Polly's House

The house had grown old, dark and all traces of life it once embraced had been lost to the relentless march of time. Within its walls were painted faces, dressed in all manner of glamour, where each was made to dance and take their place in a story to be told.

But that was yesterday.

Now, it was silent. Its windows barely embraced the light that seldom shone outside them, as if to give voice to a dark victory that had stolen the life of imagination from every room it housed.

Beds lay empty, floors gathered dust, which was rarely, if ever, disturbed by more than a scurrying insect or perfectly directed breeze. There was no breath of life here, not anymore.

Once, every room had shared in the wonder of imagination, of hope, of joy. The kitchen its meals, where the table welcomed each gathered there. The library, with the armchairs and the small coffee table, one with a pipe laid neatly beside the teacup, together with its pretty cakes stacked upon decorative plates, with which, to enjoy a book or two. Magnificent ball-room, where the host invited all those she could handle to a lavish event – smiles, laughter, and a certain extravagance.

The outside of the house was aesthetically grand to match that which was within. All invited to gaze upon it were fascinated immediately at what they may find behind its walls. Yes, the place drew them all. Long after they had left, thoughts of it no doubt occupied their minds for some time to come, wooing them towards the anticipation of, next time. Time spent, at the call of the host, before this most magnificent of homes, was cherished almost as much as the fanciest occasions one could imagine.

Silence. Not a whisper. Moonlight did its best to cast an eerie shadow via the panes of the attic upon the dust that rested on the floor below. Nothing moved, save a small spider which left as quickly as it had come, making its way across the floor, up one of the walls, to the open window and then away. No-one visited anymore, not for a long time and the owners had moved away decades before, leaving the place to new ones who had left it unoccupied, abandoned, forgotten. So, the moonlight would be the sole luminary this night, as it had countless others, while the dust covered all that had been in the emptiness of a forgotten past.

The sun rose in the morning, which lengthened the shadows of the house. It was strange though because, despite its warm rays, which had so greater the power compared to the moonlight, the mightier light cast only served to increase the look of loneliness and neglect.

But it had been loved once! As the beams made their way to the windows, higher and higher, two words could be seen, etched into the wall in a corner of an upstairs bedroom, containing a name.

Polly’s House.

-

“How about underneath that lovely maple?”

The old woman looked up in response to the suggestion from the young man who stood, holding her arm in a firm but reassuring grip.

“Ah, ah, yes, that would be lovely.”

They made their way to a small seat under the tree, the leaves of which, had started to take on the first colours of autumn.

“Shall I set it up for you, just here?”

The old woman smiled, drifted for a second or two before catching up with the thought and replied, “Yes, yes thank you, ah, Steven.”

He chuckled, kindly, “Mrs Greer, you remembered my name!”

While he set up the easel and ordered the paint along the front of the frame, the woman answered, “I must be having a good day, Simon.”

He shot her a knowing look and smirked as she giggled and said, “Steven!”

“Always cheeky, Mrs Greer, always so very cheeky. Well, there you go, all set up. What will you paint today?”

“You know, I’m not sure.”

Her eyes looked off into the distance as she felt the cool breeze flow past her face. The leaves moved just enough to produce a comforting sound which encouraged her to turn toward the easel.

“Perhaps…” her voice trailed off as she struggled a little to gather the thought back.

“Well, I am sure you will work it out. I’ll be back in an hour with some sandwiches for lunch, Mrs Greer.”

She barely nodded as Steven walked off toward the main building. As the breeze blew again, Mrs Greer smiled as the thought she had been seeking came back to her.

“Perhaps I shall paint a memory,” she said.

-

The light in the attic was one of those old fashioned kinds, with the pull chain. It hung in the centre of the room and looked as if it may not for too much longer, the wires at the top exposed as they had been for some time.

"Great. Another thing to add to the list.”

The young man put his hands on his hips and exhaled.

“Honey, honey, I thought they emptied the place out completely. Didn’t they say that?”

The noise of footsteps before a voice in the doorway replied, “That’s what Jenny said, yeah.”

The woman looked around a little puzzled at the sheets which covered what appeared to be a great deal of items in the attic which had obviously escaped the mind of the agent when she was explaining the house to them.

“How could they miss all that, Chris?”

Chris turned to his wife and replied, “Beats me,” before turning back to the small mountain shapes created by the sheets in front of him.

“I’ll fix it up at some point. There’s a lot of stuff in here, though.”

“Hmm,” she replied.

They were suddenly both startled by a voice behind them.

“Whoa!”

“Jessica, you half scared me to death!”

Jessica let out a quick, “Sorry Mummy,” as she looked wide eyed at the adventure that lay before her five-year-old eyes.

“Whoa! What’s under all those dusty sheets?”

Chris motioned with his hands and said, “Settle down Jess. We don’t know what all this stuff is. We need to – “

Before her parents could do or say anything, Jessica flung one of the sheets nearest her to the floor below, with a quiet whoosh as dust flew across the room, causing all three people to wave hands over their faces.

“Jessica!”

The child giggled, despite the annoyed looks on both parents face and then gasped, “Look!”

There before them, now lit up by the sunlight from the attic window, was a magnificent, if not quite old looking, doll’s house.

“Oh, can I have it, daddy?”

The look on the little girl’s face was cutely, if not intensely, persuasive enough to get a “Yes,” in unison from both parents, who smiled at each other in response to the childish joy that lit up the room more than the hanging light bulb or even the sunlight through the window.

“Can I play with it now?”

“Oh no, no, no young lady,” answered Mummy, “I told you already, we need to go see Grandma this afternoon.”

Jessica sighed but managed to stay enthusiastic, “Can I play with it when we get back?”

“I guess, ah, sure…Chris?”

“Of course, Jessica, I’ll move it into your room.”

Jessica flung her arms around him and said, “Thankyou Daddy!”

He laughed, “I love you sweetheart.”

“Hey, what about me?”

Jessica left her father and jumped into her mother’s arms.

“I love you. Thank you mummy! I’m so glad we moved here!”

Once again, both parents smiled at each other as Mum answered with a joyful chuckle, “So are we, darling.”

As she was heading toward the stairs, daughter held close with both arms, she turned to her husband and reminded him, “Dust that thing off before you bring it down, Chris.”

He smiled back, “Yes Cherise, consider it done!”

-

“Wow, Mrs Greer, that’s the best one ever!”

Steven beamed at the painting as he laid the sandwiches next to the easel, never taking his eyes off the artwork as he did so.

“Thank you, Steven, it went well today. My hand seemed, ah, seemed…”

‘Steady?”

“Yes, yes, steady.”

“A house?”

“Yes, it was…my house. Long ago.”

“Wow,” exclaimed Steven as he stood slightly to the side and admired the picture in front of him with a look of genuine surprise on his face. “I didn’t know you were rich!”

There was a slight pause as the old woman turned her head and said, “Oh, no, no, I never lived in it.”

Steven looked puzzled.

“But you said it was your house?”

She smiled knowingly and turned back to the painting. She had captured it well. Every line, every detail. The light from the attic window, the pictures that graced the wall of the ball room, and the faces, yes, all those faces.

“It was my doll’s house.”

Steven lay his hand gently on her shoulder and laughed, “Oh, I see,” then moved off to the main building, smiling happily as he went.

Mrs Greer watched him go and then quietly scolded herself, “Oh you silly old woman, you forgot to sign it!”

It had been a long day, another one, and she sighed slightly as she reached out a hand that shook just a little now, picked up a thin brush, signing the painting in the corner.

Polly Greer.

She relaxed back in the chair and took in a few deliberate breaths as the gentle breeze whispered around her. Immediately, she was struck with a memory, so stark that she hesitated to put the sandwich in her hand to her mouth. She lifted her head slightly toward the sky as a few clouds ambled in front of the sun and pondered upon the memory as it gently settled in her mind like the dust in…in the attic.

Five year old Polly had spent so much time with that doll’s house. It was, in a sense, not true what she had just told Steven, because she had lived there. Her heart and soul had lived there, with the plastic figures, their painted smiles greeting her each day, always glad to see her.

“Hello Josie,” she would say. “What do you have planned today? And Jacob, its time to get out of bed, you lazy thing.”

Polly had grown so very fond of spending time with the make believe, that it had become more real to her than human friendships and even those with whom she formed at least some kind of attachment, it was to the doll’s house that she brought them. Not that any of them minded. It was, after all, so grand-a-house.

As the sun appeared again between the clouds and its warmth greeted her face, Polly remembered the sunlight through the attic window. Oh, she played with the doll’s house for most of her childhood in her bedroom, but then the teenage years came and somewhat reluctantly she moved it up to the attic, spending less and less time with it as the years came and went. That is what teenagers do, isn’t it? They get rid of those things, those silly childhood things.

It’s what they are expected to do.

But there were nights and there were days that found her on the attic floor, brushing away the dust from that old doll’s house, looking around to make sure she was alone, and saying,

“Hello Josie, hello Jacob. How have you been?”

The two figures would smile back, as always, so too the rest of them. Then, covering the house with a sheet, Polly would make her way to the attic door, putting her hand on the handle as she looked back. One day, or was it a night? She could not recall right now, but whatever it was, she had felt something so strongly. It was just before she left home, maybe near enough to her 22nd birthday. As she paused at the door for what would be the last time, she turned and made her way back to the house, uncovered it and spied a nail that had been left on the floor near where she now knelt. Picking it up, she scratched two words into one of the walls of an upstairs bedroom. Polly’s House. She covered it back over with the sheet and stood for a few moments,

“Goodbye,” she whispered.

For the last time, she left the attic.

-

“Say goodbye to Grandma, Jessica!”

Polly returned to the here and now as her attention was drawn to a family, specifically to a little girl who, arms outstretched, twirled in circles while staring up at the sky.

“Come on Jessica,” said the man, Polly assumed to be her Dad, “give Grandma a kiss.”

The little girl stopped twirling and ran into her grandmother’s arms,

“Bye Grandma. Love you. I’m going to play with my doll’s house, the one I found in the attic!”

As her grandmother smiled, hugging her grand-daughter, Polly let the little girl’s words move inside her spirit. Pausing for a moment, she then turned to the painting, as delight gleamed in her eyes. She took out her brush once more, with her eye on the upstairs bedroom as the breeze blew again.

-

Cherise sat on the edge of Jessica’s bed, closing the storybook, and placing it on the bedside table. She moved her hand to the lamp switch as she gazed on her daughter’s tired but happy looking face. Before she switched off the lamp, she asked,

“How is your new doll’s house? Do you like it?”

“Jessica, head rested snugly on her pillow, smiled and replied,

“Oh yes, mummy! Daddy cleaned all the dust off it, just like new!”

Cherise smiled and moved her other hand to shift Jessica’s fringe off her eyes, then leaned over, kissing her on the forehead.

“I’m glad, darling,” she said as she stood up, switching off the lamp.

“Mummy?”

The lamp switched back on and Cherise replied patiently, “Yes honey?”

“Tell daddy, thank you.”

“I will. Night, night darling.”

“Night mummy, love you.”

Cherise switched the lamp off again and closed the bedroom door behind her as she left.

As Jessica fell asleep, the doll’s house in the corner of the room was lit, ever so slightly, by moonlight that made its way through the bedroom window. Despite the shadows, two words could be made out. They had been etched into the wall of that same upstairs bedroom and contained a name.

Jessica’s House.

At the nursing home, Polly Greer rested her head back on her pillow, and smiled.

“Goodbye,” she said.