The Keys
I love him! And you babble about nonsense! I won’t listen to another word! You’re jealous, that’s why you meddle where you’re not wanted! Just leave me alone! Mind your own business!
Clara wasnt just shouting, she was bellowing so loud that even old Mr. Victor Smith, half-deaf and fussing around his shed, turned to listen. Hed never been one for gossip, so it said everything that Clara was an absolute tempest.
And she did have her reasons, at least so it seemed to her.
For Clara, being in love was her natural way of existing, her souls constant state. Breaks, when they happened, were so fleeting that only people who knew her to her bones noticeda group that included just two people: her mum (now gone) and her sister, Eleanor, who had long since refused to understand Clara at all.
Without those moments of heady romantic bliss, Clara felt she didnt really live at all. She wandered dazed through dull days, her thoughts scattered and ungraspable, so adrift that colleagues edged away with a nervous, Perhaps you need a bit of a sit-down, Clara. You seem not quite yourself these days.
Clara only pursed her lips and quietly ground her teeth, thinking ill of these altogether too sensible women. Their lives, to her eye, looked sorted: husbands waiting at home, children tumbling over couches and her? No home, certainly no husbandnot now, perhaps not ever. There was a son, yes, but you could hardly call him a success. Even compared to his cousins, her Patrick always fell behind. Eleanors children, now, they were positively golden: the oldest, Alex, played football and was a top pupil at school, debunking that old chestnut about brains and brawn. The younger, Sophie, sang and danced in a troupe, off at competitions every other week. By ten shed seen more than Clara had ever managed in her life.
It stung. Why was it that way? Clara, as a girl, spent years drifting from one club to the nextart, ballet, pottery, anything that took her fancythough she never got far in any of them, always chasing a new feeling just around the corner.
Thats how you have to live! Listen to your heart! No ones going to come along on a silver tray, saying Here you are, Clara! Dont be shy, its all for you! Shed known that for ages, watching her sister slog through textbooks while she, curling her hair for yet another disco, teased, Careful, Ellie, if you study too much no boys going to want you! Didnt Granny always say a woman shouldnt be cleverer than her husband?
Eleanor would sigh and reply, Thats not what she meant. Granny said a clever woman never tries to show off, not if she really loves him. Its not the same, Clara, you know?
Oh, stop muddling my head, Clara would laugh, just help me with my hair, will you? Lukes waiting!
Clara would dash out for a date, while Eleanor settled happily with a book. Those couple of hours of peace at home were a festival in their own right.
And Eleanor did adore her sisterwhat choice did she have, really? There were no others. And she knew Claras nature like her own: never mean, just scattered, tender, a mess, endearingly unsure. Clara brought home strays from the raintwo cats and a lolloping dog lived remarkably long lives for street animals, all doted on by her careful hands. Their parents only agreed to the animals on the condition the house wouldnt turn into a menagerie, and Clara stood by it, never asking Eleanor to walk the dog or clean up after the cats, though at times it seemed she loved animals more than people.
One evening, Eleanor asked, Clara, could you please go to Grans tomorrow? Mum says she needs help with the housework.
Cant you do it? Ive got plans!
What plans?
I dont see why it matters! Important ones. Tobys limping, needs the vet.
Hes been limping for a week.
So what? Youd swap a cat for Grans chores? Shes perfectly capable! Toby cant care for himself.
The girls rowed, Eleanor went, Clara pulled her fanciest blouse from the wardrobeLuke waited at the gate, and Toby was just an excuse to dodge the mop and duster.
They left school at different places: Eleanor with top grades, Clara well, she passed, like most. Clara had no doubts: she would be a pastry chef, obsessed with elaborate cakes and pastries since childhood, more enchanted by their decoration than tastedelighted to share them with her sister after gazing at the sugar flowers, only so she could try to sculpt new ones out of modelling clay.
Their paths forked again. Eleanor moved in with their poorly gran, just round the corner from the university, so it suited everyone: gran got care, Eleanor got sleep, and peace. Later, she married her chosen one, Matthew, introducing him to gran before anyone else.
Live here, children; plenty of space, gran smiled, and they held a small but lively wedding. She made no secret of the flats future. You and Matthew will have mine, Clara can have grandads old room in that bedsit across town. I doubt Ill see your children, but I would so love to.
As it happened, she met her first great-grandchild and even held him: Alex, just two when she passed. Shed battled through her last year, dreaming of speech and movement returning, but her heart gave way. Eleanor weptshed lost so much warmth.
Their parents didnt squabble over grans will. Shed earned her flat fairly, they said, and even Clara didnt care to dispute it, wrapped up body and soul in a new romance.
But romance is a strange wordit never quite seemed to fit. Clara burned with adoration while her man looked right through her. He liked her coming to clean, to cook, to tidy, but never once let her stay the night.
Im a lifelong bachelor, Clara. Its hard for me.
Hed roll his eyes, send her off, declaiming, Art, beautiful, is a jealous mistress! It claims all of me! Shed nod solemnly, remembering the crooked, dusty portrait of her mouldering in the studios corner. No one else had ever painted her; it was proof, she thought, she could inspire.
She received the painting as a keepsake after sharing her newsshe was going to have a baby. That day, walking in sunshine, dreams soared so high they felt like flight. This new life, such a miracle!
But miracles shatter. Her lover blanched and chopped her song to ribbons, A babywhat on earthare you mad?!
The end came quickly, as empty as the hole inside her. Her dreams broke into thousands of sharp, tiny bits, impossible to piece together. She didnt fight for her pride; she just asked to take her portrait home.
As a memory
Permission was graciously granted, and that evening Clara tore it to shreds, muttering through her tears, Ill have everything I want! And youyou never will!
She never learned the fate of her former love, and didnt care. Too much was needed elsewhere. Her son, the miracle, was born, but he didnt bring much joy. She searched his face for the fathers gifts, the genius, but found nothing of it. Patrick was a quiet lad who preferred kicking a ball or playing chess, and not a hint of her cherished creativity. He found his chess club himself and went after school, shrugging at Claras complaints, What do you even do there? Isnt it boring?!
It was never boring for Patrick. The intricate plays of chess seemed like a dancebeautiful, logical. Sometimes, after a particularly elegant game, hed whirl around his room to a music only he could hear, but never if his mum was watching; Clara saw only threat in those strange dances.
Dancing is not for boys, Patrick! Stop it now!
The only one who understood was his cousin, Sophie. The family feud between her mum and aunt made no sense to Patrick, but Gran always said, Family is family, no matter what. He didnt know why his mum spurned this gift in the form of her sister, but he remembered grans words. He got on with Alex fine, but truly loved Sophie. She found the magic inside his mind, and listened, fascinated, to his stories of patterned music and future dreams.
You can hear it? Sophie would ask.
Yes. Its quiet but beautiful
I can hear it too, I think. Watch!
Shed pirouette about, trying to show what the music made her feel, and Patrick knew he wasnt aloneshe understood him.
But children seldom choose whom to see; thats decided by parents whims. Clara was whimsical indeed. After every spat with her sister, shed ban Patrick from seeing his cousins. Patrick was powerless, left to fight with the only tools he had: tantrums, hunger strikessure that his mothers patience would snap and shed sigh, Oh, do as you wish!
He never knew the real reason his mum clashed with her sister. He was ignorant that, after his birth, Eleanor had helped as much as she could but was pushed away after yet another of Claras failed romances and the truth of grans will came seeping out.
Thats not fair! Im her granddaughter too!
I never asked gran for anything! Look, we could sell the flat and split it. I dont want a fight, Clara!
No! I dont need your charity! Gran always loved you best! Thats why you got everything! And I no one ever loved me, not really!
Youre wrong, Clara! What about me? What about Mum and Dad?
How can it be love if you never understand me? You dont have the right to call it that!
Clara
Enough! I dont want to hear it!
Hurt made its home between the sisters, building a nest out of old slights, still whispering, wheedling, Remember that Christmas when Eleanor got the doll in the pink dress? Yours was in greenyou wanted pink, didnt you? She wouldnt trade with you, old meanie. You mustnt forget these things, Clara. Life is made from details: toys, party dresses, the mascara you dreamed of but was given to her instead, Matthew, her house, her job, her children, all so unlike Patrick
Eleanors nest of grievance was thin, a couple twigs barely joinedClaras was tightly woven, not a crack to let in warmth. And while Eleanor still blew away her bitterness, trying to keep the thread between them unbroken, the thread frayed ever thinner with every Youre no sister of mine! from Clara.
Their parents died, one after the other, in the same year, as if in silent agreement. Despair engulfed both sisters.
Ellie, how could this happen? They were still so young! So much life left
Clara, we did everything we could, Eleanor would murmur, holding her sobbing sister. But some things we cant keep.
Its not right! Not fair!
Lifes not the fair thing it pretends to be. It doesnt give by merit, Clara.
Yes. Youre right. Its never what you think
Giving up her share in the family home, Eleanor hoped for some peace, and for a while, Clara grew calmer, busying herself with paperwork and keys.
I suppose youll take this house too, Clara muttered, fiddling with her hood, not looking at Eleanor outside the solicitors office.
Why would you think that, Clara? Were not strangers.
I dont know, Ellie. We feel like strangers sometimes you never understood me.
And you never understood me but does it matter?
Of course it does! Clara flung her arms in the air. If people dont understand each other, why bother being together?
To try and understand, maybe? Nothings handed to you, Clarayou of all people ought to know.
Oh, I know it plentyin your life everythings simple. Husband, home, kids. Me? Im forever alone!
Youre not right, Clara and Patrick?
What of Patrick? Hes his own person now. I hardly see him. I work day and night, and he spends more time in your house than ours!
Hes happy here. Its peaceful
There! Thats just it, Ellie! You think Im a bad mother, is that it?! What have I done to you?
Clara, dont shout! When did I call you a bad mother? Youre imagining things!
You go on and on! Your lifes perfect, your children are perfect, but me and my Patrick, nothings ever right! If I want a break from all this, its wrong!
Clara! Do you hear yourself?!
When Matthew picked up his wife outside, he found her standing alone, quietly crying.
Why does she treat me like this? What for?
Hugging Eleanor, comforting her, Matthew murmured, Hard woman. Life hasnt broken her quite yet.
Eleanor stopped crying at that. Dont. Dont say that. What if something does happen, Matt? Id feel awful
Thats the best thingyour pity, Ellie. She doesnt see who really loves her yet. Maybe she never will.
Even so, Mattshes my sister. Ill always love her. Nobody else will, not really. Patricks still a child.
Better a cold peace than a warm rowEleanor did everything to patch things up. The thread between them, thin and frayed, never quite snapped; Eleanor simply wouldnt allow it.
Men in Claras life came and went, leaving nothing but more bitterness and confusion in their wake. Why, she wondered, did every bit of giving on her part earn nothing but a familiar, Clara, dont overthinkours is a casual arrangement, wasnt that clear? I told you from the start
Every man, it seemed, warned her: Im not ready for anything serious. Its complicated, you see? Do you?
She nodded, she always nodded, and quickly forgot the arrangement, bewildered, again, when love ended without warning.
Her soul ached. She gave everythinglearned to shoot for a hunter, made the best bait and lures for a fisherman, all to hand someone the key to her happiness. Yet, no one wished to take it.
Patrick, during all the romances, lived with his aunt Eleanor more often than not. No one minded; Eleanor and Matthew welcomed him as their own. There was a bunk bed in Alexs room, two computers side by sidea battleground for late-night games, with Sophie squealing as the boys cried, No fair! Sophie, join our team! Youre too quick on your own!
Eleanor would update her sister with a sigh: Hes so bright, Clara! A maths school might suit.
Oh, hell do fine where he is. Easier if hes with Alex, you keep an eye, dont you.
Its a long trip for Patrickhes tired when he stays with you.
He can stay over, you know my situation. Things are finally sorting themselves out.
Of course, Clara. Let him stay. Itll be alright.
Thank you! James is wonderful, hes taken Patrick as his own and wants us to be a family!
Proposed yet?
Not yet. But its moving that way! Just dont interfere! Help me! This is my one shot at happiness!
Of course, Clara
Eleanor hid her misgivings: she didnt like Jamestoo smug, too sharp, jokes so barbed she missed the point entirely. And Patrick, so distant now, staying longer and longer at Eleanors. Hed become part of their family.
Eleanor protected her nephew, tried not to argue with her sister, but the truth surfaced: James wanted Clara to sell her parents house, and Eleanor found out quite by accident.
Returning late one evening, she nearly tripped on muddy football bootsAlexs thrown next to Patricks.
Boys! Whos home? What mess is this?
Sophie popped out of the boys room, flustered. Mum
What is it?
Dont worry, pleasejust dont be cross. Patrick
Sophie burst into tears, grabbing her mothers hand.
Its only a bruise, Mum. We put ice on it, but
That was enough. Eleanor rushed over, held her daughter close for a moment, then hurried to the boys bedroom and found Patrick, curled on the top bunk, ice pressed to his swollen cheek.
Patrick was never sulkyhe always shared his feelings honestly, especially with the aunt who half-raised him. Eleanor climbed the ladder and touched his bruised face gently. Come down, love. Lets talk.
Dont want to, he muttered.
This was serious. She sent the other children to the kitchen and clambered onto the bunk, lying beside him and wrapping him in her arms.
James, was it?
The answer was clearPatrick sobbed against her, unashamed. After all, what justice was there when a grown man twisted his mums arm and cuffed a boy for defending her, snarling You dare lecture me? Mind your own business, boy!
Patrick had never seen his mothers boyfriend like this before. The mask had dropped, and all that was left was a man who didnt love his mother at all; there was only self-interest. Sophies words crept back to him:
When someone loves, you can see it. Its obvious! How hard is it, Patrick?
Very
But you hear music, dont you?
I see it?
Well, you sense itso surely youd sense love. When its there, you know where to go next, just like the music tells you how to dance.
Maybe not everyone understands
Do you think your mum hears it?
She wants to, but somehow cant.
I feel sorry for her.
Me too.
Patrick had tried to shield his mother, but it did him no good. Her whisper in the aftermath haunted him: Patrick why did you do that?
Hed packed his schoolbooks and jumper and gone to Eleanors insteadthere he wouldnt have to hide.
Eleanor, hearing his story, rang her sister at once. Her hands shook as the phone ranganger would solve nothing, but she had to mend this. Patrick still loved his mum, and it wasnt right for her to choose a man over her son.
Matt pulled up out front, Eleanor flying down the stairs.
What happened? he asked, frowning as his wife climbed in.
Ill tell you on the waylets go!
Confrontation was futile. Clara, teary and distraught, wailed, You dont understandI love him!
Who, Clara? The man who hit your son? Does sense ever knock at your head? Youre forever chasing happiness and dont see you already have it! What about Patrick? Why would you betray your own son, your own flesh and blood?
Hes not my son anymorehes yours! You took him! All our problems are because of you! Youve taken everything!
What have I taken, Clara?
My life! My keys!
Keys? What keys?
At that question, Eleanor stopped, as if seeing them both from outside: two women, bickering for all the world to hear, unravelled by ghosts of the past. Was this what their parents wanted? What Granny taught them? Why did it seem like their thread, spun so long ago, was about to snap forever?
Her voice softened, What keys, Clara? What do you mean?
The keys to happiness Clara sobbed, quieter now. You have them! I have none.
Only then did Eleanor begin to see. She took a breath, then another, and finally pulled Clara into an embrace, the way their mum used to.
Come here, you silly thing
Stupid, you mean? Clara tried to twist away, but Eleanor held tighter.
No, not stupid, thats not it. Youre vulnerable. Gentle. And it never feels like enough love that I get. But Ill never see sense in putting someone above your own child, Claranot ever. And the keysClara, I havent taken your keys. I can hardly keep hold of my own. The only difference between us is this
Whats that? Clara asked, finally relaxing, hugging back and resting her tear-stained face on Eleanors shoulder.
Youre always trying to give your keys away. I keep mine with me.
Which ways right?
I dont know. Life will teach us.
Its already taught me Clara wept. What am I supposed to do now? Im no one to anyone!
You are to me! Isnt that enough? To Patrick, too. Surely thats something?
Idont know
Start there, at least. The rest comes when it comes.
What if it doesnt?
Then maybe your keys were for the wrong door all along. Youll never get in. But the right door stays locked. Youd spend your whole life trapped in the corridorwould you want that?
No!
Thats my girl. Will you go to your son?
Hell never forgive
Oh, Clara. Patrick knows far more about life than his mum ever did. But dont expect it to be easy. Hes hurt, deeply.
I expect as much
Well, go do something! Are you a mother, or someone elses aunt?
Eleanor!
What? Into the car with you! Enough ceremony. Matt, get her some tissues, theres a box in the glove compartment. Get her sorted and off we go. The children are waiting!
Patrick would get a stepfather, in time, and Clara would at last gain the love shed searched for. Patrick would stay with Eleanors family, choosing that home over his mothers new flat, but Clara would do all she could to make sure he knew he was loved, and always welcome. The man she found would have wisdom, would wait and, over years, win an unbreakable bond with Patrick.
And one day, on the train platform, as the young man left for his post, Patrick would hug each of them in turn, grip his stepfathers hand and say, Look after Mum.
And the tall man, hair brushed with silver, would return the grip, nod solemnly, replying, You take care too, son. Well be here.
I know, Patrick would say.
L.L.
