Knit One Slip One Part 1

She sits waiting. Alone in a bright pool of artificial light. Separated from the world, isolated on her own island of hope. She sits waiting and hoping. A radio plays in the background, what it broadcasts is of no consequence, enough that it keeps her own personal ghosts from the door of her consciousness. Spread out around her feet is an ocean of colour, in stark contrast to the monochrome tints of the outside world.

It is midnight, the witching hour, the time when all good souls should be ‘abed’. A cloudless, silver midnight. Frost has spread in lustrous swathes over all, glinting and twinkling in the light of a full moon. Those unholy folk who dare risk the perils of this hour hurry past like wraiths and are swallowed up into the darkness. Their breath, a trail left behind, a witness to their mortality. They know not, nor care about her existence. They want only to escape from this midnight world into one of light and colour, warmth and companionship.

She has light, colour and warmth but she is alone. She is not lonely. She has learned to be satisfied with her own company, or is she? Things have changed, and so she waits. She waits for him.

Her name is Katherine. Katherine Josephine Duggan. Katherine for her maternal grandmother and Josephine for her paternal. A secret smile passes over her lips whenever she thinks of this, a smile that lights up her face. She is not ever Kathy or Katy or Rene, her mother insisted that anything other than Katherine was too familiar, too common. But she does have a secret, special name.

She was born thirty years ago, her parents Jo and Amanda. Jo loved her from the minute he saw her. Amanda resented her, said she had robbed her of her beauty, her youth, her life. Granny Jojo was given the task of looking after her whilst Amanda pursued her career.

She is of average height; her hair is an average brown colour; her features are average; her proportions are average her clothes are nondescript although today she has made some effort and some of the colours in the ocean at her feet are reflected in the sweater she is wearing. She has one remarkable feature, her eyes. They are green with tiny golden flecks, which seem to sparkle and shimmer at times of emotion. They are doing so now. She has only ever allowed one person close enough to observe this quality. It is him for whom she waits.

Granny Jojo died when she was seven and most of the happiness in her life had been crammed into those seven years. Her father died in a road accident a year later and Katherine and her mother were left alone. If it had been possible Amanda would have had Katherine adopted, or if she had been younger would have left her on a doorstep somewhere. She did not have a maternal bone in her body and when Amanda met and married Simon, Katherine was given even less attention.

To onlookers Katherine had the perfect life. She was dressed beautifully, she had foreign holidays and Amanda dutifully attended parent’s evenings. Amanda was very concerned about appearances and made sure that others saw her as the caring parent. Katherine had always been a nervous timid child. To her mother she had no endearing qualities and had certainly not inherited her mother’s looks or talents. Amanda would have liked the perfect child who would have reflected her own beauty and life style. Katherine was not ill-treated physically but her mother constantly found fault with her, with her looks, with her abilities and with her attitude. As a result Katherine grew up with very little self-confidence and with a basic education. She did, however, have one talent. She was an accomplished knitter, which to her mother was no talent at all. It was a hobby for old ladies not for the daughter of a successful businesswoman

Katherine sits and waits. She listens for the sound of his arrival. Her hands busy knitting. The slight sound of the needles seem to keep time with the beat of her heart. It is difficult to tell what it is she is making, she no longer has need of patterns and knits from memory. The colours seem to have taken on a life of their own as they move and shift and change between her fingers. She is almost giving life to this inanimate object. She has chosen subtle shades of green, colours of the sea and the grass in early morning light. She is knitting it for him. She has not been able to lose herself in this occupation today; she is anxious and has a strange feeling of something she has forgotten. She tries to bring it to the forefront of her memory but it is very elusive.

She thinks back to when she was seven years old and smiles. She can see herself sitting on Granny Jojo’s lap. It is warm and cosy in that room. It is full of furniture and alive with colour. There are ornaments and framed family photographs occupying every available surface. She can pick up and touch anything she wants, unlike at home. Home is cold and sterile, an advert for a homes magazine. Katherine feels safe in this cocoon of warmth and love.

‘Come on Kitkat, I’m going to teach you how to knit,’ she can hear her granny say. Granny is holding her hands in which is a pair of large knitting needles. She guides Katherine’s fingers into making a loop and then another, and another. Katherine remembers those lessons, given with patience and much affection. The smile fades from her face as she remembers the first thing she made completely on her own. It was a scarf in bright primary colours with many stitches missed and holes and knots. She had made it without any help, but with much apprehension. Granny was full of praise but was surprised when Katherine said she was giving it to her mother for her birthday. She just knew that her mother couldn’t fail but to like it. The golden flecks in her eyes begin to sparkle and shimmer as she remembers her mother’s reaction. One of complete and utter indifference. Katherine found the scarf in the dustbin along with the potato peelings and the baked bean can.

A month later her granny died.