Had she the prescience to know her life was ending? It pierces my soul to think of Lizzie riddled with that level of fear.
When you finally answer my questions, I hope that you will tell me that she had no notion of what would befall her, that you tricked her and she turned away, and she never saw you raise the cast-iron stick. That the first blow felled her like a lamb, crushed her brain like a grape, stopped her heart, the swelling of her lungs, the blood in her veins. I hope that you will tell me that.
But I need you to tell me the truth.
However bleak.
Ruth
Thursday 17 September 2009
Kay orders the flowers. A bouquet from Jack, one from Tony and me. She brings back some stationery too, cream vellum, thick, for us to write notes.
Florence is drawing a rainbow with felt tips, upper teeth snagging her lower lip in concentration. She presses hard on the paper, which begins to tear. When I try to slide another piece of paper underneath, she shoves it away. I feel a moment’s fierce irritation. Hold it in. After all, the kitchen table is already marked with scratches, burns and scuffs, biro marks. A bit of felt tip won’t hurt.
I pick up a pen and stare at the paper. What can I possibly say? ‘I can’t do this,’ I mumble, tears stinging the back of my eyes. I pull my glasses off.
‘Ruth…’ Tony says.
‘No.’ I go outside. Words have been my life, words, books, stories, reading. Okay, maybe not the whole of my life, but a great part of it, and now they fail me. They are inadequate, pale, flimsy, weak.
Tony comes out after a few minutes. ‘We can just keep it simple,’ he says. ‘Say we love her, always.’ His voice wavers and he pinches his nose.
‘It’s not enough.’
‘A poem then, a quotation.’
I smile, a rush of affection. I used to send him poems when we first started going out. Sonnets and verses I thought he’d like. Shakespeare, Donne, Plath, Dickinson.
‘I’ll have a look.’
He had come to the library looking for reference books about architecture, wanting to become more knowledgeable for his salvage work. I had just started there, librarian assistant on a job creation scheme. A way to get off the dole for six months. After a degree in English and history and a year’s teacher training, I decided that teaching was not for me. At least not classroom teaching. But I loved the library work, helping people with all sorts of quests for knowledge.
When Tony asked for advice, whether there were any more books he could get hold of, I suggested he try Central Library with its extensive reference section. I showed him how to find books in the catalogue and, if they weren’t in our Ladybarn branch, how to request an inter-library loan.
