Open Writing

At first I thought she was looking at the brightly lit Christmas tree in our window. She stood gazing fixedly, appearing lost. I didn't recognise her immediately.

Then I remembered the neat little lady with the dog. We had moved into our home just over a year before, and almost every day I would see her. Usually walking her small terrier, or returning from shopping carrying the inevitable Sainsbury's plastic bag.

I hadn't seen her for some time, not since late summer, but then our conversations had never gone beyond a smile and comments about the weather.

Something was definitely the matter. It wasn't merely the air of perplexity - she looked odd, different, somehow diminished. She was wearing slippers and the sheepskin lining out of a man's greatcoat draped over her narrow shoulders. Underneath was what looked like pyjamas. Later I realised they were jogging pants and a top. Maybe she had locked herself out of her house. I thought she needed help.

Running upstairs to Hugh, working in his office, I popped my head round the door. "There's a little old lady wandering along the road in her pyjamas. She doesn't look very well. I'm going to see if there's anything I can do to help. See you later."

By the time I got outside and crossed the road she had moved on. Now she stood on the corner. A passing car had stopped and the driver, a young man, was speaking to her. As I reached the car she clambered into the front seat. The driver looked quite relieved to see me.

"Do you know this lady? She's looking for number 44."

"Yes, I think she lives up at the top end of the road. You drive up and I'll follow. It's much too cold for her to be wandering about."

Walking along quickly through the frosty morning air, I wondered why no one was about at 9.30 on a weekday morning. Where on earth was everybody? Most of the front doors had holly wreaths on them, and one of the houses had a Father Christmas on the roof sitting in his sleigh, driving half a dozen reindeer. There were Christmas lights in trees, even a plastic top-hatted snowman in one garden. People had made an obvious effort to make the road look festive.

By the time I arrived at the top end of the road, the driver and elderly lady were standing on the pavement gazing silently at the drawn curtains of number 48.

"Did you say you live at number 44?" I took hold of her hand. When I looked into her face, her eyes looked blank and expressionless, as if nothing was happening inside. She didn't seem at all like the sparky little woman I used to see. Then she had appeared very much in charge of her life.

"I think so." - But she didn't look very sure.

I took her hand, "Well you look very cold to me, you're shivering. I think we should get you indoors as soon as possible."

The driver said goodbye and beat a hasty retreat, and the two of us, looking like Mutt and Jeff, moved two doors down and I rang the front door bell, which nobody answered.

"Shall we try the back door?" She nodded and, as the back door was unlocked, we both went inside. The house was clean and pleasantly warm, and her little dog was there waiting in the kitchen.

There were large printed notices everywhere: 'DO NOT GO OUT’, 'DO NOT USE THE MICROWAVE', 'SWITCH OFF THE TELEVISION’, and 'DO NOT GO TO BED TOO EARLY'.

I sighed, and suddenly felt depressed. Was this what the whole of her life had come to in such a short time? A mere list of instructions pinned up there on the walls of her home, in the hope that she would be able to understand them.

I made her a cup of tea and we settled cosily on the settee in the living room.

"Is there anyone we can contact? Do you have a family?"

She nodded, "My daughter."

"What's her name?"

"Marian."

She sat holding my hand. Suddenly she looked at me and said "Where's Tom?'

"I don't know - who's Tom?"

"Tom is my dog."

So I shouted, “Tom," and he pattered in. I thought what a charming little creature he was. The markings on his face made it appear as if he had a permanent smile. He sat looking up at his mistress, the picture of devotion.

Then looking at me - really looking at me - she said, "Who are you?"

I felt a sudden surge of happiness, like recognising a friend after not seeing them for a long time, and I wondered what alchemy had produced the light of reason into her eyes, wishing so hard I could keep it there.

"My name's Betty McKay and I live at Number 6 in the road."

"Yes. My daughter took me to the hospital."

Good! Now we were really making progress.

"Why did you go to the hospital?"

"I don't know - we went twice."

"Perhaps it was for tests?" I gave her hand a squeeze.

"I don't think so. They didn't say."

Well, she wasn't saying much, but a least she was talking to me.

There was a knock at the back door and Hugh shouted "Hello." I went into the kitchen, and I told him what little there was to tell.

"There's a telephone in the hall and an address book. Will you ring her daughter?"

He nodded, and went to use the telephone. Marian arrived in her dressing gown at the speed of light. She lived next door but one at number 48.

Well, what a surprise, I recognised her immediately. I saw this woman almost every day. She had three little boys. Every weekday morning she escorted them to school and collected them every afternoon. I'd seen her earlier this morning.
The poor woman looked permanently harassed and tired out. She never had time to smile. She must have gone back to bed, and she still looked exhausted.

Marian was a little wary of these two strangers, anxious to know who we were and where we came from. I explained, and she told me that her mother would be going into a home after Christmas. It had all been arranged and there was nothing in the least to worry about.

We made suitable sympathetic noises. Marian moved towards the front door.

"I'd like to say good-bye to your mother, if you don't mind."

She nodded, and I returned to the living room. She was sitting quite still, with a bleak, lost look on her face once more, Tom at her feet gazing up at her. I took her hand and kissed her soft cheek.

"Happy Christmas."

With a look of great dignity she said, "Thank you!"

We left the house, and closed the front gate. I took Hugh's hand and we walked home along the silent, deserted road