The Keys

The Keys

“I love him! And youre filling my head with nonsense! I dont want to hear it! Youre just jealous, thats why you stick your nose in where its not wanted! Leave me alone! Sort out your own life for once!”

Margaret wasnt just shouting; she was bellowing so loudly that old Mr. Victor from next door, whod been tinkering near his shed, actually stopped and looked up, trying to listen in. He was never one for gossip, which simply meant Margaret was making a real racket.

And, in her mind, she had every reason to.

After all, for Margaret, being in love was more of a condition of the soul. Even if she did have brief breaks between crushes, they were so short only her closest could spot them and those closest were her mother and her sister Elizabeth. Her mother was gone now though, and her sister had flat out given up trying to understand Margaret.

Without that butterfly-like feeling, Margaret wasnt living so much as existing. Shed drift about, unable to focus, her mind scattered, so much so her colleagues at the bakery would start to give her a wide berth, muttering,

“Do you need something to calm your nerves, Maggie? Its getting a bit much working with you these days.”

And Maggie would purse her lips, quietly grit her teeth, and think all manner of unpleasant things about those dull women.

Their lives were perfect, she imagined. Husbands at home, children bouncing about… but what about her? No husband, no house of her own! Her son, Patrick, hardly a remarkable child when she compared him to his cousins. Elizabeths two kids James, who played football and earned top marks at school, and Holly, who sang and danced in a proper troupe that travelled to competitions put Patrick to shame. Holly wasnt even ten, and shed already seen more of the world than Margaret had in her entire life.

It stung. Why should it be like that? Margaret had joined all sorts of clubs and lessons as a girl, but never stuck with anything long enough to shine. What could she do? She had to follow her heart there wouldnt be another life, after all. No one would ever serve up happiness to her on a silver platter, saying, “Here you are, Margaret! Help yourself! All for you!”

Shed worked that out long ago. Shed watch Elizabeth sat bent over her school books and tease,

“Careful, Betty, or youll learn so much no onell want to marry you. Nan always said a woman should never be cleverer than a man. Not that any boys ever look twice at you.”

Elizabeth would sigh, “I dont care about them. And thats not what Nan said!”

“Oh, but it is. I remember.”

“No, Maggie, she said a wise woman never flaunts her cleverness if she truly loves a man. Theres a difference, you know?”

“Oh, stop it, will you, and help with my hair. Williams waiting for me!”

Margaret would run off for her date, while Elizabeth curled up on the sofa with a book. Two hours of peace a rare treat for the household.

Of course, Elizabeth loved her sister. She knew Margaret inside out. No, Margaret wasnt spiteful. A bit all-over-the-place, lacking confidence, but never cruel. In fact, she was more gentle than her sister, always bringing home stray creatures. Both cats and the dog shed rescued, pleading with tears in her eyes, lived long and well in the family flat. Their parents, wisely, allowed them only on the promise the home wouldnt become a petting zoo, a promise Margaret kept. She took care of them all herself, never asking Elizabeth for help. Sometimes it did seem to Elizabeth that Maggie valued the animals above people.

“Maggie, Mum wants one of us to pop round Grans and help her tidy up.”

“You do it, wont you? Im busy.”

“Busy doing what?”

“What does it matter? Its important! Montys limping again, he needs to see the vet.”

“Hes been limping all week.”

“So? Is that a reason to ignore him just because Gran needs dusting done? Shes perfectly able to manage on her own! Monty cant speak for himself.”

The sisters would quarrel, go their separate ways; Elizabeth off to help Gran, Maggie pulling out her fanciest blouse, William waiting outside, and Monty nothing more than a convenient excuse to avoid an afternoons scrubbing.

They finished school with different outcomes. Elizabeth with top marks, Margaret well, she got by. Just about.

She never really considered her future career; shed always wanted to be a baker. Shed been obsessed with pastries and cakes since she was a child, pressing her nose to shop windows and refusing to leave until her parents bought her something sweet. She wasnt interested in actually eating them. Shed share them with her sister, then use plasticine to mould replicas of the icing roses.

Their lives diverged again.

Elizabeth moved in with their gran, who was poorly and needed some help. It was convenient the flat was near Elizabeths college. Gran had company and care, Elizabeth got an extra hours sleep. They grew close, and Elizabeth introduced her boyfriend, Simon, to Gran before anyone else.

“Live here, the both of you! Theres plenty of room!”

Their wedding was small but happy, and they settled in the flat. Gran made her intentions clear to the couple:

“Its only fair, love Maggie can have Grandads old room in the shared house. But you and Simon, this flats for you. I wish I could see your children… Oh, how Id love to.”

She did meet her great-grandson: James was two when Gran passed away. She fought hard to recover after her stroke, but her heart gave out, leaving Elizabeth devastated.

Their parents respected Gran’s wishes Elizabeth had earned the right to the flat.

Margaret didnt argue, swept away by a new romance the inheritance meant nothing to her then. She had love!

Though it was hardly love. Margaret was consumed with passion, but her beloved never really looked at her. He was perfectly content having her visit, cook, clean, sometimes paint her portrait, but she was never invited to stay.

“Im an old bachelor, Maggie. Set in my ways.”

Hed roll his eyes, ask her to sort his studio out, then gently usher her out.

“Art, Maggie, demands sacrifices! It begs me for my time! But you see how much I have on Love, duty, work its all too much! Im exhausted!”

She would nod, breathing in the scent of oil paint clinging to her portrait, collecting dust in his studio. No one had ever painted her before proof, she thought, that she could be inspiring.

She got that painting to remember him by, after she told him she was expecting a child.

She walked down the sunlit street that day, dreams soaring so high it was hard to breathe. The new life growing within her was a miracle.

But that wonder vanished in a snap when her beloved scowled and cut her off mid-rhapsody:

“Child? What are you talking about?!”

The end came swiftly and emptily, and Margarets dreams shattered, fragments too fine for anyone to piece together, no matter how skilled a restorer. She didnt even try to pick up her trampled dignity. She nodded quietly at his rebukes and only asked to keep her portrait.

“Just something to remember it all by”

He gave his permission, and that evening Margaret tore the painting to bits, muttering,

“Ill have all I want in life and you? You never will!”

She never found out what became of him, and didnt care. There was enough on her plate. The child shed longed for was born, but didnt fill her with the happiness she imagined. She looked for some spark of his father some mark of genius and found none. Patrick was calm and quiet, more interested in chess and football with the lads outside than anything artistic. He found a chess club himself and went after school, shrugging off his mothers puzzled questions:

“Whats so good about it? Its boring!”

Patrick wasnt bored at all. To him, chess was like a beautiful, simple dance. When a game really caught his imagination, hed sometimes whirl around the room alone, moving to some invisible music playing in his head only if his mother wasnt watching. Maggie thought these odd dances were unmanly.

Dancings not for boys, enough of that!

The only one who understood Patricks peculiar view of the world was his cousin Holly. The rift between his mother and Elizabeth made little sense to him, but Gran always said, “Familys family; you dont turn your back on fate,” and Patrick remembered it, even if it didnt explain why his own mum rejected her sisters love so readily. His relationship with James was steady, but Holly? Patrick truly loved her. She alone could follow the logic and music of his thoughts and dreams.

“Do you hear it?” Holly would ask, eyes wide.

“Yes. Faint, but beautiful”

I think I hear it too. Look, Ill show you!

Then Holly would flutter around the room, trying to act out whatever her heart felt from Patricks trust and Patrick knew: he wasnt alone. Someone understood him.

But children cant always choose whom they spend time with. That, more often than not, depends on grown-up quarrels. And Margarets were frequent. A row with Elizabeth over a trivial slight, and she might ban Patrick from seeing his cousins.

Patrick, powerless, would throw tantrums, refuse food, until Margaret relented:

“Oh, do what you like Ive had enough of your whining!”

He never really understood why his mum and aunt quarrelled so much. No one told him that after he was born, Elizabeth had helped as best she could, only to be cast out when Mags discovered the terms of Grans will.

Its not fair! Im her granddaughter too!

I never asked for anything, Maggie! Lets sell the flat and split the money. I dont want this fight.

I dont need your charity! Gran always loved you best! Thats why she left everything to you! No ones ever truly loved me!

Maggie, thats not true! What about me? About Mum and Dad?

It doesnt count if Im not understood!

And so the rift grew, a nest of bitterness picking at old memories and that feeling of being slighted.

Look, Maggie, remember Elizabeth got the pink-dressed doll and you the green? You wanted the pink, didnt you? She wouldnt swap. Thats not nothing. Life is made up of such small things. The dolls, the dresses, the make-up you never got, Simon, their home, her lovely job, perfect children so unlike your dreamy Patrick All bricks in the jagged, unfinished, empty house of your hopes and dreams all the best bits ended up with your sister! And is she better than you? Of course not. She hasnt got your spark, your imagination, your gift for living life fully! Shes never known real love not like you, Maggie! Love, for you, is freedom, its life itself! The keys to happiness not everyone gets to hold them. Does Elizabeth understand that mystery? Not likely!

Elizabeth sometimes felt a twinge of resentment, but less so, or perhaps her soul was tuned to another chord. Her own nest of bitterness was flimsy, made of a few loosely scattered twigs barely holding together, easy to blow away and reach for her sisters heart. And reach she did, in every way she knew, even after Maggies accusations “Youre no sister! Who acts like this with family?”

It left Elizabeth breathless with the injustice. She felt like a fish washed up on the shore, one leap from the water but forever out of reach. It was easy enough to break the family bond; mending it seemed impossible.

Their parents died within months of each other, as if in silent agreement. Both sisters grieved deeply.

How can this be, Betty? Why them? They were so young still!

We did everything we could, Mags. The rest wasnt ours to control Elizabeth held her sobbing sister.

Its wrong! So unfair!

Life isnt fair, not really. We expect it will give us what we deserve, but

“Youre right, its never that simple…”

Leaving her share of the inheritance to Margaret gave Elizabeth a little peace. Maggie busied herself with the paperwork for the old flat.

“I thought youd want this too…”

Maggie mumbled as she fiddled with her coat hood, not meeting her sisters eyes.

The two stood outside the solicitors office, waiting for Simon to pick them up.

“Why do you always think the worst, Maggie? Were family.”

“I dont know, Betty. Feels like you never understood me.”

“And I suppose youve always understood me? Does it matter so much?”

“Of course it does!” Maggie threw out her hands. “Whats the point of being together if we dont understand each other?”

“Maybe the point is to try? Nothing comes easy in this life, you know that!”

“Well! I do know, more than you ever will. Everythings easy with you husband, home, children. Im always alone!”

“Thats not true… What about Patrick?”

“Hes on his own most of the time! I never see him. Im always working, hes always at yours!”

“He likes being at mine its peaceful…”

“There you go! Youre impossible, Betty! Why do you always make me out to be a bad mother? What did I ever do to deserve this?”

“Maggie, I never said you were a bad mum. Why do you always make things up?”

“Always! You and your perfect life, perfect children, and apparently mine isnt good enough! Patrick isnt good enough for you! He prefers your home to mine!”

Oh, Maggie! Do you even hear yourself?!”

Simon arrived to pick up his wife and found her alone and in tears.

“Why is she like that with me? Why?”

Hugging Elizabeth, Simon whispered, “Its her nature, love. Life hasnt really shaken her yet.”

At this, Elizabeth actually stopped crying.

“Dont say that! Please what if something did happen? I do worry, Simon…”

Its good that you worry. She doesnt know who really loves her yet. Maybe she never will.

Well, shes still my sister. Ill always love her. Elizabeth brushed her tears away. Theres no one else Patricks still just a boy.

Better a patchy peace than a full-blown row. Elizabeth did all she could to keep the sisterly bond from breaking, even if it was hanging by the barest thread.

Men flickered in and out of Margarets life, leaving only bitterness and confusion behind. Why was her willingness to give everything so unwelcome? Each suitor would issue the same warning:

“Im not ready for anything serious, Maggie. Its complicated, you know?”

Of course, shed offer understanding, gladly accepting their terms, but soon forgetting, confused all over again when each romance dried up, sometimes without a word.

Her heart tore and yearned. She was ready to give her all to someone, to become indispensable, learning to shoot if he loved hunting, or to fish if that was his passion. Shed try to hand her keys to happiness to anyone, but curiously, no one ever wanted to accept them.

During Margarets romantic episodes, Patrick spent more and more time with his aunt Elizabeths family. Neither Simon nor Elizabeth minded; he was like another son. In Jamess room there was a bunk bed, two computers on the desk Simon had built, and both boys played games into the night, yelling,

Holly! Thats cheating! Play co-op mode playing against you isnt fair!

Elizabeth would call her sister with Patricks news and sigh,

Hes so bright, Mags! Hed do well in a specialist maths school.

“Hes fine as he is! Its handy hes at the same school as James I can check on him easily. You keep an eye out, too.

“Its a long journey for him if he stays with you on school nights he does need his rest…”

Well, let him stay at yours for a bit. You know how things are for me right now. Its only just starting to get a bit better.

“Of course. Ill look after him.”

Thank you! Chris is wonderful! Hes accepted Patrick, and wants us to be a real family!

Hes proposed?

Not yet. But were heading that way! Just dont get in my way, will you? Help me! This is my chance at happiness!

Margaret, of course well help.

Elizabeth was less than honest. She didnt care for her sisters new beau, Chris too full of himself, odd sense of humour, some jokes bordering on cruel. She worried, not for herself, but for Patrick; after all, Margaret was blind to the fact her son only grew further away.

She kept out of it, but trouble didnt wait long. From the start, it was plain Chris wanted something from Margaret.

Elizabeth found out quite by accident that Chris was pressuring Margaret to sell the family flat.

She returned home from work one evening, sighing at the muddy boots in the hallway Jamess and Patricks. She scolded,

“Boys! Whos home? What on earth is this mess?!”

Holly poked her head out of the boys room, looking guilty.

Mum

Whats happened? Elizabeths heart leapt at her daughters anxious look.

Mum, dont get upset, all right? Its just…

What, Holly, what? Youre scaring me!

Patrick just dont panic, we put ice on it, but it didnt help

Elizabeth didnt listen to more. She hugged Holly, then rushed to the boys room. Patrick lay on the top bunk, face to the wall, pressing an ice pack to his swelling cheek.

Patrick! Whats happened, darling?

Nothing

He sounded hollow and hurt. Elizabeth knew this wasnt nothing Patrick never sulked or kept secrets from her.

She climbed onto the bunk, gently touched the bruised skin.

Move over, love lets talk. Please

I dont want to!

Now she was worried. Elizabeth sighed and sent the children to unpack shopping in the kitchen, then quickly slipped into something comfortable and returned, closing the door behind her.

She clambered up, pulled Patrick into her arms, and touched his bruised face.

“Was it Chris?”

Patrick sobbed, not ashamed, and clung to her. She understood theres no justice in wanting to defend your mum, only to have a grown man strike you and sneer:

“Going to tell me what to do, are you? Who the hell do you think you are, boy? Blow your nose and stay out of grown-up talk!”

Patrick had never seen Chris like that the mask was gone, only a mean, snarling man twisting his mums arm. He realised then Chris didnt love his mother. He simply wanted something. As Holly would have said,

When its real, love shows. Isnt that right, Patrick?

Yeah, but… its not always obvious…

Patrick had tried to stand up for his mum. He was shoved aside, head spinning, next thing he saw was his frightened mother and her whispered,

Patrick, why did you do that?

That was enough. He got up, packed his rucksack with his school things and a new jumper from his aunt, and went to Elizabeths where he could be himself.

Elizabeth, after hearing the full story, rang her sister. Getting no reply, she called her husband.

Simon, can you come collect me? We need to see Maggie.

Leaving the children watching over Patrick, Elizabeth rushed out.

“Whats happened?” Simon asked as she climbed into the car.

“Ill explain on the way!”

The confrontation went badly. Margaret came down to the street, in tears, cursing her rotten luck Chris had packed up and left after a final row, hurling cruel words at her.

“You just dont understand! I love him!” Margaret shouted at her sister, not wanting to answer, not knowing how to justify any of it.

“Who, Margaret?! The man who hit your child?! Has reason completely taken leave of your head? When will you finally see youve had happiness all along? Whats Patrick done to deserve this? Hes your son!”

Hes hardly my son, hes yours! He never wants to be home! Youve taken everything! All our problems are your fault! You took everything!

What did I ever take from you?!

My life! My keys!

What keys?

Elizabeth stopped, seeing herself and Margaret from the outside two grown women, shouting in the road… Was this what their parents would have wanted? What Gran taught them? She suddenly worried their fragile bond would finally snap for good.

Her voice softened as she asked again,

What keys, Margaret? What do you mean?

“Keys to happiness” Margaret choked, dabbing her tears. You have them! And me?

Then, Elizabeth finally understood. She took a breath, then hugged her sister, as their mother once had.

Come here, you silly thing. Oh Mags, what am I to do with you

Stupid, you mean? Margaret squirmed, but Elizabeth pulled her closer.

No, not stupid. Youre sensitive, far too soft And youre forever craving more love. I get that. But dont ask me to understand how you could choose someone over your own child. Thats not right, Maggie, and you know it! And as for keys… I didnt take anything from you. Half the time, I barely know what to do with my own! The only difference between us is that youre always looking for someone to hand your keys to. I keep my own close.

Which is right?

No idea. Life will show.

Its shown me already Margaret sniffled. What now? Who needs me?

I do. Isnt that enough? Patrick does! Isnt that enough?

Im not sure

Start with that, Maggie. The rest will come.

And if it doesnt?

Then youre just trying your keys in the wrong door, love. And the right ones still closed, waiting for you. Fancy spending your whole life in the hall, never opening the door?

No!

“Thats the spirit. Are you going to see Patrick?”

“Hell never forgive me”

“Oh, Maggie! Your Patrick knows far more about life than his mother. Trust me. This wont be an easy conversation. Hes really hurt.”

“I suppose”

“Well, do something! Are you a mother, or just a distant relation?”

“Elizabeth!”

“Oh come on! Into the car! Simon, hand her some tissues. Theres a pack in the glove compartment, Im sure. Tidy yourself up, and lets go the children are waiting!”

Patrick did eventually get a stepfather, but not for a long while. In time, Margaret found the kind of love shed dreamed of. Her son chose to stay with Elizabeths family, rather than move to his mums new place with his newborn baby sister, but Margaret worked hard to make sure he knew he was loved and wanted. The man she married was wise enough to take things slowly, giving Patrick time to build a bond stronger, in the end, than blood ties.

Years later, on the train platform, about to leave for his posting, Patrick hugged them all, shook his stepfathers hand, and simply said:

“Look after Mum, wont you?”

The tall man with a brush of grey nodded seriously,

“And you look after yourself, son. Well be waiting.”

“I know,” Patrick answered.

©He boarded the train, his duffel heavy but his heart lighter than he expected. Through the window, he caught sight of Margaret waving, her arms thrown wide, Holly jumping behind her, Elizabeths steady hand on her shoulder. He thought, just for a second, that he saw his gran there too, smiling from memory, and maybe even the old flat, sunlight spilling in, where keysreal and imaginedjingled in every coat pocket and drawer.

As the train lurched forward, Patrick pressed his palm to the glass, and hoped theyd see it meant: I’m coming home again, one day. He remembered every argument, every slammed door, but more powerfully, he remembered the hugs, the shared slices of cake, Holly tracing an imaginary tune with her hands as she spun among the furniture, and Elizabeths soft voice after nightmares, and his mother, at last, learning his favorite chess moves, knuckling through her own fragility.

Margaret watched the train slip along the tracks, shrinking to a silver glimmer. She squeezed Elizabeths hand. For once, she said nothing, letting the clatter of the departing train fill the air. Instead, she leaned into her sisters warmth, feeling, in that simple closeness, all the doors shed ever wanted to open unlocking at lastnone with a missing key.

They were quiet for a long time, standing together as the wind whipped around them, their lives stitched close again, imperfect but unbroken. The train was gone, but the echoes remained: forgiveness humming in the rails, love lingering in the air, and hope, at last, waiting at the end of the line.