Unable to bear the weight of so much grief and tragedy, Nell turned the TV off and drifted into the living room. She flicked a switch, and colourful fairy lights blinked at her fromthe small Christmas tree tucked in the corner of the living room. She’d even decorated it with baubles and silver tinsel, for god’s sake. All for nothing. Now the jolly decorations were mocking her. They had to go. Crouching on the floor, she took care to delicately lift each hand-decorated bauble from its branch and place it gently back in the box. Buying traditional glass decorations had been an expensive treat, but she’d wanted to create her own tradition.
She sat cross-legged next to the tree. It could be chopped into small pieces and added to the compost bin. What about Mattie’s rose? When would they next see each other in person? She realised she was rocking back and forth, her arms wrapped around her knees. Too much thinking, too much second-guessing. She needed to do something constructive, like wrapping the gifts she’d bought for her extended family and had intended to post.
It was somehow mid-afternoon, and Nell was surrounded by reams of wrapping paper and a pile of gifts with labels attached when the door bell rang. She dragged her aching body off the floor.
Angie stood on the doorstep with a plate of homemade mince pies. “I come bearing gifts, and a shoulder, if you need one?” She smiled sympathetically. “I just saw Mattie on TV reporting live from that dreadful earthquake in Turkey, so I’m guessing she won’t be arriving here today.”
Nell crumpled.
Angie clucked her tongue, led them both to the kitchen, and did what she did best: caring. She pointed at the breakfast bar stool. “Sit.”
Nell sat, reached for a tissue, and blew her nose. Then she flicked the TV back on. At Angie’s quizzical expression, she said, “Might as well bite the bullet.”
Typically, the sports headlines were on, but Nell knew that, as it was a rolling news channel, she wouldn’t have to wait long.
“Tell me what happened,” said Angie.
She gave a brief summary, not that there was a lot to tell.
Angie splashed milk into their mugs of tea. “I’d lose my rag if Graham did that to me.”
Nell shrugged. “We’ve always agreed that work takes priority. So I tried to give her the freedom to put the assignment first.”
“That’s very noble.”
“It hurts.” Nell sniffed. “I don’t want to rant or rage. I just feel so...sad.” That sounded lame, but it was all she could muster.
Angie grabbed the remote. “She’s on.”
Nell’s pulse thumped as she laid eyes on Mattie. She stood on what presumably had once been a thriving street but was now mere rubble. A bristling wind played havoc with her hair, but the camera barely lingered on her before panning away to a makeshift shelter made from ragged pieces of tarpaulin stretched between metal polls and chunks of concrete.
“The reality is devastating,” Mattie reported. “In the week since the earthquake here in south-eastern Turkey, people continue to live in fear. Many are homeless and are surviving in makeshift shelters or tents on the streets. Others, whose homes survived the first earthquake, fear they will be buried alive in one of the hundreds of aftershocks continuing to ravage the region.” She gestured behind the shelter to a dirty, white stone building that had crumpled inwards. Mangled iron, a torn roof hanging at a precarious angle, wonky windows with missing panes like gaping mouths, and jagged columns of rubble were all that remained. It looked like a very poor picture of a house drawn by a three-year-old.
“Before the earthquake, Dilara lived here with her extended family of thirteen. In the space of one night, she lost her parents,daughter, parents-in-law, brother-in-law, and seven-year-old niece,” said Mattie. Dilara wept as she held up a photo of her young daughter and niece, the passport-sized picture possibly all she had left of them.
Nell sat rigid, her eyes glued to the TV screen as the camera finally settled on Mattie. Nell’s pulse went into overdrive as she absorbed every facet of her. The tip of her nose, red from cold. Eyes bright and focused. Facial expression determined and empathetic. Nell gulped as a flare of intense pride fused with an unutterable sadness.
On screen, Mattie continued to talk over footage of Dilara washing dirty dishes and cutlery in the street, cooking on a small camping stove, and what was left of her family huddled under salvaged blankets. “Everyone is relying on aid but there’s a shortage of food and clean water. Worries about the lack of hygiene and sanitation along with the spread of infectious diseases are growing. There’s no electricity here and, at night, those fears are amplified. People I’ve met are angry, bewildered, grieving, and frightened. They’ve lost any sense of security and are struggling to believe that there’s any hope.”
When Mattie’s report ended, Nell turned the volume down. “It looks like hell on earth.”
“Mattie seems to be coping though, right?”
Nell’s chest tightened, and something she couldn’t explain nagged at her. “It was an excellent report.”
“That’s not what I meant, and you know it,” said Angie.
“From what I can tell, yes, she is.” She picked at her mince pie. “But what do I know?”
Angie poured more tea. “Join us for Christmas dinner?”
“It’s lovely of you to offer, but I’ve already infuriated my mother by telling her I’ll be coming for the extended family Christmas after all. If I’m going to be miserable, I’d rather inflict it on them than you.” She managed a rueful smile. It wouldbe business as usual, with her parents insisting she accompany them to Midnight Mass. She’d given up reminding them that she was no longer a believer. Her mother, stoic woman that she was despite advancing years, would take charge in the kitchen, only allowing Nell or Caroline to do the menial tasks. “I baulked at telling her the truth. She thought I’d cancelled originally because of work commitments.”
Angie pointed a finger at her. “This is your life, not theirs. You get to choose if and when you come out to them.”
She wanted to come out to Caroline in person, when she knew she had all her sister’s attention rather than sharing it with her husband, two sons, the family dog, and the dishwasher, which she was normally emptying or filling whenever they talked on the phone.
“It’s not the end of you and Mattie though.” Angie looked perturbed. “Is it?”
