‘Right.’ Sarah observed the woman from the corner of her eye. Shrivelled and hunched, her skin hung from a gaunt face, creased like sand on a beach when the tide goes out.
‘Guess how old I am.’
‘Seventy?’ Sarah thought the woman was far more likely to be in her eighties, but knew it would be rude to say so.
The woman laughed. ‘Very kind of you, dear. I will turn ninety-seven next month. But don’t ask me the secret to old age. There isn’t one. I’ve taken none of my doctor’s advice, but I can’t die yet. Put a bet on myself reaching one hundred, didn’t I?’ The old lady cackled. ‘Told my grandson he can have my winnings to buy a car. Got to keep my promises. Got to stay alive for a few more years yet. Anyway, what brings you to this miserable spot, crying your eyes out in the middle of the day?’
Wanting to avoid the old woman’s questions, Sarah asked one of her own. ‘Have you always lived in the town?’
‘Yes, I was born here.’
‘It must have changed a lot in that time.’
‘Oh yes, and never for the better. Was more like a village when I was little. Green everywhere you went. Then some bright spark decided we were a commuter town, and in the sixties and seventies, turned our pretty village into a concrete jungle. A sacrilege if you ask me. And the master plan didn’t work. Look at all these ugly, empty shops. There’s no work round here, and nowhere to go shopping, even if you are lucky enough to be earning some cash. How about you? You always lived here?’
‘Yes, I was born here too.’
‘Then why haven’t you left yet, like all the other youngsters?’
‘My parents still live here.’
‘That’s not an answer. What is there here for you?’
Twenty-four hours ago, Sarah would have answered family and work, but now she had neither. ‘I’m not sure.’
‘Ah, you go off, girl. Go have some adventures. You’re too young and pretty to be sitting in this dump bawling your eyes out. At least if you need a good cry, do it somewhere interesting. Find a place with trees, maybe a river. There’s nothing so healing as nature.’
‘Town life doesn’t seem to have done you any harm.’
‘Maybe not, but it doesn’t seem to do you much good. Anyway, I’d better be on my way. No rest for the wicked. Nice to meet you, dear.’
‘Likewise.’
The old woman hauled herself up on her walking stick and shuffled off down the dying high street. Sarah looked across at the empty building which once housed Woolworths. Next to it stood the empty building, which was once HMV. She’d spent so many afternoons after school searching through its shelves, trying to find the next up-and-coming band on CD.
What was left for her in the town? Her mother. And anyway, all this talk of adventures was utter crap. Only rich kids on gap years had adventures. Even the thought of setting off somewhere by herself made Sarah shudder. She was a home bird, a homing pigeon. She craved stability, not uncertainty.There must be a way to fix this, thought Sarah. Perhaps if she could get her parents to sit down and talk, things could go back to how they’d always been?
Sarah scrunched up the paper bag that had contained her sausage roll and threw it in a bin. She trudged her way along the high street, knowing she could no longer put off going home.
*
Sarah arrived home to banging and crashing upstairs. ‘Mum? Is that you? Are you OK?’
Cynthia appeared at the top of the stairs, her face red and sweaty, her hair dishevelled. A layer of dust clung to her woollen skirt. ‘What are you doing home?’
‘I took a half day,’ lied Sarah. ‘I wanted to come home and check you were all right.’
Cynthia sighed. ‘I told you, I don’t need checking up on. Stick the kettle on, will you? I need to tell you my plans.’
Sarah set about making tea in the kitchen, all the while worrying about what her mother was going to announce. She wasn’t the most rational woman at the best of times, so making any decisions after her husband had just left her could only spell disaster.
‘Right. You and me need to have a chat,’ said Cynthia, striding into the kitchen and standing with her hands on her hips. ‘Sit down.’
Sarah carried two mugs to the table and passed one to her mother. ‘Are you sure you’re all right?’
‘Never better. I’ve been on the phone to Auntie Marjorie and it’s all settled.’
‘What is?’
