Play On (Play On 1)

“Sylvie.” His voice contained warning.

Her eyes lowered in dejection, and she shot me a sad look. “Bye, Nora.”

Strangely, the words felt sharp and ragged as I forced them off my tongue. “Bye, Sylvie.”

As I watched her hurry to keep up with her father’s quick steps, sadness for the girl pressed heavily upon me.

“She lives with her uncle Aidan full-time,” Jan said. “When her mum was alive, she had full custody because he,” she nodded down the hallway with a sneer on her mouth, “wasn’t ready to be a dad. When he finally decided he was, he was too busy with his work to really be one. Guardianship naturally passed to her brother Aidan. He started homeschooling Sylvie when Nicky got sick and hasn’t wanted to interrupt her routine since she lost her mum. I think it’s time, though.”

“Yeah, she should be with other kids her age,” I agreed.

“He’s doing the best he can, I suppose.”

“You sound like you like him.”

To my surprise Jan flushed. “Let’s just say ye’d be hard pushed to find a woman who didn’t like Aidan Lennox.”

I found myself thinking constantly of Sylvie over the next few days. Whether I was a moth to the flame of someone’s personal tragedy, or if it was because she reminded me of Mel, I didn’t know. Or maybe it was because there was something about the kid and her grown-up seriousness that tugged at my heartstrings. Whatever the reason, she was on my mind, and I was hoping I might see her again a week later as I was busying myself to leave the flat for the hospital. I wanted to make sure the kid was doing all right.

As I was finishing my coffee and picking up my backpack to go, there was a knock on my door. Hurrying quietly over to it, I got up on my tiptoes to squint through the peephole. My stomach dropped at the sight of Seonaid and Angie on the other side. I glanced behind me at my small apartment. The kitchen was one counter along the back wall with an oven, sink, cupboards, and a small fridge/freezer. It was directly opposite the sitting room, which was only big enough for two small couches, a tiny coffee table, and a television. Directly ahead of the front door was the door to the bedroom, big enough for a bed, and it had a built-in-wardrobe for the few clothes I had. There was a tiny, seen-many-better-days bathroom off the bedroom.

It was tidy and clean, but grim and depressing, and miles away from what Jim had been striving for.

“We heard you moving around, Nora. Open up,” Seonaid said.

With no other choice, I turned the multiple locks on the door and pulled back the chain. As soon as the door was open, Angie and Seonaid barged in. Seonaid looked annoyed and Angie concerned. Jim’s mother shook her head, gesturing for me to shut the door. “Jim wid hate that ye’er livin’ here. I wish ye’d rethink and come stay with me until ye’er on yer feet.”

“You know how much that offer means to me, Angie, but I need to take care of myself.” I walked around them, feeling their eyes burning into me as I grabbed my backpack, making it clear I was on my way out. Jim’s family and friends had been so kind to me over the last year. They hadn’t stopped acting like I was a member of their family. But being around them was too difficult for me.

“You’re going out?” Seonaid scowled. “We dropped by to ask you to come out for brunch with us. We both have the day off.”

“I can’t.” I said apologetically. “I’m volunteering at the hospital.”

“Volunteering being the operative word,” Seonaid said. “Go another day. We haven’t see you in ages.”

Guilt over avoiding them gnawed at me. I realized that the wall I’d put up between me and Jim’s family and Roddy had hurt them, but I couldn’t bear to hear them talk about how lucky Jim was to have had me in his life; how he got to at least have that kind of amazing love before he died. The guilt wrecked me, carved me up inside because they didn’t see the ugly truth. They persisted in trying to keep me a part of the family and I allowed them to, because part of me needed the punishment their presence provided.

“I can’t. Jan is expecting me.”

Angie’s face fell. “Surely she can dae without ye this once. I’ve no seen ye in weeks, Nora.”

“I know.” I squeezed her arm as I passed them, heading for the door. “I’ll make it up to you. But I promised the kids I’d be back this week and I can’t make promises to sick kids and not keep them, you know.”

“I think volunteering at the hospital is wonderful, but I dinnae want yer whole life to be about it. Assure me it’s no.” Angie said, looking worried.

I’d opened the door, wishing I could escape without answering, because I didn’t have the answer she wanted. So I lied. “It’s not. I promise. But it is worthwhile. It takes the kids out of the reality of their situations for a while and it makes me feel good for now.”

They seemed to reluctantly accept that as they walked out of my apartment, disappointed I was choosing the hospital over them again. They also seemed to sense there was more to my volunteering than the need for charity. I wondered how they could be so suspicious of my motives now, but have never clued in on the fact that all was not sweetness and light between Jim and me. I remembered the way Angie had touched my face in sympathy when she’d seen I’d cut off all my hair. She thought she understood why because everyone had heard Jim say at some point or another how I was never to cut my hair, that he loved my hair. But Angie didn’t really understand why I did it.

My long hair wasn’t a painful reminder of Jim, of losing him. It was the agonizing reminder that I’d started to lose myself when I’d followed him to Edinburgh to escape my life. Once there, once I’d realized I didn’t love him like he loved me, instead of being honest, I’d stayed with him and played the part of the wife he’d wanted, and in doing so lost myself entirely.

Sylvie was back. Her father once more had some business thing come up, and he’d dropped her off at the hospital for a few hours, despite the fact he’d said they couldn’t keep imposing. After I’d finished reading to the kids, with help from Sylvie once again, my precocious new young friend asked me to have lunch with her in the cafeteria. She’d even tried to buy my lunch, much to my amusement.

“So why here?” I said, nosy, as we ate mac and cheese. “Why doesn’t your dad drop you off at your uncle’s?”

She sighed, as though she had the weight of the world on her tiny shoulders. “Uncle Aidan is really busy. I know it. But he would hang out with me instead of doing his work. It’s not fair. Daddy kind of promised Uncle Aidan it wouldn’t happen again, but ...” She shrugged. And then she smiled. “But we get to hang out so it’s cool.”

I was still concerned by the instability in Sylvie’s life, but I smiled. “It is.”

“I told Uncle Aidan all about you and how you let me read with you.” She grinned. “Did I tell you Uncle Aidan knows famous people?”

Trying not to laugh, I nodded. “You might have mentioned it.”

“He’s a music producer and composer,” she said. “That means he works on famous people’s music with them and also he writes, like, music for films and stuff. You know, like, music without words.”

That was pretty swanky and impressive. “Like score music.”

She nodded her head vigorously. “He has all these instruments and computer stuff. He’s really clever.”

“He sounds really clever.”

“Yeah, and,” she continued on, as excited about her subject as ever, “Uncle Aidan had a room painted blue and purple in the flat and all these pretty things put in it with a big bed just for me. My tutor Miss Robertson said I’m a really lucky girl.”

“Yeah.” I smiled, growing nosier about her life by the second. “And does Miss Robertson teach you a lot?”

“Uh-huh. She comes to the house Mondays, Tuesdays, and Fridays. And we work all day,” she groaned. “It’s not like school at all. It’s harder because I’m the only kid in the class. I can’t get away with anything.”

She sounded so beleaguered it made me laugh. It was good to know she was receiving a fine education but I still think it was about time this kid got back to school and had some normality in her life.