6
Sarah
It isn’t what it used to be, this road, this village. Things have changed. She used to be happy here, secure and settled, but small occurrences and subtle changes in the dynamics have made her uncomfortable, left her feeling as if things that she once held dear are slipping out of her grasp.
People she knew have moved on and their houses are now occupied by nameless faceless individuals who barely acknowledge her presence. She doesn’t want or need special treatment or a standing ovation whenever she passes them in the street, but a simple greeting or a smile wouldn’t go amiss. Everything around her is awry, out of kilter, the usual courtesies of village life now lacking. The sparkle seems to have left Middleham and been replaced by a dourness, a gritty wash of nothingness that no longer holds any appeal for her.
She still knows a few people close by – Alf and Alice, the elderly couple next door, quiet respectful folk who rarely venture outside, and then Moira from a few doors down. Moira, pillar of the community, active in the local choir, eccentric and unconventional with wild wiry hair and unpredictable behaviour. A harmless enough woman, handsome in her youth with a striking bone structure that used to turn heads, she now slouches about in baggy old clothes and wellies.
And then there’s Lynda. Lynda, with her poker face and sharp grating voice. A stickler for routine, Lynda is often to be seen supervising the gardeners from the local council, demanding that they trim the edges of the small village green with greater precision, barking orders at them from her front lawn while they sweat and toil in the scorching heat. Sarah has heard that she is an amazing teacher, one of the best, but imagines she gets results by forcing draconian rules and regulations on the pupils. Still, Sarah thinks resignedly, every school, every village, every town needs a Lynda to get things done.
And then there’s Emily. Sad little Emily who spends her entire life in a spin, running from one place to the next, always behind time, yet still managing to look perfect and flawless as she loads bags in and out of the car, shouting at her son that he will be late if he doesn’t get a move on. Sarah can hear them every morning – Joel traipsing along the pavement behind his mother while she scurries ahead, calling his name, shouting that they won’t get to school on time if he doesn’t move it and pick up his feet and walk properly instead of dilly-dallying. Sarah used to find it amusing. Now it sours her morning, the sound of Emily’s boorish squawking voice making her skin prickle with annoyance as she stands at her window and watches them. Recent events should make Emily appreciate her young son a little more, but it would appear not. She is unmoved by it all, untouched by the disappearance of that boy as she continues chivvying and shouting at Joel, forcing him into the car with her palm pressed hard into his back.
Sarah rubs at her face, letting her hand drop to her mouth while she chews at a loose piece of skin next to her nail. She nips it between her teeth and tugs, wincing at the line of pain that shoots up her finger as it comes away. A tiny ruby pearl appears. She makes her way into the kitchen and holds her finger under the cold tap, noticing that the sink is dirty. How did she miss this? Ignoring her throbbing finger, she takes a bottle of bleach and pours it around the rim, savouring the pungent smell as it hits her nostrils. Life can be so terribly unfair at times. Taking a metal scourer, she attacks the sink, scrubbing ferociously until her muscles begin to twitch and her arm is sore from the effort.
Why does the like of Emily have a child while she is denied the privilege? How is that right or just? And then there is the woman whose child has been taken from outside the school in the next village to theirs. Another useless good-for-nothing individual who put her own needs before that of her young son, turning up late day after day, leaving him alone, vulnerable to the malevolent predators that seem to be ever-present in this day and age.
Sometimes people sicken her. Even folk who appear kind-hearted and genuine have ulterior motives. She should have been on time, that woman. She should have left work earlier, told everybody that her child comes first, made sure he wasn’t left alone. A pain shoots up the back of Sarah’s neck as she scrubs at the now gleaming sink, the noxious odour of bleach swirling about the air and filling the kitchen. Life isn’t fair or just, she knows that; but once, just once, would it be too much to ask for things to go her way?
She stares down at her hands, red and cracked from being immersed in water too often. This cleaning regime is killing her skin. She knows it, but it is the only thing that she can cling on to, the only steady thing that offers her reassurance in an ever-changing and often perilous world. The one thing she has desired for all of her adult life is denied to her and here she is, surrounded by women who don’t care about their children, shouting at them, leaving them exposed to all types of dangers. Sarah would never do that; she knows it for certain. Her child would always feel safe and wanted and needed. It’s the least any decent adult can do. Perhaps that’s why Emily is alone. Perhaps her husband saw her for what she really is and took flight before she ruined his life as well.
Her phone rings. Her hands sting as she attempts to rub them dry before the caller gives up and she misses it. It will be Malcolm. He’s due home this evening. It’s been a long and worrying week without him. What with the recent abduction and then receiving a stream of non-committal missives regarding her job enquiries, she’ll be glad when he gets back and she can relax properly. She snatches up the handset.
‘Hi, it’s good to hear from you.’ She tries to keep her voice light, to keep out of it the bitterness that is raging in her belly.
‘Ah, yeah you too.’ A pause as he clears his throat. ‘Thing is, I need to stay on for a few more days. I told my manager that you wouldn’t mind. It’s just that we need to finish this project and we’re not quite there yet with the final paperwork.’
Time stretches out in front of her, a long stream of seconds, minutes, hours with her sitting here on her own with nobody to talk to, nobody to turn to when her worries and anxieties threaten to overwhelm her. ‘It’s fine,’ she murmurs, fighting back tears. ‘You do what you need to do.’
‘Yeah, thanks. I knew you’d understand. It’s not easy being away but it’s not for forever, is it?’
‘Hopefully not,’ she says, her own voice echoing around her head, strong and thunderous as it pulses through her ears.
‘Right, well, I’ll call later when I’ve got a definite date for coming home. You take care, yeah?’
Sarah nods. She wants to hear him say that he loves her but fears that those days are long since gone, so far behind them in fact, that they are all but invisible. Those love-filled hedonistic days when their dreams were enough to keep them going seem like a lifetime ago. Twelve years they have been together. Twelve years four months and three days if she is going to be precise and pedantic about it – which is what Malcolm called her during their last argument.
It had been about the usual – their lack of children. She had claimed that he was being selfish, denying her the right to be a mother with his refusal to get his vasectomy reversed and he had replied that no child would want to live in such a sterile environment with a pedant for a mother.
‘One whiff of a shitty nappy would be enough to send you into a meltdown,’ he had shouted. ‘You’re so bloody hung up on cleanliness and making sure nothing is ever out of place that having a baby here, messing the place up, would tip you over the edge.’