Jane might have been even younger back then, but she remembered seeing her mother prostrated in bed, silence thickening the air around her, unwilling to eat even a slice of bread, unable to get up, tend to herself, Jane or the house.
«Your mother always had some spells of melancholy but I never saw her like this», her maternal aunt had told Jane one day as she prepared a glass of milk for Anna. Sometimes, Helen was the only person able to coax her into eating something, reassuringly guaranteeing her that no one had tampered with the food. Helen had seen it delivered, had bought it herself, had cooked it and tasted it, «you can it eat without a single worry». But Anna needed convincing before taking any bite. «I didn't warn Edward enough, he died, and now they want to kill me too», she would repeat, crying as her sister waited patiently. Eventually, she would eat.
Anna had worked as a chambermaid once but she had been let go once she was too pregnant to carry on with the heavier tasks. She had meant to find some work but the war was still on and her situation made her unhireable at the factories that men had vacated, no matter the very loose clothes she wore and how she pretended not to be expecting a child. That struggle had deteriorated her mind and her body and the ultimate blow had come in form of a telegramme informing her that her husband had died in Gallipoli. The shock had sent her into labour two weeks earlier than what was supposed to and Jane had been born in her parents' room with the help of Mrs O'Connor, the elderly neighbour who had heard Anna's wails of despair from her yard, amid screams of pain and «I told Edward not to go to war», repeated over and over again with different kinds of intonation, from regretful to angry, from sadness to resignation.
The newness of motherhood had helped keeping her together, but as time went by and Jane grew, Anna became more withdrawn, leaving her daughter to be raised mostly by Mrs O'Connor and Aunt Helen until she was able to fend for herself at least at a very elementary level.
Her aunt had made her promise Jane would go to school every day, her mother would manage until then and Jane would do her homework and some light chores until Helen arrived from work, later in the day.
Jane did as told but it broke her heart everyday as she kissed her mother goodbye before leaving. Most days, Anna didn't even notice her. As she grew up, Jane realized that her mother didn't do it to harm her and that she loved her deeply but for a child it was hard to understand it when her mother barely looked at her, talked to her or stroke her cheek.
From now and then, Anna would get up from bed, make her toast or cake and real aloud, she would find a job for some weeks and things seemed normal for a while, Jane thinking «so this is what having a mother feels like» but even unconsciously there was some reserve on her part, to protect herself from the disillusion that was to come perhaps.
Sometimes Jane found herself wishing Aunt Helen was her mother. She worked all day, caught three trams to get to her sister's house, arranged it, did some laundry, helped Anna the best she could, served them dinner, regaled Jane with tales of her days at the hotel, offered her encouraging words, helped Jane wash her hair (she didn't want her doing it by herself, fearing possible hot water burns), and caught other three trams to go back to her accommodation. (Helen could have moved to Anna's house but living in the hotel-run boarding house allowed her to save some very needed money to help at the Rosses.) Jane admired her for her strength and also for the warmth that shone through her beautiful but tired smile. Like Anna, Helen had dark hair and an olive complexion - Edward had been the blond, fair one - and her movements emanated efficiency.
She would tell Jane stories of their childhood, Edward's life and her parents' courtship, how they had met as Edward delivered bread to the hotel every morning, Anna before her life had crumbled. «I don't do this to make you sad. Tell me to stop if you want», Helen stated. Jane never asked her to, she did get a bit sad but she liked to hear of a time when her mother was lively. Jane's fanciful imagination could even draw up those memories from her mother's weary features. In those days, Jane would hug her mother, apologising in silence for sometimes loving her more in those moments than now. Anna would hold her limply and mutter «Jane, my dear sweet Jane». She would try to stop her tears, she didn't mean to distress her, but it was too difficult.
(Jane's feelings towards her father were different. She wished she had met him, but she couldn't say she missed him since there was nothing for her to miss him for).
Aunt Helen's workload picked up. She couldn't make it to them every day anymore and Jane took upon herself to take care of her mother and of the house. She still went to school as she had promised her aunt but as soon as it was over, Jane wouldn't stop for a minute, busy with chores and odd jobs around the neighbourhood to earn some extra money or food. She was so tired by the end of the day, there were evenings where she fell asleep at the kitchen table, the empty plate of her soup pushed aside.
When she was there, Helen insisted for her to go to bed as soon as possible, but Jane could never sleep and ended up helping her anyway.
«My Jane, my dear sweet Jane. I am very very sorry for not being the mother you need and deserve. I want to be better, but I don't seem to be able to, you see. I don't deserve you. Thank you so much for everything», Anna had told her one day when Jane had come in to bring her dinner. Jane rushed to place the tray on her mother's lap and ran out of the room, sobs starting to engulf her like a wave. Anna repeated her apologies and her thanks sincerely from now and then. Jane steeled herself and never ran away again, aware that her previous reaction had upset her mother, given the dark shadow that had fallen over her eyes, but it took her a lot of effort to be able to act like that.
One day, the frail strings that bound Jane's world together snapped. She had arrived home about ten minutes ago, had already made her mother some toast for tea and was sorting out clothes to launder when she heard a knock on the door. It was odd. Aunt Helen had her own key and Mrs O'Connor called her name first so Jane would know it was her and wouldn't get scared.
Jane got a knife from the kitchen drawer – just in case and said:
«Who is it?», her voice as steady as she could, thinking now that maybe it would have been best to pretend no one was home. Jane might be smart and resourceful but she was still a twelve year old, not particularly strong nor well-equipped to face an intruder.
«Jane?», a woman's voice came from the other side of the door.
She didn't reply. It wasn't Mrs O'Connor nor any voice she recognised.
«Jane», the woman repeated, «I know we haven't met but I'm Gloria, Gloria Burton, Helen's colleague at the hotel and her roommate at the lodgings».
Aunt Helen had told her about Gloria, «apart from your mother, she is my best friend», she had said. She had always made sure that while she loved Jane and was ready to help her in anything she needed, they were family, not supposed to be mates.
Jane clutched the handle of the knife and unlocked the door with the free hand. She opened it just a sliver, enough to see the woman's face. Slightly bug-like blue eyes framed by blond waves and a navy hat. Jane mentally swapped the cloche for the chambermaid white headpiece and tried to envision her coat in black instead of blue. The woman was telling the truth – Jane recognised her from a photo Aunt Helen had shown her some months ago, the whole staff of the The Windsor standing in front of the hotel to celebrate another anniversary of the revered institution.
«Has something happened to my aunt?», Jane's voice sounded much more squeaky than she could have wished but she was just a scared child, her mind stinging with the everything that could have befallen her.
«Can I come in?», Gloria asked, her blue eyes trying to convey some warmth.
Jane stepped aside and let her come through, feeling her eyes prick with tears along every step Gloria took until she was by the sofa, waiting for Jane as she would for any hostess. Jane moved towards her, expecting her to sit. After all, Jane might be at home but Miss Burton was older than her and the guest. They stood in silence for a couple of seconds looking at each other.
«Is your mother home?», Gloria said eventually. It wasn't time to abide by too much etiquette.
«She's asleep, but I can help you».
Something wasn't right and she wouldn't let her mother in until she knew what it was. She wasn't sure she would be able to handle it, but she wanted to protect her at all costs nevertheless.
«Is there a friend nearby that you can call?»
Jane shook her head. There was Agnes but what could she do? She was probably her best friend but even if she had to help care for her siblings, she could still run to her parents and cry on their shoulders. She could never understand.
«Or Mrs O'Connor, maybe?», Gloria offered, sitting down. The poor girl was trying to be strong and not being able to help her broke her heart, but she didn't know what to do.
«No, thank you, Miss Burton», Jane said, sitting down too. Why couldn't Gloria say what she had come to say at once? Jane's strength had dimmed to a flicker in its last glow.
Gloria opened and closed her mouth a couple of times, as if the sentences she needed could be summoned by that gesture.
«There was a tram accident this afternoon», she said eventually.
Jane's eyes grew large. If she didn't close her eyes, Gloria wouldn't continue talking and Aunt Helen wouldn't be dead.
A/n: Thank you for reading this chapter. I hope you liked it.
Feedback is appreciated as usually.
