Ragged Islands Hardback - 2007

Excerpt

Carl found the package when he stripped the bed. A huge padded envelope, dog-eared, wrinkled with time and use, and worn so ­soft –­ somehow it had worked its way down between the sheets and come to rest at the bottom, where it lay lodged between the mattress and the footboard like some forgotten nighttime comfort, a hot water bottle or a ­doll.

The envelope had originally been sent to his mother in Ragged Islands. In the upper ­left-­hand corner, where the return address label had been torn away, there was a square of exposed bubble lining, a small translucent window through which he could almost see the ­inside.

When he turned it over, he saw the words she had printed across the back in a wide black marker: TO BE SAVED


1

She was in the dark ­darkness.

Where’s this? she said. Where am ­I?

Dark, nothing but darkness, thick and deep, and it wasn’t home, she could sense that, it was somewhere else. Susan Ann was trying to think, trying to remember the last thing she ­remembered–­what day was ­this?

Monday Tuesday Wednesday Thursday Friday Saturday Sunday Monday Tues–

She didn’t have a clue. Had she wandered off into a strange room? She’d better take a ­look-­go-­see and–

My feet!

There was nothing down ­below –­ she couldn’t feel the far end of her at all!

Where’re my ­feet?

It was ­empty-­feeling down there. Up above, the darkness was pressing against her all ­around –­ heavy upon her chest, her head, holding her ­fast.

Calm down, calm now, ­think.

She must’ve had another episode, yes, and somehow she’d managed to lose her feet this ­time.

But where was this dark place? Had she gone somewhere to visit? Where was this, ­where?

Lorraine, dammit!

Yes, that damn Lorraine!

Susan Ann had been stupid enough to listen to her ­kids –­ that was what this was, that was why this was happening. She should never’ve listened, never’ve let them talk her into coming ­here.

Lorraine thought she was so ­smart –­ and Carl, on the phone, “Mum, you know it’s for the best.” What could he possibly know from out there? He hadn’t seen Ragged Islands since his father’s funeral, he stayed out there in the West and let his sister run things. Her own son had no idea of what was really going on, no idea at ­all.

Lorraine, the last summer back home, out in the yard–“The apartments in that building are nice and big, Mum.” Susan Ann would find out all too soon that the only big things there were the fibs her daughter ­told.

That bedroom’s so small if you want to make the bed properly you need to be able to fly!

“Mum, you know it’s for the best. We worry about you all alone in the house. And you’ve made it very clear that you won’t go to Surf Side Manor.”

Yes, because then no one would ever come see her, she’d never see her own grandchildren ­again–­there’d be nowhere for them to visit and stay. She’d be stuck in the TV room all day long, stuck in there with a bunch of nosy old people she’d never cared for all ­yak-­yak-­yakking, and there was nothing but crap on the old box nowadays ­anyway –­ young people parading their private lives about like fools–

You should never’ve left Ragged Islands, should never’ve let that house be ­sold–­Jamie’s house, Jamie’s house, Jamie’s–

Don’t, now don’t go and get all upset, it won’t get you anywhere so just calm ­down.

But Jamie’s house, I let them talk me into selling Jamie’s ­house.

That’s a while ago, that’s ancient history, just–

But it was Jamie’s house!

And that apartment Lorraine shoved her in–

Kitchen cupboards were so narrow that she couldn’t put a plate in ­them –­ there wasn’t enough counter space to chop an onion, and no window at ­all –­ at Ragged Islands there were the beautiful new cupboards Jamie had put in, and while she washed the dishes she could look out and see the islands themselves, just offshore, and the back harbour and the edge of town – almost an island itself – in the distance. But no window in that damn apartment kitchen or the ­bathroom –­ and even an outhouse has a window. Up at the farm the outhouse had two ­windows –­ two! But oh no, not that “nice big apartment.” Not a foot of decent woodwork anywhere, the doors all thin as cardboard, and that miserable ­wall-­to-­wall rug. There was no satisfaction in cleaning a place like that, none at all. At nighttime, the street outside was so bright and noisy that she had to keep the windows closed and the drapes shut or she’d never sleep a wink. The full moon could come and go time and again, but she’d never know, oh no, not in there. And stars, she could just forget about wanting to see any of them ever again!

It’s no fair!

“–restless?”

What?

Who’s that? Is someone ­there?

Hello?

She thought she heard someone say something. She was still as could be, ­listening. . . .

Not moving a muscle, quiet as a ­mouse. . . .

Listening. . . .

Hssssssssss. . . .

What was that? What was that sound? Take a ­look-­go-­see and–

How in the name of God could a person lose her own ­feet?

They must be down there somewhere, but she couldn’t feel a thing, nothing seemed to be going on down there at all. And in this light, without her glasses, she couldn’t see worth a ­damn.

If she tried to take a step, what would ­happen?

My feet, my poor old ­feet.

Were they ashamed of themselves and hiding? Who could blame them? But ­where?

Jamie would be shocked to see those old feet of hers now. When was the last time she’d touched ­them?

Putting on my ­slippers.

No, touched them closer than that, took a real good look at them. How long had it been since she’d trimmed her own toenails? Months and months, oh, ages and ages ago. Her granddaughter did that these days, cut her toenails when she came to visit. It was an awful thing to ask a young person to do. Susan Ann couldn’t watch; she hated the sight of those tough old things, all ancient and gnarled, and an awful dirty yellow colour, like claws. Poor Jamie would be shocked to see them. She used to have such nice ­feet.

Media reviews

Praise for The Wise and Foolish Virgins:

“Hannah writes like a born novelist, with a calm, seductive style and an almost Chekovian vision of subtle humour and generosity. . . . Despite its tragic undertones, the book has the sweetly elegiac mood of a long summer evening.”
—Maclean’s