Will you put up with this any longer? the voice of my late granny whispered again as the lift shuddered to a halt between the fifteenth and sixteenth floors of the tower block on Holloway Road.
Our family had been at odds from the very beginning. My husband Charles had plucked me from school and married me almost as soon as we could speak. He never let me finish any schooling, discouraged me from any fun, and only when I managed to pass my driving test did hethrough his father’s favour and a friendly instructorallow me to sit behind the wheel.
I left the flat only when the pantry ran low. Going out? Charles would sneer, Only to fetch food, I see. A walk, to him, meant hanging freshlywashed laundry on the balcony and never a stroll for pleasure.
He wanted to know my every move. Even taking out the rubbish required him to have his mobile tucked in the pocket of my nightgown, ready for a call.
Weekends began on Friday evenings with a dread that settled deep in my bones. Charles would barge in demanding dinner, the table never complete without a misty bottle of his favourite Scotch. After the meal he would sit, eyes cold, and with a sneer that cut like a razor, mutter, Whats the use of you, fool? When will I have an heir? He would linger in the bedroom, weeping into my pillow, then retreat to the kitchen to finish his dram. When the last drop was gone hed demand, Wheres the ale?
I knew that question would be asked, but I never bought ale for him during the day, preserving a few minutes each evening for a breath of fresh air.
What are you thinking, girl? Grannys voice pushed me from the gloom. Do you like the way he treats you?
No, I whispered, he wipes his feet on me.
And thats only now, she warned, later it will be worse. Do you want him to loosen his grip?
Lord, no! my throat went dry. Never.
Then run, my dear, run!
How? Where to? To my mothers flat, where she lives with a new husband? To my fathers, where he has a new wife? Im a cutoff piece, Granny. I have no one. Tears swelled, my nose clogged.
Being alone is a blessing, a chance to start anew. Imagine if you had a child
What then? Where do I go?
The opportunity will appear soon. Keep your eyes open, look out the window often, and youll see.
What will I see?
Ive told you enough. Figure it out, youre not foolish. The lift is about to move. Dont be frightened. Go fetch the ale for your husband. And also the ghostly voice softened, search the little wooden box left for you after my death. Its not empty; it has a double bottom. Find it, but do it without witnesses. If you flee, take only whats inside; leave the box so Charles never suspects your escape.
Whats inside?
Answers to your questions.
The lift shivered and then descended. Though the voice gave no warning, a shiver ran through me.
We reached the ground floor. I stepped out into a warm evening that melted the lingering snow. Streams would soon rush, the world would rebirth itselfwhy not I?
***
Charles, drunk, sprawled on the kitchen table, snoring like a beast. His rumbling snores gave me the chance to examine the box without his prying eyes. Its lid was plain, the wood thick. I shook it over the bed; threads, needles, crochet hooks, buttonsordinary junk one rarely touches. Yet the box itself held a secret.
I rattled the wooden case, feeling a hollow deeper than the surface. Something clicked inside. I pressed at the seams, tried to pry open a hidden compartment, but the wood was solid. The box seemed to taunt me, urging me to discover its secret myself.
I sat on the doublebed, ran my fingers over the lid, and a small latch snapped open, striking my stomach. Inside lay an envelope, a set of old keys, and several tiny packets bearing cryptic slogans: Switch on the brain, Freeze the fear, Ignite the alert, Dont be a fool, Kill the weakness, Feed the meat. My granny had always been a teller of tales; perhaps thats why the neighbours on the landing called her a witch. She baked pies and knitted socks, but no one knew what she did when the building was empty.
I opened the envelope. Documents fell onto my laptitle deeds to a cottage in the hills of Kent, the very house Granny had spoken of when I was a child, built by my grandfather without a single nail, hidden away in the countryside. Another paper listed a classic Morris Minor, its engine from an old foreign make, kept in my fathers garage as a relic.
The letter inside, written in cramped, looping script, read:
My dear grandchild, the hour has come to open the box. All my belongings, except the flat, are bequeathed to you. If you read this, it is time. Gather the papers, the boxs contents, and the car. Leave at once. Peace and happiness await you at Grandfathers cottage. Money for the first months lies in the glove compartment. After that you must earn your own keep. Perhaps youll even study again. Granny
She had known what Charles would bring upon our marriage; thats why shed opposed it, yet she never turned away, even in death, offering guidance.
I packed the documents, the envelope, the tiny packets, and slipped the boxs lid into my bag. The first instruction read: Take the Ignite the alert packet. Sprinkle the powder into milk and drink. Do not discard the paper; keep it close. No other steps were listed, but Granny had begged me not to throw the note away, so I tucked it into the same folder.
***
At dawn, with a clear mind, I lifted the mattress and found the folder beneath. The second instruction: Drink a glass of milk on an empty stomach with the Dont be a fool powder.
I slipped into the kitchen, where Charles lay still, snoring. I sipped the concoction, opened the kitchen window for fresh air, and returned to the bedroom. Inside the folder a third note waited: Do not tear the folder, youll meet an enemy. In an hour, drink a cup of tea with the Kill the weakness packet.
The fourth: An hour later, drink a cup of coffee with the Feed the meat packet. Stay alert.
I obeyed each odd instruction. The strange mixtures stirred something inside me; my body felt as if muscles were being forged. I stood before the cracked mirror that took up half the room and saw a figure transformedlean, toned, shoulders back, eyes bright, cheeks firm. I was no longer the frail girl who had endured Charless cruelty.
A sudden thump on the hallway floor announced Charless return. He glared, What have you been doing?
Nono, I was just I stammered, but a sudden surge of confidence made me step back.
What lover have you hidden? he hissed, lunging. His fists flew, but I blocked each blow with practiced ease, my arms steady, my stance firm. I turned his aggression against him, striking his nose until blood ran. He fell, pale, onto the carpet.
I felt no pity; his suffering was his own making. I reached for the folder again.
The fifth instruction: Well done, dear. Look out the balcony, dress as you are, leave the window ajar. Place your bag where you can see it. Then drink a glass of juice with the Freeze the fear packet. When you collect the Morris Minor, stop at the café, order a milkshake, add the Switch on the brain packet. Do not touch the other packets yet. Leave as quickly as you can. Granny
I obeyed, pouring the powder into a glass of orange juice and drinking it. I rushed to the balcony, where, beneath my feet, lay a lifeless girl, her face turned down, hair matted, her thin frame dressed in a black shirt and grey trousersmuch like my own. It was early March; the street was a cold, barren pavement, the girl barefoot, shivering. No coat, no gloves.
I slipped on the balcony, grabbed the bag, the documents, the keys, and slipped out barefoot, the night air sharp on my skin. Near the refuse chute I found a discarded parcel with worn boots, a battered coat, a small puffer jacketnothing fancy, but enough to keep me warm. I slipped the coat on, tucked the bag into its pocket, and fled the building.
The streets were empty; the tram passed slowly, a trolley bus hummed by. I hailed a taxi, and after a short ride, I arrived at my fathers workshop in Croydon.
The old security guard, whod known my grandfathers daughter, recognized me. Whats the matter, love? Youre after that old car?
I need the Morris Minor, I replied. He fetched the keys, handed them over, and pointed to a battered but serviceable MiniCooper in the back.
Inside the glove compartment lay a handful of cashenough for the first few weeks, just as Granny promised. I tucked the money into the folder, feeling the weight of a new beginning.
The engine sputtered to life. I drove out of the workshop, the wind whipping past, and listened to the voice in my head: Look up, see the signs?
I see them, I answered, a smile breaking.
Turn left, head for Canterbury. Your path will become clear. Safe travels, child.
I waved at the guard, turned onto the highway, and felt the old tower block recede behind me.
In the passenger seat, I could almost see my granny againher red hair tucked under a fluffy scarf, her eyes bright, her smile everpresent. She was still there, watching, guiding, as I journeyed toward the cottage that would become my new home.
