October 1996

It was early evening, and Mariam was looking out of the window at the end of the upstairs hallway, trying to see what Mrs Simon was up to. 

It was probably the first time she’d had a moment to herself all week.  Last Wednesday, Aunt Leila had shown up out of the blue and asked Mariam’s parents if her daughters (Jana, the older one, and Kia, who was the same age as Mariam) could come and stay while she sorted a few things out to do with her house.  That meant that Mariam was sleeping on a mattress on the floor while Kia took her bed, but she didn’t care.  Mariam had spent her entire life living with three brothers- having their cousins here meant that there were finally as many girls in the house as boys.  Everything felt just a little bit fairer with them around.

The window at the end of the hallway was tiny, and you had to stand on your toes and lean on the bookcase to see through it,  but once you did, you could see Mrs Simon’s whole house.  She lived across the road, and she was probably the most glamorous woman Mariam had ever seen.  She had long black hair and sparkling silver jewellery, and she painted a lot.  She was standing on the balcony at the side of the house, smoking a cigarette (Mariam knew you weren’t supposed to smoke, but Mrs Simon didn’t seem to do it that often, so it was probably OK.)  In the dark, you could only really see her silhouette, an outline in dark blue, and she looked like she was on a movie poster.

Jana’s voice echoed up from the dining room.  “Mariam!  We’re going to play Sardines!”

You couldn’t say no to that.  Mariam took one last look at Mrs Simon, and headed off downstairs.

*

The next day, Mariam showed Kia the view from the window.  Mrs Simon up on the balcony again, but this time she was painting at her easel.

“So is she a famous artist or something?” asked Kia, shouldering Mariam to the side a little so she could see better.

“Maybe,” said Mariam.

“Well, either she is or she isn’t.  Have you ever heard of her?”  (Kia had sworn up and down that she hadn’t been crying last night, no matter what Mariam thought she’d heard.  Mariam had dropped it, but decided to try and cheer her up anyway.)

“Well, no, but I don’t know many famous artists.  Just the ones we learn about in school, and most of them are dead.  Mrs Simon could have pictures hanging in galleries all over the world, and we just haven’t heard about it.”

“Hm,” said Kia.

Mariam stretched sideways, trying for a different angle so she could see what Mrs Simon was painting, but gave up when she realised it was just making her neck hurt.  And she couldn’t just knock on Mrs Simon’s door and ask to see her paintings, because that would be weird.  She just had to hope that she’d turn the easel around one of these days.

*

It was three in the morning, and Mariam had been woken up by Kia’s snores.  She trudged to the toilet, and then, on the way back to her room, looked out of the window at the back of the hallway, just in case something was going on.

(Kia had been sleeping in her bed for three weeks now.  Mariam didn’t quite dare to ask Mum and Dad where Auntie Leila was, in case she didn’t like the answer.)

She hadn’t expected to see anything, and at first, she didn’t.  Then somebody walked up to the driveway to Mrs Simon’s house, and Mariam realised it was Mrs Simon herself.

She was walking in a strange, squiggly pattern, almost tripping over and bumping into things.  Mariam looked closer, and saw that she had bare feet.  She was carrying her shoes in her hand- they must have got uncomfortable while she was walking home.

 Mariam watched her get the door open and close it behind her.  And once Mrs Simon was safely indoors, Mariam went back to bed.

*

Mrs Simon was having a party this evening.  Mariam had been watching the guests arrive for about half an hour.  They drove up and parked their cars on the kerb or in the driveway, and got out in their black suits and long white gowns, shining like movie stars at the Oscars.  It was impossible to look away.

You couldn’t hear the music properly through the wall- you could just hear that the music was there.  Mariam tried to imagine the kind of tune that would be suitable for a party like this.  Grand opera singers.  Sultry saxophones.  Neat little pianos that you could tuck away behind the champagne fountain.  Mariam could barely even imagine the kind of thing that might happen at a party like Mrs Simon’s- what they’d do, what they’d hear, what they’d talk about- but she was happy to watch it, just a little longer.

*

The only reason Mariam saw any of it was that she was the only one upstairs.  Kia, Jana and the boys were in the front room, watching telly.  Mum and Dad were out front talking to a delivery guy.  And Mariam had just gone up to fetch a book from her room when the phone rang.

It was six in the evening- not full dark yet, but getting there.  Mariam, remembering Dad’s lectures on the environment and electricity bills, hadn’t turned on any of the hallway lights.  The streetlamps were shining through the window at the end, and that was enough to see by.  Before she heard the phone, Mariam had been meaning to take a look through and see how Mrs Simon’s party was going.

She dashed into Mum and Dad’s room and picked up the receiver from the set on the bedside table.  “Hello- Gharib family?”

“Mariam!  It’s me- it’s Auntie Leila!”

Mariam blinked, and stood there stupidly for a moment.  “Auntie Leila?”

“Listen, I can’t talk long, but…”

“Hang on- let me get Dad!”  She didn’t want to put the phone down, not if Leila really didn’t have long, but if they wanted to know anything about where Leila had been for the last three weeks, then Dad was definitely the one who needed to ask the questions.

“No!” snapped Leila.  Then, less harshly, “I don’t have time to…  Just tell him I’m alright.  I’ll be away for a while, but I’m alright.  Will you tell him that for me?”

“OK, but when are you coming back?” asked Mariam.  But it was no good.  Auntie Leila had already hung up.  Almost on instinct, Mariam dialled 1471, meaning to write down the number and see what Mum and Dad could do with it, but all she got was a recorded message saying that the number had been withheld.

Nothing for it but to go downstairs and tell Mum and Dad what had just happened.  But, since there was no way of getting back in touch and therefore probably no rush, Mariam stopped on the way and looked out of the window.

Mrs Simon was on the balcony round the side of the house.  Mariam thought she’d probably come out to have a cigarette.  She moved to the side, to get a better look at exactly what Mrs Simon was doing, and noticed something strange.  She was climbing onto the safety barrier.  In a moment, she was standing right on top of it.

Later, Mariam would marvel at how stupid she’d been for not working out what was going to happen.  But in the moment, all she could think about was how angry Mum had been when her brother Sadiq had tried to climb out of his bedroom window last month, and how she hoped Mrs Simon knew what she was doing.

Apparently she did.  Mrs Simon set her feet apart, took a breath, and jumped.

*

Every day for the next few months, Mariam went out of her way to walk past the house across the road and glance into the window.  But she never saw Mrs Simon again.

Her dad said that Mrs Simon must have still been alive when they drove her to hospital, otherwise they wouldn’t have put the ambulance siren on.  He said that the second floor balcony wasn’t very high up, so there was no reason to assume that she’d have got any injuries she couldn’t recover from.  Mariam wanted to believe him.  But the house stayed empty for most of the next year, and then the “For Sale” sign went up.  That seemed like an end to it.

A couple of years later, a crack appeared in the window at the end of the hallway, and Mariam’s parents decided to have it boarded up.  She was almost relieved.

The End