Sweet Satisfaction (Purple UGC Winner 2014)

Sweet Satisfaction - Thirteen

Thirteen

March, 1915

“Albert, I do wish you wouldn’t read the newspaper at the table,” Mother reproached. Silence. The top of Father’s ruffled brown hair appeared over The Brighton Herald and his grey eyes suddenly glimmered enigmatically. He thrust the paper forward, pointing triumphantly at an article.

“Roxanna Kingston, last seen with one Robert Sutton over three weeks ago, has a one hundred pound reward on her head if found,” my father read out.

“So?” Mother sniffed, “Lots of people have our surname.”

“It is but your married name, Isabella!” Father snapped sharply.

They sat glaring at each other. Annoyance growing inside of me at my Father’s pedantic attitude, I asked to be excused. I pushed my plate away and left the table, rushing past the groaning sideboard, which held silver plates laden with rashes of bacon, kippers, eggs and racks of toasts and preserves.It seemed unfair that we should be dining heartily when our soldiers in the war had barely anything. As I stormed up the stairs, I placed un-lady-like thuds with my shoes as I went. How could Father say that to Mother? 

I was able to place those thuds because my ankle was finally on the mend, Mother was regaining some of her strength, Susanna bought me secret notes from Bobby, which I felt rather guilty about, since I was engaged. However, although the bomb attack had been a month ago, the emotional scars deep inside me still bled like new wounds. I hadn’t even known Percy and Alice, yet they had touched me so deeply and-

“Mary!” I exclaimed, stopping in the doorway of her bedroom. She swivelled round in her desk.

I walked in, noting the family photographs had been torn from their frames and replaced with ones of Emma, Rose and her outside the Theatre Royal in King’s Lynn. How could they go there, how could they have fun watching some silly comedy when people outside were rebuilding their lives? Did the ghosts of the bomb attack not haunt them? Jealousy and anger frothed in my mouth; I had the urge to spit on their laughing black-and-white faces. They’d also had some fun once I was gone, had they? Bitterness twisted around in me, a deadly, possessive devil.

“You’re back,” I said shortly, the corners of my dry lips twitching into a forced smile. My sister rolled her eyes, turning back to her desk, which was littered with exercise books, atlases and diagrams, for she still had regular tutoring. The rest of her room was equally messy; clothes hung half off their hangers in the open wardrobe and the rich velvet curtains were bundled untidily into their sashes.

“When did you get back?” I asked.

“Last night,” Mary responded irritably, tongue stuck out as she concentrated, scribbling with her fountain pen. She was bent so low over the table I thought splinters would scratch her little cheeks. Her unscathed little cheeks. I traced the ugly scar on my cheek, which I had rather forgotten about.

Eyes narrowing, I glared at one of the grinning Emmas on the wall. I drooped like a wilting flower; I felt so hurt that Mary had not even come to greet me. There was a frosty sea of knives between us. Called Emma. Emma Emma Emma. In a little than a few days, she had torn us apart. Tears sprung into my eyes- why was everything so twisted?

“Why didn’t you come and see me?” My voice trembled. Mary spun round, a look of ludicrousness dawning on her scornful face.

“I thought you’d be getting ready for your engagement party. Surely you know that?”

*****

Four hours later, Susanna was finishing curling the last stand of my newly washed, silky hair. The newly appeared sun highlighted it until it glowed like my sequinned, azure hobble dress. I detested this latest ridiculous fashion trend because the skirt clung tightly to your skin, so you couldn’t walk very fast. I turned from side to side in the long mirror, fiddling with the smooth satin pearls with sweaty, trembling fingers. I was going to become engaged. I was going to become engaged that day and Mary had known before me! I felt so unprepared.

“You look beautiful, Elsie.” Susanna smiled encouragingly but nervousness clung to my body, a heavy weight pulling me down into a pit of despair. How could I do this? Could I refuse- and what would be the consequences if I did? What was it going to be like meeting John? I swallowed. Today was the day my childhood became a memory.