Come Away With Me. Sara MacDonald

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СКАЧАТЬ the boy, Adam, came flying out with his clothes askew, eating toast. Ruth appeared at the top of the steps and, smiling, waved down at them both, calling something to the boy I could not hear.

      A sudden, unfathomable anger with Ruth came flying out of nowhere.

      I stared at the boy with toast in his mouth. My eyes were pulled to him like a magnet. My heart hammered painfully. I was not mistaken. He was a small, immature version of Tom. He got into the car and he and the man waved at Ruth, then she went back inside and shut her front door.

      He and Ruth have each other, I thought. They have each other.

      The car passed my taxi and I saw the boy briefly, talking animatedly, tucking in his shirt and reaching for his seat belt. I stared after them long after they had disappeared.

      The taxi driver lowered his paper. ‘Are you intending to stay here all day, miss?’

      ‘No. Take me back to the hotel, please.’ I clutched my shaking hands and he gave me an odd look, then turned and drove off.

      Back at the hotel I picked up my list of appointments. It was hard to focus. I could not drag my mind away from the image of the laughing boy. I had not imagined his likeness to Tom. I wasn’t mad. It was there and blindingly obvious. How old would he be? How old?

      I must concentrate on my day or I would go under. I was unsure when I last ate so I rang room service for croissants and coffee. Afterwards I felt better, picked up the phone and rang Flo. I told her I was fine and we talked briefly about the day’s appointments.

      My first was at nine forty-five. As the hotel was fairly central to the shopping malls I walked. It was a bright-blue-sky day. The city was busy and still smelt of last night’s rain. I walked with the flow of people jostling and hurrying to work. I enjoyed a feeling of anonymity in a place I did not know.

      I walked around a new expensive complex of tiny exclusive clothes shops before I went inside to gauge their approximate customer age and income. I compared their prices. I thought Danielle was probably right. They might be interested in my designs, certainly my belts and bags. I had brought a substantial cross-section of sketches and photographs and samples. I just had to make good, to get the orders for us.

      The owner of the first shop was around my age and friendly but astute. Over coffee she looked through our portfolio again and ordered deftly and without hesitation. She knew exactly what would sell and kept away from Danielle’s tailored and more expensive designs. ‘We’re a throwaway society and shops like mine obviously have to compete with the chain stores. I have to judge it finely and select clothes that will appeal to the young professionals who need to go upmarket, but still look cool. My first order will be cautious, just to see how we go, but your belts and bags…I’ll order as many as you can give me. They’ll go like hot cakes.’

      I took a large order and moved out again into sunlight. As each of the trendy shops in the new mall wanted to market different fashions I also did well with Danielle’s tailored designs, especially her deceptively casual summer skirts and skimpy silk T-shirts.

      I had to meet a buyer for lunch in one of the big Fayad stores and I thought of Ruth. I got a taxi, as I suddenly felt faint and hot. This buyer was not the easiest and Danielle had always dealt with her. She seemed faintly annoyed that I was here and not Danielle. For a second tiredness overtook me and I was tempted to wrong-foot her by telling her why our normal routine had been shot to pieces.

      After a lunch I couldn’t eat, we moved round the various fashion departments that marketed our different labels. The buyer went through what had sold well and what had stayed on the rails, and I made notes.

      Thankfully, she had another meeting and went off, leaving me with her assistant, who was easier to get on with. I began to feel odd and disembodied but I made myself concentrate for another hour.

      She gave me a large order for my belts and bags. We were going to be pushed to deliver on time. I suddenly felt faint and dizzy again. The woman glanced at me anxiously, got me a chair and sent someone to find a glass of water. I apologised profusely and she told me there was a lot of flu about.

      I sipped the water and when the dizziness passed I went to the lavatory and looked at myself in the mirror. I saw that my face was flushed and drawn. I felt feverish. I looked a hundred, like a wraith, as if my face belonged to someone else.

      Someone ordered me a taxi back to the hotel. I realised my symptoms were physical, not psychosomatic, as I had a raging temperature. I rang and excused myself from the rest of my afternoon appointments. I ordered a bottle of water and some fruit juice, and I was just going to crawl into bed when there was a knock on my door.

      ‘Thank goodness I’ve traced you.’ Ruth, breathless, rushed in. She stopped and stared at me. ‘You look terrible. Are you ill?’

      ‘I think I might have flu.’

      She felt my forehead. ‘God, you’re burning up. Right, you’re coming straight home with me. I’m not leaving you ill in a strange hotel bedroom. I’ve been trying to contact you, all last night and again early this morning. You’re not to argue. Let’s just collect your things and get you home and into bed.’

      I was not going to argue. I felt dreadful. And I wanted to see the boy again.

       NINE

      Ruth put me at the top of her house in the converted attic. ‘It’s a bit like your room at home, Jenny.’

      It was completely self-contained and I lay in bed isolated from the rest of the house, feeling cosseted and safe, listening to the comforting, ordinary sounds going on below me.

      Ruth had insisted we drop in to her surgery to see a doctor. He thought I most probably had a virus. I didn’t know what Ruth had said to him but he suddenly looked at me closely and asked me if I was depressed. There was no answer to this and he said gently that he thought I should see my own doctor when I got home. I should not battle on my own when there were excellent modern drugs to alleviate clinical depression.

      He wrote a note and put it in an envelope for my doctor, and this simple act of caring touched me. He walked me to the door and opened it for me. ‘Drink gallons of water, take the codeine and rest. If you don’t feel better in a few days come back and see me. Take care, Mrs Holland.’

      I slept a great deal and sometimes I forgot where I was. The days seemed to flow into one another. I felt as if I were burning up, but I was dimly aware of Ruth bringing me drinks and pills. When everyone was at work Ruth’s cleaning lady came in. She changed my sheets and made me soup and clucked kindly at me in a Birmingham accent I found hard to decipher.

      I couldn’t remember ever feeling this ill and I wondered why my body was letting me down now. After three days I began to feel better and I sat propped up by pillows, reluctant to join the normal world again. I didn’t want to go downstairs and socialise, and Ruth seemed to understand.

      She brought her husband, Peter, up to meet me. He leant against the door jamb smiling at me. He was dark and stocky, not much taller than Ruth. He had a kind, open face etched with tiredness and the beginnings of grey in his hair. ‘Hello, Jenny. I’m sorry you’ve been so unwell. Ruth’s been very worried. No fun to be ill away from home, is it?’

      I smiled back. ‘I’m so sorry to be ill in your house. СКАЧАТЬ