Teatime in Lockdown

 

'Tell me lies, tell me sweet little lies,' sang the radio.

Suze turned it off. 

'Lies' she thought, she'd had enough of those and thinking about what is the truth. She looked at the clock.It was nearly tea time, half past four and she always stopped whatever she was doing and put the kettle on.

Since lockdown began Suze and Brian had been shielding, they were considered vulnerable, or fragile or something. Here they were in their late seventies and feeling more useless than ever.

Suze picked up her cellphone, there were 12 whatsapp messages. She glanced at them, scrolling down, some trying to see humour where really there was none. A man yawning and telling his little boy that after the pandemic people would be good, a message about we're all in the same storm but not the same ship, not stuck at home, safe at home, everyone trying to kid themselves things were alright. Her shoulders slumped. If people needed a pandemic to know what mattered in life then poor them. Her weekly magazine was full of wartime spirit, articles on knitting, hobbies, gardening. people who saw the lockdown as a blessing, they had time for their marriage, for their pet sheep, to enjoy their wonderful gardens.They all sounded so smug.

She needed to clear her head. She put the radio back on, 'land of hope and glory' wrapped itself round the room, suffocating, filling her eyes with tears of desperation. She switched it off. She picked up a cushion she was embroidering for her granddaughter, Emma.

 Her friend Svetlana had given it to her for Christmas. Svetlana had said at the time

'Suzanna you must put love in every stitch. Empty your head of all thoughts and only put good ones there then your granddaughter will always feel your love.'

It seemed perfect for a lockdown activity.  She sighed and squinted trying to thread the needle.

'Gather ye rosebuds while ye may, think nice thoughts, you become what you think, never judge, be kind, think about all the people you love, be grateful, be kind, look on the bright side,' her head swarmed with buzzing thoughts.

The doorbell rang and she rushed to open it pulling up her mask and grabbing the hand gel. Her son-in-law Matt stood on the doorstep, his eyes wide above his mask and holding out a cardboard box at arms length.

She struggled to catch what he was saying through the mask.

'This is the last but one box from the garage, I thought now you would have time to finish sorting them out.'

Matt put the box on the floor and blew her a kiss with his gloved hand. She gave him a thumbs up trying to smile with her eyes, then closed the door, wiped her hands with the gel and took the box and put it on the table.

These boxes were causing her great distress. They were from her parents' house. So many wounds that she couldn't bear to open, so many tears that she hadn't cried. So many years of pretending.

The last box she had opened had broken her heart. Forty years of letters. There was no use pretending any more how much her family had hurt her. How much she had pretended things didn't matter.

Suze's cousin Daphne had suggested a 21 Day meditation course to help her through lockdown. She'd started doing it to please Daphne and was stuck on Day five. Her task was to write a letter to someone who had hurt her badly and now she had forgiven and now thought nice things about. She had spent three days tearing up angry letters to various people who had hurt her, she thought she had forgiven them, she'd always been brought up to think six of one half a doxen of another, but somehow it wasn't working. She thought of Brian and his affair, had she forgiven him? Sometimes it bubbled to the surface, it was always there, that pain. Then there was the doctor who had stitched her insides in such a way after her emergency c-section having their daughter, Jean, that she couldn't have any more children. Then the  girls at school who had told the teachers it was Suze who had cheated, stolen some money, hidden some books, all lies to get her into trouble.Then the boxes, oh the boxes, she had found the letters and her life had unravelled.

She felt the wounds opening up, the tears falling.

Brian called out

'Hey love, shall we have a cup of tea? It's gone half past four.'

She scuttled into the bedroom and helped him into his wheelchair and swung him into the kitchen, wiping her eyes and filling the kettle with water.

'Sorry Brian I was lost in my thoughts. Look Matt has brought me another box, he said it's almost the last.'

Brian rolled his eyes,

'Oh Suze, be careful dragging all that stuff up, leave the past where it is. Look at all the good things that have happened and look at our lovely family, come on love. Anyway whatever's in that box you're over the worst. There can't be any more adoption papers. Come on love, chin up.'

His kind gentle voice brought her back to the present, eased the pain that had sprung to the surface.He was right, she should be over the worst now. She made her voice sound bright,

'You're right.' She took a deep breath. 'I love the sound of the kettle, don't you? Tell you what, I'll quickly sort out the box and then we'll watch a film.'

She held his mug of tea while he drank it, visibly relaxing as the sweet warm liquid did its magic, then put it on the table, helped him eat a biscuit and wiped away the crumbs then wheeled him in front of the fire and started sorting through the box.

This one wasn't quite as full as the others. There was a pretty musical box and she opened the lid. A ballerina twirled round to the notes of Swan lake and Brian turned round and smiled at her.

'That's why you get so emotional when you hear that music, it's your childhood peeping back at you.'

Suze wiped away a tear and put it on the dresser. then she carefully took out a tin covered in roses and opened the lid, her heart beating fast. More letters.She didn't recognize the writing. A stillness came over the room as she read the letters, her hands trembling as she took in the words of love from her birth mother. She had learned from the adoption papers that her name was Olivia and came from Cornwall.

Now she revealed the truth of Suze's birth, all those years ago, the world was very different then, Cornwall was a long way from Essex. Olivia had been fourteen when the Americans came to Cornwall. She and her friends had been dazzled by them, their accents, their uniforms, their promises. Olivia had been sent in disgrace, banished from her home to stay with Suze's parents, a childless couple in Essex, found through the church where Olivia's father was a vicar. 

Suze stopped reading and sipped her tea, she felt a bit faint. She knew what it felt like to be told you can't have children. She imagined the love that would have been poured on Olivia and her new baby.

Brian coughed, 

'Alright love, anymore skeletons in the cupboards?'

Suze tried to laugh but it turned into a sob. She carried on reading the last letter. Olivia had decided to give Suze up for adoption and go back to Cornwall to make peace with her father. She wanted to keep in touch, she loved Suze but wanted the best for her. She seemed very confused.

Suze put the letter down.

From her parents' letters Suze knew that Olivia had never arrived in Cornwall, she'd got caught up in the bombing of  London where she'd gone to meet her American lover.

Suze sighed, here she was nearly eighty and feeling like a child inside. She looked in the box to see if there was anything left, there was a birthday card wedged at the bottom. She took it out,tracing her finger over the words, 'Happy Birthday One year old.' The message inside was in her mother Heather's pretty writing, dainty and slightly curly just like her.

'To our darling daughter Suzanna, we love you so much, you are everything to us, have a long and happy life.'

The room was completely silent, Brian was perfectly still. She looked at the back of his head, she thought of all the lies he'd told her for five years during the affair. She'd forgiven that, she'd forgiven her parents, she'd forgiven the girls at school and the doctor who had probably saved her life. There was only one person she needed to forgive.

'Tell you what Brian, you know the meditation course? You know I'm having trouble writing the forgiving letter?'

Brian grunted and shrugged. She knew him well enough to know he was listening intently.

'I'm going to write it to myself. At my age I need to forgive myself.'

Her husband turned and held out his hand,

'You've nothing to forgive yourself,  come on you said something about watching a film. '

Suze jumped up and hugged him.

'