Twenty-Six Years Ago
1896 Words
Twenty-Six Years Ago
Angelo lowers his voice. “I’ll have to move you along tomorrow night, Mitch.”
She looks up from her seat at the bar, frowning, and lays her copy of National Geographic on her lap. “Have I upset someone?”
“No, not at all, but there’s a wedding party in here tomorrow. They’re having the reception downstairs then coming up here for the evening. You know….” He nods towards the curtained-off stage area at the end of the room, shrugging apologetically. “…. DJ, dancing and all that. Sorry, but it’s only for the one night.”
“Fair enough. I’ll probably settle down in the lobby instead then.”
He winks. “Keep a low profile then.”
*****
David, carrying a stack of cake-boxes, halts in mid-stride, staring across the lobby to the seating area near the window.
The woman who sits there, so elegant, so beautifully turned out….
Is that her?
She looks…. different….
The red hair, the pale skin…. But wearing makeup, the hair elaborately up and set….
Is it her?
Shelley?
Stephen comes in behind him laden with garment bags. “Shift up, David. Don’t block the way.”
“Sorry, I just thought I saw….” But as David looks across the room, the woman he saw has her back to him and is talking to a man at the bar. She’s stroking his hand.
Whoever she is, even seen from behind, she is stunningly beautiful.
The man smiles at her, saying something. Something about the smile isn’t entirely pleasant.
He doesn’t deserve a woman like that….
The receptionist bustles up. “David Kimberley? Is that right?”
David turns to speak to her. “That’s right….”
But Stephen pushes in front. “Where are we putting these?”
“You can store them in the cloakrooms for now.” She leads them across the lobby. “If you have labelled everything as we discussed, the garments will be placed in your guests’ accommodation as soon as the rooms are free….”
The receptionist turns to a woman just entering the lobby, a little girl with a head of brilliant orange hair toddling along beside her.
“Can I help you, madam?”
“I'm with the Kimberley party.” The woman looks harassed. “Do you have any creche facilities? Somewhere I can leave my little girl for an hour or so?”
“Of course. I'll page our children's entertainer. Just give me a moment.” The receptionist taps a couple of buttons on a control panel. After only a couple of minutes, a young woman wearing bright casual clothing and a beaming smile arrives.
Glancing at the mother for a moment for permission, she crouches down, offering an open jar to the toddler.
“And what's your name?”
The little girl lisps. “I'm Libby-Beth.”
“Would you like one of these?”
Libby-Beth crooks a finger to her mouth, sucking the tip, but nods, then reaches in for a candy.
“I’m Cindy. You can come and play with me and the other little girls and boys for a bit. Mummy will come for you in a while. Alright?” Libby-Beth nods and then, holding Cindy’s hand, toddles away.
“She's very well-behaved,” comments the receptionist to her mother.
“Oh, yes. She's such a good child. She'll be no trouble to anyone I promise.”
And when David returns a few minutes later to help bring in the bridesmaid’s dresses, the woman he saw and the man she was with have gone.
*****
“Something wrong, Dad?” David adjusts his father’s buttonhole then stands back to view the effect. His father, older now, stooping at the shoulder, straightens up.
David clucks. “Hey, that looks great. Here, let me….” He snags a clothes brush and flicks away some near invisible dust. “Delia’s going to be really pleased when she sees how her new husband turns out.” He looks into Al’s face. “Dad? There is something wrong. What is it?”
Stephen swings round from the mirror, where he has been knotting his tie. “You’re not having second thoughts, are you? You do want to marry Delia?”
Al’s voice grates. “No, I’m very happy to marry her. She’s a wonderful woman. I just wish….” He swallows and looks away…. “Shelley….”
Stephen’s voice is harsh. “She’s gone, Dad. Move on.”
David turns, trying to protest, “Stephen….”
But his brother brushes him off. “Give it a rest, David. This is Dad’s day. We don’t want it spoiled.” He turns to his father. “A new start, Dad. We’ll leave the past behind, eh?”
Al smiles and nods, but the smile is uncertain.
*****
“Shelley? Is it you?”
The woman freezes then turns to face him, eyes wide and her mouth opening. “Davey? Oh, God, Davey!” She runs to him, flinging her arms around his neck. “Davey. It’s you. It’s really you. I’m so glad to see you.”
Her eyes are glossy. So are his. “Shelley, I can’t believe it. It’s you… and….” He stands back, gazing at his little sister. “Look at you. You’re beautiful.”
Abruptly, she calms. “Davey, what are you doing here?”
“What am I doing here? What are you doing here?” He takes her by the shoulders, looking down at her. “Four years without a word? Not even to let us know you were alive? When you ran off, I thought it would kill Dad.”
Her voice trembles, "But I wrote to you lots. Not at first, ‘cos I was still confused and trying to…. well, get my life together. But later I wrote loads of letters to you, but you never replied…." She frowns. "You haven’t moved to a new house or anything?"
“No….” David speaks slowly, his mind churning. “You say you wrote….”
“David, come on. Delia’s waiting for us.” Stephen’s voice is brusque. “What are you….?”
David revolves, taking his sister with him. “Look who’s here, Stephen.” His words are slow…. measured….
“So I see.”
Shelley looks up at her elder brother. Nothing about him speaks of welcome or pleasure. “Hello, Stevie.” She falters…. Looks between the two men. “What are you doing here? Both of you?”
“You have to leave,” says Stephen. David swings to protest, but Stephen jabs a finger at him. “No arguments. It broke Dad’s heart the first time. She’s not butting in on his wedding day.”
“Wedding day?” Shelley’s words burst out. “Dad’s getting married?”
“Yes!” snaps Stephen, “And you are staying out of it. After four years….”
David’s voice is calmer. “Shelley tells me she wrote to us. What happened to her letters, Stephen?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Chest thrust out, he looms over her, eyes slit. “And I’m not having you spoiling Dad’s big day. For the first time in years, he’s getting his life back. You are not interrupting that.”
Shelley’s eyes flood and she turns and runs. David reaches for her…. “No….” But she’s gone, fleeing….
David turns on his brother but is given no opportunity to speak. “We have a wedding to get through,” says Stephen. His eyes white-rimmed, he glares. “Not a word of this to Dad. Right?”
“She’s our sister.”
“She should have thought of that four years ago.”
*****
From a cafe across the road Mitch, wearing jeans and tee-shirt, her eyes red and swollen in a face stripped of make-up, watches.
The wedding party arrives, the car long and low and black, decked in ribbons, pulling up at the front steps. The bride steps out. Mitch doesn’t know her. Dressed in a pale lilac two-piece suit, the woman stands very upright, directing Al to the door, her air crisp and efficient.
More cars pull up behind. Her brothers step out of one. In dark suits and tall hats, they look so smart. Stephen follows the bridal couple inside. David lingers, looking right and left, then also makes his way inside.
Another couple steps out, a little girl toddling with them. Her thatch of brilliant orange hair clashes violently with her lilac bridesmaid’s dress.
*****
“You alright, Mitch?” Angelo pauses from his eternal polishing of glasses, examining her. Unusually, her makeup is heavy, almost plastered into place. “You look as though you have a cold coming on or something.”
“I’m fine.”
“You don’t look it. Maybe you should take a couple of paracetamol and get an early night?”
“No, I’d…. I’d rather have company.”
“It’s your call.” The barman purses his lips. “But I think you need a night off.”
“Has the wedding party finished?”
He frowns.
What does that have to do with anything?
“Yeah. The cleaners cleared up last night. I suppose the last of the guests checked out a few hours ago.”
She nods, looking miserable.
“Hey, Mitch, c’mon. What’s wrong? You want a drink? You look like you could use one.” Without waiting for her reply, he glugs a good measure of cognac into a glass, then another, pushing the glass towards her. “Get that down your neck. It’ll do you good.”
She heaves a long sigh, her breath shuddering, then gulps at the cognac.
*****
A figure watches from the shadows, the stage curtain pulled back just enough to see the man approaching her.
Beautifully dressed and made up, she smiles a welcome. The man is short and badly overweight. There is no possibility this man is a boyfriend or a husband, but his clothes are expensive. And when he snaps fingers at the barman, ordering champagne to be sent to the room, it is of the best, a fine vintage.
As the pair walk off in the direction of the elevator, Stephen leans back against the wall. He stares up, then slides down onto his haunches, dropping his face into his hands.
*****
David’s grim-faced brother glances up from where, with a pair of tweezers, he eases a metallic blue butterfly into position on a card. Still and dead though the insect is, its colours are brilliant. “Seen them safely off?”
“Yes. I made sure they had the tickets, the cash, their passports, and I saw them to passport control. The honeymoon’s all in their hands now.”
“Good.”
David casts an eye at his brother. “We need to talk.”
Stephen doesn’t look up. “About what?”
“You know what. Shelley.”
“What about her?”
“For God’s sake, Stephen. She’s our sister. She was still a kid when….”
“Yes, still a kid. And do you know what she’s been doing since? How she’s been earning a living?”
David stalls, looking uncertain. “No, I don’t. What….?”
His face red and angry, Stephen blares out the words. “Well, I do.”
David slow-blinks, then glances around the room. He sees the empty spot on the mantle. “Where’s her photograph?”
“Whose photograph?”
“You know perfectly well who. Where’s Shelley’s photograph? It should be over there. Our sister’s photograph should be where Dad put it.”
“She’s not my sister anymore. She’s not coming back and upsetting Dad and that’s the end of it. And I got rid of the photographs. There’s no point leaving reminders hanging around.”
“Photographs? Photographs? Plural?” David looks around, and this time really takes in the room. In the hearth, smoking ashes breathe their last, save for one image: a family group, taken years ago.
Snatching it from the hearth, he slaps the charring ruin against his thigh, beating away the remaining spark which glowers, eating at a curled brown edge. Their long-gone mother is half-gone, her face consumed. David and Stephen are teenagers. And Shelley is being held in their father’s arms. In the background is a table laid out with cake and candles.
“Give me that!” Stephen stands, roaring.
“No! You have no right to make decisions like this for other people.”
“Give it to me,” his brother demands, hand outstretched.
“f**k off, Stephen. It’s not yours.”
“It is mine. It’s a family photo.”
“Yes! That’s the word. Family.”
David pushes the half-consumed photo in his pocket, banging the door as he exits. Snatching keys from the hall table, he heads for the car and screeches away.
After a few minutes, he pulls up in a quiet spot, then rubbing his forehead, takes the photo from his pocket, staring at it.
After a minute he turns it over.
…. ephen, David, Shelley
Al and Eve.
Shelley’s 5th birthday.
*****
- Writer
