Melford Road 1

May 1980

The girl comes rushing in and she turns to her boyfriend – the house is really and truly theirs now, and this needs a high five! But he’s vanished again – opening up the back of the hired van. The quicker they can unload, and return it, the less they’ll have to pay. She is bursting with happiness and excitement. So lucky! She spins round in the kitchen and dances to the window, where she stops for a minute, resting her hands on the edge of the sink, gazing out at the long thin garden, leading down to the little stream and the river meadows beyond. Her eyes are shining, as she dreams of barbecues and parties out there. She turns back – the kitchen’s a bit of a wreck – so much to do – so little money. They can fix it up slowly though - DIY – the main thing is they’re in!

No more renting - how cool is that at twenty! She turns back to the lovely view. The meadows are so green and fresh, speckled with a million buttercups. Further out, she can see cattle drinking from the shining strip of river. Four swans fly low, keeping their distance from the cows, landing gracefully higher up, near the little white-painted bridge. Maybe now she’s made this commitment he’ll believe her when she says she loves him? It’s proof isn’t it. Perhaps he won’t be so jealous, won’t think she’s so hopeless - although she knows she is a bit. She looks again at the copy of the deeds that they were given just now, along with the keys – her name and his – and the mortgage company of course. Then she puts in on the side, carefully, like he told her to. It’s an important document.

A shout from the pavement – he has to shout to make himself heard above the traffic noise;

“You going to stay there all fucking day? We’ve got stuff to carry in you know!”

She puts her hand over her mouth, runs quickly to take the first black bin bag. He’s short tempered and she doesn’t want him to get angry – not today. As she moves her hand, it brushes against the bruise on the soft part of her cheek and she flinches. He didn’t mean to – an accident. Her fault. She knows she can be annoying sometimes. She’ll try harder in this shiny new life – a new start.

November 1983

She puts on her coat, wraps the long scarf round and round her neck. She’s very thin and feels the cold more nowadays. Not that it matters. She walks into the kitchen and looks at her reflection in the little mirror by the fridge. Her skin looks sallow, pinched; her eyes are dull. She picks up the concealer and dots it round the marks, then blends it in with one finger. There are quite a few to cover, some new, some fading. The flesh coloured stick pulls at her skin and she peers closer. It’s stretched thin over her bones; a muscle moves in her cheek. The tears form in her eyes and she wipes them away with her sleeve.

Outside, she can see the clouds gathering – such a big sky here – the storm is coming towards the row of houses from across the meadows. She remembers her plans for summer parties. They never came about – he didn’t like other people there, and after a while friends and family stopped phoning. It was only ever the two of them here in the house. It was safer like that, he said. Far away, the other side of the river, it’s already raining, and the trees bend in the heavy winds, twisting this way and that.

She feels in her pocket for the reassuring note. He won’t let her keep money normally – she’s not to be trusted, but she’s managed to squirrel away enough for the train fare to Marks Tey. It’s not far – only a few stops from Sudbury’s little end of the branch line where the one carriage diesel engine chugs lazily to a gentle standstill once every two hours.

In her mind she’s already at the mainline station. The bleak platform, the London one, people walking up and down, up and down, waiting, and then the announcement; “please step away from the platform edge, a high speed train is approaching.” the rush of wind, the noise, unbearably loud. It all happens so fast you can hardly see it. It takes your breath away as it vanishes into the distance.

One last look at the meadows and the sky and the trees. Then she bows her head in anticipation of the chilly wind outside and turns towards the front door. Thirty seconds later, in the empty sitting room, a key drops through the letterbox and falls onto the doormat.