Page 15 of The World Outside My Window

‘I know but it’s crazy. I mean, I feel as though my bottom is physically stuck to this seat, that if I stand up the chair will come with me. And even though I know that’s not true, I still can’t do it. I can’t explain why, I just – can’t.’

Debbie takes the three steps across the floor towards her and crouches down, her hand on Laura’s knee. ‘It doesn’t matter. We can try again. We’ll get there, okay?’

‘Okay.’ She sniffs. ‘And thank you.’

Debbie stands, plants a kiss on her cheek, and closes the back door.

* * *

The back-door-opening incident has stirred a memory in Laura, one she hasn’t thought about for a long time. It’s of her and her father, in the kitchen at home. Her dad had been baking, his apron was covered in flour and the kitchen looked as though everything they owned had flown out of the cupboards and landed somewhere else in the room. Laura must only have been about five or six, and she loved watching her dad bake. It was such an incongruous thing for him to do; he was a real man’s man, a mechanic who loved football and spent most weekends at the social club drinking pints. But at home Laura and Mum saw a different, softer side of him. Baking was his passion, and he loved whipping up something delicious in the kitchen: lemon meringue pies, chocolate brownies, fairy cakes, millionaires’ shortbread, pasties. The house always smelt like a bakery, and the smell reminds Laura of home, even now.

On this day she’d walked into the kitchen to see what he was making. He’d had the back door slung wide open but it had still been boiling hot, flour particles drifting in the warm air. Laura had pulled a chair next to him and climbed up, her hands already covered in flour. Her dad had ruffled her hair, smearing the flour into her scalp as well.

‘Oops.’ He’d grinned, his wonky teeth on display.

‘What you making, Daddy?’ she’d said.

‘Something special.’

‘Is it a secret?’

‘It is. I can tell you but you have to promise not to tell anyone, okay?’

Laura had nodded eagerly.

‘I’m making a special coconut cake for Mummy. She’s not feeling very well and I thought this might make her feel a bit better.’ He’d put his finger to his lips, leaving a smudge of butter behind. ‘But keep it secret, yes?’

She’d nodded again. ‘Where is Mummy?’

‘Hospital, remember?’

She’d frowned. She hadn’t remembered, no. She hadn’t thought anyone had actually told her that. Why was Mummy in hospital?

‘Is she dying?’

‘No, sweetheart, she’s not dying. She’ll be home tomorrow, and then we can help her eat this delicious cake, can’t we?’

Laura had nodded conspiratorially. Daddy said Mummy was okay, so she must be. But that was the day that Laura realised baking for people could make them feel better. Because when her mum had come home the next day she’d looked sad, but when she’d seen Laura standing there holding the cake, her mum had smiled and been happy again.

Laura later learned that her mum had been in hospital having a hysterectomy, but all that had mattered that day was that the cake had worked, and from that day on she’d helped her dad make cakes, pastries and pies most weekends. Cooking had become her passion, the thing that made her feel content.

Now, the memory has made her feel melancholy. Not only for her parents in better times – before her dad walked out, before her mum met Brian the Bastard – but because it’s made her realise how much she misses cooking. She stopped cooking after the attack and has barely been in the kitchen since. But she can’t help wondering whether getting back to it might help her start to heal.

‘Shall we try opening the back door again?’

Laura looks up to find Debbie holding out a steaming cup of tea. She takes it gratefully.

‘Yes. Let’s try.’

They walk into the kitchen and Debbie repositions the chair ever so slightly closer to the door, then whips it open so that Laura feels as though the outside has rushed inside to meet her. She gasps and takes a slow, shaky outbreath, puffing her cheeks full of air. Her hands are already starting to tremble and she sits on them to keep them under control.

‘Right, are you ready to try and walk towards me? Just a little way.’

Laura nods and, on wobbly legs, the chair pressed hard against the backs of her knees, she stands. Then slowly, as though she’s learning to walk again, she grips the worktop and teeters forward on one foot, then the other. The door is close now, close enough to smell the leaves huddling where they’ve dropped beneath the tree, to taste the slight pinch of cold on her tongue. She breathes in, trying to ignore the dampness creeping over her skin. She’s tried this so many times before with Jim, she doesn’t know how she’s going to do it this time. Except she has more of a reason now. She needs to get out, to speak to people who might know where her husband is.

Keeping that in mind, she takes one last, long step towards the door and grips the frame as she stands, eyes closed, breathing the air deep into her lungs. Her head spins and she feels sick but she’s made it! She opens her eyes and takes in the small patch of earth she calls her garden. She’s missed it, just being out here in her own private world.

She feels a hand on her back, then Debbie gently holds Laura’s hand. ‘Do you want to try a bit further?’

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