VIRAGO

Chapter 18

     I am still in turmoil the following day when Stella drops in, carrying what appears to be a present; a small oblong box, swathed in lemon yellow wrapping

     'Spur of the moment purchase. For you, and about you.'

     'I don't know what to say.'

     'Best to say nothing at all then, hen.'

It was a simple gesture, this act of kindness. She thrust the parcel towards me smiling warmly, just enough to make me want to curl into a ball and weep. Pulling at the delicate ribbon unleashed a tumble of long buried memories, a murky pool of images bubbling up from my chest.

Methodically; layer by layer I unfolded the paper until I reached a box coated in the most stunning cobalt blue. I allowed my fingers to make contact, to indulge in the sheerest of silks. Despite myself and the emotional turmoil of yesterday, I found I was beginning to enjoy the drama of the event, pausing to look up at Stella who nodded frantically and gestured towards the box.

     'Come on hen, it won't open itself!'

The lid yawned barely a couple of inches before the music floated out. I heard myself gasp, opening it fully to reveal what I already knew to be there. The plastic figure; no larger than my little finger, was dressed in a ballet outfit made from the same silk. She pirouetted on her platform, round and round she twisted on the point of her toes in time with the music, slender arms extended above her head. I was at once transfixed, enthralled by the spectacle of the way she maintained pace so precisely with the music.

     'Stella, it's beautiful.'

     'As soon as I saw it I knew it was for you. I remembered you telling me you had something similar when you were a little girl. Now I'm not expecting this to compare to that one but... anyway, it's a gesture I hope you'll take some enjoyment from. Oh, and using it. It is a jewellery box after all.'

     'I did have one of these, almost identical. Mother gave it to me on my eighth birthday. I wasn't aware I'd ever discussed it with you.'

     'I hope you like the colour, I was quite taken with it. Reminded me selfishly I suppose, of a stretch of ocean my late husband and I stood and looked out over, somewhere in Greece. Oh, I'm thrilled I ducked into that little shop and picked it up now. I don't imagine you have the one your mother gave you after all these years?'

I did well to mask my shame, one of my many fake smiles providing the invisibility my stained conscious required. That this lovely lady, who seemed to attribute me with similar traits, thought I may actually have treasured my late mother's gift.

It was the kind of foolish thing any child might do, caught up in a cloud of temper. I was furious with mother and the world on the day I found out she was going to move into The Claremont. Father made it clear I was not to discuss it with her, instructed me on how she was already finding the idea of leaving us very painful and that I should worsen her condition significantly if I ran to her crying. He asked me if I could cope with that upon my conscience; remarked upon my subsequent guilt, the burden I would most likely carry through life.

I couldn't comprehend a future without her, father's rationalisation that she had been lost to us for years only served to bring me to a greater place of distress. But she's with us, right here in the house I'd protest; I can touch her, see her, smell her. He'd counter argue; tell me the presence I so craved was transient, no more tangible to him or I than a ghost. Back and forth we went, fruitless on my behalf I know, but I was utterly and totally desperate.

A pre-teen, ill-equipped to deal with the emotions battering me against the rocks, I did what any frightened, cornered animal would do; I bolted. All the way to my room, creating my own comfort by destroying things I held dear.