He's Her (3 page)

“So peaceful you instantly jumped to the conclusion you were having a much deserved breakdown? I remember how you reacted when you first realized I was inside your head.”

Vexation stirred her nervous system. Heat flared and her insides clenched and tightened. She was jumpy, on the brink of a major fit, and she knew he felt it when he said,
“Oh, hell, do what you will. I haven’t much say in the matter, now do I?”

He pouted! She sensed it. He had the unmitigated gall to pout. She ignored him. The taxi ride turned into a tranquil oasis for Carrie. Curled into the black cab’s back seat, she closed her eyes, blanked her mind and almost fell asleep. Far too soon they arrived at her address, where she paid the driver from her hoarded stash of coins. Then, uneasily, she approached the older, well-kept, terraced home her grandparents lived in and crept to the front door with her key in hand.

“Woman, why are you skulking, if this is where you live?”

“Shush, don’t bother me right now, and don’t call me ‘woman.’ My name is Carrie, as you well know. I want to sneak in and dodge the inquisition. You have no idea what my grandparents are like. They fret about me, and even though I telephoned to Nellie, our neighbour, to bring them my message that I’d be late, they’ll still expect a full explanation.”

“For goodness’ sake, tell them you’ll enlighten them tomorrow—tonight you’re tired.”

“Right. You don’t know my grandfather.”
Carrie gently twisted the knob and stepped into the cool, dark hallway. A distinct odour of fried chips wafted through to the doorway. Her grandfather’s strident voice rang out from the kitchen, where the only light in the downstairs area shone weakly.

“Confound it, Miss, so you’ve finally decided to come home. Where were you? Your grandmother made me wait forever before she’d agree to give me my supper. Dotty woman was worried you’d starve. As if that made me any less hungry. Come here! Tell us what you’ve been up to. Shenanigans, no doubt.”

Carrie wearily trudged toward the room warmed by the oven’s heat. “I’m sorry, Grandfather. A very ill man collapsed on the bench outside the vicarage, and I helped the vicar take him to the hospital.”

“Oh, the poor fellow!” Her grandmother could always be counted on to sympathize with another’s misery.

“What were you doing at the vicarage? Can’t see why you’d be there, when there’s enough to do here at home helping your grandmother. She’s not as young as she used to be. You’d be better off thinking about her rather than that blasted vicar. Blimey! That dotty old man is always sticking his nose where it’s not wanted.” Her grandfather was in fine form tonight.

“George, let Carrie come in and have a cuppa before you drill the dear girl.” Gran invariably tried to intercede on her behalf with the old man. Tonight it didn’t work. He was cantankerous and wouldn’t be jollied from one of his sulks.

“There wasn’t much I could do to help, but the doctors wanted to question me, as I was the last to see him awake. He’s now in a coma and they’re dreadfully concerned. I called and asked Nellie to let you know I’d be late home, and I slipped away as soon as possible. I’m sorry you were worried.” Carrie looked at her grandfather, her expression apologetic.

“Don’t be daft, girl. You didn’t bother me; it was your grandmother who wouldn’t let up. Near drove me batty with her chatter.”

“Shush, George, she’s fine. No harm’s been done. Carrie, lovey, you look tired. Did you eat?”

“I’m not very hungry, Gran, thank you.” All Carrie wanted was to escape to her room.

“How about a cuppa and toast, then, if you’re only a little peckish?”

“Lovely, Gran dear. Would it be all right if I took it upstairs? I am so tired, and tomorrow is a workday. Monday’s always the worst day of the week, and it takes at least until half Tuesday before the rascals settle down and begin to co-operate.”

Her grandfather stiffened and looked ready to give his opinion, but her grandmother’s hand reached out, and a simple soothing touch had him snapping his mouth closed. A pained expression strained over his face. He was annoyed at not having his say, but since whatever he said would most likely be negative, neither she nor her grandmother wished to hear it. He grunted and stomped off into the parlour, muttering about the naughty, inconsiderate miss
getting waited on hand and foot.

“The kettle’s boiled, Carrie. Come and get your tea, and then go to bed and try to unwind. Your grandfather and I won’t be far behind. It’s been a long day for us, also.” With hands gentle and loving, she brushed back the golden tendrils of hair framing Carrie’s face, tendrils that had escaped from the thick braid twisted around her head. The old woman smiled, adoration blazing. Carrie’s breath caught in the same way it did every time her grandmother came near her. The love they shared uplifted and soothed, a gift they both cherished.

The sweet old woman was the sole reason Carrie lived in this house and put up with her manipulative, nasty-tempered grandfather. They came as a twosome, and to have Gran near her meant she had to tolerate him. Human nature being what it was, Carrie never gave up trying to please him. Need for his approval and affection overrode her insecurities. Love for the older woman, popping antacids and being a savvy peacemaker kept her from the twenty years behind bars she’d get for offing the old curmudgeon.

The handpainted tray her grandmother passed her had been in the family for generations, carved by a relative in the early 1800’s. A crocheted doily enhanced the dainty bone china teapot and matching cup and saucer decorated with red roses. Platefuls of toast, cookies, fruit and jams not only looked wonderful but the smell provoked noisy rumblings from inside that prompted a sheepish grin. Gran patted her shoulder, smiled, and winked knowingly.

“A nice hot bath is just the thing you need, dear heart, and your bed. Don’t stay up late marking papers tonight. You look worn out.”

“Thank you, Grandmother. I think I’ll take your advice. Night-night.”

Carrie leaned over and kissed the soft wrinkled cheek. Lifting the tray, she carefully manoeuvred it to the stairs and made her way slowly to the top. The dark hall lacked sufficient light, but she ignored the impulse to flip a switch, for fear the old miser would start to fuss again. She slipped into her small, homey room and sighed deeply.

“You’re either a saint or a raving lunatic.”

Carrie closed her eyes and groaned.
Not now!
His next remark drilled into her mind with such force she couldn’t disregard it.

“Don’t ignore me. Why do you put up with him? He’s insufferable.”

“Because he’s my grandfather, even if he is an old reprobate. But mostly it’s because I adore her. She’s been mother, grandmother, best friend and protector my whole life. I’d never leave her alone with him.”
She switched on the small lamp next to her bed and placed her tray on a wooden chair. She glanced around to be sure all was in order. Not once had a male guest ever visited her room, and it made her self-conscious.

“It’s your life... My god! This is your room? It’s worse than a jail cell, for heaven’s sake.”
His thoughts exploded in her head.

“And how many jail cells have you seen, to know what they look like?”
She struck back, with sarcasm dripping, but couldn’t maintain the attitude. She chuckled.

“None of your business.”
His answer resounded, brutally firm.

It wiped the smile right off her face and had her closing her eyes in pain, which he recognized instantly.

“I apologize. I don’t know what’s gotten into me.”

“I know what’s gotten into me, and trust me, it doesn’t help.”
Her joke fell flat, but at least she felt better for having tried to lighten his spirits.

“There was no call to treat you like that,”
he insisted.
“I have a hard time interacting with people, and I find this situation intolerable. And, truthfully, your room shocks me.”

Carrie looked around her as she nibbled away at her meal. She took the most sustenance from the perfectly brewed pot of steaming tea, savouring the taste and allowing it to calm her. She cupped her hands around the hot porcelain.

“I like my room. It’s quaint.”
She glanced at the small space and tried to see it from a stranger’s point of view. The smallish window was covered with a partially rolled-up blind and topped by lacy blue curtains. The one chair had belonged to an old kitchen set that had seen better days. The matching table now resided in the garden shed. The painted wardrobe, propped up on one side with a block of wood her grandfather had jammed there to prevent it from wobbling, filled one wall. Her favourite article, a hand-quilted bedcover her grandmother had painstakingly worked on for months, covered her narrow bed. Patches from many childhood dresses were worked into a wedding ring pattern, and the colors cheered her up every time she crawled under it. She sighed and reiterated,
“I like my room.”

“It’s ugly.”

“Didn’t your mother ever tell you that if you don’t have anything nice to say then it’s best not to say anything at all?”

“No! I don’t remember my real mother. My step-witch didn’t give a damn about me or my behaviour. She saved those niceties for my half-brother and sister.”

Carrie sensed a “chip on the shoulder” attitude and knew if he were facing her she’d see the same chilly reserve that had been evident the one and only time she’d been face to face with him. He’d looked to be a man full of secrets and power and—hard edges.

“I’m sorry. Look, I’ve never had close friends, people whom I’d confide in or tell my secrets to, other than Gran. There just wasn’t the freedom to have those kinds of relationships. So this is new to me, this sharing with you. If I don’t seem to be sympathetic of your predicament, it’s not that I don’t empathize; it’s just hard for me to show it. I’m most terribly sorry for what’s happened to you, and I promise to help you in every way I can.”

“Right. Well, the best way to help is to go to sleep, and in the morning we’ll head back to the hospital and see what’s happening to me.”

“Oh dear! I can’t do that. I have to work in the morning. I have classes at the school where I teach. They wouldn’t appreciate my being absent.”

“The hell with them. This is much more important, girl. It’s my life.”

“Yes, but you’ve invaded my life, and there’s not a lot we can do about it. I promise first thing to stop somewhere and call the hospital, and then on my lunch break we will go and visit. It’s the best I can do, I’m afraid.”

“Can’t you call tonight?”

“We have no telephone. Remember, at the hospital I had to call Nellie, our neighbour, to run a message over for me?”

“I wasn’t exactly paying attention.”

“We’ve never had a telephone.”

“My God, are you kidding, in this day and age?”

“My grandfather refuses to have one installed. Calls them ‘those new-fangled gadgets.’ He lived his early life in the North Country as a farmer, and since he married my grandmother he’s worked in the foundries. Money has always been tight.”

“So you’re saying he’s—cheap.”

“You don’t understand him. Medical bills take most of his money, and it’s expensive to run this house. He does the best he can. But since his ways are none of your concern, let’s just drop it. I’m exhausted.”

“Right! What are you waiting for? Go and have your bath and come to bed so we can get this night over with. The morning will come soon enough, and we’ll deal with our situation then.”

Pinkness flooded Carrie’s features as she cradled her face in her finger-spread hands.
“I can’t.”
She groaned.

“Why, in the name of heaven, can’t you?”

“I’ve never undressed in front of anyone before, and I’ll not start now.”

“Oh for God’s sake! You dizzy broad—I can’t see you. I have no eyes.”

“Yes, that’s true. I never thought of that. I can carry on as normal.”

“Uh-huh. Look, I can take a hint. I’ll leave you to it and say goodnight.”

Her frazzled nerves calmed and she relaxed for the first time since the incident. She made her way down the hall to the one room in the house where peace and pleasure awaited in the shape of the white clawfoot bathtub. While it filled with hot water, she leaned towards the mirror over the sink. She examined her golden-highlighted, brown-eyed gaze to see if she could see him, her internal squatter, but only she stared back. A huge sigh signalled her satisfaction.

Her heavily lashed eyes narrowed in concentration as she scrutinized features she’d looked at with indifference all her life, not realizing how delightful they were. The upward tilt of her plump, naturally red lips drew second glances from many appreciative males. But the naïveté in her eyes had them sighing—too bad. Her healthy white teeth were another plus to her appearance, and the contagious sparkle that lit her brown orbs when she was happy brought a liveliness to her expression that was missing in so many of the young women around her.