"Where did that come from?"
Angela looked up from where she was sitting cross-legged on the floor; Rob was standing in the doorway. Was it that time already?
"Where did ye get that," he nodded towards the chair in front of her. It was a deep c
rimson colour, with flecks of yellow running through it and sat on a metal frame which spun like a desk chair. It had a domed back, which curved over and sheltered you like a cave when you sat in it.
"Ah found it at the bins."
"It looks like somethin' out of the sixties."
"D'ye not like it? Ah thought ah could do it up."
"No, ah do, sorry…it's been a long day." Rob put his hand on Angela's head and began stroking her hair. His fingers became tangled in a tug and he tried to comb them free.
"Mrs Wilson phoned me at work today; said she'd seen you outside the school again."
Angela ignored her husband, counting the ridges in the carpet.
"Ah think it'll be good for ye doin' up this chair, keep ye busy."
"That hurts," she pulled her head away and laid it on the chair, brushing her cheek against the fabric. It was a rough texture, like cord or carpet; she would need to change it for something softer. One of the arms had split and yellow sponge pushed out through the tear; she tried to squeeze it back inside but it spilled through her fingers.
"D'ye think Katie'll like it?" She looked up but Rob had gone.
She took Katie's toy giraffe out of her handbag and sat it on the arm of the chair, covering the hole.
**
Angela got up early the next morning; before the alarm went off. She took her clothes into the bathroom and dressed without showering. It was dark outside but she left the lights off so as not to wake Rob. He'd been up late the night before, playing the PS2. It was after three when he'd come to bed. He'd lain behind her and squeezed his hand between her thighs, whispering something warm and sticky into her neck. His breath had smelt of alcohol, simultaneously sweet and yeasty. He'd tried to push his hand into her pants, but she'd pretended to be asleep. She'd lain awake for most of the night in that same position; Rob's hand pressed between her legs, his snoring tickling her ears.
Once she was dressed, Angela made two packed lunches. She put one inside the pink plastic lunchbox with Disney's Cinderella on the outside, and the other in a carrier bag. She left both sitting on the kitchen counter, then caught the bus into town.
Angela spent most of the day wandering in and out of shops; she couldn't describe the material she was looking for; she just knew that she would know it when she saw it.
She ran her hand down a length of pink velvet; it hung down the shop wall like a curtain from a medieval castle. She pressed her face into it and wrapped it around herself until she was hidden inside. She thought of the game she played with Katie; they would put Katie's shoes behind the living-room curtains, making sure to leave them poking out slightly. Katie would then hide behind the couch and Angela would call for Rob. Angela smiled to herself as she pictured Rob pretending to look behind the curtains for their daughter. Katie would sit giggling behind the couch, until eventually it became too much for her and she would jump out squealing.
Angela stood in the darkness of the material; if she closed her eyes and concentrated she could hear Katie laughing. She held her breath and let the noise fill her head.
"Excuse me."
Angela stood very still in the hope that the voice would go away.
"Excuse me, you're not allowed to do that with the material."
Angela unfolded herself from the velvet, like Cleopatra unravelling from her carpet.
"Can I help you?"
The shop assistant was looking Angela up and down; a security guard watched them from a safe distance.
"Ah want to cover a chair for my daughter."
"Right, I don't think this is what you're after then. A child would ruin it."
"It looks quite hard-wearing?"
"Well yes it is, but not with a child clamouring all over it."
Angela imagined herself sitting on the chair with Katie on her lap; they'd twirl round till they were dizzy. She could see Rob sitting with Katie, reading her a fairy tale. Katie would be in her pyjamas and slippers. They'd both fall asleep and Angela would find them cuddled up on the chair; she'd pick up the open book and cover them with a blanket.
"How about this? It's very good value for money."
The shop assistant held up a roll of material. It was white cotton, with yellow and green snakes creating an A B C motif.
"No, ah want the velvet, pink's my daughter's favourite colour."
"It's fifteen pounds a metre."
"Ah'll take ten metres then."
Angela left the shop with a bag of pink velvet. She knew Rob would be angry that she'd paid so much, but she also knew Katie would love it. She swung the bag back and forth as she walked, bouncing it off her shins; she hadn't felt this light in weeks. She went home by the school, but didn't linger too long.
**
Angela sat in a Wild West face off with the chair. She could picture in her head what she wanted to do; she just wasn't sure how to do it for real. She'd been in the attic and had found her Grandmother's sewing machine. It was an old-fashioned Singer which was screwed onto a table with a foot pedal and wheel. You pumped the pedal with your foot, which turned the wheel, which operated the needle; no electricity required. Rob had wanted to sell it when they'd had Katie. 'It's an antique,' he'd said. Angela hadn't been able to part with it though. With it came a box of sewing supplies which had also belonged to her Grandmother. The box was handmade, an embroidered marmalade cat on the lid. Angela chose a fraying tape measure, and a pair of scissors. The scissors were blunt and she had to force them into the velvet, chafing her knuckles. The velvet sounded like a cat purring as it was cut, and she imagined herself bringing the marmalade cat to life.
Once she had cut the velvet into panels, she began to pin them into place. She held silver pins in her mouth, pursing her lips inwards to hold them there. The sharp points grazed against her and she pushed her tongue into them tasting blood.
Angela then threaded the needle on the sewing machine with a pink thread; it had been sitting on top when she'd opened the box, as if her grandmother had left it there specially. She fed the velvet through the sewing machine; the soft fabric pulsing through her hands like blood. The wheel squeaked but it always had; her Grandmother used to say it was the sewing machine whistling while it worked like Snow White. After a while Angela's leg began to ache and she wondered how women used to manage working in factories for hours on end. She imagined them with one calf muscle fatter than the other; you didn't need to join the gym back then. Her arms were also sore from holding the ripples of velvet. It made her feel good though, a new kind of pain was liberating. The wheel squeaked in time to her foot tapping, and she began to sing.
"Just whistle while you work, mm mm mmm, mmm, mmm, mmm, mmm, and cheerfully together we can tidy up the place."
She watched the needle as she sang; up, down, in, out, up, down, in, out. If she pricked her finger, she'd sleep for a hundred years.
"Just hum a merry tune, doo doo doo doo doo doo doo."
Her foot, the pedal, the wheel and the needle; keeping the rhythm like a band.
"You're finally usin' that thing then."
Rob's voice ground all movement to a stop; like a needle being banged off a record and scraping across the vinyl.
"It's makin' a right racket, do ye want me to oil it?"
"It's supposed to sound like that."
"Like a cat bein' strangled?"
"Just leave it okay."
"Sorry. It's good to see ye doin' somethin'."
Angela nodded, hoping he would go away. She could hear him breathing; it didn't fit in with her song.
"Would ye mind leavin' me alone till ah finish?" she asked without looking at him.
"Sorry, ah didn't mean to get in the way."
"Ah just feel a bit self conscious wi' ye standin' watchin' me like that."
"Okay, ah'll be downstairs if ye need me."
Angela waited until she was sure Rob had gone before she began to tap her foot up and down on the pedal again.
**
It was dark outside by the time Angela finally managed to attach her new cover to the chair. She threw it over like a duvet, tucking it in, and sewing it to the chair so that it fitted properly. She'd bought stuffing for the broken arm and squashed it in; sealing it with tape. With a final flash of inspiration she used the scraps to make two cushions, which she placed on the chair. There were stray threads sticking out and small bloodstains from where she'd stabbed herself, but she was proud of her handiwork. She placed Katie's stuffed giraffe between the cushions then lay down on the floor tired and aching.
Angela dreamt that she, Rob and Katie were in the material shop. The assistant asked Angela to follow her into a room where the material would be cut. She wanted Rob and Katie to come too but the door shut leaving them behind. There was a lady in the room using a sewing machine. She was singing in time to the squeaky wheel. As Angela looked more closely she realised that the lady was her Grandmother, only she had Katie's face. The body was old; wrinkled skin and grey hair, but the face was Katie's, young and smiling.
"Don't worry mummy," she said, "I like working here."
The squeaking noise became louder penetrating Angela's subconscious and she woke up on the floor with the chair spinning.
"Katie?"
The chair came to a halt in front of her.
"It's me," Rob replied. He was holding Katie's giraffe; his eyes were red and his voice choked.
"Ah dreamt about Katie."
As Angela spoke she felt something burst inside her; like a water balloon which had been expanding inside her chest. Its contents rushed through her veins like a flood; pushing down everything in its path. It felt like she was melting; her body a glacier breaking apart. She knelt forward and put her head on Rob's knees, holding his legs tight to her breast.
"Ah can't believe how bad this feels."
"Ah know."
Angela couldn't speak for crying; her breath was stuttered, as if the inside of her throat had tiny ridges which stopped it from coming out in one long gasp.
Rob's hand was on her head, stroking her hair; his voice telling her to shusshh; like he'd used to do with Katie when she'd had a nightmare.
"Ah can't lose you too," Rob said, "you treat me like him, like ah'm the one who did it."
Rob clasped his hands around Angela's face, and kissed her, biting her lips. The stuffed giraffe fell off his lap and landed at Angela's feet. She picked it by the neck, clenching it in her hand.
The full article contains 1977 words and appears in The Scotsman newspaper.
