From her earliest memory Maureen had been taken for granted. When only a child she had had to help out at home, many times all alone. Her mother had brought her up on her own, after her father had died when she was only a baby. But Maureen’s mother thought of it as a curse and refused any help from the other neighbours or from her own family. “He has gone and left me with this child, so it must be a sign that I have to carry on and bear the burden and the grief.” Her mother had been such a strict churchgoer and believed that any misgivings dealt to a person, that it was a test of strength being delivered to see how strong of faith you were.
Giving little notice of the tiny child, she carried on until one day when Maureen was just 10 years old, she collapsed out in the back garden, when hanging out the washing. With the last bit of strength she had, she called out to Maureen, “come quickly child, help me indoors and then you must fetch the doctor.” Having said this she leaned her weight onto the small thin frame of her daughter and hobbled into the front room.
Maureen dashed about, putting up her mother’s feet and getting a damp cloth, she placed this on her mother’s head. She quickly took down the bunch of keys hanging by the front door and ran as fast as she could to the doctors house.
This being in a very quiet little village, the doctor had kept up the old ways of having his surgery at his house. Although he was a young doctor, he didn’t want to spoil the way the village had worked for the previous doctors. He had had the house made larger, extending the house out at the back and making more of the small summer-house at the bottom of the large garden.
Maureen stumbled through the old heavy door and out of breath shouted for the doctor. No one was about in the reception area and she was getting quite frantic about having left her mother just lying on the sofa.
Young doctor Henderson appeared, “now what is all this noise about young lady. Take it easy and tell me slowly what is wrong.”
Paul Henderson had a very boyish look to him, which also made him very popular with all the ladies, be they young or old. After listening to the tale of little Maureen’s mother, he soon picked up his doctors' bag and taking Maureen’s hand he gently guided her out and into his car.
The drive was only a short one and they were soon inside the house and into the front room. Her mother lay there, just as she had left her, but by the very slight movement of her chest, it showed that she was still breathing.
Doctor Henderson took out his stethoscope and after seeing the frightened look on Maureen’s face, he asked her to go and make them all a cup of tea. This was really just to get her out of the room so that she needn’t see anymore.
Doctor Henderson resumed his examination, he wanted to make sure that his findings were right. Afterwards he rang through for an ambulance to take Mrs Pilkington to the hospital in the main town.
“Come here Maureen, your mother is going to be alright, but she needs to take things much more easier than she has been doing. I am sending her to the hospital for a few tests. Can you go and stay with a relative or a friend?” Doctor Henderson smiled sweetly at Maureen. In between choked sobs Maureen said that she would probably be OK at her aunt Maud’s. “Your mother doesn’t want to go the hospital, but I have told her that it is for the best. She won’t be in for long, but she does need some rest.”
Maureen quickly made up a small case with night clothes and toiletries for her mother. Mrs Pilkington none too gently slapped away the doctor’s hand and beckoned for Maureen to come closer. “Don’t you be making yourself a nuisance at your aunt Maud’s. Make sure that you come here after school to keep the house free of dust and only then can you go to aunt Maud’s. Also you keep up with your homework. I don’t want you lagging behind with your grades. You may think that your brain is clever and will get you through everything, but mark my words child, a lazy brain will soon shut down and won’t work.
Soon the ambulance arrived and took Mrs Pilkington away. After making sure that Maureen would be alright, Doctor Henderson waved goodbye and left her standing alone on the doorstep. Closing the door gently, Maureen made her way into the kitchen to clear up the few dishes which had been used for breakfast. This would be the beginning of her many years of confined housework, which would see her through all her teenage years and her young adult life, until she reached her forties.
Maureen was a very bright child, she met all her grades and was given the chance to go to university. When she asked her mother whether she could go, she was told very bluntly, “No. I don’t know where you think that your fancy education will lead you, but you are needed here. Not gallivanting off and staying up all night at parties.” Her mother kept her a virtual prisoner. Maureen had very few friends, and those that she did have, had never once been invited back to Maureen’s for coffee or to go over and do their homework together. Each time one of them asked her, she always replied with the same, “I’m sorry, but my mother is ill and even the faintest of noises can upset her.” This was always said with her head hanging down, so that no one could see the tears, which always came so close to falling down her cheeks.
Maureen found herself a job very quickly after leaving school. She started at the local town branch of a leading building society. She soon gained confidence in dealing with all the customers and over the next 20 years there she soon climbed the ladder to become branch manager. But also during all this time, she also worked at home. Keeping house and at the beck and call of her ever ailing mother. Sometimes, late at night, when sleep wouldn’t come, she thought of ways of escaping her life there. If only her mother would go into the nursing home. There were people there trained to do everything to help her mother, but she refused even to give this idea one little thought. “You are my daughter, I gave you life, it is your duty to take care of me. Now look what you have done with you uncaring way of speaking to me. I can hardly catch of my breath, bring me my oxygen mask. Don’t be slow girl, or are you wishing me dead.” Her mother grasped the mask to her mouth and greedily sucked in the air. “That’s better now. Off you go and finish up in the kitchen before locking up for the night.”
After another glance at her mother, Maureen made her way down the steep stairs and quietly, so as not to annoy her mother nay further, put the rest of the clean dishes away.
Making herself a fresh cup of tea to take up to bed with her, she turned off the downstairs lights and went up the stairs to her room. Swiftly she changed into her nightdress and turning on the small lamp set at the side of her desk, she switched on her computer. This was the best thing she had bought for herself. Her life had been made much more endurable through this machine. She had completed many home courses and had received many certificates in business studies, technology and had taken on a couple of language courses. These had been the most difficult as she had no one to test her pronunciation on. Everything had been done either through the computer or sent on a tape by post. But with all her time spent at home, she had little else to do, so she had made every effort to pass these tests. In the end she had been awarded and also received best student award.
One night as she came home, a little later than usual as they had been carrying out the year-end audits, she noticed straightaway that the light was not showing in the window of her mother’s bedroom. Getting quite panicky, Maureen dropped her keys and after fumbling around on the darkened doorstep, she finally got hold of her keys again. This time she carefully put her key into the lock and turned it. Flicking the switch for the hall light she hurried up the stairs. Pausing just enough to catch her breath, she opened the bedroom door. Peering round the doorframe she glanced at the bed. Her mother lay there, her eyes open wide, staring at the ceiling. Tiptoeing, so as not to make a sound, but why she didn’t know, she made her way to the bed. Reaching out and touching her mother’s hand, she then knew for sure that she was no longer alive. Her hand was frozen and very stiff.
As she had done many many years before, she ran down to the doctors surgery. The young Doctor Henderson, was now the much older Doctor Henderson. Almost at retirement age, he still ran his practice as he always had. Apart from having to have all his patients listed on a computer, this was the only change he had had to make. “Slow down Maureen. I take it from your out of breath condition that you have run all the way here. No doubt at another panic attack from your mother.” Mrs Pilkington had become quite well know in the village, especially the way she treated her daughter. “I think this time doctor, that I am too late. I am sure that she has died during the day, and I wasn’t there to help her.” Maureen’s sobs became much more louder and she sounded very scared. Doctor Henderson called for his receptionist to take her into the back and to get her a cup of tea. “Best thing for you dear,” Sheila the receptionist said, as she gently guided her to the back of the house. Meanwhile Doctor Henderson had taken the door key from Maureen and was now making his way out of the front door of his surgery. As Doctor Henderson walked up the short pathway to the front door of Mrs Pilkington’s, he couldn’t help but notice a sort of peace had fallen over the house. Shaking his head as if to clear his view, he opened up the front door. Wiping his feet on the Welcome Home mat, he headed for the stairway. Taking the stairs two at a time, he soon reached the top and turned towards Mrs Pilkington’s room. The door was open and the light from the street lamp directly outside of the large bedroom window. Doctor Henderson made a quick examination and then called for the ambulance service. His next call was to the surgery, where he left a message with Sheila to confirm that indeed Mrs Pilkington had passed away. He also thought to say that he was sure that she had not suffered and for this information to be passed on to Maureen.
The day of the funeral came around and Maureen had made sure that everything was straightened and that enough refreshments for those wishing to call back at the house after the church service. Her mother was to be laid to rest with her own parents. Hopefully there she would truly be at peace.
Maureen had been overwhelmed by the many kind words from all of the neighbours, even those that she only had a nodding acquaintance with. They all were of the same mind, you must now do what you have always wanted to do. To travel and to put to use the languages she had learnt. Why else should she have studied so hard and for so long. It did take Maureen many more months before she could pluck up the courage to set off on an adventure. Carefully going over the international job vacancies web pages she found on her computer, she decided to try for a three month stay and work programme based in Venice. A glorious city well renowned for it’s beautiful square, its glassware and most of all the romantic gondolas on the grand canal.
With a tearful good-bye to all at the building society, she flew off for her first taste of excitement. At 42 years of age she was wondering if she had made a mistake. What could she have been thing about when she handed in her notice to fly off, to end up doing a job as a tour guide. She thought to herself that her mother must be having a very good laugh at her. As the plane landed and everyone started towards the exit door, Maureen felt panic rising. On unsteady legs she made her way through customs and was taken aback when she noticed a sign being held aloft with her name on it.
“Ah signorina Pilkington, welcome to Venice. Please, if you will follow me the short way to where my car is parked. My name is Claudia Spinetti, you will be staying at my apartment for your say here. Unless of course you wish to find something for yourself.” Claudia’s smile and happy go lucky way made Maureen feel very welcome. At once she said that she would consider it to be an honour to remain with Claudia. Claudia’s apartment was in the centre of Venice, further in from the Grand Canal, along one of the many side canals. After parking the car they took one of the water buses into the main square St Marks. All of Maureens luggage had been sent on the week before, so carrying only the small hand luggage case, they made their way through the heavy throng of visitors, down the narrow canal streets to Claudia’s apartment. This was Maureen’s first time in the city and the magnificent view of the square had quite taken her breath away. “Don’t you get lost for words when taking a touring party round,” asked Maureen when they arrived at Claudia’s doorway. “Sometimes your words tend to get rather drawn out, as if searching your memory for something which you know should be straightforward. I have been here for three years now and I still keep on finding more and more fascinating buildings to look at. Of course, you do have to stick to the main topics of the tourist guide, but sometimes there can be an interest from a separate source to be given a more personal tour. These I like the best, because then you can really show off the hidden gems that you have found.”
When Claudia spoke of Venice, her whole face lit up with the wonder of the city. Maureen’s luggage was already waiting for her in the bedroom, which was to be her place for the next few months. After unpacking and putting all her things away, she asked Claudia if she would like to go out for a meal that evening. Something typically Venetian and not on the tourist route. “There will be more than enough time for me to savour all those delights daily on my guide days.”
The next few days were the most tiring of all for Maureen. After spending so long working in an office, the most walking she had done was from one room to another. Here she was on her feet all day. And talk, she never knew that she could carry on, many times one sided conversations. Not only in English, but in Italian and German, for these were the main nationalities she had in her tour parties. During her first week the only thing that she was capable of doing when arrive back at the apartment, was first to take a long soak in a warm bath and then to collapse into her bed. There were no set days off, her working rota was 7 days on and on, with a two day rest after three weeks. Maureen and Claudia saw each other only very briefly at breakfast time. This usually passed by with the occasional, please pass the coffee or another roll, thank you. But today they had bother managed to get the same tow days off together. Even though they looked at the magnificent architecture and marvellous paintings each day, they were eager go out and find more treasures.
Dressing more casually in cotton trousers, t-shirts and pumps, they set off down the narrow meandering streets. These alleyways were way out from the crowds and although some of the buildings could have done with some renovating, the owners of these apartments took great pride in them, adorning their balconies with dazzling arrays of colourful flowers. As the rays from the sun hit the drops of liquid on the recently watered plants, they looked like tiny diamonds twinkling amongst the plant pots. As their eyes adjusted to the now darkened street they saw the tiny doorway of a very old church. Unable to even hazard a guess of how old it was, they opened the door to take a peep inside. Looking at each other, they nodded their heads in agreement to go inside. It was the most amazing tine place of worship that either of them had every seen. The fresco whci covered the entire ceiling looked as though it had only just been finished. The colours vibrant and alive, giving a feeling of peace and the most tranquil feeling of being completely safe. A picture of Mary, standing over a young Christ, with such a huge area of bright light, like a halo, keeping them safely hidden from any of the dark forces which wanted to get into the heavenly abode. Sitting very close to the altar steps was an old lady, dressed completely in black and holding onto an even older copy of a bible. The old lady saw them standing in the open doorway, she beckoned for them to come forwards, with a gesture from her arthritic liver spotted hand. The door closed to behind them as they made the short distance towards her.
Speaking in a very quiet voice, the old lady said, “good morning to you young ladies. It has been a very long time since any visitors come here. Please tell me how you found this place and from where you have come from.”
Claudio began to tell her that we were both tourist guides working in Venice. It was out day off and we loved to explore the city, to try and find more exciting and beautiful buildings. “I am from Milano, another beautiful city, but far more busier with the cars racing about the streets and trying to beat the ever changing traffic lights. Here in Venice I find life is much calmer, people do not rush about as much and they take their time over everything. Although the tourists do make the squares and churches very crowded. My friend Maureen, is from a little village outside a town called Knutsford in England. I shall let her tell you more of there.”
Claudia had to give me a nudge to start me off speaking to the old lady. It wasn’t as if I was not used to speaking to many people, my job called for me to give clear and precise information, a stutterer would have been no good. So after giving a slight nervous cough I started my side of the story. “Pardon me please if my Italian is not like what you are used to hearing. I taught myself from a computer course back in my home town in England.” “Your pronunciation is very good, for the little I have heard from you, please carry on, I do enjoy having new people to talk to.” The old lady smiled at me, which gave me a boost to my confidence. “Grazie Signora Cavello. With me now speaking more Italian during my tour guiding, it has become a little stronger and no longer alien for me to speak it. I come from a very quiet little village, only maybe 750 or 800 people live there. Se we all know each other quite well. Also little has been done to change the look of the village, keeping up old traditions. They may have been changes inside of people’s houses, but the structures haven’t. When my mother passed away recently, I decided to have a change. I felt as though I was being strangled and suffocating in the village. That is why I am now in amongst the multitudes of visitors who stream into your beautiful city. Like Claudia, I too have a passion to see more of the many splendours here, which have survived the ravages of our now much busier times.”
With an almost shy and downcast look, Maureen became quiet. The silence of the small chuch was broken only when Signora Cavello said, “Bravo young lady. Your Italian is very good, and I have really enjoyed listening to you tell of the beauty of my city.”
After saying goodbye and also agreeing to going back one day soon, they left the peacefulness of the church and walked back the way that they had come, through the now sun drenched walkways. This was to be the only time that Claudia and Maureen had the same days off together. On Maureen’s next free day, she made her way back to the small church. At first when she entered it seemed empty. But as her eyes became focused to the dim light, she made out the small frame of Signora Cavello. Walking aquietly up to the front seats, Maureen bent her head and said a quiet prayer. When she looked up she saw that the signora was smiling at her. “I am glad that you came. I could tell that there was a real interest in this church and of the Italian way. What is it that you would like to know my dear?”
Signora Cavello waited patiently for Maureen to begin. “Who actually did the murals in this church? Although they have been skilfully painted, there is, I noticed, a very slight hesitancy to the brush strokes that the artist has made. The church itself is also very plain, befitting the remoteness and more local patrons of it.” Maureen hoped that her wording was good enough for the signora to understand and that she had not said anything to upset her.
“My dear, you are very observant. The artist was a local man, who was also a merchant of fruit and vegetables. Selling his goods up and down these very streets. His name was Giovanni Spinetti. His main interest was of the arts, in particular the painters. The colours intrigued him. Which colour blended with another, to make a further colour. He taught himself, as in those days to pay for a tutor was something which he couldn’t afford. When the church was built and the then residing pope had blessed it, Giovanni asked permission to do the murals that you see here today. There is only one remaing of his family left today. You are very wise, so no doubt you have come to the right answer. I am the last of his family. My own family, my husband, two daughters and a son, all died in a tragic boating accident. So many years ago now, but to me I can still recall their faces.” Signora Cavello stayed quiet for a long time after recalling this say story. Maureen thought that it would be wise for her to leave and to let the signora take comfort in her surroundings. Maureen was able to get back to the church one more time before she had to leave to go back to England. As she entered the church, she carried with her a small bouquet of flowers. Bright yellows and crimson roses. Two of the colours which were abundant in the murals painted here. Signora Cavello smiled and thanked Maureen for bringing in some welcome sunshine. “I have a little gift for you also. It has been with me for many many years and I would like you to accept it and I have no doubt that you will treasure it.” As she handed over the small framed picture, the look on Maureens face must have been a picture in itself, as the signora couldn’t help but have smile pass her face.
“Oh signora, this is a great honour. You are quite right, I will treasure it and keep it safe. One day hopefully I may marry and have children of my own to pass on the wonderful story and of the most wonderful lady who gave this to me.” After a tearful farewell, Maureen clasped her painting to her and made her way back to the apartment. In the morning she would be flying back to England and to another new beginning.
A few days went by when Maureen decided that it was about time that she took stock of her own house. She still hadn’t had the heart to do anything in her mothers room, but today she was determined that she was going to get started in there. She had called Dr Henderson’s surgery and had asked if Sheila had time to spare to help give her a hand in sorting through her mothers things.
“No problem whatsoever. I shall be round there after morning surgery. Shall we say one o’clock. Good, that’s settled then, see you later Maureen.”
Sheila was good to her word and arrived promptly at one o’clock. Taking their cups of coffee upstairs, Maureen and Sheila began the job of selecting the best of her mother’s clothes to go to charity and the rest to go to the dustbin. Once they got started the time flew past and it was only when Maureen looked at her watch and saw that they had been working away for almost two hours she said, “I think it is time for a well earned break, let us go and have a coffee and put our feet up for a few minutes. What do you say Sheila?” Sheila was in full agreement. “I wouldn’t have though that there was this much stuff in your mother’s room. I know that she rarely left this room, most of the time she spent in bed.” Sheila looked around at all the plastic bags which they had filled. “My mother wouldn’t let me throw anything away. Her favourite saying was, you never know when this will come in handy.”
Maureen smiled a little when she said this. It was very rare that her mother had given any reason to smile in this room. They chatted away over their next coffees, which they drank sitting at the table in the bright cosy kitchen. Maureen told about her work in Italy and of the many treasures there. “Well, I think that if we are to finish off today, we had better get back upstairs again. I think that there is only one other place which has to be sorted out. That is mother’s old writing desk. She sometimes had spent several hours writing in her diaries there. I often wondered what she wrote about. But I always respected her privacy. I suppose now will be the time to find out what she did write.”
Maureen opened the writing desk with the small key, which was always kept on the table besides the bed. Pushing up the roll down top, she first looked in the small pidgeon holes set out at the back of the desk. There she found a selection of postcards. All written to her mother and dated years before Maureen had been born. There were only a couple which had been sent after Maureen’s birth. As she read through these she felt as though she was prying into someone’s love affair. The postcards were quite affectionate and a little daring for going through the post. Especially in those days, maybe forty years ago, gossip was something which could be spread faster than a fire. Maureen could come to only one conclusion, that the sender was her father
Her mother had only ever spoken of one man. When he had dies, Maureen had been very young and her memory of him was very dim. Maureen placed the cards carefully back into the slots, as though she wanted to give the impression that they hadn’t been touched.
Next she opened up the large drawer in the desk. Her she found several old diaries, but placed at the top with a pen still clipped to the front, was her mother’s last diary. She felt her heart beating within her chest. Her breathing slowed down, until she hardly seemed to be breathing at all. Slowly she turned the pages in the diary.
She looked at the beginning, January 1st. Her mother wrote, “ Yet again the skies are dark, with cold winds fighting each other in the sky. The cold seeps into my room, but it will not make me leave here. I can hear Maureen downstairs, preparing an early lunch for us both. She has been my constant companion. Also a much loved daughter to me. Although I cannot voice my true feelings to her, perhaps by writing in my diaries, she will one day know that I have always loved her. I will rest again now. These days my hand cannot hold my pen for very long. I am so very tired.”
Maureen let her breath out, and out came a sob with it. Sheila came and sat beside her and took her into her arms, to offer some sort of comfort, from what she as yet did not know. “Maureen, do you want to carry on, or would you rather leave this for another day. I can always come back to be with you.” Sheila waited for a reply.
“Thank you Sheila, but I must finish this. Just this little bit has shown me that my mother was not the person that I knew. She seems so much more lonelier that I ever thought.”
As Maureen flicked through the pages of the diary, she made sure that Sheila could also see what was written there. They came to the last entry in the diary, just a few days before her mother’s death. Her she also found an envelope addressed “To be opened in the event of my death.” Through the weeks since the first entry of the New Year, more of the same had been written. More feelings being showered down onto the pages, all of the highest regard and of how she had followed Maureen’s triumphs in her studies in art and the languages. There was even one other reference to her father, with her mother writing, “My darling husband, Maureen has certainly inherited your quick aptitude in grasping foreign languages. She has always been very quick in solving problems. I have had very little to do with anything financial. But there will be a surprise for her one day. A day that I know is not long in coming. I shall soon be with you again my dearest one.”
This entry was her mother’s last one. Folded neatly at the back of the diary was the envelope addressed to Maureen.
Maureen looked over at Sheila, her eyes full of unshed tears. She held out her hand, for she needed to be comforted. Maureen had always relied upon her own strength, so this was something which she wasn’t used to. Taking a deep breath Maureen neatly sliced open the envelope, using her mother’s heavy letter opener. Inside was a single sheet of notepaper. Her mother’s own brand of pale blue which she had always used. In her neatest writing her mother wrote, “my dear child. I still think of you as a child, but of course that is something that was taken away from you when you were just a very young thing. I can only put onto this paper the words, which should have been said to you many years ago. I was so afraid that I would loose you after the sudden death of your father that I struck out in the only way that I thought was best. I now realise that that was a very unwise and very selfish thing to do. You were robbed of your own childhood and even with my constant callings upon you to always be here, you never showed that you resented me. I can only hope that you can one day forgive me for the lonely days and the even longer lonely nights that you had to bear because of me. On the reverse of this note to you, you will find an address of a solicitor in the main town square. Go to him and he will give to you a letter, which I gave to him for safe keeping many years ago. It was when I became completely housebound that I had more hours in which to think and to draw up the papers, which he has for you. I go now to the other one who has always been my light during the darkest hours. You are and always will be my daylight guiding angel.”
Sheila led Maureen down the stairs and sat her at the kitchen table. This was a room so full of light, that it gave off the feeling of peacefulness. Pouring out a small amount of brandy which she found in the cupboard, she pressed this upon Maureen to take a sip. Her colouring had gone to quite a pale shade, but the hopes that a measure of the brandy would put some colour back into her cheeks.
“I think that I may leave it a day or so before going to this address. The revelations of today have been quite something, which has given me a lot to think about. I thank you so much for being with me today, your silent presence has been of great comfort to me. I now think that it is time for you to go home, spend as much time that you can with your family. For after today there is no telling of when tragedy can strike. I do not wish to make you anxious in any way, please do not think that of me.”
Maureen pressed her friends hand, and after walking to the front door and waving her goodnight, she herself went up to her room. She lay down upon her bed, fully clothed. Too full of thoughts to undress ready for sleep, she stared up at the ceiling. Seeing her mothers words sketched upon the walls of her room. Her mother had loved her, of this she was now quite sure. But for all her life she had carried the thought that she was only there to act as her mother’s servant. Many times giving vent to her