Extract from Sally & Other Stories

Chloe Boulton

The Nativity - December 2015

Catherine’s car is much too high off the ground for Lorraine’s tastes, but she keeps this to herself. In the eighties, after they were married, Paul drove a van for a while. She had not liked that either. Though, that time, because it was him and because she was still mouthy and twenty-four, she said exactly what she thought. He had the van for years, and she hated it for just as long. Not long after he moved out, he sold it and got an estate car instead. For a long time, she was certain this was to spite her.

It doesn’t help that Catherine is not a good driver and never has been either. Heavy-footed and unable to make smooth gear changes. Lorraine had tried to teach her daughter to drive herself, but genuinely fearing for her life made her pay out for an instructor. She hasn’t gotten in the car with Catherine for a very long time, but she sees now why Ray does most of the driving between the pair of them. On the way to the school, Lorraine holds onto the handle inside the door and tightens her grip when they go around corners. Catherine makes a point of tutting when she sees her do this.

They pull into the school carpark and stop very abruptly. Lorraine has to make an effort to hold herself upright and stop her body jolting forward. The handbrake makes a horrible noise when Catherine pulls it up. Lorraine checks her face in the mirror before getting out. Her eyebrows – almost completely drawn-on – are even, and there is no lipstick on her teeth. The same, then, as when she left the house. She looks more like her mother than ever.

Come on, Catherine says. Let’s get in there.

Lorraine lingers for a moment, staring at herself still. She hasn’t been out much recently. She supposes she can excuse Catherine’s anxiety about being late. After all, it was Lorraine herself who made such a fuss about punctuality her whole childhood. 

You look lovely, now come on.

For the last twenty years of her life, Lorraine’s mother had thick hair that looked like a small grey cloud. She wore brown lipstick and big earrings that she said distracted people from looking at the rest of her. Lorraine isn’t quite at that point yet, but she can feel that she is headed there. The other day she asked Mark if she looked like her mother; he said yes, but she had wanted him to say no. This had put her in a bad mood for the rest of the afternoon. She sighs and gets out of the car.

Tonight is the first night of the nativity play and Amy has been cast in the role of Mary. They’re all very excited for her. She has taken the role very seriously, roping in whoever she can, whenever she can, to practice her lines with her. Lorraine feels very proud. 

Ray and Sally are already in there, Catherine announces, looking up from her phone.

She doesn’t say anything else, but Catherine holds Lorraine’s arm as they walk inside. Lorraine has had no trouble walking for a while now, but the habit of helping her mother must have stuck for Catherine.

For all her adult life, Lorraine has worked in pharmacies. First, the one two doors down from her parents’ house. It was run by a short man named Dev who was good friends with her father. Neither of his children took on the family business, so when he passed away the place was sold and turned into two offices: an estate agent’s downstairs, and a solicitor’s upstairs. She took a job after that in the pharmacy on the high street, which was eventually knocked down to make room for flats. Finally, she worked at the one next to the doctors’ surgery. There are a few of them that work there: her, Caroline, Ema, and Nikita. They’ve all been there for years and get along well. At work, Lorraine has spoken to lot of unwell people and had more or less regarded serious illness as the sort of thing that happens to other people. Then, last year, she became very unwell and thought for a little while that she wouldn’t make it to her next birthday. The doctors did what they had to do, cutting things out, off – she doesn’t like to think about it too much – and eventually she got better. People were very kind. Catherine and Mark helped her so much, it makes her want to cry just at the thought, even now. All of her siblings, her friends. She even had a few phone calls from Paul. This surprised her almost as much as getting ill did. Anyway, she must’ve given them all quite the scare because she’s okay now, but they’re all still acting as if she isn’t.

They make their way into the hall. It makes Lorraine smile to walk through the corridors and see all the colourful displays, the children’s work hung up for everyone to see. She tries to look out for anything done by Amy, or Sally, but she doesn’t have her reading glasses on. There are finger paintings and collages, poems, diagrams about recycling and rain and the lifecycles of caterpillars. Catherine looks at her watch a few times as they walk.

The hall is decorated in tinsel and snowflakes cut out of printer paper and there is a plastic tree in the corner covered in red and gold baubles. It’s very warm and there is a loud buzz of conversation. The stage is all set up, ready for the show to start. Lorraine spots Ray and Sally in the third row. The first two are completely full already of eager family members armed with cameras that, according to the many signs all around the room, they shouldn’t have. A few children from the secondary school are there, they are going to film it properly. Apparently copies of the DVD will be available in January, according, again, to the signs. Lorraine and Catherine join Ray and Sally, sitting down on the blue plastic chairs. Ray and Catherine begin talking about something or other – do they have the present for Amy, are the flowers nice enough, Lorraine can’t follow it exactly. Sally scrolls on her phone idly. Lorraine unbuttons her coat and then folds it up to have over her lap. A recent purchase made online, from the John Lewis website. She didn’t even have to get Mark to help her, she’d just done it. She looks around and sees that she knows a few people, recognises their faces from the pharmacy or from the playground at pick-up time. She misses doing that. Maybe in the New Year she’ll tell Catherine she’d like to do it again. On the other side of the room, she gets a wave from the Davidson’s, there to see their granddaughter; and then she spots Caroline, still in her work uniform, who mouths, Catch up later, before she smiles broadly and reveals her gold tooth. Lorraine smiles and nods, then becomes, again, conscious of how she looks and pulls her coat closer to her, to cover more of her front. She fishes her glasses out of her bag and picks up the cast list that had been on her seat, scanning through the names to see who she knows or has heard about. At the very top, Amy Allan as Mary. Lorraine folds the paper neatly in half and puts it in her handbag to keep. 

The show is sweet, and surprisingly funny. In the middle of the songs, Lorraine spots several of the children waving towards the audience. Amy delivers her lines well but looks disgruntled when the boy playing Joseph stumbles over the fake haybales on the stage. The boy turns bright red, meanwhile Amy simply looks to the audience and rolls her eyes. It gets a chuckle from the first few rows. Lorraine remembers bringing her mother to the nativity a few times to see Catherine and Mark; even if they were just animals or innkeepers, or part of the choir, Lorraine’s mother would make a fuss over them. During the interval, Catherine taps her on the shoulder.

What do you think? she asks.

She’s brilliant, isn’t she?

Catherine smiles. Yeah, she is.

Somebody else taps her shoulder. Her other shoulder. She turns around. Irene Priestley. Mark had been at school with Irene’s son – Damon? Damien? Damien. Horrible boy, from memory. No manners. Irene herself had not been any better. She’d been quite fascinated by Lorraine and Paul’s divorce, always trying to get a bit more information for the rumour mill. When Mark went to their house for dinner, she probed him about it: what happened? where is your dad now? would you rather be staying with him? Lorraine never let him go back there after that. Somehow, she hasn’t spoken to her for what must be twenty years, more even.

Oh, Irene, I didn’t even see you there, how are you? Lorraine says, making sure to smile.

I’m doing just fine, how are you?

Not bad at all. Are you enjoying the show?

Irene nods. She has aged well, Lorraine thinks. Disappointing. Her neck and cheeks have held up, she’s colouring her hair a very convincing shade of brown. Lorraine wonders what she uses. Creams? Serums? Maybe it’s Botox. She would rather die than ask, of course.

It’s adorable, she says. Did I overhear that your granddaughter is in it? Is she in the choir?

She’s Mary, Lorraine tells her. Of course, Irene Priestley can never give a full compliment. She must make the other person do half the work. 

Well, she’s quite the actress, I must say.

Thank you. Who are you here to see?

My grandson. He’s one of the sheep. The blonde one.

Lorraine nods. She knows who Irene means; she’s seen him at drop-off and pick-up time, now she thinks about it. Always making a fuss over something, trying to get a bit of attention. He cries a lot, going red-faced but never shedding tears.

So sweet, she says.

Pardon me for asking, I hear that you’ve not been too well lately. 

She feels herself suddenly become hot with anger. She can’t stand the idea that this information could reach someone she has not spoken to for two decades. The woman has not changed at all, then. Lorraine cannot think of anything to say that would make Irene feel ashamed of herself for being a gossip.

I’m doing much better now.

Out of the corner of her eye, she can see Catherine sitting very still, listening to them talk. She wonders what she is thinking. 

Irene smiles. Well, you look great. Very well. You’d never even know.

Damien gets her attention, and she gives Lorraine a look to indicate that their conversation has come to an end. A pretend expression of guilt, falsely apologetic for the interruption. Lorraine simply raises her eyebrows and turns around to face the stage again.

Nosy cow, Catherine mutters quietly. Ray looks at her questioningly but does not ask what the matter is.

The narrator, a ginger girl with a plait on either shoulder, steps onto the stage. The noise in the room dies down and the overhead lights are turned off. 

Theresa – Lorraine’s mother – was the type of woman who did not get ill. Growing up, Lorraine never saw her mother with so much as the common cold. Her father had the occasional bout of flu, and had to get his knee, then his hip, replaced. Neither of them ever spoke about their ailments in any great detail. Lorraine did not know her father was dying until the week before it happened. Her mother lived for another twenty-five years. She got ill and then she got better, and this happened twice before there was no getting better. During the in-between times, she carried on as usual. Lorraine often wondered how she did it. Theresa would tell Lorraine off for worrying about her so much. Scolding her as though she was a child, despite Lorraine being well into adulthood by then. Her children would giggle, Mum, you’re in trouble. Theresa got her own shopping, she still went out to get her hair done, did her own gardening, went to the post office, and cooked and baked for herself, and her neighbours when she had leftovers. She went to community events, she met her friends in the café, and got the bus with no trouble at all. 

Lorraine had tried to be this way, she had. But she couldn’t do it. She had done well to perform a close-to-accurate imitation of her mother for a long time, following her lead, doing as she did. She’d raised her children to be well-behaved, she cooked from her mother’s recipes, made sure that the house was kept nice and that all their clothes were ironed, she sent cards on time, laid flowers on her father’s grave every other week, she did not treat anyone as if they owed her anything. But she could not be her mother in her own illness. She became reclusive; this is the word her family used, at least. She did not want anyone to see her, could not bear the idea that a person might know she was anything less than perfect, unwavering. She shared with her sister June her concern over what their mother might think, to see her this way. June insisted that she’d understand. Lorraine was not so sure. 

At the end of the show there is a standing ovation. Amy was excellent, as they all knew she would be. Lorraine feels, suddenly, moved from thinking about the possibility of having missed this. Amy waves at them all with one hand, holding a plastic baby doll, Jesus, in the other. Out of the corner of her eye she sees that it is Damien Priestley who whistles obnoxiously above the sound of clapping. Lorraine detests him, and his mother. When the applause dies down and people start leaving their seats, she makes sure to avoid getting caught up in speaking with either of them again. Instead, she makes a beeline for Caroline who hollers, Lorraine! through the small cluster of moving bodies trying to get out of the room. 

When they get close enough, Caroline hugs her. Lorraine stiffens. She pulls Caroline away from her, under the guise of being excited to talk to her. To her relief, it lands smoothly.

How are you? 

All the better for seeing you, Caroline says. You’re looking well, how are you feeling?

I’m okay, good. Better and better every day.

Caroline holds her by the shoulders, looking at her as if trying to find something. Lorraine struggles not to pull away. When she seems satisfied, Caroline says: I’m glad to hear it. Now, when are you coming back to work?

Caroline has never been one to bother much with small talk. It used to make Lorraine laugh, at work, when she would waive any fluff or embellishment and ask their customers blunt, personal questions in order to move the interaction along quicker. On the receiving end it is not so funny. Lorraine feels she needs small talk, as cushioning. 

Oh, I’m not sure, I haven’t thought much about it.

This is, of course, a complete lie. She thinks about her return to work multiple times a day, every single day. She’ll have to go back soon, she’s not old enough to retire. She just doesn’t have it in her right now.

Right, well, you best get on that, Caroline says. There’s a temp in your place, and my god – If I have to work with her much longer, I might very well kill her.

She can’t be that bad.

Oh Lorraine, she’s that bad and worse.

Lorraine laughs because doesn’t know what to say. Caroline seems to sense this. 

Will you at least think about it, coming back? We all miss you so much.

I’ll think about it. I’ll definitely think about it.

Bitterly, wanting to see if it’ll make herself feel worse, Lorraine thinks that they only miss her because of the extra work she does. That they do not miss her, but they miss the things she does that other people do not. Hoovering when the cleaner is away. Speaking to Mr Worsley about his various aches and pains. She knows, deep down, this isn’t true and feels ashamed of herself for thinking it. Those girls, women, are her friends, they’re kind people.

Good, Caroline says. Her phone makes a noise. I’ve gotta go, but I’ll give you a ring tomorrow. We’ll get a coffee later in the week.

Okay, that sounds lovely.

Caroline leaves and Lorraine looks around to see where Catherine and the others are. She wants to go home. She puts her coat back on. She feels stupid for feeling that it protects her. Then, Sally appears suddenly, as if from nowhere.

We thought we’d lost you, she says. She leads Lorraine away from where she is standing, holding her arm. She must’ve seen Catherine do it.

Sorry, Lorraine says. I was speaking to Caroline. 

Who’s that?

Lady with the gold tooth, Lorraine says, pointing to her own teeth. From my work.

Oh, her. I like her.

Yeah, me too. 

What was she saying?

She was talking to me about going back.

Do you think you will?

I don’t know yet. I don’t think I can face it.

Sally nods. Lorraine thinks, perhaps, she should not have said this. Then, she decides she definitely should not have said this. It should not be Sally’s concern. She thinks about saying something to correct herself, to repair Sally’s image of her.

You only think that, Sally says before Lorraine can come up with anything. 

I don’t know.

A small pause. Then, Mum said that Amy’s picking dinner, by the way.

And with that, they move on. They take a corner down to a corridor that Lorraine is not familiar with. Sally seems to know where she is going, so Lorraine does not question where she is being taken. They walk up to Catherine and Ray who are waiting for them, and for Amy who is apparently still getting changed. Lorraine supposes she cannot go home in the Mary outfit.

Amy chooses a restaurant on the retail park, not too far from the school. The last time Lorraine ate there it was called something else; she can’t remember now. Catherine and Mark used to love it, anyway. She’d give them each a twenty pence piece to put in the old-fashioned jukebox they had next to the booths at the back. The girls go in Ray’s car, and Lorraine goes with Catherine. They’ll meet each other there. 

You know, I can’t believe the cheek of that Irene, Catherine says before she even turns the engine on. 

Oh, don’t, Lorraine says, waving her hand as though that could bat the mention of their interaction away.

She didn’t upset you, did she?

What? No. Lorraine feigns nonchalance. I couldn’t care less about what that woman thinks of me.

Catherine hums and turns the key in the ignition. She pulls away from the space. They drive slowly towards the queue of cars leaving the school gates.

Are you sure?

Of course I’m sure.

Catherine doesn’t seem convinced. 

You’ve been through a really hard time recently.

I’m not upset.

You’d tell me, wouldn’t you?

Catherine, please. 

Okay, she says. Okay. I’ll say no more about it.

Thank you.