No Longer Safe(2)

Mum never left the top button undone on her blouse, never wore shorts, never went bare-legged or open-toed even around the house; there were no low-necklines or miniskirts allowed. A female revealing flesh was seen as vulgar and ‘asking for trouble’.

The subsequent labels I started to collect in school reflected the indoctrination I was subjected to at home: ‘prude’, ‘religious freak’, ‘holier than thou’, ‘goody-goody’, ‘old maid’. Being around other people –Brownies, then Girl Guides, the church choir – became lonely and hostile territories and I’d have given anything to have had an older sister holding my hand.

I picked up my scarf and gloves, but didn’t go any further. Hearing from you like this had shaken it all up again and instead of reaching for the door, I stood still. Then I went back; thinking, remembering.

I never understood why you took a shine to me. You and I were from different ends of the spectrum – you were way out of my league in every respect. Bright, charismatic and larger than life – you got a first in Anatomy and Human Biology (no surprises there) and I scraped through in English and History (ditto, regarding the surprises).

You were the sort of girl whose eyelashes curled up into long sexy sweeps without mascara, whose teeth were marble white without dental intervention. You were slim, but had shapely curves whereas I was ‘skinny’ in a way that made my bones stick out. If you were a Porsche, I was a clapped out Morris Minor – with an emphasis on the ‘minor’.

I was always in awe of you. You seemed to know something everyone else didn’t. I often wondered how you’d become like that – the one who naturally stole all the attention in the room.

I went back into the sitting room for the letter. Reading it again to the end, I was satisfied that it was intended for me; you’d actually got my birthday right – and you were hoping to use the holiday as a way to mark the occasion. With me. I could barely believe it. I checked inside the envelope expecting to discover the invite was some kind of trick, but it was empty.

The last time I’d heard from you was through a postcard. When was that? 2008? I couldn’t remember, but it was pressed inside my diary, so I could find out. It said something like, Hi – just back from a trip to Venice with Roland. Leaving Bristol soon, will let you know…

I never heard any more. Now, your letter was addressing me like there’d been no gap at all, as if we were best friends again and you were offering to pay (yes, pay – I hadn’t spotted that at first) for a two-week break together in the mountains. You could take photos, you wrote, scoring another point for remembering my favourite hobby. Can’t wait to catch up. You must fill me in on everything! you’d added.

I hadn’t taken in the penultimate paragraph until then. There was some very important news – how could I have missed it? You were a mother now. There was a baby girl! Nine months old. Crikey. There was no mention of the father.

It sounded like you’d been through a rough time. Melanie had been a very sick child; problems with her breathing. She was in a specialist children’s hospital in Glasgow and was finally going to be coming out after months of intensive care.

Hence the trip to Scotland. It made sense – you wanted to celebrate, while also being close at hand for a time in case there were complications. And you wanted me to be there. I shook my head, still woolly with disbelief. You suggested we travel up together – all I had to do was give you a call on the number you’d given.

I felt for my mobile in my pocket, then withdrew my hand. I’d ring later. I didn’t want you to think my life was so thin that your letter was the only thing on my mind. Then I remembered my new rules.

In the years since we met, I’d been putting into practice all I’d learnt from you. I’d stopped trying to fit in, stopped going along with things, hiding my real self. I’d been braver, standing up for myself more, saying what I thought and being more – what’s the word they kept using in the books? – authentic, that’s it. I’d been trying to be more real. I’d had a terrible set-back lately, I would tell you all about that, but I was still doing well. Karen – you’ll be proud of me.

My new rules meant I was going to call you straight away and let you know how thrilled and touched I was with your invitation.

By then, I knew I was definitely going to be late for work. Mr Domano would cut my lunch break, but I didn’t care. I pulled out my phone and dialled the mobile number you’d given. My shoulders fell when I reached your voicemail. I hadn’t rehearsed anything and was about to end the call when I remembered that the new me was meant to respond in the moment and be true to herself.