“Well, talking about my parents and my sister, these are not easy topics, Solomon.”
“But it is not good to keep these things locked up inside.”
I look at him and understand that he is only speaking to me because he wishes to help. However, we shouldn’t be standing in the cul-de-sac, in the full view of others, talking like this.
“You know, Solomon, why don’t you come inside and I’ll brew a nice pot of tea. When you’ve finished your car, that is.”
Solomon raises his eyebrows.
“You want me to come inside for tea?”
“Well,” I say, “only if you want to. I might even give you a biscuit, if you’re lucky.” Solomon smiles and he throws down his cloth.
“A biscuit? Now the temptation is too great.”
“No rush,” I say. “I’ve got to put the kettle on. You might as well finish your car.” He wipes the excess water from his hands by rubbing them along his overalls. Then he bends down and tips the bucket of soapy water into the gutter.
“I will just finish the waxing.”
“I’ll see you in a minute.” As I turn to walk towards my house, the full glare of the dying sun hits me in the face. Solomon has been blocking out much of its force, but I now squeeze my eyes closed against its powerful light.
Solomon waits until he has had a second cup of tea before he asks his question. I look at him as he prepares himself. He is a thin man and he seems dwarfed by the armchair. Not that he’s sickly, but his legs and arms seem a bit too long for his body. I offer him the whole pack of biscuits in an attempt to stem his question, but it is too late.
“You have not really spoken of your illness. I am sorry if I seem to be prying.”
“You’re not prying.” I make a bowl with my hands and cradle the cup.
“But will you be fine?”
“Dr. Williams says things are all right for now, but I need more tests.”
“But he does not understand the problem?”
“So he says.”
“But I do not understand. You appear to me to be strong.”
“I have difficulty sleeping. And sometimes my mind wanders. You must have noticed this.”
I look at Solomon, who now seems somewhat embarrassed that he has raised the subject, and we fall into silence. He stares at me, and I wish that he would look away, but I can see that he has no intention of doing so.
“That’s enough about me,” I say, trying to strike a lighter tone.
“If you say so.”
“I do, I do.” Here is the moment that I’ve been hoping for. An opening into which I can place my own question. “But what about you, Solomon? I hardly know anything about you.”
I look across at him, and he suddenly seems very tired. He has not yet finished his new cup of tea, and the cup hangs at an angle in his hand. It is politely balanced over the saucer, which he supports in the broad palm of his other hand, as though he were holding a small coin. He washes his car, he drives me to the hospital, he stays at home behind his blinds. At night he patrols the culs-de-sac. He smiles nervously in my direction, as though apologising for his inability to answer my question. But it doesn’t matter. I look at him and feel sure that at some point soon he will lever his thin frame out of the chair and pretend that he has something that he must attend to. Always polite. Until then I am happy to watch him as his mind drifts beyond my question, his idle thoughts turning over like leaves in the wind. I am simply happy to be in Solomon’s company.
Solomon left an hour ago. He suddenly snapped to attention, looked around and understood where he was. He was embarrassed that he had allowed himself to fall asleep, but I chuckled reassuringly as he made his excuses and then hurried away. And now I am alone again. There doesn’t seem to be any point to cooking a dinner for one, so I’ll just have a few more biscuits and another cup of tea. I see Sheila’s letter staring down at me, and again I’m reminded of the time she turned up at my room at university. I handed her a cup of tea and sat next to her on the edge of the bed. I watched as she wiped away her silent tears.
“I’ve run away,” she said.
I couldn’t stop staring at her skinny, unwashed body. Her new chest aside, my poor sister looked like a stick insect, with her dirty clothes hanging off her.
“I need some money and a place to stay. Just for tonight.”
I remember laughing. Nobody could ever accuse Sheila of not getting straight to the point about things.
“So, you want me to give you some money?”
“I’ll pay you back, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“Sheila, I’m not worried about that. I just want to know how you got yourself into this state in the first place.”
“What do you mean by ‘this state?’ ”
I could see she was angry now. She always bit her lower lip when something or somebody annoyed her; in this case, me.
“There’s no need to get your mad up, Sheila. I’m just saying, you turn up looking like a drowned rat and, I mean, what am I supposed to think?”
“I’m off to London, and I just need a bit of money. I’ve had it with up here.”
“You’ve had it with Mum and Dad, or you’ve had it with the North?”
“Both. You’re such a creep going to university in Manchester so you’re not far away.”
“I’m not a creep. It’s the only place that took me.”
“Well, I’m getting out of here.”
“You’re not off anywhere tonight, are you?”
“I told you I need a place to stay for the night.”
“Sheila, why are you carrying on like this?”
“They think they own me. And you too. But I suppose they do own you, don’t they?”
I felt the sting in her words, but I could also see that she was still upset. I tried to change the tone in my voice.
“Sheila, they just don’t understand. Why can’t you ignore them instead of always having to battle it out? You can always get your own way, but you’ve just got to be clever about it.”
“I can’t be bothered.” A door slammed with this statement. She waited for a moment, and then she looked up at me and spoke quietly. “It’s my life and I don’t see why I should have to play games.”
She spent the night with me, but neither of us really slept. When we weren’t arguing, one of us was reminiscing about something in the past that made us laugh. Like the time that Mum decided to join the local choral association, but wouldn’t accept the fact that she had the worst voice in the world. Or the time I entered the school swimming races, but forgot to tell anybody that I couldn’t swim. I agreed to give her the money to go to London, where she was sure she could get a job, and in the morning she gave me that grin of hers and I waved my sister goodbye and watched her walk out of our lives. Once Sheila reached London, silence reigned between her and “home.” In the first few years after college, I found reasons to go to London occasionally, either by myself or with Brian, and in this way I kept in some kind of contact with Sheila. But I never told Mum or Dad, for fear of upsetting them, and then, without really understanding why, Sheila and I just drifted apart. And now a letter on my mantelpiece. A single letter asking for what?
I make myself a cup of tea, pick up the letter and then sit in the chair by the window that Solomon was sitting in. I look out into the cul-de-sac and can see that the moon is lighting up the street, so that tonight there’s really no need for street lights. There’s no movement behind Solomon’s blinds and I imagine that he must be out on his patrol. I try to imagine the inside of his bungalow and assume that it’s probably as impossibly neat and tidy as he is, but I’ve no way of knowing this. The letter lies ominously in my hands and I understand that at some point I’ll have to open it. I feel myself falling asleep in the chair, caught between the need to get some rest and the desire to discover what has happened to my sister’s life. However, even as my head grows heavy on my shoulders, I can already feel the responsibility of having Sheila back in my life.