Sekabo by Richard Woolley

Author:Richard Woolley
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-78308-2-193
Publisher: Anthem Press

Chapter Twenty Seven

Elaine (Incocoised Diary Fragment 2)

Later that night, her spirits flying high on the successful resuscitation of her returnee, Su-yin activated the new fragment of Elaine’s diary that had been transferred by the police in Sekabo.

I first heard about the visit at work. I’d been cleaning a private room and found a recent copy of Yorkshire Life in a drawer by the bed. Normally I’d have thrown it into the rubbish bag, but a picture of Princess Diana on the cover drew my attention: ‘Princess to visit Yorkshire – list of engagements, see page six’. I turned to page six and read a detailed description of the planned activities. Diana would be staying with the Duke and Duchess of Kent at Hovingham, visiting a council estate in York on Wednesday, lunching at Castle Howard on Thursday, and finally, on the Friday night, attending a masked ball at Dinsdale Hall, home of the Duke and Duchess of Dalby. I felt anger flush my face. The Duchess of Dalby should by rights have been me, because my old flame James, the one who had promised to love me forever, was now the Duke. But five young bucks undergoing their sexual baptism in the body of a black cleaning lady had messed up my life forever: given me a son whom I loved more than anyone, yet denied him the chance of ever knowing his father’s name. Five bucks, now almost as old as me, who would, no doubt, be at the ball with five, five-star wives.

That evening I found a note from Michael saying he had gone away on work and would not be back for a couple of days. No indication of where he’d gone, but a promise to ring as soon as he could and let me know everything was all right. Strange, I thought, that he hadn’t told me in person about going away, and strange that he felt unable to say, as he usually did, where he was staying.

Acting on instinct, I made my way up to the attic.

Normally I would only intrude on my son’s space to dust and clean, and even then always resist the temptation to nose, making sure my eyes were skinned for dust not information. I despise parents who behave like private detectives with their children and I respect my son’s privacy as much as I can. Now, however, something stronger than parental respect was driving me up to Michael’s room and whether it was sixth sense, mother’s intuition or just plain curiosity did not matter. I needed to know where he was.

I entered the attic and opened the blind over a skylight. The setting sun flooded in, penetrating every corner of the room and momentarily blinding me. When my eyes had recovered, I moved them across the room: bed, wardrobe, easy chair, stereo, portable TV, desk chair, shoe rack, posters – and a wastepaper basket half hidden beneath the video editing console.

I crossed over, knelt down, pulled the basket out into the open and began to sift through the screwed up pieces of paper squashed inside.

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