The Red Dressing Gown Pamella Laird   © Copyright 2025 by Pamella Laird

Photo courtesy of the author.

“I knew it was her, her calls always come late at night. Have another G and T, Michelle.” From her patio chair, Tracey stretches a lazy arm and pours a gin and tonic for her sister.

“What’s it about this time?”

“Last month it was nearly midnight when Nicola rang. As usual, she forgets she’s on the other side of the world. It’s always something. This time … her guitar. She never rings just to chat.” Tracey sighs and takes a long drink.

“You’d send a guitar all the way to New Zealand?” Michelle rises like a startled pheasant in her chair, her voice climbing in stunned disbelief.

“Yes, I was going to, but it’s still in its case at the back of her wardrobe. I packed it with bubble plastic. Only then did I have second thoughts about that daughter of mine; so I haven’t sent it yet.”

“I’m not surprised.”

“You know how some people keep a bedroom as a shrine? Nothing touched—it has to remain—just so. With Nicola, when she asks for things, I send them to the bottom of the world—at my expense. If she went any further, she’d fall off the planet—it’s like she has died.” Tracey reaches for a cigarette.

“Does she plan to come back?”

“I doubt it. She’s literally living in a different world now.”

Michelle lifts her sunnies, “Why don’t you go and find out?”

“Oh Michelle! Every day, I stand at her bedroom door and think about her; this way I can be sensible and not intrude. But her room has no life, not even a breath of her perfume. I’ve almost given up hope and to make it more unbearable, that room is still so full of her stuff.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, girl’s stuff. Perhaps she will come back—it is all hers.”

“I thought it was a relief when she left.”

“It was! There’s no hiding it, I miss her, but not the racket from her CD player. She always said, ‘You wouldn’t understand, Mum, you have to be young,’ and she was dead right. I didn’t understand, I’d go shopping to get away from that deafening noise. It’s not really music. It’s a year since she left—I’m still enjoying the peace.”

“So, you miss her, why not fly over?”

“Of course, I miss her. The last straw this week, another parcel to be packed and posted, more stamps, more insurance. Why does she do this to me? She knows my income is limited.”

“Living in a dream world?”

“Probably! I’ve posted so many things, a thick-knit blue jumper, a tennis racquet, toilet soap of all things, pink slippers, her CD collection and a china piggy bank—nothing in it. Granted, it had roses all over its bottom and her Nana gave it to her when she was four. But how could she possibly have urgent need of that? Does asking for these things mean she has no intention of ever coming home?” Tracey stares at a cloudless sky.

“Maybe it does mean that? Have you asked her?”

“Yes, but she avoids answering.”

Michelle queries, “That’s a bit suspicious, don’t you think?”

“Over the months, there’s been a run of her asking for her ‘teddy, the patchwork cover on her bed, A particular picture she had framed, her school blazer, a doll called Jane, a biography of Virginia Woolf, her white linen hat with poppies and her childhood dressing-gown. ‘You know the one I want Mum,’ she says. ‘The little red one I loved with an elephant on the pocket.’ Not forgetting the guitar. I’d like to send it all together, but she only asks in dribs and drabs.“

“Maybe she sees these things as a link to you. Does she complain of home-sickness or hints she’ll return? What’ll you do? May I have another drink?”

“Help yourself.” Tracey pours herself a third G & T and hands the bottles over. “I really wish she would—or at least tell me.” Tracey smudges a wet cheek, “I’m so glad you’re here, Michelle.”

“Could her requests be a cry for help?” Michelle looks closely at her sister but the white-framed sunglasses of summer hide the eyes of any expression that might indicate true thoughts on what is obviously a hurtful dilemma.

“It had crossed my mind.”

“Would you go all that way by yourself?”

“What’s the point? Apart from Nicola there’s no-one I know away down there and it’s so far. Besides, it’s expensive. Despite living alone, I have a life of my own right here. I have Townswomen’s Guild, my knitting, and reading. I have a good life with friends and now Stuart’s gone, the garden has to be looked after. It’s strange, Nicola never mentions her dad—they used to be so close. I wonder if it’s him she’s missing?” Tracey pulls the brim of her straw hat further over her eyes. The hat with the tiny daisies bunched over the crown.

”What’s she doing out there?” Michelle drained her glass.

“Doing! I’m never sure. Nicola’s our only and I’m left with my knitting. It’s not very considerate for an only child to choose to live at the other end of the Earth. Don’t you agree?” Tracey raises the brim of her hat, seeking understanding of her cranky feelings.

Michelle sighs. “I can see why you wouldn’t want that, but then, I’ve no children. Times like this, I suppose I can be thankful.”

“Nicola left, saying she needed to ‘find herself.’ It was strange that she must travel twelve thousand miles to do so. If you’re going to ask, ‘has she found herself yet?’ I wouldn’t blame you, but I have to say, I’ve no idea. All I know is, she’s there and I‘m here. She may be ‘Down Under’—forever, I haven’t a clue.”

“You said you’d second thoughts. What did you mean?” Michelle’s eyes were on two thrushes scratching among the rose bushes.

“Would you believe in New Zealand they gather strawberries at Christmas time? An upside-down world if you ask me? Before she left England, Nicola was working as a council gardener keeping the city gardens in full flower. Funny, she never touched spade or trowel in our garden.” Tracey‘s sigh was that of a lost soul.

“I’m afraid, Michelle, my second thoughts have been that the way I’m dealing with her requests is not the best way. It’s all so expensive. I should have sent everything with her in the first place.”

“Have you done anything about this last request, so far?”

“I rang to ask her where she’s living now? Do I use the same address? She said, ‘I’m still in Auckland.’ Well! That’s some comfort. She could disappear altogether and I’d never know. We’re always hearing of people disappearing in strange places.”

“Yes, but what have you done with her requests to send things?” Michelle sat up in her canvas chair, her interest riveted, like hanging over the rail on Derby Day.

“The other day, I thought I had a perfectly wonderful solution to all this sending of parcels. I arranged for a removal company to drop off a small container, the size of Nicky’s dismantled bed. I crammed in every single object in her room, including her dressing table, a small-boy, even the waste paper basket! Everything! All of her clothes I could find, I made sure the guitar was in there. I didn’t want any more requests for bits and pieces for me to send. Come to think of it, those weeks ago, why did she ask for a pint-sized dressing gown?”

“You told me she never holds a job down for more than a few months, some-times only weeks so she can travel when she wants to,” Michelle looks puzzled.

“Yes! She’s worked with a travel agency, and a manufacturing jeweller. She’s picked apples and strawberries.” Tracey pours a fresh glass, this time of tonic only.

“Could work be the problem?”

“On her ‘phone calls, she doesn’t mention work and sort of sidles around it when I ask. Occasionally, she writes. I don’t have one of those computer things, and I don’t want one. That means she can’t send electric letters, as I believe you can on those affairs. Those expensive phone calls worry me. Besides, often they’re not a good connection and I can’t hear her properly. Once I heard a very young child in the background but when I asked, she said she was on her mobile at a friend’s house. I’m glad she has friends.” Tracey grasps the armrests and in the dreamy heat… and stands—a little uncertainly.

“Have you given up hope that one day she’ll return?

Tracey removes her dark glasses and hands on hips replies with the assurance of one who has finally nailed the problem. “As it happens, that container cost me heaps but probably less than the unending drain on my bank account I’ve had for the last year. It won’t have arrived yet; I wonder what she’ll say—I wish I could see her face when it lands on her doorstep.”

“When is it meant to arrive? Tracey, you don’t think—?”

“What I’m hoping is … she’ll see all her familiar things, realise it might be a good idea if I went out there to join her. Maybe we could go together? You and I? Then we’ll see why she has made New Zealand her home. Who knows? Secretly, I’ve always hoped there might be a grandchild. Do you think that’s what behind all this pussyfooting? Michelle, let’s have another G&T?”