Free Yuki chan in Brontë Country by Mick Jackson Page A

sense the presence of her mother, it really is no morethan what she senses any other day. So she unknots the headscarf, opens it out and folds it along the diagonal. Lifts it over her head and ties it under her chin. And even as she does so she feels something shift and give inside her, like a small door opening onto a distant, busy place. It may just be the feel of the silk between her fingers, or that the act of folding the scarf has broken open some scent locked in its fine, tight weave. But as Yuki stands there in her mother’s scarf and blouse, recreating that earlier photograph when her mother was here in the North of England and apparently happy, before heading back home where she seemed to quickly go quite mad, Yuki has a sudden, overwhelming sense of her mother being right there with her.
    Then the terrible longing rises up in her. Fills her up in an instant, until there’s nothing but the longing. And the pain and weight of it is too, too much. But even as she’s trying to comprehend what she feels – what moves and turns inside her – her mother and her love begin to slip away.
    No, she says – almost audible. But the more she reaches for her, tries to retrieve her, the quicker she seems to slip away.
    Until she’s gone. Back to her typical proximity, within hearing but just out of sight. And Yuki crouches – all pain and heartbreak – facing the very spot where she’d sat and struggled to catch her breath earlier in the day.
    It takes a while for her to return to herself. To be reinstated. She gets to her feet and stares at the cold,dark garden. Then turns and looks back up at the house. Thinks, If every person who came here took just one small scrap of the wretched house away with them, in no time at all there’d be nothing left but a whole bunch of dust and rubble. And maybe the world would be a better place.
    She takes a step or two towards the parsonage, perfectly aware of the consequences. Goes right up to it, feeling for a coin in her pocket. And having found one, brings it out, leans in and starts to dig away at the stone. A couple of crumbs fall into her hand and she closes her fist around them. This is coming home with me, she tells the house. All the way back to goddamned Japan. And you will never ever see it again, you miserable goddamned fucker.
    She drops the bits of stone and the coin back into her pocket, turns and sets off across the garden. Knows very well what’s going to happen. Can already feel the rage of the place funnel up and begin to roll out into the darkness. Feels it come tumbling after her as she hobbles across the lawn. Thinks, Maybe this is what I want.
    She reaches the wall, but finds it almost impossible to climb back up it. The ground must somehow be lower on this side. But she scrambles away, feeling that terrible malevolence moving in on her. And is beginning to regret her actions now, just as she knew she would – her feet skittering away at the wall and her going nowhere. Then finally, finally gaining traction, scrambling up, over and into the graveyard. But with that weight of evil almostupon her and not having the time to bring out her phone. So going clattering between the gravestones in complete darkness. Catching her shin on one, her hip on another, as if she’s running a gauntlet of stone. And not at all sure which way she’s heading, or whether she’ll ever find her way out of here. Finally running into a wall so hard that it smacks her in the chest and knocks the wind right out of her. Not having a clue what wall it is, what’s on the other side. But clambering up, flipping herself around, then letting herself fall.
    She lands in a heap on the cobbles. But, far from feeling released, it’s as if she’s brought half the graveyard over the wall with her, like some dreadful sediment. She gets to her feet and all the bumps and scratches seem to suddenly come alive to her – across her hands and arms, down both her legs. I may have to ask the B & B Lady