He saw from the look she gave him how far away from jesting she was.
Shep walked around to the passenger side. He opened her door, helped her out. Rebecca was instinctively drawn to the church as Shep lifted their luggage from the back seat. She saw that lights were on inside.
‘Long drive?’
They turned to see a young man stepping from the hotel doorway in shirtsleeves.
‘Please let me take that.’
‘You’re okay, I’ll manage,’ said Shep. ‘It’s only two bags, but thank you.’
‘My pleasure. Please.’ He held the door open and ushered them inside.
‘I’m Glen Masson. I run the hotel with Sally, my wife. She’s sleeping. Here’s your key.’
‘Thank you.’
‘You’re on the half-landing. Can I get you anything? Soup, toast, a hot drink, a nightcap?’
The new owner had no idea who they were.
‘Thank you, no. We appreciate the offer but I think we’re fine, aren’t we?’ Rebecca nodded in agreement. Shep saw that she had covered her bandaged hand with her scarf. ‘And thank you, for waiting up.’
‘You’re welcome,’ he said. ‘But it’s not unusual. You’d be surprised how many people misjudge the time it takes to get up here.’
‘The single-track roads.’
‘Exactly.’
‘Breakfast any time,’ said Glen Masson, pushing through the door behind the reception desk. ‘No need to get up early. Goodnight.’
‘Goodnight.’
He left them alone in the calm of the foyer.
‘Nice man,’ said Shep, guiding Rebecca to the staircase.
‘It won’t last. This place will get him too.’
‘Come on,’ he put his arm around her waist, ‘you need to sleep.’ He continued as they climbed, though without any response from Rebecca. He may as well have been talking to himself, reminding himself of why they had left the city in the first place to come here. ‘There was a time that this was the only place in the world you wanted to live. It was isolated and therefore safe, an ideal place for bringing children up. And nobody knew anything about me; remember? It was perfect. A fresh start.’
They had a corner room. It was clean and modern. From the windows they could see the church and the school.
‘Well now,’ said Shep, putting the bags on the bed. ‘Not what I expected.’
Rebecca went straight to the curtains and closed them. She hung her coat in the wardrobe, took her cotton nightgown from the top of the case and undressed, folding her worn clothes into a neat pile. As she slipped her nightgown over her head, letting it drop down her body, Shep sat in the armchair next to the window to hide his erection, which he felt was inappropriate. She took the toiletries bag into the en suite. He watched her in the mirror as she cleaned her teeth, slowly, without any enthusiasm. Her reflection vanished and he heard her on the toilet, then flushing, the running of taps and the unfolding of towels as she dried her hands. When she came out, she turned the bathroom light off. The hum of the extractor fan continued. She pulled the sheets back, climbed into bed and pulled them up to her chin.
‘We ruined it,’ she said, ‘didn’t we?’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘We ruined the dream.’
He bent to untie his laces so she couldn’t see the weariness on his face. He wanted to shake her hard and clear his mind of the unsaid.
‘We can’t be blamed for everything.’ He eased his shoes off. ‘It was a collision of events, some outwith our control, others, well, we could have dealt with differently.’
‘Shep. Why have you never told me I was a bad mother?’
‘I resent you asking that, Rebecca. It forces me to admit that I was a bad father.’
‘You tried in a way I didn’t. Kept trying.’
‘You were always my priority.’
‘Could you look at me?’
‘I don’t think I can at the moment.’
He stayed where he was until she could no longer bear to wait, had turned on her side and fallen asleep. When he lifted the quilt and climbed in beside her, he had aged. He kissed her, lay back and closed his eyes; dead beat.
He awoke during the night. The bedside light was on. His face was wet. He turned to see Rebecca watching him from her pillow. A fine tear trail ribboned from one eye down into the other, across the bridge of her nose and onto the stained cotton pillowcase. Beneath the blankets her fingers meshed with his. He wondered what she had been thinking as she watched him cry.
‘Are we bad people, Shep?’
He didn’t answer.
‘To think what we think, does it mean we’re damned?’
‘What we think?’ He rolled onto his side to face her. ‘If you’re considering damnation, Rebecca, consider what’s been done.’
He looked at her.
‘I believe that at best I’m weak. Right now, I don’t feel my best. Mostly, I’m ashamed. That’s hard. It’s my fault, though. I can’t blame anybody else for things I did, or failed to do.’
‘We did.’
‘My actions were my own, Rebecca, yours your own. Shame isn’t lessened by its sharing.’
He felt her fingers slide from between his.
He turned the light off.
He lay awake until morning.
Rebecca claimed not to be hungry so Shep took breakfast alone. He had black coffee, soft-poached eggs on toast with English mustard, more coffee and a sweet pastry. He took his time, enjoying the peace of the dining room. He felt lighter when she came down.
It was as though the crater had consumed the house.
Shep held Rebecca as they stood on the lip looking down at John Cutter. She was wrapped in her duffle, sunglasses against the low reluctant sun.
‘I wish it was different,’ said John Cutter.
‘What?’
‘Our meeting again, the reason.’
‘Wishing it was different goes back a long way, John, longer each day. Just tell us what happened.’
After meeting Shep’s stare for a few moments, John Cutter continued.
‘I don’t know for sure how it started,’ he said. ‘Still looking into that.’
‘The fire service didn’t attend?’
‘No. Nobody called them.’
‘That says more about you than him.’
‘I’d agree.’
‘How sure are you, John?’ said Rebecca.
Cutter wished she’d take her glasses off; wanted to see if her eyes were as desperate as her voice.
‘I’m satisfied he was at home.’
‘But you can’t be certain?’ said Shep.
‘He always was,’ said Cutter. ‘I’m equally satisfied that nothing or nobody survived the fire. Some remains were found, more than likely your boy’s.’
He pointed to the tarpaulin. Rebecca wept, overwrought, stepping from foot to foot like some strange bird, her arms flailing. Shep tightened himself around her, compressed her and held on to stop her falling into the crater. He saw himself in her sunglasses as she spoke.
‘It’s over, Shep. He’s gone. I want to leave, now; please, can we go?’
But Shep could smell the truth. It was a sense he prided himself on. He studied Cutter, arms crossed, standing tall in his police uniform, looking somewhere else, and he knew.
‘What’s wrong, John?’
Cutter was unprepared for the question and made no further attempt to cover up.
‘Quite a lot, Shep. But I’d say it’s best you accept what I tell you.’
‘Best for who?’
‘All of us in the long run. Nobody’s coming back.’
‘You’re sure?’ said Rebecca.
‘I’m afraid I am, Rebecca.’
‘Listen to him, Shep.’
‘I don’t
know if I can.’
She took her sunglasses off. ‘Please. For everybody, like he said.’
He wiped her cheeks clean.
The edge of John’s voice was dulled. ‘I can’t help you any more than I have, Shep. There are other people to think about. I feel responsible.’
Wittin woke up. Slaver streaked his jowl. Rubbing his face brought some life back. The first thing his eyes lit on was the bottle in the aisle. It was upright. Beyond it, light slanted through the open door. It felt cooler. He looked at his watch. It was almost noon. John Cutter had told his lie.
Shuffling into the vestry, he broke the seal on another bottle and sucked out a curer. Upturning the church stationery box, he took paper and a black marker pen.
Standing in a doorway, hidden from view, Wittin watched the car in the reflection of the shop window. They were the only people in the hotel; it had to be them. The reaction of the man as he took the note from the car window left no doubt in Wittin’s mind. He watched him as he sat down to smoke. He intended waiting for Mr Evans to finish his cigar and go back into the hotel. But when the man was distracted by the arrival of Sally, Wittin took the opportunity to cross over Main Street and head out to the old school grounds.
The scrap of paper was tucked beneath the windscreen wiper. Shep looked up and down Main Street: not a soul in sight. The day was already losing its light. The air was grey and carried the taste of ash. He retrieved the paper. He checked again as he unfolded it, sure somebody was watching. He read the message, expecting more of the vile insults that had forced them to leave. He didn’t look up again for many seconds. He absorbed the four words printed in black marker – go to the school.
He reached into the car, opened the glove compartment and pulled out a new cigar. Crumpling the cellophane into his pocket, he used the guillotine on his key ring to cut across the cone. Sitting on the hotel steps, he put the cigar into his mouth and puffed each time he turned it above the lighter’s flame. When the end was evenly lit and it began to draw, he took a mouthful of smoke, enjoying the flavour, keeping it in longer than usual, feeling calmed by it. He pulled his jacket close as he let it go. He wondered if he should show Rebecca the note. He looked at it again.
He folded the paper when he heard the hotel door opening behind him.
‘I’d say you’re enjoying that.’
It was the clear voice of Sally, the girl who had served him breakfast while her husband Glen had slept on. He wasn’t ready for Rebecca yet. He slipped the note into his inside pocket.
‘Everything okay?’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I am. Thank you.’
‘Almost makes me want to try,’ she said, indicating the cigar.
Shep held it out to her.
‘Almost. Got through my teens without succumbing; be a shame to now.’
‘Good for you.’
She came and sat on the step next to him, close enough that he could smell her. It was a good smell. She rolled her chunky polo-neck collar up against the cold.
‘It’s been quiet,’ she said.
‘Isn’t it always?’
‘No. Not on a Sunday. We’ve worked hard, managed to get a regular local trade ticking over, people coming in for coffees and pastries and the like, spending the morning reading the papers or talking. Sunday evenings they come and enjoy the last of the weekend. You’d be surprised.’
‘No, I can see why. It’s nice what you’ve done with the lounge, tasteful. Not like something I’d have expected to find here.’
‘Thank you.’
‘And breakfast was delicious.’
‘You’re welcome.’ Leaning forward, her arms folded across her knees, she scanned the street, loose red waves moving across her shoulder with the movement of her head.
‘No one at all. Must be something to do with the other night.’
Shep scratched the stubble on his chin, waited a few seconds.
‘What happened the other night?’
‘Not sure really. There was a fire, that’s for sure. I could see sparks and smoke from here. Before that, I’m not sure.’
‘You don’t sound very sure about much.’
She smiled at him. He smiled back, taken by the clear whites of the girl’s eyes and the small gap between her two front teeth.
‘We’re still seen as new, so we were excluded, or maybe not invited. I’m not sure.’ She giggled. ‘It has to do with the history of the place, though, I can sense that.’ She looked at him. ‘Do you know about …’
‘I’m aware.’
He could tell that she’d wanted to tell him all about the accident at the school and he liked her and wished he hadn’t taken the wind out of that sail.
‘It’s what the village is famous for.’
‘I guess,’ she said. ‘It will change, though.’
‘But there will always be an anniversary.’
‘Yeah. I guess.’
‘Tell me,’ he said. ‘Do you think a village can ever recover from such a history?’
‘It’s got to.’
‘You banking on it?’
She nodded, rubbing her shins to generate some heat.
‘The rawness dies with the people who feel it,’ she said. ‘Surely?’
‘Or they leave and take it with them.’
‘That’s true as well, of course.’
‘And bring it back.’
She turned and looked at him for a good few seconds.
‘Is that why you’re here?’
‘The history? Yes, that’s why we’re here.’
A moment later, she put her hand on his arm and gave it a gentle squeeze, before standing and going back inside. He tingled beneath the touch of her half-understanding. It was all he could do not to weep.
Back in the hotel room, Rebecca was already packing their bags. She threw the car keys onto the bed as she read the note.
‘Did you write this?’
‘Rebecca.’
She pushed the paper back at him.
‘Be honest with me.’
She went to the window. Beyond her, Shep could see the tips of the trees that grew in the school grounds. The moon was already high.
‘I don’t want to go.’
‘Why?’
‘There’s nothing there.’
Shep held the note up.
‘Somebody wants us to go there.’
‘Why?’
‘Maybe they want to help.’
‘Here?’
‘Somebody feels bad. Don’t you sense it? You saw how John was.’
Rebecca lay down and pulled the counterpane over herself. Shep sat in the chair beside the bed. He leant low and close. Her face was still a feast. She was too beautiful for the boy to have been her fault.
‘Rebecca, something isn’t right.’
‘What if he left the note?’ she said.
‘So you agree with me?’
She didn’t answer straight away.
‘I’m scared. He’ll hate us.’
‘He’d be right to.’
She nodded.
‘Do you want me to go alone?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I could leave you here; lock the door.’
Seven years earlier
The ground had been disturbed. Crouching, Kerr Munson poked at the snow bunting’s grave with one of the loose twigs amongst the leaves that had been scraped aside. The bird was gone. He thought he could make out paw prints, a fox maybe. Standing to look beyond the bush, he was surprised to see larger footprints in the snow, not as fresh but recent. They didn’t lead to the bush and the empty grave. They looked to come from the edge of the school field, from away beneath the drift building against the fence. They led to the school, to the window Hamilton sat by. The sill was swept clear of snow. Somebody
had climbed in or out of the window. Kerr Munson wrote down all he saw. Closing his notebook, he made his way to the group of boys where Hamilton Walker was standing.
Did you take the bird? he wrote on a back page.
Hamilton looked confused. Kerr pointed. Hamilton shook his head, no.
‘It was dead.’
It’s gone, wrote Kerr.
‘Really?’ said Hamilton as he looked across at the bush. Before Kerr Munson could write another question, he was distracted. Jonny and Alice arrived at school, hand in hand. He went to the front of his notebook again, even though the wind and snow made it hard to write at all.
Jonny Raffique made a visible play of being Alice Corggie’s protector as they walked through the school gate that final morning. Some of the smaller ones hid nervous laughter, but Jonny saw looks of admiration and envy on the faces of others. Alice gripped his arm.
‘I don’t see him,’ she said.
‘Me neither.’
‘Should I stay with you?’
‘No need.’
Her hold relaxed.
‘Come and stand with me if he comes,’ said Jonny.
‘Okay.’
Alice let go and headed over to Jean and Jenny.
Jonny walked over to where the bunch of boys were in deep discussion. Kerr used a finger to keep his place in his notebook and joined the boys standing around Jonny. Jonny was always interesting and they hadn’t run out of things to ask him yet. Kerr had a list of Jonny’s favourite television programmes, the strange names of the candy he used to eat, the games he’d play and even some names and nicknames of his old classmates. Over recent weeks he had talked about gangs and neighbourhoods and they had hung on his every word. All except Dog Evans, who continued to hide his shared admiration of Juan Raffique, America in general and California in particular behind growls and a threatening posture designed to maintain a distance between them. Jonny was happy with this distance. At the same time it was obvious to them he was not scared of Dog Evans. He carried his past with him and they could sense his fears were of another magnitude altogether.
The gravity of his past was consolidated for them on their final day when he joined their compact, penguin-like cluster. Even before he arrived he could hear them, trying to butt in, earnestly trying to get their say about what they were going to do when they were older. Jonny listened.
The Wrong Child Page 14