Raven's Wing

RAVEN’S WING

Chapter One

She was desperate; she had to go. The lady had sounded very nice over the phone and had agreed to see her at ten minutes to five after work tomorrow. She’d walked to the house the previous week just to make sure that her timing was right.

Now what? She could hear Mother muttering in the sitting room, and it grew louder after there was a knock on the front door. Heather turned off the tap and put down the cup she was rinsing. It was probably the council workmen coming to put in the last two back windows; they said they’d be early. It was a good thing she’d been to the corner shop already.

As Heather went into the hall Mother shouted, ‘Where is it? Where is it?’ as she hunched over the fireplace. Her tone demanded an answer, but more insistent knocking told Heather she needed to let the men in. Perhaps they were carrying the readymade windows and they would be heavy.

Five men trooped in, grunting their ‘good morning’s, and manoeuvred their cargoes up the narrow stairs. The fifth man, the foreman, thought they would be finished by 4 o’clock if they didn’t take too long over their sandwiches and that Heather was to keep an eye on them and not feed them too much tea. Heather was just about to explain that she would be at work when there was a shriek from Mother, two of the men ran down the stairs thinking the place was on fire and were confronted by the old woman, her face twisted with suspicion.

‘Where is it? You’ve got it, have you? Eh? What have you done with it?’

The men eyed her suspiciously back.

“My bag! Where’s my bag? I put it in here,’ she said, pointing to the room behind her, ‘and it’s no’ here now.’

Heather froze. The other two men came down the stairs and leant on the bannister, meaning she was surrounded. All wanting an answer. She always had to have the answer. To everything. She was stuck. Stuck.

‘C’mon, boys, we need to help this nice lady find her bag, ok?’ said the foreman. The boys murmured their assent and crowded into the sitting room, squeezing past Mother respectfully.

Heather was rooted to the spot.

The men upended cushions, magazines, peered behind the TV, the settee and Mother’s armchair.

‘Ah’ve got it!’ cheered one.

Mother snatched it out of his hand and opened the clasp, rummaging for the purse inside.

‘It’s gone. It’s gone! There was a ten pound note in here! Ten bloody pounds! Which one of you was it? Eh?’ She was bristling. ‘Who was it took it? Which one of you? Empty your pockets you thieving bastards.’

Mortified, Heather moved to stand in front of the men. To protect them.

‘It was me, Mother,’ she pleaded, ‘you gave me the £10 last night, and I went shopping this morning before breakfast. I spent £8 and the change is in my purse. Look, the messages are in that carrier bag by the door. See? Look.’

Mother looked, and the fire went out of her and she started to hum as she brought a finger up to her mouth to tidy a hangnail.

The foreman coughed quietly and the men swapped bemused glances; unanimously deciding to file out of the door.

Things were quiet the next morning as Heather rinsed the washing up bowl under the tap and looked nervously at her watch. There were five minutes to go before she had to leave for work, but not enough time to dry the breakfast things. Her heart started to thump as she rehearsed what she had to say to Mother. Maybe a pot of tea would soften the news that she would be home from work later than usual. She knocked on the bedroom door.

‘Aye,’ snapped a cross voice, ‘what d’ye want, bitch.’ Heather swallowed; years of this treatment hadn’t hardened her feelings. She went and stood at the end of the bed in the gloom, not wanting Mother to see her face.

‘Here’s your tea, Mother,’ she said, softly.

A thin arm waved towards the bedside table.

‘I’m away to work now. I have to go into town today when I’ve finished, so I’ll not be home till about half past six. Could you be sure and leave my tea in the oven so that it won’t get cold? I’ve left you a note to remind you.’

‘I’ll be gone by then,’ grumbled Mother, staring at the wall, ‘I’ll fetch my purple coat from the cupboard and I’ll be long gone by the time you get back, bitch.’

‘Mother, your purple coat isn’t there any longer. It was old. You haven’t worn it for years. We threw it out months ago, remember?’ reasoned Heather, trying to keep the anxiety out of her voice. ‘Anyway, I’ll be back for my tea though I’ll be a bit late. Remember now.’ She backed out of the room and closed the door. She had to go.

She pulled on her overlarge, dark green coat and tied a headscarf under her chin, tucking the ends into the upturned collar and pulling the scarf low over her eyebrows. She checked her purse for money and the time of her appointment and picked up her holdall, leaving the house without looking back to the upstairs window where she could feel Mother’s cold stare boring into her back.

The workmen were gathered in the street, arriving by the van load, and she was greeted by two of them, but she knew she couldn’t acknowledge them by looking up and smiling, so she kept her head down and stomped along the pavement by the privet hedge outside the Andersons’ house. She knew she mustn’t look up at the flat, clean-edged leaves in case her gaze wandered uncontrollably beyond the hedge to their lounge window. They would shout and shake their fists if she did that. People didn’t like it, being watched.

After a brisk half hour’s walk she crossed the footbridge over the river. She always kept to the centre of the bridge, never by the rail, in case she looked over the side and the fast flowing water beckoned her in and she would be killed on the stones. Safely on the other side she went through the swing doors of the hospital and down gleaming corridors to the locker room.

At 4.40pm sharp she retraced her steps across the footbridge and through the little park, checking her watch every now and then so that she would be exactly on time. Her headscarf was pulled low, her coat buttoned up to her neck and she felt comforted by the flapping of the heavy material against her booted shins as she walked, but the familiar feeling of panic started to rush to the surface and by the time she entered the cul-de-sac she was overwhelmed. Her heart was pounding and she felt light-headed and dizzy. She leant against someone’s garden wall for a moment. She mustn’t look up in case she saw into their window. She must keep her head down and concentrate on her breathing. The lady had sounded so nice on the phone; she had to see her. She had to go. Standing upright again she managed to take the first step and stomped along to Number Three.

She pushed the bell and closed her eyes until she heard the sound of puppies barking and a laughing voice telling them to be quiet. The door opened, and without thinking, Heather walked straight past the young woman who was trying to keep two small puppies from falling out of her arms.

‘Hullo, are you Miss Campbell? Come in and I’ll just get rid of this lot. This is Bee, their mother, and that’s their uncle,’ she said, pointing to a huge tabby cat sitting on the stairs.

Heather said nothing, concentrating on remaining on her feet. She looked down at the floor. She knew she must stay put, she knew she had to; this was her last hope. None of the doctors had listened to her.

‘Would you like to take your coat off? I’ll just put these back in the kitchen, hang on a moment,’ and Rachel disappeared then re-appeared with a kettle.

‘Would you like a cup of tea or something? I’m making one for myself, it’s no trouble.’

‘No thank you,’ said Heather, politely, still looking at the floor.

‘My therapy room is upstairs. Do you mind cats? He won’t hurt you, he’s a daft old thing,’ Rachel chatted on as she went up the stairs. Heather followed meekly behind.

‘No, I don’t mind,’ Heather managed to reply and obediently followed Rachel’s gesture to the deep armchair by the window. She sat on the edge of it as Rachel went to a cluttered desk to find a pen and a white card.

‘Could I possibly have your address and phone number? It’s just in case I need to change an appointment or something,’ she said, smiling.

Heather nodded and told her, but then thought of the horrors of Rachel phoning and speaking to Mother, who might ask awkward questions. Heather had no friends to phone, except her sister who kept well away from their mother. She bit her lip and kept looking down at the floor. There was a fly caught in the deep pile of the carpet and the cat, padding in through the open door, spied it and pounced.

‘It’s better than watching TV, isn’t it?’ laughed Rachel, and Heather looked up unexpectedly to catch sight of fair hair before looking down again. ‘Yes it is,’ she agreed politely.

‘Shall I take your coat now, or haven’t you warmed up yet?’

‘I’ll keep it on, thank you.’ She thought she ought to take off her scarf to show she was staying, at least for a while. She jabbed her hair into place with her fingers. She was proud of her hair. Her father had once told her that it shone as black as a raven’s wing and so it had become her one vanity, and she bought bottles of dye and conditioner to keep it that way. She removed her gloves, too.

‘I can’t remember, did you tell me why you wanted to come and see me when you phoned?’

‘No,’ Heather muttered, trying not to panic.

‘Are you all right?’ asked Rachel, gently.

‘Yes, thank you.’

‘Would it be easier if you just started somewhere or would you like me to ask questions?’

Heather was silent; she was used to the others sitting behind a desk, smoking and fiddling with their pens. She looked up quickly and out of the corner of her eye saw Rachel curled up in the other armchair sipping a mug of tea, watching her. Heather shifted uncomfortably. Why were people able to look at her but didn’t like her looking at them? She couldn’t utter a word.

‘Would it help if I talked for a bit? I know it’s difficult to get started but I do believe it’s better to jump in somewhere, otherwise you might feel we’ve wasted a session.’

‘Oh dear, I don’t want to waste your time.’

‘Oh no….I didn’t mean that, I really didn’t. Let’s just see what happens, shall we? Look, if you want to leave early, you can, you know,’ Rachel smiled, ‘You can tell me as little or as much as you like. It’s okay.’

Heather was struggling and still couldn’t speak. Then suddenly it tumbled out and she whispered, ‘People think I’m strange. They don’t like me.’

‘Why is that, do you think?’

‘They think I’m staring at them.’

‘How do you know? Has anyone told you?’

Heather bit her lip and clutched her gloves.

‘Mother,’ she said at last, ‘and the neighbours.’

Rachel said nothing, but sipped her tea. It gave Heather time to think. She’d said too much. Rachel would think her mad and wouldn’t want to see her again. She blurted out,

‘I want you to hypnotise me so that I’ll stop looking in people’s houses.’

‘Does it cause trouble?’ said Rachel, gently.

Heather nodded.

‘Do you want to look in people’s houses?’

‘No, no I don’t.’

‘Do you need to?’

Heather looked up briefly. The question was so casually put.

‘It’s wrong. It’s wrong. I can’t help myself. I want you to tell me I won’t do it any more.’

‘It’s not quite that simple, Heather. Can I call you Heather? Have you been hypnotised before?’

‘No, but people talk about the hypnotist who comes to the theatre every summer. They say he can get people to do anything he says. But I don’t trust him.’

‘Actually, I think that’s a wise reaction. I don’t think that’s the right approach for you, it’s too hit and miss…’

‘Will you do it?’

‘I don’t think so, no. We need to talk a lot more so that I can get to know you better. Maybe then we can decide.’

Heather could hardly contain her disappointment. ‘I…I’m wasting your time. I’m sorry,’ she stammered, moving to get up.

‘Heather, sit down for a minute. Look, I feel there’s a lot more going on inside you than you’re able to talk about right now. And of course, you have to be able to trust me, too. Have you been to anyone for help before?’

Heather nodded.

‘Was it helpful?’

‘No.’ She couldn’t explain the fear of sitting on a small wooden chair in a hospital office, in front of a vast, bare desk, behind which sat an assortment of psychologists and doctors. Each time it was someone new, who didn’t seem to know her ‘details’. Every session she had to sit in front of this silent person, feeling their eyes trying to gain access to her soul.

Heather stood up, shakily. ‘Can I go now? I must go.’

‘Of course. Do you want to make another appointment now, or would you rather go home and think about it? You can always ring me.’

‘Could I come next week?’

Rachel checked in her diary. ‘Fine. Same time next week?’

Heather nodded and opened the door and they went down the stairs. Rachel busied herself with the answering machine while Heather put on her headscarf and reached into her pocket for the fee – a five pound note folded into a small neat square.

‘Thank you. Let’s take it one step at a time, shall we? Get to know each other better?’

‘Yes, thank you,’ she intoned, ‘goodbye.’

She had a lot to think about and was glad of the folds of her coat protecting her from people’s hostility as she walked up the steep path towards home. Her watch said it was only half past five, but she had had enough for a first session. She felt exhausted. She didn’t really trust women.

She unlocked her front door and went inside. There was complete silence. Usually the television was on at full volume, distorting the newsreader’s voice. Mother wasn’t particularly deaf, although that was the excuse Heather used to placate the neighbours who regularly complained. If it was switched off it meant Mother was asleep or out. She must have gone out, but it was getting dark; she never went out in the dark. Heather unlocked the back door and called down the garden, but there was no answer, so she ran out with the heavy torch, casting the beam along the fences on either side. Nothing.

Then she heard a scream answered by raised voices and swearing. It came from the street. Several people were gathered into a tight bunch. One square woman, standing with hands on hips, was caught in the beam from Heather’s torch. It was Etta Anderson.

‘She should be under lock and key, your Mother,’ she hissed.

‘Aye,’ agreed one man, ‘Your poor father should have sent her up the hill to hospital when you were wee.’

‘Oh dear, oh dear,’ fretted Heather, ‘What’s happened?’

‘She’s off the head again,’ said a voice.

‘Caught her looking in Etta’s windows,’ said another, ‘We’ll have no peace now. She says Etta’s husband’s stolen her purple coat.’

‘Oh dear, oh dear, come away in, Mother and I’ll make your tea. Come along Mother,’ she soothed, taking her arm, but she was shaken off.

‘Stupid bloody bitch,’ Mother screeched, ‘That John’s had my coat. The bastard’s been in my house and stolen it. He watched me though the window and took it when I was sleeping. I know it was you! Where’s my bloody coat?’ she said as she flailed her arms in her candlewick dressing gown.

John Anderson looked down at her from his great height and slapped her face with the flat of his hand. Everyone gasped and Mother clutched her sore cheek with both hands, too shocked to speak.

‘That’ll learn her,’ he said matter-of-factly. To Heather’s amazement Mother turned without a word and tottered along the pavement through the clutch of people and went quietly into her house.

John took Heather’s elbow and squeezed it. ‘Lassie, she’s no’ right in the head. She’s got worse since your father died. You must get help for her before someone gets hurt or the police come again and take her away – it could be for good next time.’

Heather’s stomach tightened at the thought of it. She looked down at his slippered feet and leant away slightly.

‘Has she seen your own doctor?’ he persisted.

Heather pursed her lips.

‘Have you asked for help at all?’

‘No thank you,’ was all Heather could reply. His face was too near. She turned away, twisting out of his grasp.

‘It’ll be the police next time,’ he called after her as she stumbled away.

‘Aye, it’ll be the police right enough,’ agreed a smug neighbour as they watched her go inside and shut the door.