The Other Ida Read Online Free PDF Page B

hadn’t understood it when she was young, but perhaps she did now.
    She gazed at herself in the mirror and realised why Alice had been shocked at her appearance. Her skin was dry and sallow and there were purplish circles under her eyes, the corners crusty with black eyeliner from days before. She picked it out with her finger, and then examined the cold sore on the lip and the crusty spots that dotted her chin. Normally she wore a scarf wrapped round her head and without it her wiry dark hair was stiff and matt, unwashed for weeks now. Picking it apart proved useless and she opened a drawer, found a pair of nail scissors, and started to cut it off, first to a bob and then close to her scalp.
    Long strings of hair fell onto the papers and carpet and into the drawers. She finished, chose a red silk scarf from the pile on the carpet, tied it round her head and felt cheered-up. There was a knock and she opened the door. Tom stood there smiling, dressed now in flares and a seventies cowboy-print shirt. He had an earring, a silver hoop.
    â€œWow,” he said and nodded as though he approved.  Ida gave him a wide smile. “Time for a change I thought. Is Alice okay?”
    â€œYes, well, kind of. It’s been a difficult time. I thought – we thought – we could all go for a walk. To the beach maybe? Alice has gone for a jog, but when she gets back.”
    â€œWould the countryside be okay? Or the heath? It’s pretty cool, there are snakes. I’m not a big beach fan.”
    â€œOf course.” He looked relieved that she’d agreed. “That’s a bloody good suit, by the way.”
    They listened to Radio One in the sitting room while they waited for Alice to get back, both drinking black coffee while Ida chain-smoked and talked about the songs that were playing, taking the piss or singing along while Tom nodded and made approving or disapproving noises depending on what was required. He would have liked a cigarette, Ida was pretty sure he smoked from the look of him, but she guessed he wouldn’t risk it around her sister.
    The room was large with long windows at the end, and one wall was covered with packed bookshelves. In the far corner was a battered black piano no one could play and there was a TV on it, a new looking silver TV, which looked strange and out of place. On the left was a square, red brick fireplace filled with driftwood and pebbles and above it hung a huge poster that Ida couldn’t avoid.
    Ida by Bridie Adair it read in rounded pink writing. Underneath the text was a black line drawing of a girl, roaring, her hair becoming flames, and next to her the same girl, naked this time, the line of her bare breast continuing and forming a lily. At the bottom some heavy square black words read: So Good, So Strong.
    â€œYou’d never get away with that now,” Tom said pointing at it. “Everything has to be rammed down people’s throats these days – five stars here, an Oscar there.” Tom was a film director, or rather the second assistant to one.
    To the right of the poster was a large dark square outline on the paint, as though something had been moved from the spot. Ida stood and walked over to it, stroking the wall with her fingers.
    â€œIs everything okay?” Tom asked. “Hey, give us a drag.”
    She handed him her fag.
    â€œYes, well no, it’s just there used to be a painting here, of my mother,” she said, looking around the area as if she might find it. “It belonged to me. It’s one of the reasons I came back.”
    On the sideboard were more flowers and cards. She read a few until she found the one – hand painted – that had to be from Terri.
    â€œWow,” said Ida.
    â€œFantastic isn’t it? Your stepmum sounds like she’s something else. I can’t wait to meet her.”
    â€œ So as you sleep in Jesus’ arms, you rest now, happy, free from harm, we’ve had our struggles,