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☾ 𝑁𝐼𝑁𝐸𝑇𝐸𝐸𝑁
Anna didn't know what to expect. The person that opened the door could be anyone, who was to tell if she was even at the right house at all? Or if her family still remained in Birmingham?
As footsteps echoed behind the door, Anna held her breath, waiting for the person to pull it open, the sound of fumbling and muffled swears drifting out from the open window to the side and into the quiet street. It took a few seconds before the handle was yanked down and the door swung open, revealing an older woman, slim but wrinkled hands rubbing across her tired face.
Anna stared. She didn't doubt that this was her mother this time. She blinked, eyes dried from the wind. And though her mother stood there, bags dark enough under her eyes that they looked like bruises, she still didn't know what to feel.
She was overwhelmed. There was an immense feeling of happiness running up and down her arms like the pattering of spiders. Yet at the same time, her chest was tight with anticipation. The woman hadn't noticed her nor had she seemed to care that there was a young girl knocking on her door. The house was shadowy and silent behind her too, not a figure in sight apart from the imposing amount of bottles that lined the stairway.
Her mother stood for a moment, a tension evident in her jaw. "What do you want?"
"I'm... I'm looking for Polly Gray," she stuttered, hands wringing around each other as she watched the woman drop her owm hands.
"What do you want with Polly Gray?" She said, chin raising wobbly.
But even as the words left her lips, Polly already knew the answer to her own question. She blinked and blinked again until she was sure she was sober enough to know that what she was seeing was happening. Then she swallowed, opening her mouth.
"She's my mother," Anna said, watching with furrowed brows as the woman's hands edged to grip the wooden outline of the doorway.
"Go away," she spat, eyes trailing up and down in disbelief. "Imposter!"
Polly was almost shaking with anger, her knuckles pale under the pressure of her fingers digging into the side of the chipped door. Anna staggered back.
"What?"
"My daughter died. I saw her. She was ill," Polly screeched, her eyes wide in accusation. "Get away with your wickedness. You won't fool me!"
Anna shook out of her shock, reaching forward to take her mother by the hands, but her fingers slipped, clutching her by the wrists instead. Polly stares down in horror. The girl's slim fingers wrapped around her frail arms like cuffs, bound and bound again like rope. She tried to rip them away, heart racing at the flash of memory: her hands tied, back being pushed... a necklace of rope accessorising her neck. Polly had been dressed up, but the outfit had never been used. The jewellery of rope had been removed. But the feeling of her hands on her wrists felt so similar.
"No! Mother, it's me!" Anna pleaded, her cheeks red from the effort. "I'm Anna. SallyAnna."
"Get off!"
Polly tried to force herself away, but she was too weak from the drink and the drugs. This wasn't real, she reminded herself. It couldn't be real. Why would her Sally Anna come back after she had passed on so peacefully? Why would her precious daughter plague her in life when she was already dead?
Anna was sobbing now, tears streaming down her face as she pleaded for her mother to understand. Because she was adamant that this woman, Polly Gray, was her mother. If only she could convince her.
"Please, please mum," she choked on her words, biting back a muffled screeched that burned her throat. She let go of one hand, instead holding the other in two of her own. Polly stopped struggling momentarily, so she said, "I'm Anna. I was in Australia and I was sick but I'm not dead. Please."
"But I saw you," she stammered, pointing with her finger.
Anna's eyes widened, still bleary from the tears. "I saw you too, Mother. You told me to come home and I did."
Polly shook her head. "I saw you dead."
"It's me. Please," she said. "I came home to you. After all these years of searching I came home. Just like you came and asked me to in a dream. I spent all these years coming home, don't send me away now."
The words shook Polly awake. And then she was crying. Massive, horrible, ugly tears that splashed against her ruffled blouse in streams big enough to trample a garden. She collapsed to her knees, shoulders shaking slightly as her hands ran across her face, blending tears and sweat.
Anna bent down, taking her mother's hand from her face, urging her to look up.
She finally saw her face so clearly. Staring back at her through heavy lashes, were eyes that Anna had mistaken for her own once, not long ago. Beautiful, dark eyes that held depths that no one could understand. Shades eyes that had seen things that some couldn't even begin to imagine. Umber eyes that had witnessed things she wasn't proud to admit were her own doing. Anna's eyes in every way, except for the placement on her face.
Another tear slipped down her face, followed by a harsh sniff. Polly reached out again, as if to check she was still real and not a grieving figment of her belief. But her hand snagged on the bottom of her tattered dress, pulling her closer. Inhaling lightly, Polly took in the scent of sea salt and wood as tears smothered the fabric, holding on tightly as she sobbed.
"Oh, my SallyAnna," Polly cried. "I thought you were dead."
Anna clung to her mother, as if she were a life line, sailing over the sea of tears they both created. But even as the crying resides into soft sniffles and they looked at each other once again, taking in each detail they had grown over the many last years, Anna didn't let go. For she feared if she did, she may never feel the comfort of holding her mother again.
