Hidden but not forgotten

Sophia waited anxiously in the damp dusk of the bus stop.  She longed for the warmth of home, but first she had to face her brother, a brother she hadn’t spoken to for almost four decades.  The thought was repugnant, but the visit was unavoidable. 

Her day, like the day before and those before that, had been spent working through the papery remnants of her recently deceased parents.  The drawers and boxes of policies and documents from a lifetime of signatures, agreements and purchases.  The trinkets and memories of two lives, gradually packed into boxes to be dispatched or buried or burned.

The dismal task was carried out at the small brown terraced house where Sophia’s parents had spent sixty-four years.  Soft with decay and entrenched routine, the weathered front door, as old and tired as the last people who’d passed through it.  The people who’d then left the unlit gas fire turned up full all night.  The sitting room, overstuffed with dark old furniture, lingering stale tobacco, a thousand Sunday lunches still hung in the air alongside the conversations, the arguments, what had been spoken, and what had not.

With an older brother who people politely described as ‘a loner’ and no close family nearby, the gloomy chore of dealing with her parents' passing had fallen to Sophia alone.  The funeral with dark old hymns sung in a dark old church, had been well attended.  Polite nods and smiles from a generation that was still clinging on to a world that didn’t want them anymore.  That had been a month ago, and now the house was almost cleared with Sophia nearing the end of what felt like some sort of penance.

Michael had not been near.  Michael had what he wanted, that was reasonable enough, but there was something that wasn’t his.  The pit of Sophia’s stomach lurched at the thought of facing him.  Though they hadn’t spoken for almost forty years, Michael had always been there, lurking in the periphery of her life in the updates from mum and dad.  Michael was their pride and joy, and as far as Sophia was concerned, his glorious light completely blinded them.

A cold wind was beginning to bite at Sophia’s bones, the sky had darkened and streetlights cast their yellow glow through the fine rain.  As Sophia was beginning to give up hope of the bus arriving, it appeared, like a horseless Victorian stagecoach, rattling its way out of the gloom, leaves swirling in the headlamps' dim light.  The bus pulled slowly into the stop, its automatic doors juddered open and with a nauseous lurch in her stomach, Sophia stepped onboard.

The face of the driver that welcomed her was one she hadn’t seen before, a smiling, auburn haired lady in her early fifties.  Sophia searched in her pocket for change, fumbling amongst the lace handkerchief, mother-of-pearl penknife and a brown plastic squirrel that she’d found in her parent’s sideboard.  She exchanged warm coins for a ticket and shuffled down the narrow aisle, the unmistakable damp smell of public transport hitting her nostrils.  The bus was empty except for an elderly man in the front seat, and as they pulled away into the approaching night, Sophia felt glad she wasn’t alone.

Darkness had now enveloped the evening and Sophia watched her own face staring back in the blackness of the window.  The damp drizzle had turned to rain, smearing tears over her reflection and Sophia took a deep breath, playing through the conversation she was going to have in just another few miles.  She’d known that Michael would go back to their parent’s house, not to help in the mundane matters of paperwork and cleaning, but to make sure he’d retrieved his collection of books that he’d kept stored in the attic for years.  The books that as a teenager he’d poured over for hours in his room, only emerging for meals.  His collection of occult and esoteric material had some value, and Michael possessed many more books on the subject, but Sophia knew that he wouldn’t want his old literature to end up in a charity shop or given away.  Her mother had mentioned the boxes in the attic on a number of occasions, though neither Sophia’s mother or father had any inclination to remove them, keeping them at a cautionary distance as though something might jump out of them and drag them into the underworld.

It was not Michael’s books that Sophia was interested in.  She’d also left things in her parent’s attic for too long.  Her busy life helped her forget, but then memories would catch her off guard and she’d remember the boxes of her own books.  ‘Girls Own’ anthologies, Bunty annuals, an encyclopaedia set, and her diaries.  The diaries that Sophia kept avidly as a teenager had laid dusty and unopened for the best part of forty years.  The sense of horror she’d felt earlier that day was impalpable, the moment she’d discovered that not only had Michael’s boxes of books gone, but hers too.  No longer in the attic where they’d always been, down the side of the old gramophone cabinet.

The screeching of the windscreen wipers dragged Sophia away from her thoughts as the bus slowed to a stop and the old man got up from his seat.

“Mind how you go,” chirped the driver, “it’s getting wild out there.”

“Will do,” replied the man, his voice thick with age, “I’ve survived worse than this,” and he made his way into the night.  They had stopped at the end of a small row of houses and in the distance the streetlights curved away into the woods in the direction of the village where Michael lived.  The wind blew its chilled breath into the bus as the doors closed and Sophia shuddered, wanting to get this over with.  She planned to be at Michael’s for no longer than was necessary and to be carrying her diaries back home on the next bus.  Her fingers touched the plastic squirrel in her pocket, evoking the memory of when she’d pleaded with her mother to buy the little trinket from a market stall.  Funny how her mother had kept it for all these years.

“Are you alright back there?” the bus driver looked in the rear view mirror, “It’s a nasty sort of night.”

“I’m fine, thanks.  Will be glad to get home,” Sophia forced a smile back at the driver and the bus carried on its way.

The woods were thick with trees, it was late autumn and some still had their leaves which were now being pulled from branches and spiralled in the dark like brown confetti.  The wind picked up and lashed rain against the side of the bus, slapping the windows, the wipers at high speed, screeching like mad things.  The tarmac glistened like a black mirror as water splashed under the wheels.  The weary heater under Sophia’s seat exhaled tepid air onto the back of her legs and the driver’s expression became fixed and rigid as she concentrated on the road ahead.  Sophia returned to her thoughts, praying that Michael had realised her diaries weren’t part of his collection and hadn’t read them, and god forbid, that he hadn’t thrown them out or given them away.  The thought hadn’t occurred to her that he might already have done that.  She gripped the back of the seat in front, her other hand seeking comfort from the plastic squirrel in her pocket.  

“What the hell?!”  All at once the bus lurched and screeched to a stumbling halt, its engine stalled and the lights went out.  “Are you okay?  Just one minute…” the driver shouted.

Sophia, who’d been jolted forward and then sideways, knocking her head against the window, answered, ”Yes, okay I think.  What happened?”  Sophia got out of her seat, rubbing her head, then carefully made her way to the front of the darkened bus where the driver was trying to restart the engine.  In the headlights, Sophia could see a huge tree had been brought down by the wind and lay across both carriageways of the road.

“That was a near thing,” said the driver, obviously shaken, “a second earlier and we’d have been under that!”

“Are you okay?”  Sophia sat down in the seat behind the driver.

“I will be when I can get the bus started again, though I don’t think we’ll be going much further I’m afraid.”

Sophia’s mind flew in different directions, partly relieved that she wouldn’t be facing Michael that evening, thoughts of where her diaries might be, and the realisation of the accident they’d just narrowly avoided.  The driver continued to try the engine, “This is strange, something must have knocked the electrics out, weird though, the headlights are still on but I can’t start it.”

“I’m sorry I can’t help, I don’t know anything about cars and things,” Sophia was beginning to wonder whether she was going to have to walk the three or four miles back home.

“I’ll have to ring the depot and let them know what’s happened.”  The driver made a call on her mobile, while Sophia stared out at the tree that had stood for hundreds of years, now hurled to the ground.

“They’ll send a recovery truck out but it’s on another job so it might be an hour or so before we get out of here,” the driver put her phone away.  “I’m sorry about this, did you need to be somewhere?”

“Well, yes, sort of… I was just visiting my brother, it’s nothing that can’t wait.”

“You’re welcome to wait with me.  I’ll make sure you get back to town when the truck arrives.”  The driver got out of the cab and moved into the seat opposite  Sophia, “Might as well get more comfortable, it’s a bit cramped in there.  I’m Liz by the way.”

“Thanks, I’ll wait with you if that’s okay.”  Sophia managed a smile, “I’m Sophia.  I’ve not had the best of days I’m afraid.”

“I thought you looked a bit fed up when you got on the bus.  Feels funny sitting here in the dark.  I’m a bit of a talker, so just ignore me if I go on too much.”

“Don’t worry, that’s fine.  I haven’t spoken to anyone all day, so I don’t mind.”  The solitary business of emptying her parent’s house had made Sophia more in need of human contact than she’d realised.

“It can get lonely sometimes can’t it?  That’s why I like this job, it doesn't pay much but at least I’m around people.”  Liz spoke through the dark.

“I haven’t seen you before, but then I don’t normally catch this bus.”  Sophia pulled her coat around her, it was beginning to get cold and the heater had fallen still.

“Well it’s nice to meet you anyway,” Liz was upbeat, “it’s funny how things bring people together.  To be honest I’m glad I’m not here on my own.”  There was a moment of quiet as the two women sat in the dark, the only sound the wind and rain banging against the windows.  “You don’t see your brother much then?”

“No.  It’s a long story.  Our parents died recently and he’s taken some things from their house that belong to me.  I need to get them back.”  Sophia felt guarded about saying too much but continued, “We don’t get on.  Just the usual brother and sister stuff, you know.”

“Sounds like you’ve been through a lot,” the wind dropped momentarily and Liz’s voice was clear in the dark, then, after a pause.  “What’s he taken, if you don’t mind me asking?” .

“Just some old books of mine,” Sophia paused, “and my teenage diaries.”

“You wouldn’t want your brother reading them, I certainly wouldn’t.”  Liz thought for a moment, “Is there any other way to get them back?”

Sophia pondered Liz’s words.  She wished there was a way of never having to face Michael again.  Unable to reconcile what happened and having buried it for years, seeing him would mean living the nightmares all over again.  The death of her parents had closed that part of her life.  She’d no longer have to listen to stories of the wonderful Michael, with his photograph on their mantle-piece watching her every time she visited.  Only she and Michael knew what happened, but her diaries had offered a place to confide and pour out the guilt and emotion of a teenage girl.

“My brother was manipulative, and I feel like he’s managing to pull my strings again,” Sophia paused.  “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be telling you all this, you must have to listen to people all the time.”

“Sometimes, but to be honest, it’s a distraction from your own demons,” Liz gave a hollow laugh, her words falling in the silent darkness of the stranded bus.  “I’m a good listener, seems like you could do with someone to talk to?”.

As the wind and rain circled the bus and continued to tear at the branches of the fallen tree, Sophia found herself confiding in the woman she’d met only thirty minutes ago.

Michael had been the typical older brother, always watching out for her, a constant companion when they were children, but in his teens as he began to grow from boy to man, he changed.  Sophia had not cared, he was still her brother and she’d idolised him.  Whatever Michael said was true.  Whatever he did was right.  His grades at school were impeccable and his parents and Sophia adored him.

The changes in Michael intensified after he’d returned home one day with a bag full of books from the library’s paranormal section.  His initial interest rapidly became an obsession and a dejected Sophia found herself shut on the other side of his bedroom door, abandoned by her protector and playmate.  Her parents told her that he was just growing up, and that at eleven, she was still a child and Michael was becoming a man.  Bored, lonely and undeterred, one Saturday afternoon, whilst her parents were out, Sophia knocked loudly on Michael’s door.  She continued incessantly until finally, Michael opened it.  He’d looked tired and irritated, his incense filled room dimly lit by candles, the curtains pulled shut.

What followed that Saturday afternoon, became the subject of Sophia’s diaries for weeks and months to come.  Her meeting of little Elizabeth Fry in the alley behind the house, on her way to the corner shop to buy washing powder for her mum.  The shortbread from the biscuit tin that Sophia had tempted her with, so that she’d come and meet Michael and help him with something he’d called a ritual.  Elizabeth’s eagerness as she climbed the stairs, nibbling on her biscuit.  The noises and voices that Sophia could hear from behind Michael’s door, starting with the repetition of verses or poems, full of words that she didn’t understand, followed by deafening silence, and then the terror as Elizabeth Fry had begged and pleaded, she had to get home, her mum would be angry, the quiet that followed, just the faint sound of whispers.  The look on Michael’s face when he finally opened his bedroom door and the terrified small girl, arms bloodied, who had fled their house, sobbing as a stunned Sophia stood and watched.

Sophia was filled with cold fear, but Michael had smiled and thanked her.  She’d done well.  The ritual had been successful.  Sophia, full of tears, confusion and bewilderment had rushed to her room, where she scrawled wet and smudged words in her diary, as she tried to make sense of what had happened.  She never made sense of it.  She kept away from Michael, no longer tapping at his door, wanting to play.  But he was still her big brother and she still loved and missed him, and a few weeks later when he asked her to help him again, she nodded and dutifully did as she was told.

Sophia pulled out the lace handkerchief from her pocket and wiped her eyes.  “I can’t believe I just told you all that.  You must think I’m a monster.”

Liz was silent.  In the dark Sophia looked across at her, the streetlights cast a ghostly glow across Liz’s face, etched with horror.

“Oh god, what have I said?” Sophia felt panic take hold of her.  “I should never have told you, it’s the strain of everything, I don’t know what I’m saying, please just forget everything I said.”  Sophia got up and moved towards the back of the bus, staring out at the dark emptiness, her heart in her mouth at the realisation of what she’d just shared with a complete stranger.  Now it wasn’t just the diaries and Michael that knew the secret.  Sophia’s fingers felt for the small brown squirrel in her pocket, and touched the smooth mother-of-pearl of Michael’s old penknife.  Suddenly, the lights of the bus flickered back to life.

“Elizabeth Fry?” Liz’s voice was quiet.  

In the harsh yellow light of the bus, Sophia turned and stared into the terrified eyes of a small auburn haired girl, a girl who she’d last seen fleeing down her parent’s stairs, blooded and tear-stained.  Unable to speak, Sophia’s throat clamped shut, struggling for air, she steadied herself against the seat with one hand.

Liz was staring out at the fallen tree. “Elizabeth Fry,” she whispered.

“I couldn’t have done anything else, I had no choice,” a drenched and wind-beaten Sophia sat at her brother’s kitchen table.  “I told her everything.  I don’t know what came over me.”

Sophia steadied herself with a deep breath.  She felt in her pocket and pulled out the brown plastic squirrel.  “Do you remember this?  Mum kept it all these years…”  Sophia smiled at the squirrel, her eyes glazed.

Sophia looked across the table at Michael.  “She kept these too…” and from her pocket she revealed the mother-of-pearl penknife, bloodied and wrapped in their mother’s lace handkerchief.