Stride Boldly Forward!
But you understand, dont you? Victor suddenly raises his voice. Today hes summoned Vera to see himnot invited, not gently asked, though theyve known each other so long, are almost business partnershes *summoned* her. You see it, dont you! If I dont do this, shell devour me whole, like a black widow spider! Therell be nothing left of me! He thrusts his well-manicured hands forward, shaking them. His limp muscles quiver under his shirt sleeves and it makes Vera uncomfortable; she turns away. Im building a family with these hands, Vera! If Mary insists, then it must be done!
But really, what did Victor ever do with his hands? Counted money, mostly. Everything elsewell, that was for other people. He never chopped firewood at his country house, he always said it wasnt a gentlemans task. On schedule, a lorry would arrive, two hefty chaps would unload neat stacks of logs, laying them side by side, and Victor would lick his finger to flip the notes as he paid them.
As for lighting the firehe didnt know how to do that either. His mother, Edith Florence, did it all. Edith, a homely, welcoming woman, whom Vera rather liked. Ediths house was always spotless, tidy, beautiful, arranged as if expecting Vera herself to stop by for a minute and enjoy a spot of tea.
Edith never drank coffee herself, but she loved its scent. It reminded her of a distant, short-lived romance she couldnt quite placeperhaps with a Frenchman, or maybe it was an Englishman. That chap couldnt brew coffee to save his life, it always boiled overbut that hardly mattered.
The important thing was the aromait was enough to bring her back to a time that was sweet and joyful.
Edith would brew a tiny pot of coffee, pour for her guest if they wished, then bask in its drifting fragrance through her rather grand kitchen. When there werent any visitors, shed simply set a black coffee at the table for herself, eat a little cake shed kept saved, and have tea.
Edith Florence Vera realised it had been ages since shed called her.
Put yourself in my place, Vera! Why are you just shrugging at me? Victor is in full flow. He always turns up the volume when he knows hes talking nonsense.
Your place? What, Vic? Is this some new girl whos managed to drag you off to the registry office? What was the venue, remind me? Vera smiles.
It was a country house ceremony, Mary wanted something different, you know how she is! Why do you ask these daft questions? Victor, exasperated, loses control. Anyway, Mary will be by yours tomorrow, show her the ropes. In a week or so, once shes gotten her head round the paperwork, hand everything over. Ill give you a generous severance pay. Thats it, Vera. Off you go.
His tone contains the faintest whiff of contempt. Hes the boss, after all, and whos she to answer back? So what if shes director of a local community arts centre, so what if she turned a middling place into a respected centre with strong tutors? Its not really *hers*shes just the puppet put in place.
We have fairly high standards here, and your Mary doesnt seem especially qualified, Vera frowns, then smooths her foreheadshes not about to get worry lines for his sake.
I know. But whats that to do with you? We never even had a proper drink together, remember? If you had, we wouldnt be having this conversation. My wifeshes bought herself a diploma, done a courseshell get on fine. What she needs iswhat do you call it? Oh yesself-actualisation, thats it. Our daughters grown up, doesnt need her all the time. So Mary wants a job, a solid, respectable one.
Oh, of course! Vera acts genuinely amused, smiling, shrugging merrily, but her hand clenched a small pebble in her pocket, rolling it between her fingers. The more it hurt inside, the faster she worked that granite stone, like a monk with prayer beads. Vic, if self-realisations her goal, why not go for something bigger? Isnt our centre a bit too modest a pond? Why not rattle the doors at at music schools, shake up Trinity, Guildhall, Royal College of Music or maybe she should take on the Royal Opera House itself? But I fear they wont accept a course certificate as a qualification Ah well
Thats enough. Vera Anne, youre dismissed. Ive said my bit. Mary Constance will stop by at eleven tomorrow. Prepare all the files, rotasall the necessary handover paperwork.
He turned abruptly to the window, staring at the closed curtains, then whisked them open. Beyond, the city night sprawls, bright dots of colour in the darkness. A plane blinks red in the sky, disappears into clouds. Vic waits for it to reappearbut it never does.
He sees, reflected, Vera turning slowly and striding to the door. Good, just as it should be. She could have thrown a tantrum, as women so often do. Some even weep. Vic cant stand thatwomens tears and snorting sobs made his skin crawl; a cold bead of sweat would slide down his back. Vic feared womens tears.
But Vera never cried. She forgot how to a long time agoprobably since she buried her mother at seventeen, then her father soon after. Her first pay packet shed fantasised about new winter boots. But before she could buy them, she was mugged, struck on the head, left lying on the first dusting of winter snow. Her wrist ached, pain radiating to her shoulder, but more than anything she wanted to pull down her ridden-up skirt and stand up. She couldnt, so with gritted teeth, grumbling and moaning, she hauled herself to a bench.
Strangers walked past her slumped figure, muttering about all these homeless and fallen women.
So many women drinking these days! someone tutted. Go home! Shame on you!
Vera didnt cry, sitting in sullen silence, clutching her stone. All her pain went into it. Just a little longer, she thoughtshed get up soon and leave, just a little longer
Her old flatmate, Grace, found her and helped her home. Grace had been out at the theatre, spotted Veras coat, and raised the alarm.
Vera, what on earth?! Come on, up you get! Please!
They just about made it home. Thankfully, her arm wasnt broken
Vera eventually bought the boots much later, after shed started as secretary at the arts centreGrace had helped, recommended Vera, and the headmistress took her on.
So, can you type? asked the head, Patricia Roman, a grand woman smoking a cigarette holder, rings on every finger, pearls at her neck. The necklace was a touch tight, she always meant to replace it, but never got round to itshe died five days short of her seventieth. Vera, as it happened, had just picked out a lovely new one for her. So, about the typewriter?
Vera nodded.
And do you know your way round documents? Patricia glanced up, with Vera, watching smoke coils fade under the low ceiling.
The centre was a two-storey place with tight staircases and long, thin corridors, a warren of bijou rooms, faded wallpaper, and old portraits on the walls. Desks were crammed in for the staff, tiny halls for lessonsnot so much designed for adults, more for gnomes or people of modest proportions, compared to nowadays.
Even the older children found it a squeeze. But it was always lively.
In two years, since Veras arrival, the list of clubs had ballooned, all thanks to her. Her teaching diploma and work as secretary came in handy, not to mention her contacts. Vera recruited all her friends: one with a passion for painting, another could crochet, someone else made lace. Soon there was a pianist, two accordionistsPatricias own idea.
They barely angled the piano through the door by the office, but soon tiny schoolgirls with ribbons and their mothers (and the odd grandparent) trotted in, plonking and singing, much to Patricias annoyance.
What can we do? Vera shrugged. At least theyre off the street. Otherwise, who knows what trouble theyd find.
Patricia always nodded.
Many years have passed since they buried Patricia Roman, her portrait still hangs in the entrance hall, and every week Vera brings fresh flowers.
Next to her old, tiny arts centre, thanks to the grand gesture of Victor Simonsona self-made businessman playing philanthropista huge, glass building rose up, covered in murals and offering spacious classrooms, even two ballrooms, maths clubs, IT roomsfar too much to list.
Vera first met Victor Simonson at a council meeting when budgets were being divided.
My, whats the rush? Victor drawled as Vera strode past, admiring how well she walked in heels, her shapely legs, her figure, so poised. And those hips! Good heavens!
He tore his gaze away only with some effort.
Dont you care how much money your little centre gets? Vera called over her shoulder. Because I do. I care about
Victor would snigger about her place, call it a doss-house, insist no real product could come out of iteven if he gave his funding to Vera all the same.
Why? she asked him seriously, that winter, when hed insisted she visit his countryside home to review the new budgets. Vera had wanted to refuse, embarrassed by the presumption, but hed insisted that it was easier to work out there, and besides, the director, as he called her, needed a rest too.
Why what? Victor fumbled with the gate, pretending not to understand.
Why did you pick us out, if you thought so little of our centre? she asked, perfectly seriously.
Oh, you cant guess? he turned, irritated, by her cluelessness; he never had much time for women who didnt get it.
No. I cant.
For you, you daft bat! he finally swung the gate open, jumped in his car. Move over, youre in my way!
And with a growl, he drove off.
Victors mother, Edith Florence, waited for them at the porch in her tartan headscarf, quilted skirt, thick winter boots.
Finally, Victor! What kept you? You never call, you know I worry! Is something wrong?
Nothings wrong! Victor barked. Greet the guest. Vera Russell, the director of the doss-house I sank millions into!
Vera awkwardly nodded.
Victor, who exactly did you sink millions intothis pretty girl? Step inside, sweetheart! My son is a brute, uncouth; I must have missed something raising him, I worked so much, tried to give him the world. Now lookhe has everything, but what a lout! Its because we never had a man in the house Edith jogged down, hugged Vera, pulled her inside. Come now, its warm, I lit the fire hours ago. If you want a bath, Victor can manage thatIve no skill for it.
Edith shrugged apologetically, looked into Veras eyes. She understood everything, instantly. Not a lover, not the latest. So who?
No, not the bath! Vera blurted, flustered. Ive only come to sort the papers out. Victor Simonson said itd be easier here, that
Edith nodded. Easier indeed Strange lot, this younger generation.
They entered the house. From outside, it looked rustic, fine logwork, wood balustrades carved like little cups, the porch railings ornatebut inside, it was all utterly modern. Not a sign of creaky cabinets, knick-knack shelves, battered mirrors or rag rugs; every last handle was new.
You two will be fine down here. Ive work to do! grunted Vic, and vanished upstairs.
Edith Florences frown lingered. Her son had never before been so rude to a woman. Perhaps he truly was in love
Would you like coffee? I dont drink it, but I can make it for you. Sit and rest, I need to hang the washing. Victor likes it to smell fresh, got to catch it while theres still a slight frost Edith fussed, setting the kettle and poking at the grinder.
Not coffee, maybe let me help with the washing. My mother used to hang out the clothes Vera trailed off, hand reaching for the pebble in her jeans pocket. Once, her father had found it on a riverbank, joked that it was something magical, told her to squeeze it tight, no matter whatif things got too much, dont fall apart, just hold the pebble as tight as she could and itd be easier. The strength stone, hed called it.
He was joking, but Vera had kept it. Now, as she thought of her mother and the long washing lines strung between the posts, she remembered running to themher mother hadnt come back inside, the sheet, frosty and white, and seeing her mum lying there Vera squeezed the pebble tight again.
You look pale! Perhaps youre travel sick? Edith turned anxiously, poured a cup of coffee. Victor drives so roughly, all swerves and stops. I never go with him. Or do you want to lie down? She suddenly wonderedwhat if Vera was expecting? And if Victor was the father, then what on earth was he doing ignoring her like this?
No, Im fine, truly. Just tired. Come on, you should have your tea too, Ill pour it out, Ill have the coffeewell hang the washing after! Vera put on a cheery air, leapt up, grabbed the nearest mug.
Thats Victors. Mine has daisies, Edith corrected softly.
No, not pregnant. Just a good person, Edith thought. Perhaps that was for the best. Victor was complicated.
They sat for ages, drinking tea, coffee, more tea, attacking a plate of biscuits.
My gran always taught me: you mustnt have tea plain. Whats the use in water sloshing round by itself? Always dip something, she said. Here, have some poppy-seed rusksdo you like them? Edith half-apologised.
Vera nodded.
You see, Vera, I lived with my gran until I was ten, my parents sent me off to grow stronger. This house stands on the same spot where hers used to be. Now its rebuilt I was always poorly, wasnt even allowed in the nursery. Grans place was hugeloads of families, noisy, at least seven children. Evenings, when all was quiet, Gran would collapse on the old bench, puffed out, sit while we sprawled on the oven behind her, jostling. Shed hush us, then begin her tales. My goodness, it was magic Victor never knew her
Vera studied Edith. She looked just the sort of woman whose house was always full of homemade scones, dried herbs in jars, jams on the shelf, butter wrapped in paper, homemade cheese in the fridge. And everything she said was in this gentle, slow way
But Vera had once seen Edith at a city reception, somewhere Victor had thrown them together, ordering them to socialise. There, under glittering chandeliers, Edith was a different person: tall, elegant, poised in a smart dress, high heels, perfect hair. Yes, that was Edith Florence too.
They ended up hanging the washing as dusk fell. Vera grabbed an old padded jacket in the hall, threw it on even though it swamped her, took up the basin, and went to the garden.
Edith hurried after her, insisting You oughtnt trouble yourself. But it was no trouble. Vera couldnt fathom why Victor had brought her herehed said something about needing to check the budgets, but had gone off upstairs immediately and never came down.
He didnt appear for supper either. His mother called, knocked on the door all in vain.
Im busy! Eat without me! Ive a crucial phone call! he only shouted. Then, over the balcony, he stomped and ranted at someone on his mobile.
So Vera had to stay over. Outside, snow was swirling and Victor refused to drive her back to town; no taxi would come out either. Edith settled her in the upstairs guest bedroom, with views out over the fields.
Its warm here, and if youre cold theres an extra blanket in the trunk, Edith nodded, wishing her good night and leaving.
Vera was almost asleep when Victor clattered at her door, muttering.
She thought something was wrong with his mum, leapt up, let him in and
And here he was, clumsily trying to kiss her, all pushy and rough.
Vera landed a punch wherever she could. Victor yelped, rolled off onto the floor.
What are you doing? Youve gone mad! he whined, almost in tears.
And youleave, now! Vera wrapped herself in the covers, almost laughing at the sight of him crawling away, huffing.
Then she thought, with some dismay, that he might now cut all funding to the centre and went back to brooding by the window, watching moonlight spill over snowy fields, before falling asleep.
In the morning, Vic slapped down the signed paperwork in front of her, muttered that to hell with it, hed approve everything and not even bother looking.
Really, Victor! Thats so rude! Edith was shocked.
He wouldnt explain, dashed outside, vanished without another word.
That was the moment Victor “bought” Veraher and everything shed created at the arts centre. Hed gone from mere sponsor to proper owner. And Vera, having turned him down, was simply Verarefusing to be owned.
She thought she was the director, the backbone. But Vic only remembered that shed rejected him. Even after he found Marya full-lipped girl who had won him, body and all. There wasnt much else to her. Edith was lost for words when Victor brought Mary to meet herMary only drank coffee with rum, no matter the hour. She never cooked, and was already planning changes to the house after Edith was gone.
Vic, honestly! Use your head, darling! Edith whispered desperately before the register office ceremony. Shes a shark!
Let it be, Mum! I know what Im doing. Off you go, wait in the car. Ill be down.
Victor slammed the door in Ediths face and called Vera.
Sorry, cant talk now. Im at the airport with my husband, seeing him off! Vera shouted down her mobile.
Victor hung up. Husband. At the airport. Bloody hell.
Mary made herself at home in Victors city flat, quickly produced a daughter, and paraded her from massage to swimming, gymnasticsthen school clubs, always playing the supermum.
Vera had a child tooa son.
Sometimes, Victor compared the women. He liked to imagine Vera as his wife and Mary perhaps the wife of his friend. It played out well in his head. Vic dreamed that one day Vera would come to himafter waving her husband off at the airport, perhaps
But she never did. She clung to her beloved arts centre, raved about her son, Alexander, her husband. She never once asked if Victor was happy.
Vera sometimes visited Edith Florence. Theyd chat about little things, laugh. Afterwards, Edith would watch her guest depart, wishing she really was her daughter-in-law
As promised, Mary arrived at eleven, stepped out of her car, adjusted her coat, and strode inside.
Vera watched as she waited for someone to open the doorwhen no one did, Mary let herself in.
Mary Constance entered the office, glancing coldly at the neatly stacked papers.
Good morning! she nodded at Vera, relishing Veras puffy facecrying, probably, poor dear.
Good morning, Mary Constance. Everythings ready, Vera straightened her blouse.
Oh, whats the point, darling? What do I care about all this nonsense? Just tell mehow many fee-payers have we got, and how many who think my husbands running a charity? Mary demanded, opening a bottle of sparkling water from the fridge.
Isnt he running a charity? Vera looked stern.
Not quite that much! Mary sniggered. At least your son will do as toldarmy, then a trade course, then off to some proper job. But our daughter Vic always wanted a girl and I gave him one! Natashas growing upwe need to start thinking about her education. And I need to save for my old age.
I see, Vera cut her off. But weve agreements with our students. You cant just move them all to private classes!
Me? I can do anything I like. Oh, Vera, dont be so tedious. So what, my husbands sacked you. Off you go! Let your husbandwhats his nameAlexlet him sort something out. And keep your nose out of our business. And that hall on the third floors going for fitness now. Membership cards, classes, more fun all round!
Mary sipped her water, grimaced, then sprawled in an armchair.
Honestly, I might have kept you on, but Vic mentions your name in his sleep far too often. Its annoying. So long, Vera! Statementconsider it signed by Victor!
With lip bitten, Vera strode through the glass corridor, into the old wing, where the faint trace of Patricia Romans cigarettes still seemed to linger.
She needed to buy flowersjust one last time. And what about the concert? There was a concert on Friday, but now Vera would be gone
Vera didnt cry, never! She always carried her fathers pebble. She gripped it now, tightly.
Losing is always hard. But losing the work of your hands, what you built and nurtured and saved, hurts more. To lose it all to someone elses ambition is galling and unfair.
Vera paused at Patricia Romans portrait. At first it looked detached, but then, perhaps, the gaze softenedor maybe she only imagined it.
Never mind, Vera, after every ending theres a new beginning. The only time you cant start again is if youre no longer here. As long as you are, face forward and step boldly. Chin up, young woman! You know, everyone here loves your necklace. Really! Patricia Romans portrait almost seemed to smile, then set hard again.
Vera realised she was sitting in her husbands car, telling him how hurt she was, and he, Alex, was gently wiping away her tears. Tears, after all! It actually felt good, someone wiping the salty drops from your cheeks.
Well, its done. So what! Vera hissed. Ill just start over, right Alex? Ive had plenty of other offers!
Right.
Ill show Mary exactly what Im capable ofwont I?
You will.
And well be alright, wont we?
We will!
You dont really love me at all.
Quite rightwaitVera, what rubbish! Come on, lets go home. No, lets go to a restaurant! Alex grinned.
Why?
Your sons passed his examslook, he just messaged me. Couldnt get hold of you. Alex waved his bulky, walkie-talkie of a mobile at her.
He liked everything big and solidtheir SUV hardly fit in the drive, he sprawled across their bed taking all the space, and his heart was surely big enough for all the love in the world.
They drove in silence to the restaurant and met with Cyril, who, in baggy jeans and a red parka, received all their congratulations. Hed passed first timeat last!
Well done, lad. First step, Vera kissed Cyrils cheek. She was so proud.
Mum, something happened? the student asked. She just shook her head, hugged him, and stayed close.
When your world collapses and someone burns every bridge to your past, all thats left is patience, waiting for the sun to rise again
Come on! Alex was rosy and excited.
Where? Vera threw off the blanket from her lap. Not going anywhere. Ill stay here. Im turning off my phone toocant stand all the calls. Im not the boss any more.
Come with me, Im telling you. Were expected!
Vera tensed up.
Is it Cyril?
No. Its for you. Something important.
He drove her to a bright, tender pink building that used to be a school, now emptied to relocate elsewhere. At the entrancecolumns with busts of great writers, new windows, and in the gardens her favouritepansies (violas).
Out came Edith Florence.
Whats this? Vera whispered. What is it, Edith?
Its a gift. Your birthdays soon. Make it your own. The staff are mostly assembled, the sponsors a dear frienda reliable one. Go for it, Vera! Go for it!
No ribbon was cut, no ceremonyVera simply walked in, and was instantly surrounded by people asking her questions. All old friends from her past, none who betrayed her
Weve joined you, Vera Anne. Like knights in a game. The students are all moving over too, isnt it marvellous? the piano teacher, Nadia, whispered in her ear. Marys chased almost everybody out, let the ground floor to beauty salons. New broom sweeps clean
Vera looked up at Alex.
You knew? she mouthed.
He just played dumbthough of course he knew. Alex was a terrible liarbig, warm-hearted Alex.
Shed bump into Victor again at the council headquarters two years later, when she was invited to accept an award.
Victor was there for other business, struggling with the zip on his briefcase. He scowled, wrestling with it.
Vera? That you? Heard youre back on your high horse? You could have stayed at that little centre, if youd been more accommodating. What more did you want? Move along, dont get in my way. What? Mary, Im busy! Gym gear? Sort it yourself, understood?! Leave me be! Victor bellowed down his phone.
He went on muttering, but Vera didnt listen. Her horse was galloping forward and she refused to make unnecessary stops. The pebble was still in her bagbut she didnt seem to need it now. She wasnt alone; loved ones surrounded her, their warmth making everything lighter. You couldnt put a price on that. Perhapseven Patricia Romans spirit had come along too for this new beginningAnd as Vera stepped onto the stage to accept her awardapplause rising like a waveshe caught sight of Alex, Cyril, Edith, Nadia, and the rest of her steadfast circle, their faces bright with pride. She felt the weight of the little pebble in her pocket, and smiled: not from pain, but from gratitude.
She glanced up and met the eyes of Patricia Romans portrait, displayed for the occasion in the gallerys grand foyer. The painted lips seemed less severe now; perhaps time itself had softened them. Vera gave the tiniest nod, a private promise to keep building, keep making a haven for beauty and hopeas long as her hands and heart permitted.
A tap on her shoulderCyril squeezed her palm. You did it, Mum. You did it again.
Vera laughed, the sound sparkling and unbroken. No, love. *We* did it. And well keep doing it.
Below the thunder of clapping, the room brimmed with beginnings. The lights shone on new faces, new students, the infinite threads of stories not yet told.
Vera closed her fingers around her pebble, feeling its familiar edges. Then she let it go, tucked it away, and reached out to take Alexs hand.
When you have lostand dared to begin againevery morning is golden, every door waits to be opened, and your stride is always, always bold.
