Chapter 5 Cara

Raven's Wood was known for strange happenings. My mother's brow had puckered when she had heard that I was planning to join Jan for a campfire there.

***

It had been early evening and she had just got back from her shift at the diner.

Tiredly, she raised her eyes to my face and said in mild concern, a faraway look in her eyes as though she was thinking of another conversation,

'Raven's Hill? Why did they choose that godforsaken place? It's not a nice spot, darling.'

She began to pull out the plates, as I arranged the sandwiches on the table. Mom looked tired and aged; I thought sadly, her dark brown hair was now greying although she was not so old. She had put on a lot of weight and I knew that she had taken to smoking although she never did it at home; she was too scared of my stepdad. She did not seem to care about her looks either, not anymore. Her once rich brown hair had faded to a greasy mop, predominantly grey, although she was relatively young, just in her late forties.

I wrapped my arms around her waist, laying my head against her shoulder.

"Mom,' I said softly, resting my cheek, 'Chill!'

And as she sighed, I added,

"I'm a big girl, I can take care of myself.'

I felt her smile.

'A good girl too.'' She added quietly, 'You're a good daughter.'

The sound of the front door opening had me leap back. I knew that my stepdad had arrived. I also knew that he didn't care to see any open exhibition of love and affection between us. I had a feeling that he resented the bond we shared, my mother and I.

Mom continued to tidy up the counter.

My stepdad, Brian O'Neill walked into the kitchen.

At fifty-five, he was a portly little man, always full of self-importance. Mom turned to him, a plastic smile ready on her face.

"How was your day, darling?' she said stepping forward to kiss him lightly on the cheek.

He pulled a face.

'Same old, same old,' he said, shaking his head as he sat down, rubbing his meaty little hands.' Nothing happens at the paper without someone pushing it through.'

He thrust his little chest out with pride and I knew he meant himself. I turned away and rolled my eyes, hiding my derision. Listening to him, I thought, you'd think he was the President of the US. Not a totally insignificant assistant editor of a tiny newspaper in a small town. As I turned around to arrange the glasses, he scowled at me.

He knew I didn't think much of him, that I merely tolerated him because of my mother.

"Well, young lady," he said in that patronizing way he spoke to me, 'What are you doing this evening?'

"I'm going for a campfire. "I said pleasantly, knowing it would annoy him.

If I had said that I was going to help out at the soup kitchen run by the Church, he would have been over the moon. But on more than a couple of times while volunteering there, I had been pawed by one of the good gentlemen who was regarded as a stalwart of the local Church, No one was prepared to believe me; not the pastor who had gently suggested that I might have imagined it, taken a fatherly pat for something sinister. When I pointed out that I didn't think fathers groped their daughters' behinds, the pastor had been mortified and had hurried away, his large cauliflower ears turning red in embarrassment.

As for my stepdad, Brian had looked disapprovingly at me and said something about my choice of clothes having attracted trouble.

So it was MY fault? I had fumed when I was alone with my mother. She had said little. I knew she had enough to handle. But I had had enough. I had simply stopped going, causing Brian to throw a cold fit.

Now his eyebrows rose at my statement but he turned away, ignoring me, his expression darkening as he looked at the plate of neatly arranged, delicious sandwiches on the table. Clearly displeased, he said in his nasal drawl,

"A man feels ravenous when he has been working all day. And sandwiches are not really something to keep a man's belly full."

The pompous statement made me wince. Mom had not exactly been sitting around lazing all day, I thought crossly. She worked extra hours to keep me in college and there was no way I would let that continue for long, I told myself grimly.

His voice droned on, complaining that the sandwiches had too little of meat. The cheese was way too much, blah, blah, blah.

I grimaced. Yes, Brian O'Neill was a firm believer in the idea that Man is the King of the house.

***

Both my Mom and I had been bereft when my Dad had died in a freak road accident. He had been a trucker, gone from home on long spells, a big, bearded man with a loud and cheerful laugh. They had made such a beautiful couple, I often thought, looking at the pictures I had saved of them together and with me; Mom with her petite looks and Dad, a genial giant, with his frizzy red hair and wide grin. I could still remember being scooped up in his strong arms as he swept me up and threw me up into the air, chortling all the while.

Brian O'Neill had stepped into our lives soon after Dad died. At first, it was just condolences that he had come to offer; later he had proposed and kept on turning up till Mom had agreed. I knew that it was the thought of my being without a father that had made her take the decision but finally, none of us were happy.

Almost five years older than her, Brian had wanted a docile housemaid, no kids, thank you very much. He was also firm; he would not help me through college. After all, he was paying for my board and bed, wasn't he? He made it clear, in his words; he "was not a meal ticket.'

Without any other source of income, Mom had been desperate and we had stayed on. My Dad had not left behind any money so she worked to keep me in school. I knew that it was taking a toll on her health but there was no way she would stop. Ever the chauvinist, Brian had tried to stop her.

But Mom could be tough as nails although she was generally sweet and obliging. When it came to my future, she stood up and fought back.

*

I had heard them arguing in the kitchen one night soon after we had moved in.

"I don't want any woman of mine working, Diana!' that was Brian, weasly as ever.

And Mom had replied firmly,

"My daughter is a good student. I don't want her to lack for anything Brian.'

And when Brian had made some more protests, she had cut him short.

"Brian, you knew that I wanted her to have the best when I married you.'

Again the low murmur as Brian tried to stop her from continuing.

In a slightly raised voice Mom went on,

"No. I'm not asking you to lend her the money for her education. Cara is too young to work now. I'll work to pay her fees now. And when when she's old enough to do so, I'll stop.'

Mom had put her foot down and insisted on taking care of my expenses. Since was not qualified for any other job, she had begun to work at Harry's Diner.

"I'll give up my job when you take up one," she would smile tiredly as I hugged her tightly.

I knew she did not love Brian but she had married him to give me a home. So I put up with Brian even though he was a whiner who was always finding fault with everything my poor mother did.

If it was the meatloaf that was too dry on one day, on another day the mince pies were too sweet. There was no pleasing the man.

Mom was a great cook and she could dish up stuff that made my schoolmates envious. I had inherited my love of cooking from her. This meant that I knew Brian was being frusty and unpleasant when he kept finding fault with the food. But my mother smiled gently and slogged on without a murmur.

Sometimes I would catch her smoking at the kitchen doorway when Brian was not at home, leaning against the door jamb and staring into space. The sad and weary look on her face, and the telltale tears in her eyes when she turned were a dead giveaway and I knew she was thinking of my Dad who had worshipped her.

Neither of us would ever stop missing him, I thought.

***