A Crack in Trust

A Crack in Trust

Mrs. Whitmore, are you at home? Its me, Linda from the third floor! Ive some hot pasties left over for you and need to split something Wont you open the door?

Mrs. Whitmore pauses by the window with a cup of cold tea in her hand. The November afternoon lingers outside, the courtyard a dull blur between blocks of flats. Wind whirls yellow leaves; a few passers-by hurry along, collars turned up against the chill. Shes gotten used to the silencehow the clock ticks gently, the fridge murmurs, and the floorboards occasionally creak. Shes accustomed to no one knocking.

Mrs. Whitmore, I can see your lights are on! Dont hide, Im nice!

The voice from the hall is loud, persistent, imbued with that particular cheerfulness that doesnt take no for an answer. Mrs. Whitmore sets her cup down on the windowsill, slowly making her way to the entrance. She stops just before the front door, peers through the peephole. Linda stands on the landing, plastic carrier in hand, beaming, her dyed ginger hair gathered in a messy ponytail, fuchsia lipstick, puffy pink parka.

Oh, come on! Its not a fortress, you know, Linda calls. Let me in before I freeze!

Mrs. Whitmore slides the chain off and opens the door. Linda sweeps inside like a gust of spring, bringing perfume, cold, and the scent of fried food with her.

Just fancied baking this morning and thought, why not share with my neighbour? Linda thrusts the bag at Mrs. Whitmore. With cabbage and pork, still warm. You hardly eat anything on your own, I betyoure fading away!

Thank you, Linda. You shouldnt have

Oh, dont mention it! I like doing people good turns. Make sure you eat, and brew yourself a strong cup of teayou look pale.

Linda strides into the kitchen as though its her own, flicks the kettle on and takes two cups out of the cupboard. Mrs. Whitmore hesitates in the doorway, lost with the bag in her hands. Shes been alone so long it feels unreal, even intrusive, to have someone else there.

Sit, sit, Linda orders. Well have a proper cuppa and a natter. I know what its like: your husband gone, the children far off, everything fogged. My aunt was just the same after Uncle Reg, nearly went mad for loneliness.

Mrs. Whitmore sits. The pasties really do smell lovely. She hasnt cooked for herself in agesonly ever heats ready meals in the microwave, eats mechanically, no appetite.

Im not interfering, really, Linda pours the tea, heaping four spoons of sugar into hers, I just cant walk by if someones suffering. Im that sort. Worry for everyone. My husband says, Linda, you save the world but forget yourself. But what can you do?

Linda talks non-stop, lively, full of gestures and laughter. Mrs. Whitmore listens, feeling something inside slowly thawing. How long since shes simply chatted over tea at the kitchen table? Alex rings once a week, but their conversations are short and routine. How are you, Mum? Fine, love. Eating properly? I am. Need money? No, Im all right. Okay, love you, will call again. Then silence for seven days.

You know, Mrs. Whitmore, Linda leans closer, her eyes warm, almost sisterly, a few of us women gather for a chat sometimesdown at The Willow, the café on the corner, you know it? You should join us, liven yourself up.

I Im not sure, Linda

Of course you should! Ill fetch you myself. You cant just shut yourself away indoors. Its not healthyall sorts of ailments come from loneliness.

Mrs. Whitmore nods, unsure how to say no. Linda finishes her tea, stands, looks at the kitchen with careful eyes.

Oh, youve lovely things here! Look at that tea set! She approaches the dresser, where a delicate porcelain tea set sits, white with gold trim. Its an antique, isnt it?

Brian gave it to me, Mrs. Whitmore says softly. Thirty years married.

Gorgeous! Look after it. Well, Im offthings to do! Make sure to eat those pasties, and Ill expect you tomorrow at three, agreed?

Linda leaves as fast as she arrived. Mrs. Whitmore gazes at the bag, at the cups, the stain of lipstick on one rim. The flat is quiet again, but it feels a little different. Not quite so empty.

***

And so it begins. Linda comes every daysometimes in the morning, sometimes evening, always with some excuse: run out of salt, needs advice, or simply to chat. She pulls Mrs. Whitmore into conversations, walks to the shops, these gatherings in The Willow where three loud, chattering women gossip over plastic cups of tea about neighbours, prices, and television.

At first, Mrs. Whitmore feels out of place. These women are differentblunt, noisier. They laugh at things shed never find amusing, use words that make her squirm. But Linda sticks by her, pulls up a chair, says, This is my friend, Mrs. Whitmore. She was a teacher. Linda makes it sound almost proud.

Gradually, Mrs. Whitmore adjusts. She finds herself waiting for Linda, dressing up for their outings, even coming alive a little. It isnt like her old social circles, back when Brian was alive and theyd attend the theatre or entertain colleagues at home. But that world ended with Brian; friends drifted, fell ill, passed away. These little café meet-ups and idle talks are all thats left. But its better than silence.

Mrs. Whitmore, do you still have that brooch you wore last time? Linda asks one afternoon as they sip tea over digestives. I cant stop thinking about itamber, isnt it?

Yes, amber, Mrs. Whitmore nods. It was my mothers.

Oh, may I have a look? I adore old piecesgives me such joy.

Mrs. Whitmore fetches her keepsake box and hands over the brooch. Linda turns it over, holding it to the light.

Its lovely! You wouldnt mind if I showed it to my daughter, Ellie? Ive mentioned herher graduations next month, and shes after something vintage for her outfit. Ill let her see it and bring it back, I promise!

Mrs. Whitmore hesitates. The brooch is so precious, her mothers. But Lindas gaze is full of gratitude, it feels rude to say no.

Well all right. But please be careful.

Oh, I will! Thank you, youre an angel!

A week passes, but the brooch doesnt return. Mrs. Whitmore tries to ask, but Linda brushes it off: Ellie still wants to have a lookloves it to bits! Just a little longer, I promise. Yet another week fades. Eventually, Linda claims Ellie lost it accidentally but will find it and urges her not to worry.

Mrs. Whitmore does worry. She cant sleep, replaying her own foolishness, blaming her trust. When she tries for a serious talk, Linda is genuinely affronted.

You think Im lying? Linda confronts her. Me? When Ive been here for you, keeping you from going mad? Honestly! If you cant trust me, why bother?

No, no, Lindathats not what I meant, Mrs. Whitmore falters. The thought of Linda leaving, the flat returning to its hollow silence, is unbearable. Its just the brooch means a lot.

I understand, really. Ellies hunting high and lowdont fret.

Mrs. Whitmore tries not to fret. Linda starts coming by as usual, but now sometimes asks for more.

Mrs. Whitmore, could you lend me a hundred quid or so till the end of the month? My sons unwell, needs medicine, and were out of money. Ill pay you back in a few days, promise!

Mrs. Whitmore gives it. Linda is her only friend, almost a sister, the only person who cares. A hundred. Then two. Three hundred. The money never comes back; whenever Mrs. Whitmore asks, Linda sounds so wounded she feels ashamed for asking.

I thought we were friends. True friends dont keep score, do they? Id do anything for you, but youre counting pennies.

***

Alex phones on Wednesday evening. Mrs. Whitmore is readying herself for bed, wearing her worn dressing gown, mindlessly watching a DIY show on the telly.

Mum? Hi, Alex sounds tired. Hows things?

All right, son. Hows the family?

Mad at work as usual. Listen, Mum, wed love you to visit at the weekend. Marinas desperate for your stew, and the kids keep asking for you.

I dont know, Alex Ive things to do.

What things? You hardly leave the flat.

Thats not true, I do get out! Mrs. Whitmore bristles. Ive a friend, you know. Linda from the third floor. She looks in every day, drags me out to shops and cafés. Im not so lonely as you think.

A friend? Alexs tone is suddenly wary. How well do you actually know her?

Of course, I know her! Weve been friends for months now. If it werent for her, Id still be a recluse.

Alex is silent for a moment.

All right, Mum if youre happy. Just look after yourself. And your things. Not everyone is trustworthy.

What nonsense! Mrs. Whitmore snaps, stung. Lindas like a sister! Youre judging and you dont even know her!

Im not judging, Mum. Just never mind. Love you, try to get some sleep.

He hangs up. Mrs. Whitmore sits holding the phone, resentment bubbling. See? Even her own son isnt pleased shes found a companion. Probably finds it easier having her out of the way. Now shes needed, suddenly its a problem. Selfishness, thats what it is.

The next day Linda has a proposal.

Mrs. Whitmore, I had a thought, Linda comes in, shrugs off her parka, breezes to the kitchen as always. Remember I mentioned my mate who sorts deals at that spa in Bath? Well, shes just offered us a discount. Lets go together in April! Two weekstherapies, mineral waters, country air!

Mrs. Whitmore freezes. She hasnt been away in years. The last time was with Brian, three years before he died. The idea is frightening, but tempting.

It must be expensive

With the discount, only five hundred pounds eachan absolute bargain for Bath! Ive saved some, you can too. By April, youll have enough.

Im not sure, Linda my pension is only three-fifty.

Oh, come now! You must have savingsworked all your life, didnt you? Five hundred pounds isnt a fortune, and youll remember our break together for years.

Mrs. Whitmore thinks. She does have savingsalmost three thousand tucked away, left by Brian for emergencies. Shed never touched it. But this is for health, isnt it? And with Linda, it wont be so daunting.

All right. Lets try.

Linda is radiant.

Knew youd say yes! Let me come with you to the bank tomorrow, make it easier for you.

Yes, perhaps thats best

So the next day, Linda guides her to the branch ten minutes walk away, chatting about the trip, what to pack, how exciting itll be. Mrs. Whitmore withdraws five hundred and hands it to Linda.

Ill give it to my friend for the deposit, else the offer will be gone. Ill get you a receipt as soon as.

But the receipt doesnt arrive. First, Linda says her friend is away, then the paperworks delayed, then more excuses. Mrs. Whitmore frets but doesnt press. Linda still visits, still brings small gifts, still asks for little favours.

Mrs. Whitmore, any chance I could borrow your lovely tea set for a special occasion? Ellies wedding is next month, and I want to lay the table nicely but have nothing suitable. Ill wash it and return it, promise!

The setthe gift from Brian. Mrs. Whitmore stares at Linda, tongue-tied. Its too much. That set is sacred.

Linda, its very precious.

Oh, here we go again! Lindas lips curl. I do all these things for you, bring you out of your shell, and you wont part with a bit of crockery? After all Ive done?

Im grateful, Linda, truly its just

If you dont trust me, dont call me a friend, Linda says coldly, grabbing her bag. I thought you were different.

As she turns to go, Mrs. Whitmore is seized by fearthe terror of being alone again.

Wait, Lindatake the tea set. Just be careful, please.

Linda smiles.

There we are, see? True friends dont doubt each other. Ill take care of it, I promise.

***

Three weeks later, Marina calls. Her voice is anxious.

Mum, its Marina. Alex saw your bank statement, you know hes your named contact. Theres a withdrawal of five hundred poundsdid you take it out?

Yes, I did. Why?

Just checking what for?

Its my money, Marina, Mrs. Whitmores voice is stiff. I spend it as I like.

Of course, Mum. Its just we worry. You mentioned a neighbour visiting a lot. I dont want you to be taken advantage of

Taken advantage of? Because Im old and dotty? Mrs. Whitmore bristles. Linda, my friend, is the only one who cares, unlike you and Alex.

Mum, thats not fairwe love you, but both work, have a mortgage, the children

If you cared, youd find time, she retorts. Excuse me, I have things to do. Goodbye, Marina.

She hangs up, hands shaking. Deep down, she knows shes unfair. She knows about the long commutes, the school runs, the stress. But right now, none of that mattersonly the sting of not being believed.

Linda arrives in the evening, chatting about the neighbours and new biscuits in the shops. Mrs. Whitmore makes tea, watching her and thinkingthis is the only person who understands, who cares. Linda does ask, yes, but isnt that what friends do?

Mrs. Whitmore, remember I said I wanted to buy Ellie a special wedding present? Theres a lovely china set in The Willowhalf price, down to two fifty. Lets buy it together, Ill pay my share back in a fortnight.

Linda, Ive no money just now, Mrs. Whitmore sighs. I gave you five hundred for the spa, remember?

Oh, youve still some left! Or we can do it on crediteasy monthly payments, no interest. I bought my fridge that wayeveryone does! Come on, help me out?

Mrs. Whitmore wants to refuse but Linda quickly moves the conversation on, so she doesnt. Next day at two, Linda arrives punctually.

Come along, wrap up warmits windy!

They ride the bus to the shopping centre, noisy and bright, crowded and unfamiliar. Mrs. Whitmore finds herself lost, but Linda navigates confidently to the homeware shop.

LookI told you, gorgeous! Linda points to a set splashed with blue and yellow flowers. Perfect for Ellie. Just two fifty! Lets get it.

Its too much, Linda And why credit?

Its a weddingcant scrimp. Its just for a bit, youll barely notice.

Lindas pleading eyes defeat Mrs. Whitmore. She nods. The assistant brings paperwork; Linda fills it out with her, telling her where to sign.

Once thats done, as they head to the exit with the big box, someone calls out.

Mrs. Whitmore?

Its Marina, arms full of shopping, face worried.

Mum, what are you buying?

A set for Lindas daughteron credit.

You or Linda?

Me, but shell pay half.

Marina draws her aside, speaking quickly and hushed.

Mum, Alex checked up on this Linda. Shes known for conning pensioners. She makes herself friendly, gets money and valuables, and then disappears. Shes using you!

Thats a lie! Mrs. Whitmore cries. Linda is my friend! Youre just jealous that someone cares about me!

Mum, we love you, Marinas voice shakes. Shes taken your brooch, your money, your tea set! Please think.

Shell return it allshe promised!

No, she wont. And you know it deep downyoure just scared to admit it.

Those words hurt most, because somewhere deep down, Mrs. Whitmore knows. The brooch wont come back. Nor the spa trip. Nor the tea set. To admit it means facing her lossand her gullibility.

Leave me, Marina. Dont tell me what to do.

Marina looks at her a long time, then turns, leaving for the exit. Mrs. Whitmore, trembling, goes back to Linda.

Lets go, she says curtly.

On the journey home, silence reigns. At their stop, Linda at last asks,

That was your daughter-in-law, wasnt it? Did she say something about me?

She did, admits Mrs. Whitmore.

Well? Did you believe her?

No, Mrs. Whitmore says faintly.

Linda takes her hands. No matter what they say, I care about you. Ill sort everythingfind the brooch, bring back the tea set, pay my half for the china. You believe me?

Mrs. Whitmore so desperately wants to believe; wants Linda to really see her, truly be her friend.

I believe you, she whispers.

Linda hugs her tight, reeking of perfume and smoke.

See? Its real friendship, you and me.

***

For two weeks, Mrs. Whitmore ignores Alex and Marinas calls. Its too painful. Linda visits, but less, distracted, busy with Ellies wedding. The tea set doesnt return. The deposit receipt never turns up.

Mrs. Whitmore sleeps badly, replaying it all at night, swallowing pills for blood pressure, feeling unwell but refusing to ask for help. Pride stops her.

On Saturday, the bell rings. She expects Linda, but its Alex and Marina, arms full of groceries.

Mum, you didnt answerwe got worried, Alex says.

Everythings fine, she replies coldly.

Lets just make lunch together, Marina says gently, and soon there are potatoes to peel, carrots to chop. Silently, Mrs. Whitmore accepts their presence.

Tell me honestly, Alex says as they eat. Has Linda returned anything? The brooch? The money?

Not yet, she wont meet his eyes. But she promised.

Alex sighs. The police know herLinda, that is. There have been complaints from others. She befriends older people, takes what she can, then moves on. Thats how she works, Mum.

No Mrs. Whitmores voice trembles.

Mum, youre clever. You raised me. Doesnt something feel wrong? Cant you see youre being used?

Shes my friend! Mrs. Whitmore protests. Youre too busy working to care about me!

Thats not fair, Alexs voice hardens. We work to keep the family going. But we call, we invite you, we love you. And youre giving everything to a cheat!

Get out. I dont want to see you anymore.

They leave. Marina is weeping, Alex grim. Mrs. Whitmore slams the door and slides to the floor, head in hands. She knows. Deep down, she has always known. Admitting it hurts too much.

Linda doesnt come for three days, then turns up cheery as ever.

Hi, Mrs. Whitmore! Just passing by, thought Id pop in.

Linda, Mrs. Whitmore says steadily, without inviting her in. You promised to return my tea set.

Oh, yes, the tea set Linda waves a hand. Silly thing, smashed a few pieces, but Ill buy you new ones, promise!

Smashed?

Happens. Listen, could you lend me another hundred or so? The girls need shoes, and Im skint.

Mrs. Whitmore stares, suddenly seeing her clearly. The hardness round the eyes, the calculation behind the smile. Linda is not her friendnever wasjust an opportunist.

No, says Mrs. Whitmore.

What?

No more money. And bring me the set. Now.

Lindas expression turns stony. Your family have been poisoning your mind, then? I told you, Ill replace the cups.

Youre not returning anything, are you? Not my brooch, not the money, not the tea set.

Of course I will! Friends, arent we?

Were not, Mrs. Whitmore says. And closes the door.

Linda yells, pounds, calls her ungrateful through the wood. Then silence.

Mrs. Whitmore walks to the empty space in her cabinet, tracing the dust where the tea set once stood. She sits at the kitchen table and breaks down, sobbing harder than when Brian diedbecause then, at least, she had certainty. Now only emptiness, shame, and crushing disappointment.

***

The next day, a Sunday, theres another ring at the bell. Mrs. Whitmore opens the door without checking. Linda stands there, a box at her feet, face tight.

Take your stupid tea set back, then. But dont ask me for anything ever again.

She leaves. Mrs. Whitmore brings the box to the kitchennearly all the set is chipped or smashed, the rest crusted with old tea. She sits, holding two halves of a broken cup. She dials Alex.

Mum? Are you all right?

Alex could you come over?

Were on our way. Hold on, Mum.

In an hour, Alex and Marina arrive, see the box of shattered porcelain and Mrs. Whitmore clutching the broken cup. Marina sits beside her in silence, wrapping an arm around her. And Mrs. Whitmore weeps againthis time with relief, for not being entirely alone after all.

Im sorry, Alex. Im sorry, Marina.

Its all right, Mum, Alex says. Well try the police, see if anything can be done.

No, let her have it. I dont want anything from her.

Marina gently takes the two halves of the cup.

You can glue it. Therell always be a crack, but itll hold.

Yes, Mrs. Whitmore nods. Perhaps you can.

They sit at the kitchen table; Marina brews a strong cup of tea in a plain mugbecause the old set is no more. Alex talks about changing the door lock and reporting Linda. Mrs. Whitmore listens, thinking how she was so desperate for company she mistook illusion for friendship.

Mum, Alex says, come and stay with us awhile. Or visit more. The girls miss you. Please, dont be on your own so much.

Ill think about it, Mrs. Whitmore whispers.

They stay for dinnerMarina makes her old meatball stew, and they talk of everyday things. Mrs. Whitmore feels herself return, slowly, painfully, but certainly.

Once they leave, Mrs. Whitmore tidies, sits at her kitchen table with the glue and broken cup. Her hands tremble, but she persists.

The phone ringsits Alex.

Mum, are you okay?

She studies the crooked, glued-together cupa visible seam marking where it was broken. Itll never hold tea again, but it is, at least, whole.

Im all right. Come around tomorrowIll make that stew again.

She turns the cup in the light. Crooked. Scarred. But somehow, still here.