Reflection

Reflection

Ollie likened the onset of the ageing process to that of a long, harsh
Winter but without the anticipation of Spring. She never thought of
herself as old but as a young woman still with all her hopes and dreams
intact. It was just the way other people treated her now.
Differently.

She had been beautiful once. Everyone said so. She had been the envy of
her friends, and all the local men admired her - she could have had her
pick of them. She'd only ever had eyes for James though. There had
never been anyone else.

These days, when she faced herself in the mirror, it was something of a
shock. It was most definitely not the face she expected, instead a
total stranger stared back at her, someone who looked a little like her
mother did before she died. Where had her own, pretty face gone? And
white hair? How could that be when her hair had always been so dark?
Masses of it tumbling around her shoulders. Her crowning glory people
said. James would grab great fistfuls of it, wind it around his fingers
and inhale its fragrance. He always loved her hair, "Never cut it" he
would say as though it was a matter of life or death.

But she must have cut it once because look how it curled neatly around
her face and stopped just at the nape of her neck. James would have
hated it. She hated it.

Her thoughts turned to that young woman who visited regularly and had
shorn hair, one of those so-called modern, trendy styles. At first
Olivia had wondered if, perhaps, she'd had some illness and lost her
hair as a result of it. Surely, a young woman wouldn't intentionally
choose to have her hair cut in that manner. Apparently they did and
this one assured her she was more than happy with it and so was her
boyfriend. What was her name, again? Olivia couldn't quite recall
&;#8230;.oh yes, that was it - Leah! She came with pre-printed forms
and told Olivia she was "assessing her needs" and devising a "care
plan." Olivia would make her cups of tea, hoping she wouldn't notice
that the milk was on the turn in case that constituted being unable to
cope and they put her away.

There was a man, too. That man. He was here a lot of the time lately.
It was unnerving. Olivia had bumped into him one morning as she came
downstairs to wash in the cold, little bathroom just off the kitchen.
He had been pacing up and down in the hallway, talking into his mobile
phone as though he was someone important. It had frightened her a bit,
not that he'd ever actually done anything. He was just there all the
time and she wished he would go away.

"My husband will be back soon," she told him threateningly, just in
case he tried anything.

"Who is he?" she asked Leah, when next the Care Worker came and the
three of them were seated cosily in the front room. She noticed how the
two of them had exchanged a knowing glance at this. Perhaps they were
in it together, whatever it was. She didn't know who she could trust
any more.

There was a lot of talk about permanent care - residential. Outside, in
the front garden, she noticed one day, there appeared a lopsided "For
Sale" sign. What did they take her for? She could still read and she
knew exactly what that meant. They were putting her away.

Is that how they saw her? Old? Useless? Unable to cope? Sometimes, she
would stare hard at the mirror hoping to catch a glimpse of her inner
self, but the mirror remained unyielding, faithful only to the image
placed before it. There was never any sign of the beautiful young woman
who used to pin up her dark hair before it. What on earth would James
make of her hair and face now? He would hardly recognise her these
days. Her skin was sallow, like freshly kneaded pastry and even if she
relaxed her facial muscles there remained, etched into her skin like
deep wounds, a criss-cross of lines. As though someone had scribbled on
her face in pencil. Her lips had the appearance of being stitched in
place tightly and gave the impression that she was cross, bitter.
Nothing at all like the full, soft lips that James had liked to kiss.
She blushed slightly when she remembered him, hands tangled in her
hair, black eyes closed in a moment of passion, his lips on hers. What
she wouldn't give for just a second with him now.

Yes, everything had changed - not just her outward self. The world was
a stranger to her now. Even her home was not her own anymore. All these
people &;#8230; coming and going. So much activity. She worried
about it at bedtime, lay await until the small hours fretting and
straining to listen to him pacing around downstairs, helping himself to
her coffee and biscuits, watching her television and rummaging through
her cupboards. Rummaging through her life. She was outraged. How dare
he?

He talked a lot about her not coping, not caring for herself properly.
He told her he just wanted what was best for her.

"Go away then" she had said rudely but he had seemed not to hear
her.

There were lots of people here today. What the devil were they all
doing? She didn't like to ask though. All that activity! Unnecessary
business created by busy bodies, she thought to herself. She felt weary
just watching them. There were strangers everywhere, ransacking her
home, helping themselves to whatever they wanted, looking in cupboards,
touching, feeling. Where were the Police? Hadn't any of the neighbours
seen what was going on? Of course, he was behind it all, directing some
people up the stairs and some to the back room. He had masterminded the
whole thing. She followed some of them round for a bit with a little
cloth, wiping away the dust they disturbed when they moved things. Her
things. At least the place would be clean once they'd gone.

Suddenly, the house felt cold and hollow. It felt so strange, so quiet,
as though the life had gone out of it. They had robbed her.

James would be furious if he was still here. He would have shown them.
How long since he had gone? Self-consciously she touched her hair
again. Had he known her with her hair like this? She couldn't remember
but she hoped not.

The kettle had gone from the kitchen and with trembling hands she lit
the gas ring on the stove to heat a saucepan of water for some tea. The
smell of the ignited gas was instantly comforting.

"For god's sake&;#8230; what are you doing?" It was him again. He
was always so irritated with her, he didn't even bother concealing it,
reprimanding her as though she was a child. He was nothing to her, a
stranger - wasn't he? In the recesses of her mind she thought perhaps
she might have known him but, no, it was gone again. It would come to
her eventually. It usually did. Perhaps she did not know him at all.
She certainly did not care for him much.

"Come on," he took her arm carelessly and guided her into the front
room where James's sagging armchair remained by the window. There was
an imprint in the seat, where he used to sit, as though he had only
just got up out of the chair and gone out of the room for a second. One
of the arms was a bit grubby where he used to rest the newspaper to do
the crossword and all the print had rubbed off. "Stay in here for a
bit, out of the way." He pressed her down into the chair, where she
sank, shrunken, afraid.

"I fancied some tea," she explained, twisting arthritic fingers in her
lap nervously, "It's so cold, you see, they keep leaving the front door
open."

A young woman brought her some tea - in a mug of all things. Where was
her best china?

"Here you are Olivia," she said kindly, closing Olivia's fingers around
the mug carefully. Ollie took one sip and then placed the mug carefully
in the window sill with a little grimace. They'd forgotten the sugar
and she always had two. Still, best not to mention it.

"This is my house" she suddenly declared out loud to anyone that would
listen. "I've lived here my entire married life. My husband wouldn't
like what you're doing."

"Come on now, calm down." Him again. "It's time to go. Do you want to
have a last look round?"

"Last look round? I'm not leaving," she said and she meant it. She had
never spent a night away from this house, except for holidays with
James. They had loved this place, all their memories were here. It was
her entire world.

He bundled her into her jacket, fastening buttons awkwardly like her
father used to do. It was her best one from the catalogue people, she
noted with relief. Had she finished paying for it? She couldn't recall.
He took her arm and she realised suddenly that she could not stop him,
she was being propelled out of her life.

"Who are you?" she asked him as he guided her towards the front
door.

"Don't you know me?" his voice held no surprise, as though she had
asked him this before.

She stared up at him without recognition, "What happened to my hair?"
It bothered her a lot. Had he cut it whilst she slept?

"Pardon&;#8230;? Nothing. It's just the same. It's the way you
always have it."

"It was long," she was indignant, "and dark. Don't you remember?"

"No mum, " the man sighed, "that must have been years ago, when you
were young. I can't remember you any other way."

"Then you don't know me at all," she said simply and allowed him to
lead her out of her front door for the last time.