Short Story: 'They Come to Visit'

My tea’s nearly cold. It tends to do that at my age - you look up for a minute and the tea goes cold on you. Dreadfully sneaky. Still, I suppose I’m partially to blame. I tend to get lost in my thoughts too much.

I was just watching Betty as she sits outside. She’s reading under a tree. Lovely little girl. Brown hair sinking across her forehead, now thrown aside with a flick. A frown creasing between her eyes. Her whole world entirely focused on that page. She looks just beautiful in the afternoon light. Golden.

“Ugh, she’s so boring,” says Elle, turning from the window and drawing on her cigarette through her red lipstick. She sits with one elbow dangling over the back of the chair, the other waving the cigarette about with a trail of smoke like some film siren. I suppose that’s the effect she’s going for. Elle does tend to do things for effect, bless her.

“She’s only nine years old for God’s sake!” said Liz, with a tut and an eye-roll, “You’re too tough on that girl.” Liz sips her tea, her elbows planted on the table. She’s like Victorian townhouse - sturdy, proud, a little tired perhaps. Waves of blow-dried hair that are touching silver at the shore.

They come to visit every so often. More often these days.

Elle sucks on her cigarette again. The red-lipstick leaving a mark. I wish she wouldn’t smoke quite so much, she’ll regret it in time. Still she does give up occasionally, both the cigarettes and booze - just to see if those faint smile lines go away. When they do she takes it all back up again. ‘Life’s too short’ she says. I suppose it is and it isn’t. All that seems a long time ago now.

I’m telling you, says Elle insistently - “Sitting alone all day with her head in a book - she won’t make friends that way. That’s not how I made friends.”

“Maybe Betty's happy as she is!” says Liz.

I sip my tea and let them carry on.

“She’s lonely more like,” spits Elle, "Horribly lonely. You know the other children laugh at her? You know the things they say? That she’s a loser and - well, much worse,” Elle’s voice catches on an anger, she swallows. She pulls on her cigarette again.

I reflect on this. Perhaps Betty is lonely. I’d forgotten that feeling - of being happily independent but lonely - not for someone, but something else - maybe lonely for life, feeling on the outside of it all. Poor little girl.

I turn the mug in my hand. “I think we should try to be kind to her. Give her understanding not heap shame on her - ”

Liz nods her agreement. Elle flicks her hair - a shaggy bob cut, blonde with a fringe, dark at the roots. It wouldn’t be to my tastes these days, still - we all do strange things when we’re young. She sighs - or huffs more like. That childish temper still stirs-up, I suppose it doesn't leave. A rising protestation dies on her lips. She sinks a little and flicks her cigarette. Concentrating on the ash-tray now -

“I suppose I am ashamed - was ashamed. She’s just - I wish she made things easier.”

“One day you’ll be proud she didn’t,” I offer, “One day you’ll be proud of that independent little girl. Marching out of beat with the world, I think she's just smashing.”

Elle, Liz, and I look at her, get lost in her for a moment.

“I suppose I might be too hard on her,” says Elle twisting a cigarette in the ashtray. She glances at me sideways, then raises her chin - “I might just go sit with her a while.”

I smile. Liz nods grimly and adjusts her cardigan, watching Elle slink her way out to the garden in that oh-so practised walk. The moment she’s out the door -

“She’s wearing leather trousers!” says Liz, “My God! Leather trousers…”

I watch Elle sit by Betty under the tree.

“She may as well wear them,” I say, “She won’t always have the bum for it. I don’t think she even appreciates the bum she has now. I’d walk around in one of those thongs if I had that body now.”

“Stop it! You wouldn’t,” said Liz with a slight smile, “Still - she is beautiful - doesn’t appreciate that of course. And selfish! So selfish - and stupid. Wasted her teenage years with drink and the drugs and all the rest - now she’s in the same cycle in her twenties - Throwing it all away.”

“Oh bloody hell, she’s young, she's allowed mistakes surely?” I offer.

“The same mistakes over and over, repeated for years? She was always the last one to leave the party and she’ll be that in life too - the last of her friends getting pissed and falling out of taxis. She’s trying to fit in but they laugh at her. They pity her. She’s an embarrassment honestly. An embarrassment.”

“Oh don’t say that love,” I say.

“No she is,” says Liz emphatically, “And she’ll end up alone just like - well, she's end up alone and have no-one to blame but herself.”

“She’s trying to get involved in life, that’s all,” I say.

“Well, whatever it is she’s searching for keeps slipping out of her grasp. Ending up with her head in a toilet for two-days after a night out. The anxiety, the self-pity, and - “

“Yes, she’s a bit lost but she’ll find her way.”

“Oh she’ll find her way alright!” says Liz with that dramatic roll of the head she tends to do, “Her way to ending all alone while everyone else gets a happy ending. She might be young but don’t get infinite mistakes to make in this life. No sir-e. You use up the chances fast - and the consequences - you can’t see them but they’re piling up and then one day you’re middle-aged and alone and - “

Liz stops herself. Sighs deeply, she goes to pick up the cup but it rattles in the saucer.

“How are you feeling love?” I ask.

“How do you think?” says Liz sharply, “How am I suppose to feel? I tried - I really tried to do everything right, to get everything back on track and I ended up with - well… you know, still on the bloody outside of it all.”

“Yes I do,” I say with a sigh, “and you haven’t ‘ended up’ just yet love. I know you’ve got a lot more in you. Let all those big expectations and all that disappointment go and grab today. You’re far from done yet my girl, just you wait and see.”

Liz’s eyes drift away, outside. She steadies herself.

“Sorry for being so melodramatic,” she says, “I think I’m a little depressed is all.”

“I understand,” I say. Liz smiles faintly. The moment drifts in silence.

“Here - you know what will lift your burden a bit - forgiving her and accepting her for who she is.” I nod to Elle outside, “Life’s too short not too.”

“Her in the leather trousers with those bloody cigarettes? Hmm. Well - I suppose she’s just a bit lonely too. We all are.”

I nod and touch Liz’s hand

“But still, Liz adds - ‘Elle’ - who does she think she is? It’s not even a proper abbreviation?! More ‘glamorous’ sounding she says!”

“She’ll give it up in time,” I said, “Go on, get out there my girl.”

Liz squeezes my hand back and goes out to the garden to join the others. I watch them, all three in the golden summer light as they fade away.

“How are you today Mrs Warne?” It’s Bernice, one of the girls from the home. She’s good to me, and we have great fun watching the afternoon telly together.

“Oh call me Elizabeth,” I say, “And I’m just fine. I’m glad of the company, I was just sitting here talking to myself."

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