The Lives of Women Read Online Free PDF Page B

Her mother comes over to the bed and tucks her in. The covers feel too tight around her, the bed too close to the wall.

    The doorbell rings at intervals and all afternoon women pass through the house: footsteps from the hall to the kitchen, footsteps on the stairs. A face looms around her bedroom door, says a few words – always the same kind of words – then slips out of sight again. Footsteps tipping back down the stairs before disappearing into the warm scent of buns and the ticking of teacups. From the kitchen, her mother’s over-excited voice flutes through the ceiling.
    At some point the telephone rings. She is falling asleep when this happens, her thoughts beginning to warp. She doesn’t hear her mother answer the phone or know how long has passed before her voice is calling up the stairs saying something about Mrs Hanley. Elaine shakes herself awake. Is Mrs Hanley on her way up the stairs? Is that what her mother has just said?
    Mrs Hanley is not beautiful like her actress sister and not pretty like her niece Agatha. She is too wide at the forehead and her mouth is too small. Her eyes are dark and stare hard at you when she talks to you and even harder when you speak back. She came to see Elaine in hospital once; it was in the early days when she had just begun her recovery. She brought her grapes and a brand new book – a special gift, she called it. ‘It’s about obsession, madness, love – all that jazz,’ she said with a small, mysterious smile.
    Mrs Hanley went out to the sink on the corridor and washed the grapes herself. Then she came back in with a small plate she had sent the cranky tea-lady to fetch. As she patted the grapes dry with a tissue and laid them gently on the plate, she told Elaine she was glad that Agatha had her as a friend. ‘You’re very kind,’ she said, ‘you and Rachel both.’
    Elaine had wanted to say their friendship with Agatha had nothing to do with kindness, that they liked, no loved, Agatha as much as they liked or loved each other. But she has always found it hard to say anything to Mrs Hanley without feeling stupid.
    That was when Mrs Hanley took the book out of her handbag. ‘It’s about how our past turns us into the people we become,’ she said. ‘It’s about someone you already know from another book – I won’t say who it is, but do let me know when you guess.’
    Elaine hadn’t particularly liked the sound of the book and had put it to the end of the queue and then forgotten all about it. She wonders how far down the box it is now and worries in case Mrs Hanley has come to discuss it.
    But when the door opens, it’s her mother standing there, leaning in, breathless and maybe annoyed at having to leave all her new laughing friends in the kitchen.
    â€˜That was… that was… Mrs… Mrs Hanley on the phone. Look out the… You’re to look out. The window.
Honestly!
’
    â€˜Why?’ Elaine asks, but her mother just makes a few impatient points at the window.
    Elaine gets out of bed. When she goes to the window she sees Agatha standing at the Hanleys’ front step, already waving.
    â€˜Agatha!’
    â€˜Oh that’s right, yes, she’s here for the summer.’
    â€˜How long has she been here?’
    â€˜I don’t know. A few weeks maybe. But now, you can’t see her yet. No visitors for at least a fortnight – remember?’
    â€˜Why didn’t you tell me?’
    â€˜I did.’
    â€˜No, you did not!’
    â€˜I was sure… Did I not?’
    â€˜You never tell me anything!’
    â€˜What are you talking about? I’m always telling you things.’
    â€˜You never tell me anything I want to know!’
    Agatha is wearing a new yellow dress and, beneath her sunglasses, there is her smile. She is holding a large sign to her chest: ‘Welcome Home Elaine!!!’
    Mrs Hanley stands beside her. If Mrs Hanley