If I Let You Go by Charlotte Levin

Author:Charlotte Levin [Levin, Charlotte]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2022-12-19T17:00:00+00:00

31

For She’s a Jolly Good Fellow

Haunted by Nish’s suspicious face, even taking the route via the leisure centre cut-through isn’t enjoyable. Instead of inducing serenity, she imagines wading into the brambles, inviting the thorns to once again scratch until she bleeds. She makes do with a snap of the elastic band.

By the time she reaches Oakland House, the culminating worries have climaxed with a pulsing headache. The skull-penetrating buzz of the pressed intercom adding to the pain.

Helen is striding towards the glass.

Having usually been let in remotely, Janet’s arms prickle with unease.

The electronic door gradually opens. As soon as there’s air between them, she says, ‘What’s up? Is Dad OK?’

Helen’s nod is solemn. ‘He’s fine. Can you come this way though, please?’ She turns without waiting for a response, walks ahead. Janet following a few steps behind, silenced by the newly formed lump in her throat. They don’t turn down the bluebell corridor. But left, towards the office and communal lounge.

Whichever room she’s being guided to, the steps are difficult. Her feet, the ignition for the rush of heat sweeping over her body.

It’s the police.

They know.

She wasn’t home, so they’ve come here.

The twenty-second journey seems endless, but unfortunately isn’t. They’re standing outside the double doors of the lounge.

‘Helen, what’s going on?’ Her voice is feeble, sheepish.

‘I think it’s best if you come inside.’ Helen pushes the right-hand panel. It opens with a sucking noise, then all is quiet as she holds it ajar, beckons.

Janet enters, confronts her fate.

Silence transforms into applause. Whistling. Explosions of the same poppers that had terrified her earlier. A glittery HERO banner hanging over the serving hatch. And even more touching than she’d imagined, ‘For She’s a Jolly Good Fellow’ sung with frail gusto.

Hand on chest, her mouth opens, eyes alight. Endorphins rising beyond her control.

‘Your face,’ says Helen, laughing. ‘What on earth did you think I was going to do with you?’

Janet smiles, shakes her head. Aware of the tickle of wetness on her cheeks. Then returns to viewing her personal concert. They’re all here. The familiar faces she’s watched deteriorate over time. Central, her dad, clapping heartily. At what, she doubts he knows. But chooses to believe he does. That he’s proud. ‘Oh goodness . . . thank you . . . thank you everyone. But you really shouldn’t have. I’m no hero,’ she says, as though stating this somehow dissipates the wrongness.

Dorothy is walking towards her with a cup of tea and a plate containing a bouncy white bacon sandwich. ‘This is for our hero,’ she says, putting them down on the nearest table.

Roger shuffles behind. ‘You were in the paper, Janet. And now you’ve been on the television.’

‘I . . . I know, Roger . . . yes.’

Dorothy edges closer, wiping Janet’s cheek with her arthritic fingers. ‘You look lovely . . . not just the make-up. I can see how happy saving that little girl has made you.’

‘Oh, it has, Dorothy.’ And she means it. Until she remembers, and her mouth twitches.

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