Rita & Theresa
A Bittersweet Reunion
The curtain quivered in Theresa’s hand as she eased it back, just enough to see the street. Yes, I’m certain it is her! What does she want? When did she get out of prison? Why does she keep coming and sitting outside? It was like some kind of slow torture.
The interruption to her normal routine was too much to take. She needed Terence. Oh God, she hoped they’d received her letter and would ring. She should have rung them, but fear had stopped her – fear that if Terence answered she’d not be able to cope, and nor would he. This way he’d get Louise to ring her.
Theresa looked over towards her desk. Her book lay open. Her pen, dropped in anguish when she heard the car pull up outside, balanced on the edge of the unfinished page, taunting her with the words she hadn’t yet written – words that tumbled her memories out of her, opening up raw, painful wounds and making her eyes bulge with the swell of tears.
At times she wasn’t sure whether writing it all down was helping, but at other times she felt a compulsion to do so. Oh, Pierre, what happened to you? And where is our son?
A sob caught in her throat.
She had to stop this. Nothing could be gained by it. Pierre’s family had taken their child, born secretly two weeks before their capture – where to, she did not know, and she had found it impossible to find out. So many displaced persons. So many documents destroyed, particularly those of anyone with a connection to the Jews. Pierre was of Jewish descent. His sole reason for fighting in the Resistance was to avenge his people.
Oh God, Rita’s getting out of the car! The sound of the knocker sent a tremble through her. Go away!
It rattled again. The letter box lifted, allowing Rita’s voice to penetrate inside the house. ‘I know you’re in there, love. Open the bleedin’ door, won’t yer?’
Unable to move, Theresa’s blood felt icicled by the fear that held her. She waited, praying Rita would go away.
‘I’ve come because I still love you, Theresa. I want us to get together again. You want that, don’t you?’
Do I? Something inside warmed her at Rita’s words. A tiny spot deep down where all had dried in a cold finality, never to be touched, never to be thought of again, flickered a sensation through her.
‘You know you loved me, girl. Me and you were good together. We can be again. No one need know. I want you, Theresa. I want you in me arms, where you should be.’
Without her bidding it to, Theresa’s body moved. The trembling in her limbs weakened her. She wanted to be sick, but something compelled her forward.
In one movement the door opened and she was in the warm, loving arms of Rita. Her frail bones pushed back against the banister that curved into the hall, her face and lips receiving kisses. It felt good. So good.
‘Come on, love. Let’s go up to your room. We can talk after. I’ve gotta have you. Oh, Theresa, me lovely.’
Shivering with fear and anticipation, Theresa allowed the stronger woman to guide her. Oh, how the tide had changed. How was it that she had once determined what happened to her, and who she let intrude on her inner self? Now hands undressed her, lips kissed and nibbled her, and she could do nothing against the feelings that were awoken, which snapped the fragile, twig-like core of her. Nor did she want to stop the crescendo of sensations that brought her world crashing around her, screaming from her as if a thousand symbols had clanged together. In shattering all that into a million pieces, Rita’s loving of her put her together again.
‘Oh, Rita, my love, my world . . . Help me.’
With this last plea came the tears – floods and floods of tears that swamped Theresa’s face, her breasts, her whole self. An enormous release, which she thought would drain her of life itself.
‘It’s all right, love. I know some of what you’ve been through. We’ll rebuild you. We will. Everything’s going to be all right. Here, let me hold you a while. I need to do that. I’ve missed you, love. I’ve not been without this one and that one taking bits of me, and me taking bits of them – some of it good, some of it not worth the effort – but I’ve never forgot what we had together, and to me it were the best ever, and were meant to be.’
‘Oh, Rita. I – I don’t know what to say.’
‘Don’t say anything, love. There’s nothing to say. We know what we have, and that’s all that matters. I’m not going to lose you again.’
Lying on her bed, with her head in Rita’s lap and Rita stroking her hair, Theresa knew something profound had happened. It was as if a missing part of a jigsaw had been found and clicked into place. It hadn’t completed the whole puzzle, or even shown the finished picture, but it was a link to the rest, a beginning of the journey back to sanity.
‘Come on. I’ll run you a nice bath and you can soak, whilst I put the kettle on and make us a cup of Rosie Lee, then we can talk, eh? I’ve a lot to tell you, and I know you have a lot you need to talk of.’
Theresa allowed Rita to wrap her housecoat around her and to help her to the bedside chair. Exhausted, she leaned back in it. First thing tomorrow, she’d write to Terence and tell him she wasn’t coming. Her suspicions had been correct: the woman watching her had been Rita; but far from wanting Terence to help her get away, and to warn him this woman was back in their lives, she knew she wanted Rita to stay; knew she wanted – needed – Rita, and knew, too, that she didn’t want to share her with Terence ever again.
Right, mate, another mission accomplished, and not an unpleasant one, either. Theresa is back in the fold. Now to put my whole plan together and see if two and two really can make five!
Rita got into her car and waved to the puppy-like Theresa, blowing her a kiss and mouthing, ‘See you soon.’
Looking at her watch, she judged she would have time to get a hot bath before she had to be in the office of her modelling agency. Not that she did many evening shifts. Too knackered, these days. It was enough to check over her club, sit in her private booth and see that clients were being taken care of. But she had a girl coming in for an interview and she always liked to look over new blood herself.
As Rita drove, she thought about the state she’d found Theresa in. If she hadn’t been warned by them at Fellam’s farm, she would have been shocked. There was still a glimmer of the beauty Theresa had once been, but it was almost lost in the too-thin body, the wiry hair; and the once-lovely eyes were now void of any happiness and held only pain.
Some of that had lifted as Rita had gently loved her, enjoying the feeling of rekindling everything Theresa had lit in her all those years ago. She’d never forgotten Theresa, and had used the images and thoughts of being with her again to help her get through the fifteen years of hell.
The sign above her agency office in Soho came into view: a small flag-like sign swinging in the wind, with a big red arrow attached to it leading down an alleyway between some buildings.
Rita parked and looked up at her home – a flat above the shop. Not what she had aimed for, but it would do for now and was a million miles away from the cell she’d shared with three others in Holloway. Her body trembled at the memory. Her determination to wreak revenge strengthened. If it’s the last thing I do, I’ll make bleedin’ Terence Crompton pay.