I’d woken early knowing something special was going to happen but not remembering exactly what it was. But then, sweating and hot, ah yes, it came back to me. Now as I glance around my room checking everything is done I rehearse my words of departure. A solemn thank you and dry-eyed goodbye for ever or a face full of sorrow and regret? Although I feel anxious, I opt for solemn and dignified. For I know appearance still matters. My trunk has gone ahead so now it’s just my personal items left, the bits and pieces that will accompany me in Simone’s car: a few toiletries, my mother’s silver hand mirror, my pills, my Parker pen and my diary. There’s nothing much in there but I’d like to start writing again if I can. It seems the doctor thinks it will help too.
I am now to use my maiden name of Riley. Miss Diana Augusta Riley. It feels good. A farewell to loneliness. Although I still haven’t set eyes on my cottage myself, Simone and Douglas have already furnished it and, of course, I’m curious. It’s not without trepidation that I contemplate this change in my life and so I slip over to the window and grip the sill in the hope of one last glimpse of Annabelle. They don’t want her to witness my leaving and it has been tacitly agreed that Mrs Wilkes will take her out for the day. Last night I sat on my daughter’s bed and sang to her, some silly song I know she likes. After a moment she joined in and when we were done we both laughed and laughed – I’m not sure why, but it was happy laughter. She let me brush her hair until it shone and then I said goodnight and kissed both her velvety soft cheeks. She looked at me in such a way and when her forehead puckered I felt as if she had somehow deduced I was leaving. But then the moment passed.
‘Night, night, Mummy,’ she said, and I struggled to keep the tears from spilling.
‘Night, darling,’ I replied as I walked towards the door. ‘Sleep tight.’
And then I hurried away from her room so she would not hear me weeping.
How will I cope with the loss of my daughter?
I’m not able to answer. Not yet. And the truth is, I don’t know. Nor do I know if I’m doing the right thing. My mind wanders round and round in an unforgiving loop and I tell myself to think of something else. As Simone says, I am closing the door on the old me and opening the door on someone new. I must focus. This is something I must do, regardless of what I’m about to sacrifice, or how I feel about it. And I must also remember I’m doing this for Annabelle.
Simone says I will never have to pretend with her. That alone is a weight off my mind.
I put my cheek to the glass of the window and feel its soothing coolness against my cheek. It’s June now and a sunny warm day and I wonder if I am overdressed wearing a twinset and linen skirt. I finger the pearls around my neck and my breath catches as, extremely suddenly, I see them. Two figures. Annabelle and Mrs Wilkes leaving via the front gate. Annabelle skips alongside the woman apparently with no sense of what is about to happen, and Mrs Wilkes is walking briskly as if in a hurry to leave. I raise my hand as if to wave and feel a moment of utter anguish. Is this really the right thing to do? I remember Douglas’s arguments. What if the voice leads me to hurt my own child? Does he believe that’s what happened in Burma? Is it why he’s so adamant I should go? He’s never said as much but it would explain an awful lot. I watch Annabelle until she disappears, but I do not cry. It is for the best. I am no use to her as I am, and nor will I escape from the guilt I constantly feel if I stay. She will be better off with Douglas.
There’s a knock on the door and Simone walks in wearing a flowery summer dress beneath a lightweight cream raincoat.
‘Will it rain today?’ I ask.
She shrugs. ‘It might. Are you ready?’
I nod and take one last glance around my room. Goodbye, room, I think. Goodbye, park. And in that moment I feel utterly bereft.
‘Can you give me a few seconds?’
‘All right. I’m parked just outside the gate, so it will only take a moment before we’re in the car. You’ve taken your medication?’
I give her what I hope is more than a wan smile and hold myself together.