Another Life Altogether: A Novel - By Elaine Beale Page 0,115

be daft, Mabel.” Frank said. “Besides, I came over here for my Christmas dinner, not to bloody babysit.”

“It’s not me that needs a babysitter,” I protested. “Someone’s got to help me take care of her.” I could feel the tears welling up behind my eyes. I felt desperate, helpless, but I didn’t want to let Frank see me cry. “Don’t go, Auntie Mabel,” I said. “You could stay in my bed. I wouldn’t mind sleeping down here on the settee.”

“Come on, Mabel, I said get your coat,” Frank growled. “I’m not waiting here all bloody night.”

“Oh, Frank, I just don’t know that I should leave the lass. I could stay, I—”

“This is bloody ridiculous,” Frank interrupted. “I’ve had boiling bloody gravy poured over my privates and my sodding Christmas ruined. If you think I’m going to stop here until Boxing Day, Mabel, well, you’ve got another thing coming. She’ll be all right. It’s not like she doesn’t know how to use a phone. Come on, Harry,” he said, turning to Granddad. “Let’s me and you get our coats on. I’ll wait for you, Mabel. Out in the car.” He turned and left the room, Granddad following close behind.

As soon as he left, I reached over to Mabel, brushing my fingers over the pudgy softness of her forearm. “You’re not going to go, are you, Auntie Mabel?” I wanted to tighten my grip around her wrist, to pin her down, refuse to let her go the same way Frank had held my hand on the kitchen floor.

Mabel sighed, her expansive chest heaving outward then sinking as if deflated. “I’m ever so sorry, darling,” she said. “But I know what Frank’s like and he’ll be in a nasty mood for days if I don’t go. He’s got a bit of a temper on him, I’m sad to say.”

I wanted to tell her that I’d seen his temper, and his cruelty, and that I knew exactly how nasty Frank could be. I wanted to ask her how she could possibly leave me now to follow after a man like that. But I didn’t. I felt too dazed, too panicked, to speak.

“I tell you what,” Mabel offered, “I’ll pop upstairs before I go and take a look at your mam and make sure she’s sleeping soundly. And first thing in the morning I’ll give you a ring. If you need me to come over then, no matter what Frank says, I’ll come. Even if it means I have to get a taxi all the way.” She took my hand and pressed it into hers, wrapping my fingers in her clammy warmth. “You know I wouldn’t leave you if you really needed me, darling.”

After Frank, Mabel, and Granddad left, I tried to make myself feel better by writing to Amanda. I lay on my bed, The Girl’s Book of Heroines by my side, and I wrote a letter to her telling her that if I lived in the past I’d dress like Saint Joan in a suit of armor. I’d travel astride a trusty mare, swinging my sword wildly above my head as I chased villains and invaders away. Peasants would bow down in my presence and ladies would swoon at the mention of my name, but it would be Lady Amanda who won my heart. I would rescue her from an evil Catholic pretender to the English throne, and, in her fervent gratitude, she’d throw herself into my arms, plant her lips on mine, and declare her undying love.

For the first time, however, composing a letter to Amanda was little distraction. And, as much as I tried not to, I kept thinking about my father, wondering if he was gone forever or he was really coming back. Through all the terrible events of the day, I had forced myself not to cry, but now big tears rolled down my cheeks and fell onto my letter so that the blue ink bled across the paper. Finally, I just lay down, next to my sodden letter, curled my knees to my chest, and let myself sob.

At some point I must have fallen asleep, because I woke, a few hours later, splayed on my bed with my cheek pressed into my wrinkled letter. I looked over at my alarm clock; it was just after two o’clock. I felt clammy and cold, and I was still wearing my clothes. I sat up and was about to get into my pajamas when I heard the door of my parents’