too old to break my mould. ‘Your father ran off with another woman, plain and simple.’ I regretted the use of the words ‘plain and simple’ as they left my mouth, but I sat as still as I could, only allowing myself to adjust the brooch which always sits at my neck.

      Dot looked at me for a while, her little face crumpling with the effort it was taking to absorb the information. ‘Who,’ she said finally.

      ‘A woman called Silver Sharpe. She was the barmaid at the Hare and Hounds for a while. Frightfully common.’

      ‘But …’ She needed me to help her but my mind felt as if someone had whitewashed it. ‘But why?’

      I shrugged and then I said something stupid like, ‘Men are very flighty, they pretty much always let you down.’

      ‘Really?’ asked Dot. ‘Grandpa didn’t.’

      ‘Well, I suppose he did. If he hadn’t been stupid enough to go out in that storm he wouldn’t have been hit by the boom and, well …’ I knew I had to stop even as I was saying the words because a strange rage was building in my chest when I hadn’t even known that I was angry. ‘Anyway, Dot, this isn’t about Grandpa. I wanted you to know that your father left and there’s no point fretting about him.’

      ‘Did he love me?’ she asked and the question was heartbreaking. I wish conversations were easier; I wish they were set in stone and there were rules and manners we had to follow like in the old days. I wish they didn’t lead you into so many dangerous moments that make you want to run screaming in the other direction.

      ‘Oh goodness, Dot, he certainly did. I used to watch him with you and he was always so proud. He used to carry you round the village on his shoulders.’ At least I hope I said that – I’m sure I did.

      ‘So why did he leave then?’

      And that is a question I’ve often asked myself because I am not lying, he really did adore her. But by God it must have been hard to live with Alice. By the end I wanted to shake her myself. She was so bloody passive with him, so locked into her own world that it wasn’t any wonder he looked for something elsewhere. Although I couldn’t say any of that to Dot, so had to make do with a cop out along the lines of, ‘I don’t know. Really I don’t.’

      ‘How old was I?’

      ‘He left on your second birthday. He said he was going out to buy some extra balloons and he never came back. We thought he might have had an accident or something, but in the end Charles Wheeler came round and told me what had happened.’

      ‘Balloons?’

      ‘I know, it was a poor excuse.’ The whole conversation had become unbearable by then. It was reminding me of the terrible weeks after he left, when Alice stayed in bed and got so thin I became convinced that one day I would take Dot in for her visit and there would be nothing there. The doctor couldn’t find anything wrong with her; where’s the pain, he kept asking her like a stupid fool, when any idiot could have looked into her eyes and seen she was dying of a broken heart. If Sandra hadn’t stepped in I don’t know what might have happened.

      ‘What did he look like?’ she asked.

      ‘Oh well, he was very handsome.’ I was on safer ground then and I reasoned it might help to give her a sense of how her mother could have been so fooled by him. If she was fooled that is; with a sense of perspective I have come to regard their relationship more like a train in one of those old films chugging along down the track to the inevitability of the broken bridge. ‘He had what I would describe as Roman features, if you know what I mean.’ She shook her head. ‘His nose was very straight and his lips were full, but he was often very pale. His hair was brown and he wore it long, to his shoulders. They made a very handsome pair, your mother and him.’

      She sat quite still after this, looking not at me but at the carpet and I was filled with a sudden fear that actually I had been quite wrong about telling her. I know almost nothing about children really. It took Howie and me ten years to have Alice, in a time before tests and scans, just lots of silent tears and grim recriminations. Then when she finally came I found her too hard to love; it all just felt so bloody dangerous. So Howie did the important stuff, like cuddles and stories at bedtime and filling the Christmas stocking and I locked myself tighter and tighter. She was nine when he died and all I could do was pray that he’d done enough because it was too late by then for me to start.

      But while I СКАЧАТЬ