Vested Presence

Nestled down a leafy lane stands our substantial 17^th century thatched cottage surrounded by a jungle of thistles, nettles and other weeds, but it used to be a quaint English country garden that had a view of fields where you could see for miles. This is where I abide with my nostalgic memories that seem to linger in the walls of my home.

 

I was always a dreamer, but even more so now as the many rooms speak to me of recollections. I sometimes swear the wooden beams appear to breathe, they expand then relax resonating a chant that plays over and over telling me to listen.

 

I can still detect the fragrance of jasmine, those potted plants mum placed around our home on tables and windowsills stirring memories. She always insisted that flowers without a perfume just weren't worth bothering with. Mum disliked roses without a scent and insisted they were hybrids, blemished even with their blush of colour.

 

The cottage was higgledy piggledy with narrow hallways that had steps leading up and down into different rooms. Dad was nearly 6ft and was always banging what he called... “my cast iron head,” on the low ceiling beams, but mum loved them declaring, “they make the home more cozier.” So dad of course put up with them for her sake.

 

I remember as kids me and my twin sister playing hide and seek in the many rooms that had cubbyholes, hiding was easy back then. We could get lost in the loft space that covered the entire expanse of our home. We loved spending time up in the eaves listening to the wood pigeons and making dens out of mum's clothes horses she'd collected, we'd throw blankets over the top and make believe we were on a magic carpet flying off on some adventure, or borrowing mum's jewelry pretending it was buried treasure.

 

I remember one of my favourite hiding places was a large wooden chest that belonged to my great, great granddad, he was a sea captain and I always imagined he kept treasure inside, with it's carvings of ships on the lid. It was so big I was able to climb inside and pull the lid down, once hiding I fell asleep in it, till I was awoken by my worried mum and sister who'd been searching for me.

 

Whenever I view a time in my life that happiness burrowed deep, it was the day my sister's baby girl was born, Lilly came into the world a seven pound bonny, blue eyed bundle of joy in the living room of the cottage. It was a natural delivery and Trudi never had any complications...thankfully.

 

Lilly would cry incessantly day and night, I wondered how such a tiny baby could have such strong lungs. The nights were the best with me sitting in the old rocking chair feeding Lilly and singing, then telling her of the moon and stars and how they looked down upon us and smiled. Her eyes would light up when I sang: When You Wish Upon A Star. 

 

Long hours would be spent helping my sister to bathe, feed and hold Lilly in my arms, realizing I was a borne mum, or so I thought. Even the housework became more pleasurable with Lilly around, it was as if the cottage had come alive for the first time in ages.

 

Sadly, it wasn't long after the birth that my twin sister Trudi decided to emigrate to Australia with her boyfriend James, leaving me alone, confused and unsure of the future, Trudi was my life and I didn't know what to do, or how I'd manage without her.

 

We'd always got on as sisters which made her leaving even harder to cope with. “Mary, I'm always on the other end of the phone,” she declared before leaving.

 

But it wasn't the same. Trudi wasn't just my twin, but also a life long friend, she gave me confidence to face situations. When we were kids at school she'd always protect me from being bullied. I suppose I've always depended on her too much, but not at any time did we fall out badly...yes we had our disagreements, but they never lasted long, in the end we always valued each others opinions.

 

Now I reside in these walls and beams for we are one cast into the catalogue of history that is my home. Sometimes I hear echoes of an existing presence though their voices are somewhat alien and leave me cold. But I can never take myself away from this house, it's safer for me here, it takes courage to leave and that's something I just don't have. So, I'm rattling around in an old rambling cottage with just the walls to communicate with, holding onto the atmosphere of a past that clings to me like molasses.

 

Mum and dad died in a helicopter crash. It was the most tragic beginning to what was supposed to be an eventful holiday in Guernsey. They'd been planning the holiday for months and mum was so excited to visit the island for the first time, taking home memories of all the tropical plant life established there.

 

She loved her huge private back garden with its rambling scented roses. In her cottage garden the foxgloves would sit at the back standing to attention like guards watching over the smaller flowers. In the Summer the bees would busily buzz around the fragrant lavender and blue seemed to be the colour they were attracted to the most. Mum even got me interested in flowers, which led me to working in a flower shop when leaving school.

 

My employer Sandra had established a substantial business that thrived through her own hard work, building a reputation for herself through clients that had money to spend. Sandra was such a pleasure to work for, we'd spend many happy hours coming up with new original designs for those special important bouquets. Sadly I decided to give up the job when mum and dad died, determined that while my sister worked at the local bank and bought in a regular income, I would look after the running of the cottage. I always had a hot meal ready for when she returned home at night shattered. It also helped that I never had to worry about money, Trudi took care of paying important bills while I was the domesticated sister.

 

But then she met James at a friend's party and fell in love. Months passed as they dated, leaving me wondering where the relationship would lead. I was dreading the day Trudi would announce they were to be married, having no concept of how I'd cope alone...but she never did. Then one Summer's afternoon we were in the garden sunbathing and Trudi announced she was pregnant. I whooped with joy at the news, the thought of a little one running around and bringing the old cottage back to life left me thrilled.

 

“We must have a baby shower!” I declared giving Trudi a big hug. “Invite all your friends and I'll lay on the food and drink.” Although I was happy, I could see my sister didn't have the same enthusiasm. She sipped her lemonade and went very quiet.

 

“What's wrong?” I asked, unsure if I'd said the wrong thing.

 

“It's nothing Mary,” there was a pause. “I just don't feel like celebrating even though it's a momentous occasion.”

 

I didn't push the matter and declined to speak any further on the subject, knowing that once Trudi had made up her mind, nothing I could say would change it.

 

As my thoughts churned, I was bought back to the moment when there was a knock at the front door. I hadn't realized just how long I'd been sat contemplating. I gazed at the clock above the mantelpiece, it was 4pm, I'd been sat in my father's old rocking chair for over an hour.

 

Slowly coming to standing, I wandered over to the front window and peaked through the closed curtains, there was nobody there, no way would I step out over the threshold it was all too scary, these days the front door was as far as I'd go.

 

I made my way into the hallway stopping to check the time by the old grandfather clock, it chimed out four times, so I sauntered over to the front door and reached out for the handle, with all my will it began to move ever so slowly, it felt empowering at that moment, being able to control and maneuver such a strong object, filling me with a strength of will even though I knew this was as far as I could go.

 

The walls began to moan, as I turned to hear Riders On The Storm, me and my sister were crazy for the Doors as teenagers. Wandering back into the living room I caught a glimpse of my twin as a young teenager in her Mary Quant mini flowered dress, dancing around the vinyl which was revolving on the turntable, her hair flying around as she swayed. I couldn't remember putting the record on as the needle communicated those far off times of long ago, it was all so strange.

 

Then the knock came again, feeling confused I made my way back into the hallway, the door stood open but nobody was there. My father always said he'd let me know he loved me by knocking at the door, I wondered if this was a message! “Love you too dad,” I called out, but although my lips moved, no sound could be heard. It was then I caught the smell of bacon frying as it wafted through from the kitchen...dad's favourite, but normally at breakfast time, but it convinced me that he was around if only in spirit.

 

The sound of laughter could be heard up the narrow staircase as I recalled impressions coming from our bedroom. Making my way up to the landing and heading to the bedroom I peeped my head around the open door, there was a flurry of feathers airborne and dancing, as a young Trudi and I relished in a pillow fight, jumping around all over the place, our cheeks flushed as downy duck feathers floated freely, this was how it was meant to be at such a young age. We knew we'd done wrong, but in that moment the disorder was of no importance.

 

The images then slowly faded, to be replaced by a stinging memory of an empty bottle of tablets and a drowsy tiredness that rested under the quilt. I don't remember passing, or any loss of dignity, just confusion of what was real or imagined. Dealing with time that glided me through minutes and hours, though I do recall becoming weak, the brightness dimming even with the aspect of a sunny afternoon's light streaming through my south facing window.

 

In that moment of contemplation I was puzzled, thinking I was loosing my sight with fear my only companion, remembering Trudi's efforts to shock me once by playing dead which sticks in my memory, it was meant to be a joke, but I never saw the funny side of death, for me she went too far. It's only now I realize life is not something to be taken for granted and although it's too late I've learned to live with my demons.

 

The end.

 

 

 

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