.

XVI
A LITTLE PAIN
PART TWO

June 9th, 1931

I'm scared. Terror has settled in my body and, wrapped in a towel, I'm shaking. I apologize, dear diary, testimony of all my memories, for the horrifying handwriting that today you will have to endure, but if I do not write this now, I'm afraid that tomorrow the laudanum will erase from my mind the memory of blood, the smell of gunpowder, the dread I felt when I saw Thomas dying in my arms.

I hear Ada in the bathroom and know that she is squatting in the tub, frenziedly brushing the fabric of my dress, while the hot water softens the dried blood and runs down the pipes, stained carmine.

This morning, when I looked in my closet for the most beautiful dress I had, I never imagined that it would end up in such a state. I did it with the stupid illusion of wearing an elegant dress like the one I had seen on Lizzie Shelby yesterday, with the difference that mine was not silver or silk, but was made of a flowing, white muslin.

When I put it on and looked at myself in the mirror, I was surprised at the image that returned my sight. I have always liked to dress well but, lacking a salary that allows me to buy beautiful clothes, I'm satisfied with wearing ordinary dresses. I try to find interesting and inexpensive clothes, being lucky to find them very rarely, but the only way I can get an expensive dress is if someone gives it to me and that was Andrew did during the years we were a couple. Sadly, when we broke up and I arrived in Birmingham with the expectation of starting a new life, I left all of his gifts to rot in London.

The white dress had been a gift from my mother, who without telling me had recycled the wedding dress that I had never worn and had turned it into a garment worthy of an evening ball... but not of an office.

But I didn't care. I was determined to wear that dress to the company this morning and I blushed as I imagined the compliments Thomas would give me. He had known how to delight in the infamous dress that I had worn an afternoon that seemed so far away.

When I left my room, I went to the living room where Ada was waiting for me to go to work together. Looking at me, she raised an eyebrow.

"What do you think?" I asked, full of excitement.

"It's beautiful", she said, adjusting her hat. "You rarely wear white. It fits you well".

"Thank you", I smiled. "Do you think it's okay wearing this in the Company?"

"Why not?", Ada dismissed my concern. "And if it is not, fuck it. We don't have a dress code and, as part of the directory, if someone catches your eye, you tell me and I'll fire them". I saw my friend smile maliciously.

We both left the house amid laughter and small talk. It filled me with happiness to share those kinds of moments with my friend again, since the last circumstances had loaded our relationship with harshness.

We arrived at the Company and, in the hall, Ada said goodbye to me to go to her offices, reminding me of the promise I had made to her of having lunch together. I stood there for a couple of seconds, nervous, and was making sure that my dress was still just as spotless when I heard a pair of heels behind me and as I turned around, I found Gina.

Unlike me, she wore black all over her and her eyes twinkled wickedly at my presence.

"Nice dress", Gina blurted out, and she made no effort to hide the mocking tone in her voice.

"Thank you", I said but she didn't even stop and walked past me.

I saw her get into the lift all alone and, just as the lift doors were closing, Michael entered the building smoking a cigarette and carrying his briefcase.

"Olivia", Michael greeted me with a slight nod.

"Good morning, Mr. Gray. I'm afraid your wife has already gotten into the lift", I reported, still troubled by the situation I had witnessed yesterday.

"Yes, she was in a hurry and got out of the car before I finished parking it". I saw Michael sigh and then turn his attention to my dress. I felt the discomfort running through my body and I couldn't help but blush a little. "Did something happen?", he asked and I found myself confused.

"Why do you ask?", I stammered at the question.

"Is there an event today? Does Tom have an important meeting?", he asked with narrowed eyes.

"Not that I know of, sir", at that point, my face was a tomato.

"Well, then he must not have anything". Michael took a drag on his cigarette. "I ask because of the dress you're wearing".

"Is something wrong with my dress, sir?" I had to ask. "Is it inappropriate?"

"Of course not. It's a beautiful dress, just that", he shrugged. "Too bad you spoil it here".

"Compared with what the ladies in this company wear, my dress is quite simple". I had the need to excuse myself, although my words were not untrue.

"Well, if you allow me the audacity, it's more beautiful than many dresses that I have seen strutting around these offices", Michael let me see a slight smile that in my eyes was almost kind. "Have a nice day", he said goodbye and headed for the lift.

Stunned, I arrived at Thomas's offices. It did not surprise me that he was already there and beyond the wide open double door, I saw him very concentrated reading the newspaper and smoking.

Thomas realized I had arrived when I was almost over him and didn't look away from reading until I put a hand on his shoulder.

"Hello, Tom", I greeted him and leaned in to kiss him.

"Good morning, Ollie", he responded to my kiss as if he were going through some kind of monotonous, emotionless routine, and turned his full attention back to the newspaper.

"Did something happen?" I asked referring to the self-absorption he had and, like an idiot, I took a couple of steps away, hoping he could get a better view of my dress.

"No, don't worry". I finally managed to get him to look at me, but he completely ignored the garment I was wearing. "Would you make me some tea, please?"

"Sure", I said, feigning integrity, although inside I was dying to cry.

Why did I want to cry? I wondered as I poured the almost boiling water into the kettle. Why would I expect the detail of a compliment from a man like Thomas if, apparently, it only came out of his mouth when he wanted to fuck me? It was as simple as saying two shitty words: "nice dress". The same words that even Gina had bothered to say to me but without the sarcasm-laden undertone.

I brought him the tea by pressing my lips together while he was on the telephone with a colleague in London. I placed the tray in front of his eyes and he smiled at me but, even so, I didn't see in his expression any gesture that would give me to understand that he had noticed my dress.

I know, it's stupid. Childish. Polly had already told me: I'm an idiot child. But for me, it was important. That Thomas noticed the things I did for him, no matter how small they were, was important.

The day passed without alterations. Thomas spent it in his office, talking on the telephone and every so often asking me for something or other, which he received barely looking at me. I had lunch with Ada and I bothered to fake the same good mood I had that morning to avoid questions I didn't want to answer. I went back to my secretariat and tried to finish the poem I had promised Thomas, but my anger at him prevented me from writing anything. However, I found myself wirting new prose that emerged spontaneously out of disappointment:

A dress

created from scraps of pain

wait patiently for a compliment.

The fabric that surrounds the body

of the girl who suffers

wait patiently for a hug.

There is no such thing, oh, my dress,

to erase the suffering

from which you were begotten.

Nor does it exist in me, oh, my dress,

something to help me understand why

I only know how to love disinterested men.

Without letting anger blind me, I stayed true to the position assigned to me as Thomas's secretary and stayed in the Company until the last minute, even after everyone had already gone. When Ada called me to let me know that she was going home, I told her that there was no need for her to wait for me and since her brother seemed to be quite busy with some matters that I didn't finish knowing, I was going to stay there until he considered necessary.

So I stayed until about eight o'clock at night, fooling around with my typewriter and waiting for Thomas to open his office's door. I had been in there for eleven hours and my head ached. I was hungry because the tea didn't satisfy me, no matter how much I forced myself to drink it with the intention of tricking the stomach.

So, like a starving mouse, I decided to go to the Board of Directors meeting room for some cookies, knowing that there was always something to eat there. For a moment, I was hesitant to inform Thomas of my absence, but quickly resolved that it was not necessary because, after all, he was not going to notice that I was gone.

I left Thomas's offices and darkness engulfed me. The whole building was dark and the only illumination came from the moon, whose silver rays filtered through the huge windows. Suddenly I felt cold and with an accelerated step I began to walk towards the meeting room, praying there would be something that I could eat.

It was when I pressed the lift button that I heard the shot. My face turned to the right, where the source of the sound came from. My blood ran cold when I identified that there were the Thomas office.

I didn't think about it for a second and started running towards my secretariat. The ghostly white of my dress gleamed in the moonlight and my heels echoed down the long corridors. I heard nothing but my heavy breathing, my footsteps, and the creaking of muslin, nor did I see anyone in the deep black darkness; no human figure that would allow me to understand what had happened.

I arrived at my secretariat and with terror I glimpsed the open office door, when I well knew that Thomas had been locked up all afternoon. Running once more, I entered the office and a scream stuck in my throat.

Thomas was lying on the floor in a pool of blood.

"Tom!" I yelled, and throwing myself at him I shook him hard.

He remained conscious and held his left side tightly. Blood had soaked his shirt sleeve, the gray waistcoat, and even the gold of his pocket watch. He opened the eyes with difficulty and laid them on me.

"Are you allright?" Ironically, Thomas was the one asking about my condition. He showed real concern in his voice.

"Yes, yes... God... You're injured!" I exclaimed in the middle of crying. The obviousness seemed to amuse him and I hated him for it. "What the fuck are you laughing at?", I cursed. I was shaking from toe to crown but still, I gently caressed his face. "Who did this to you? Who?"

With my hands, I was able to tear off a piece of the skirt of my dress and tried to identify the wound. I knew that if I pressed on it with the cloth, the bleeding would decrease.

"It doesn't matter who did it" Thomas said, and when I took him by the shoulders to lie his head on my lap, he jumped in pain. I couldn't identify where he had been shot and I feared the injury was more serious than it seemed. "The important thing is that bitch was merciful and did nothing to you".

"What...?" I blinked in confusion and a couple of my tears fell on his forehead. "Who are you talking about? I... I wasn't at the secretariat. I left... I left because..." I sobbed, knowing that if I hadn't moved from there, perhaps things would have been different.

"Shhh". Thomas settled on my skirt and rested his face on my belly. "It's fine... and it doesn't matter", he repeated and I feared he was about to lose consciousness.

I was beginning to believe that perhaps the bullet had perfored some vital organ when I finally recognized the dark trace of gunpowder on Thomas's waistcoat, on his left side, very close to the armpit. I was reassured to see that there was no perforation, but that the bullet had only grazed the flesh, tearing it.

I placed my piece of dress there and pressed. Soon the muslin turned the hue of blood and Thomas grunted in pain.

"I'm going to call the police!", I resolved, enraged, trying to stand up, but Thomas raised his arm soaked in blood and, with a force that until now I don't know where he obtained, grabbed me by the shoulder and forced me to stay still.

Then he stroked my cheek with his thumb. I identified the warmth of the blood on the skin of my face.

"Don't call the police".

"What...?! Why?!"

"The police can't find out about this. And you know why".

As if possessing a strange ability to convey his thoughts to me, I understood almost immediately what he meant. Thomas was not talking about the illegal businesses or the political intrigues that he was a part of, but something that was much more important to him: his family. The faces of Michael, Polly ... and Gina appeared in my mind.

"It was her?" I asked, remembering the suspicions Thomas had regarding that woman. "It was Gina?" It was enough for Thomas to nod slightly for my chest to swell with fury. "I'm going to call the police, Tom, and I don't care what you say".

"If you do, you'll only complicate things..."

"They're already complicated!" I was shocked. "Are you aware that you're bleeding to death? Gina has to pay for this!"

"And Gina will pay, Olivia, but it won't be a judge who will take care of it" Thomas whispered and I noticed that he was having trouble breathing.

I didn't understand his way of thinking but I couldn't question Thomas' purposes either. Stiff as a statue, I placed Thomas's head back on the floor and forced him to hold the cloth over his wound.

As I stood up, he looked at me somewhat surprised and, beyond his pitiful condition, I saw him raise his eyebrows.

"Ollie", he called my name almost in atonishment, "what a nice dress you're wearing today".

I bit my lip to keep from whimpering. As I looked at my dress, I noticed that, in addition to the piece that I had torn off, very little remained of the whiteness that had been its characteristic: the skirt was dyed dark red, as was the fabric around my abdomen, the sleeves and everything that had come in contact with Thomas' blood.

I picked up the phone and dialed Ada.

"Hello?", I recognized Karl's voice.

"Karl, I need to talk to your mother", I demanded disconsolately.

"Olivia? Are you crying?", the boy asked.

"Yes. Please, I need to talk to Ada. It's important".

It didn't take my friend more than five seconds to get hold of the phone.

"Olivia! What's going on?"

"Your brother was shot."

"What?!"

"He's alive. I think... I think the wound isn't fatal but he's losing too much blood. We're here at the Company". I took a deep breath. "Ada, it was Gina who shot him".

The silence on the other end of the line made me aware of the astonishment with which my friend had received the news.

"I'm on my way there", Ada communicated. She sounded tense. "I'll call a doctor first and then Polly. Olivia, don't move from there for the world, did you hear me?", she demanded. "And, please... try not to let him die", she begged.

Without being completely sure if I could carry out what my friend had entrusted to me, I hung up and went back to Thomas, who, still on the floor and lacking strength, was trying to hold the cloth over his wound. I bent down and without me doing anything, he just put his head back on my lap. I took his hand with which he crumpled the carmine and soaked muslin and the particular image of our hands full of blood gave me a strange sensation. At that moment, it was like an omen for me.

"I told him", Thomas forced himself to speak. "I told Michael that whore was dangerous. I told Polly to convince her idiot son to get rid of Gina. Neither of them listened to me. Nobody listens to me".

"Drink this, Tommy", I said, discovering the little blue bottle I had taken from his desk after I hung up the phone. "It will ease the pain".

"Laudanum sucks" Thomas cursed, but he didn't resist when I put the bottle to his lips and instead took a long drink. "Never drink it".

"Too late", I smiled through my tears. I had never stopped crying and was still paralyzed with fear, "I've been drinking it for a couple of weeks now".

"Because of me", he said.

"No".

"Yes, because of me. And now they'll increase your dose, for all this shit you've had to witness" Thomas looked into my eyes and snuggled into my arms. "I'm so sorry".

"Easy", I tried to calm him down. "You don't have to apologize for anything, Tom".

"Of course I must apologize", he insisted, closing his eyes. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Forgive me, Grace".

'Grace'. Thomas called me Grace the moment he lost consciousness and I, believing he had died, panicked. Without being able to scream, without being able to say anything at all and in a state that prevented my tear ducts from shedding more tears, I placed my ear on his chest and cried out to Heaven for a heartbeat.

I was reassured to hear his heart still working, but that did not diminish the fear that had taken control of my body, nor the trembling that ran through my legs. It also failed to calm my soul which, like my dress, was shattered and which could not bear the fact that Thomas had spoken her name instead of mine.