Before The Clock Strikes Thirteen

***CW: Mental health issues, attempted suicide, hints of childhood abuse... The final (5th) part of my Talk of The Devil series. Again, also a standalone piece written solely in dialogue***

Sue… Sue… It’s me, Moll… Remember…?

Go away.

Oh, don’t be like that. I’m your friend. I just want to talk to you.

Friend without the ‘r’. ‘I’ before evil…

A fiend? Is that how you see me?

Red devil… Horns and pitchfork… Tail… And that’s the story. Non-fiction... Your children knew, they drew the picture…

That was a long time ago, Sue…

Not so long… So long!

But you need me, Sue… We need each other… Cass, Evelyn, you, me, it’s what Helen would have wanted…

Don’t talk about Helen or what she might have wanted… Childless she was and she shouldn't have been… But you - Jamie, Bernice, Belinda… Couldn’t wait to get away from you…

Yes, that’s how it should be, to lead their own lives… But friends, good women friends are forever…

My friend is in Heaven; your children are here on Earth, Mother… No, you’re not their mother, a mother’s love is unconditional… Fair weather we’re having for this time of year, don’t you think, friend?

Oh, you can associate and disassociate and dish out the passive-aggression as much as you like, Sue, I guess you’re entitled. I should have come sooner, I know… And I should have been more sympathetic when your father died. Wish I had been. Wish I could change all that, take your hurt away.

Whish…! Turn the clock back to when it struck thirteen…

Age thirteen, when you and Helen first palled up…?

Helen had a little sheep in an ugly Oxfam fleece…

Don’t, Sue. We were children… And I… I might have been older, but I didn’t know any better…

Know better now? No better now…

But I like to think I am and I do… I’ve written to Jamie. I’ve told him I’m sorry for saying his son wasn’t his and the names I called his wife. I’ve tried to make amends… And my daughters… It was wrong of me to contest their father’s will, to cut them out, I see that now… Also, if Belinda’s happy with Freya, who am I to judge?

See! What do you see but the sea? All islands adrift… Little circles… They’re still not speaking, are they…?

You mean Cass and Evelyn…? Yes, but I do understand why Cass was so angry. Evelyn knew that Helen was terminal, and because she didn't let on, Cass was denied the chance to make it up with her. Just imagine, she’d as good as accused Helen of having an affair with her husband, and now their marriage is on the rocks since he’d kept it from her as well… Oh, he might argue that as Helen’s dentist, he had to know and had to keep things confidential, but there’s always more to it when husbands don’t open up to their wives… It makes you think things… Bad things sometimes… Terrible things… And sometimes we’re wrong, but, like I said to Cass, more often than not, our darker instincts are right…

She didn’t tell me she was dying either…

Helen? No, she didn't.

All islands adrift, but they say that no one is…

No woman, no man. Helen certainly never thought men were worth much of an effort. Never got hung up on them like the rest of us, did she? Makes you wonder, was it all just an act, did she actually care for anyone but herself?

And what do you know about Helen?

Just saying.

Well don’t. I came here to rest.

They made you come.

No.

Ah, but they’re clever that way. Make you think it’s your own idea, that you’re the one in control. And that’s why you’re misquoting Orwell. Thirteen on the clock. Nineteen-Eighty-Four… That was the year I got married… I thought I was in control then as well… Thought I really had my act together, leaving home, breaking free. But that bridal veil… Ever thought why they make them like they do, to act as cataracts…?

I wouldn’t know.

No, something else blinded you… Or rather bound you…

I hope you don’t mean my God, my religion…

Not if it is yours, no. But didn’t you find that Salvation Army uniform restricting? They put you in that. They who must be obeyed. They who assume control…

It’s not like that.

Oh, but Sue, it is… You might think you’re safe in your nice little mind-soothing, apple-green room, but there’s poison in that paint even now for all they deny it; there are bars on the windows, locks on the doors, people employed just to tell you what you can and cannot do, and it’s like that everywhere. No escape from the watchers… But slate clean time! Erase, erase, erase. Disassociate. Maybe we can both do that… Poof! Just like magic… Be more Helen, be kind, be full of good intentions, don’t sweat the small stuff as they say… No, no, no, I’ll not pave the road to damnation, I shall fill in what needs to be filled, make smooth… Talk pleasantly to my children, do not bad-mouth their father or their partners, or question how they choose to live their lives… See, I made a resolution, I promised myself. And for you, for you, Sue, I’ll get Cass and Evelyn together, and we can all of us visit you at the same time. No more talking behind people's backs. Everything out in the open… Then when you’re back to normal, we could start the Book Club again. At my house this time… Nineteen-Eighty-Four, the ideal first read, don’t you think…? And you chose it!

What? I never agreed to...

Oh yes, subconsciously, you did… Oh, Sue, I really don’t know why you’re holding your ears like that. You’re half deaf anyway. Or have you just been pretending all of these years? Silly Sue, silly moo… Isn’t that what we used to say at school…? Not Helen though, no, not the ever-perfect, beautiful, Earth Angel Helen, hand-picked by God to join him whilst she still had her charm and looks… Thought she just felt sorry for you back then. We all did. How wrong can an entire academy be…?

Stop it, Moll. I don't want to hear.

I heard she gave you a sizeable cheque on the night she died, left you a tidy sum in her will as well… You, and Evelyn and Cass, Cass’s husband too… What price eternal adoration...? No, no, no, I refuse to be jealous, but it just goes to show how folk pick and choose and leave people out in the cold… Husbands, friends, children… Parents… Were you cold, Sue, all bundled up and hugging yourself with the gas turned on full when you did what you did…? Your folks should have called you Silvia… Daddy… Remember Daddy…? Didn’t like it much, did you, when I won the poetry recital prize beating your Keats into second place? You and the wonderful Helen all wrapped up in your cozy, safe little worlds, sleeping over every other weekend in your Broderie Anglaise matching sets on your plump feather-quilted beds… Like the Oxfam fleece would ever be yours… Spit on the sheets, spit on his grave, spit on the slate to erase… Don’t you spit at me, child. It’s dirty, filthy, vile… Just like you, bitch…

I don’t know what you’re saying, Moll. I don’t know what you want from me…

Whatever do you mean? I just want to be your friend. I could fetch you a drink and a biscuit. We could have a nice cup of coffee. I’m sure it’s allowed. Not too hot and in a paper cup. No sharp edges, no breakables, nothing to smash and cut.

I wouldn’t. Not now.

No. Silly Sue, silly moo.

Stop calling me that.

Yes, a nice cup of coffee, just like you always had with Cass. Tuesday’s elevenses at quarter past. Oh, she told me all about it. Always so busy, so overworked, so put-upon, but you could spare her the time. Her and Helen. Evelyn too, most likely.

Lunch is at one. You can’t be here then. You’d better leave.

Ah yes, the good old thirteenth hour, never sounded, never struck. Unlucky, the number thirteen, though, isn’t it…? Shh… Time to put things right for all of us… Milk and two...?