The Spare Room

She was preparing for the trip. Shakily packing her belongings into a cheap nylon holdall, photographs, sturdy shoes, toothpaste, her comb with the missing teeth were all carefully placed in the bag. As she reached for the sandalwood soap on the dresser, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Her tired eyes looked strange above the stark white of the bleach that was rapidly lightening her moustache. Her bent, distorted fingernails came together as she scratched and scratched down her sagging body, easing the itch that had bothered her since breakfast. Flicking out the dry skin from underneath her nails, she sat back down on the bed and continued packing. Thick tights and an old Agatha Christie novel were pushed down into the bulging sides of the holdall before she squeezed the edges together and zipped. She was almost ready.
She closed the front door behind her and tightened her scarf as a gust of wind blew the hem of her skirt.
‘Good morning Mrs Kapoor, how are you feeling today?’ The neighbour turned from his weeding towards her wiping his brow with the back of his dirt encrusted hands. She nodded her reply and began her walk to the high street. As she reached the parade of shops, she changed hands blowing out heavy breath. Now carrying the holdall in her left, she studied the reddish indent across her knuckles and palms. She kept the bag close to her side as she weaved in and out of the throng of the street market. Armies of women were hankering for the day’s bargains ready packaged in brown paper bags. Ginger, onions, paprika. Necessities.
Continuing on her journey she reached the station. With a sigh she placed the holdall between her rapidly swelling legs and gulped from her refilled bottle. Crouching down, she searched in her bag for the stub she had been looking at all week. Clutching it between sweaty fingers she picked up her bag and made her way inside. She had ten minutes before her train was due. Reaching into the bulging mass of nylon and braided cord, she pulled out her well-thumbed murder mystery. The screaming vibrations of the arriving train made her jump. She collected together her belongings and climbed into the carriage. Placing the bag on the seat next to her, she settled back into her book. The second paragraph became blurry and the page became dark as she nodded off, the rhythm of the train slumbering through tunnels and foothills.
Dreaming of her husband made her eyelids flicker. One moment he was alive and the next he was dead. She saw him gardening and kissing her goodnight. He had kissed her every night before they went to sleep as he reached over to turn out the bedside light. He had always slept on the side without a light but it was habit for him to turn it out. Only now she wondered why that was. She saw his cold face, a nutty brown against the harsh white of the hospital sheets. His lips had been slightly tinged with a blue that reminded her of the colour they had painted the bathroom. She awoke confused and wondered where she was. It took her a few moments to realise the train had stopped and it was time to get off.
She stepped out of the station and crossed the road to wait for her nephew. Her feet were shot with pins and needles, so she stepped from foot to foot to ease the tingles feeling the motion in her weakened knees. She imagined her nephew pulling up to greet her in his shiny car. All smiles and denim. The smoke of distant chimneys met in the air and floated off out of view. Watching it rise and fade into the atmosphere made her think about her own life. There’s no smoke without fire they say, all she’d had in her life was smoke she thought smiling with resignation. The light was beginning to fade and the passing cars switched to dipped headlights making her squint as she watched the road. Behind her was a small patch of wasteland, an abandoned park perhaps. A few straggly trees and a patch of grass that nobody would visit. She longed to walk towards the trees and weeds but knew she must wait where she was for her nephew to arrive.
In a short while she would be crammed into their front parlour sipping infused tea in the glow of early evening with warm toes. She reached behind her knee and scratched there with the tips of her fingers trying not to use her nails that would make it weep and bleed.
‘How are you Aunt?’ they will say ‘How was your journey?’ Questions would be asked by family with eager and concerned faces. So many sincere eyes that she lost track of who they belonged to. She saw the light fade in the room and the fire turn ash grey. They would make dinner together using hands, spices, throwaway precision. The way it had always been. Old recipes handed down that were preserved and respected.
She imagined the cluttered spare bedroom for her use with fresh sheets on the bed and wrapped scented soap on the shelf. Tokens of pity. She imagined unpacking her belongings to the chorus of school trip memories, boasts of work achievements, inane chatter. She closed the door in her head and the room changed. The clutter disappeared and the room was now crimson and awash with blood. The voices faded out as the room cracked in two, blood running into rivulets and dripping through the floorboards. She knew the broken room was her heart.
‘Auntie?’ Her nephew had arrived and was propping up her slumped frame with his solid arms. He looked at her with dark eyes. Those same dark caring eyes she remembered closing when he used to kiss her goodnight. They all had dark eyes. Everyone she looked at had those eyes, the postman, the neighbours, the market sellers ever since he had gone. She cracked and cried as salty tears sprang from her in the hope of evaporation before they hit the ground.
‘I am sorry child’ she said wiping her nose with the back of her hand’. ‘It has been a long journey.’
‘Yes’ he said and kissed her cheek. ‘Mother is waiting for you, they all are. Dry your eyes. We have all been so looking forward to you coming. We have been preparing everything so that you can settle in without worry or burden.’ What a word to use she thought, feeling heat prickle the tips of her ears. Picking up her bag he took her to the car, half holding, half carrying her until she was in the passenger seat and on her way to her new home.