The Valley of Lost Stories

by Vanessa McCausland

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous. You’re scaring them, Mike. Let’s talk about this tomorrow, when we’re both thinking clearly.’

  ‘Oh I’m thinking perfectly clearly. The clearest I have since I met you. Come on girls, get up. Put on some clothes.’ He opened the girls’ pink suitcase on the floor with his foot. ‘Damn it. It doesn’t matter about clothes. Here, put your shoes on.’ He took Findlay by the hand softly as he placed thongs by her feet. Nathalie resisted the urge to grab her away. She could see him softening. Her daughter’s face was pale, her eyes huge as she looked between the two of them. ‘Come on now, don’t you want to go home? Go back to your own bedrooms? Come on. Put on your thongs.’

  ‘But it’s dark outside, Daddy,’ said Sim.

  ‘Mike, please, calm down. Don’t scare them. We’re not going anywhere right now.’

  He still had hold of Findlay’s hand, but she could feel her girls’ limbs grasping her flesh like tender flower stalks winding around her, seeking comfort.

  ‘I want to go home, Daddy, but why are you and Mummy fighting?’ asked Findlay, dropping his hand and nestling back into Nathalie’s chest.

  He grabbed both girls by the arms and pulled them away from the bed, away from Nathalie’s hold on them. She cried out with the violence of it and the girls’ piercing squeals made Mike let them go.

  ‘It’s okay,’ she whispered into their hair, into the sweet smell of them as they huddled close to her, their bodies trembling.

  ‘Fine,’ he said.

  She watched, numbly as Mike reached down for Richie and picked him out of the travel cot. She stood, in slow motion, the girls still clinging to her.

  ‘Mike, please.’ She grabbed for his arm, but he pushed her to the ground. Richie’s high-pitched wails made her get back up, reach for him again, but Mike was out the door. She followed him, calling his name, the girls trailing after her, the horrible echo of her children’s cries bouncing off the walls.

  ‘Richie,’ she called, running down the staircase, running out into the night, through the garden, across the gravel of the car park. Mike kept pushing her back, but she would not give up. They reached the car and Mike turned to her, his eyes shining in the dark.

  ‘Get back or I swear I’ll . . .’

  What? Break me? Destroy me? You already have, she thought. She summoned every last ounce of energy and courage and lurched for her son in Mike’s arms. She heard the crack of his palm meeting her cheek and she fell.

  She heard the car engine start, the screech of tyres, but she couldn’t move. Her head felt too heavy. Her face was burning, swelling. Everything was black. She tasted blood on her lips. It felt like her heart had been ripped from her chest. My baby. Emmie and Alexandra were by her side. She heard their whispers. Everything hurt. She felt herself being picked up off the ground and the hair smoothed from her face.

  ‘He took Richie. He took my boy.’

  Her daughters nestled into her, one under each arm like little birds under her wings. She sobbed into their bodies.

  ‘It’s okay, Mummy,’ said Findlay, her voice wobbling, her cheeks wet with tears, hands stroking Nathalie’s hair. She opened her eyes and saw how scared her daughter was and how brave she was trying to be. Her heart squeezed and something inside her solidified, crystallised, a fury as cold and startling as the sudden absence of her son, and she knew what needed to be done now.

  She used everything she had to pull herself to her feet, ignoring Emmie’s and Alexandra’s protests. Her face throbbed and her mouth felt thick. The moon had risen, and its light shone a path through the garden to the hotel. Macie was standing there on the front steps in a white nightgown, like a spectre.

  Each step reverberated through to her face, her jaw, but she kept walking and then she was running, flying towards her. Nathalie expected her to flee, to run into the warren of rooms in her hotel but Macie just stood there, the breeze lifting her gown, her pale hair.

  When she reached her there was no resistance. Her hands found Macie’s neck. Nathalie forced her backwards, pinned her against the hotel doors. Her own words were choked.

  ‘Is this what you wanted, Macie? Was this your plan from the start? You’ve taken him from me. Are you happy? I’m in as much pain as you. I’m as bad a mother as you. You’ve fucking won. You’ve taken my son.’

  Macie’s face contorted as Nathalie pressed against the soft flesh of her throat. She had never felt more powerful, more in control, more sure of anything. A gurgle issued from Macie’s throat, but Nathalie pressed harder.

  ‘You’re a monster.’

  She heard Emmie’s voice, felt hands grasping at her, pulling her back, but she was in a nightmare from which she couldn’t wake. It felt like time had stilled, stretched out between her and Macie as their eyes locked together. Nathalie saw that Macie was choking. She couldn’t breathe. Something passed between them. She saw fear, pure and unadorned in Macie’s eyes. But also, something else. Sorrow. Simple and deep. A horrible vulnerability. Brokenness. She also saw pleading and she realised Macie wasn’t pleading for her life, she was pleading for death. She wanted to be free from the pain, the sorrow.

  The recognition struck Nathalie at her core. She saw herself. She remembered herself that night at the hotel in the city. How close she’d been to ending it. How much she’d wanted to leave, for the pain to just go away. This woman had lost everything. She had lived with the burden of the blame, of self-hatred for what she’d done to her own son. Life had crippled and twisted her. Nathalie saw clearly her warped charge to save these children from their neglectful, imperfect mothers. Of which Nathalie was one. Shame and sorrow welled inside her, engulfed her. Of which Caleb’s mother was one. Of which Pen was one. She saw that Macie truly thought she was helping these boys. She was saving them from the version of herself that she so deeply despised.

  Nathalie wanted so badly to keep pressing. It would only take seconds. She wanted Macie to die for her insanity, her cruelty. She didn’t deserve to live. The words came to her lips and she spoke them aloud. She looked into Macie’s eyes, glassy, the life almost gone.

  ‘None of us is perfect.’ And she let go.

  Macie’s eyes were closed and her lips were an awful blue. She slipped to the ground.

  Alexandra was at her side and Emmie stood back, arms around her girls, who were whimpering softly. What have I done? What on earth have I done? she thought. Alexandra put her hand on Macie’s head, touched her face with a tenderness that made tears prick Nathalie’s eyes. Alexandra whispered Macie’s name and bent to check she was breathing. Nathalie felt her daughters’ little bodies latch to her legs. Emmie touched her shoulder, pulling her away from Macie, but she resisted, bending over until she felt warm breath on her cheek. She’s alive.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I’m so, so sorry.’ She pressed her face to her girls’ tear-stained skin until Emmie gently prised them from her and took them inside.

  She heard Caleb’s voice before she saw him. Confusion contorted his features as he crouched down. Bruises were forming under Macie’s skin, like a dark necklace. Her face was blanched, white and blank, but her chest was heaving air into her lungs.

  ‘What the hell have you done to her?’ he asked, his face pained. Caleb cradled Macie’s head in his lap. A deep rasping was coming out of her now. Tears spilled down her face. Her words were whispered.

  ‘Caleb.’ Macie reached for him. ‘I didn’t mean to hurt you, Caleb. I just wanted to protect you. I didn’t want anyone to suffer.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ asked Caleb, his hand on Macie’s cheek.

  ‘Your mother. Teresa. She did love you. She didn’t abandon you. Not really.’

  ‘My mother? You know her? What are you telling me?’ He shook his head.

  ‘She overdosed on the kitchen floor. I could have helped her. But I let her die.’

  ‘On the kitchen floor?’

  ‘You wouldn’t remember but she came here asking for a job. You were just a baby. I couldn�
��t stand to watch it. How little she cared for you. How selfish she was. I didn’t want you to become Jacob, I didn’t want you to become my son, dying in a shallow bath because his mother wasn’t attentive enough.’ A soft howl of pain escaped her lips and she hid her face.

  Caleb’s face twisted in disgust. ‘You lied to me about my mother leaving me?’

  ‘Caleb, please, I only meant to protect you. She was on a mission of self-destruction.’

  ‘Protect me? You trapped me. You took away my self-worth. You made me think I was nothing, not even someone a mother could love.’

  ‘I love you.’

  ‘That’s not love.’ He squeezed his eyes shut and his body lurched away from her. Her head rolled to the ground.

  Nathalie placed her hand on Macie’s shaking shoulder. She knew she had to act quickly, while she was still exposed, vulnerable. Before her hard shell grew back.

  ‘Macie, please, please tell us if you know what happened to Pen. Please, I’m begging you.’

  Alexandra was on her knees. She pressed Macie’s hand between her own. ‘I’m so sorry. For all the pain I caused you. For what you’ve been through. Please, Macie, please help us. If you know anything at all about Pen, you have to tell us.’

  Macie groaned and rolled away, pulling her knees into her chest, curled into the foetal position.

  Nathalie got to her feet. She found Caleb sitting on a bench, his head in his hands.

  ‘Caleb, I know how much you’re hurting right now but you’re the only one who can get this out of her, if she’s done something to Pen. Please.’

  He looked up. His voice cracked. ‘If that’s the case she’s a fucking psycho.’

  Nathalie grabbed his hands. ‘No, Caleb, she’s broken. It’s made her do insane things, but she loves you.’

  He shook his head.

  ‘She lost her son. She thinks she killed him. But it was a tragic accident. Can you see how that’s ruled her life? Her decisions?’

  ‘You want me to forgive her after I’ve just found out she let my mother die and lied to me my whole life. I can’t do that.’

  Nathalie put her arms around him and held him for what seemed like a long time. His body was very still. She took his hand and led him back to where Macie was curled tightly in a ball on the ground.

  ‘I’m sorry. I can’t talk to her,’ Caleb said, breaking away.

  Nathalie bent down and smoothed the damp hair from Macie’s face. Her eyes were closed.

  ‘Macie, please, we know you thought you were protecting Will, but we need you to tell us about Pen. What’s happened to her? Please.’

  Macie put her hands over her ears. Her body was trembling.

  Nathalie turned to Caleb again. ‘Please, you’re the only one who can get through to her.’

  Caleb shook his head, his face drawn in pain.

  Nathalie felt a hand on her arm. She looked down to see Will. Very small, very still. Her stomach turned. How much had he heard? How long had he been watching?

  Slowly Will got down next to Macie on the ground and folded his arms around her waist. After a long while her body stilled. He spoke to her softly.

  ‘Thank you for looking after me, Macie. I love you. You’re a very good mummy. But I miss mine.’

  Macie rolled towards him. She looked at him for a long time. She brushed the tears from his cheeks. Very slowly she pulled herself off the ground. Will helped her stand and took her hand in his. Together they began to walk out into the night.

  CHAPTER 47

  Pen

  She had been asleep, but now she was painfully awake. The sound of voices. She was sure they were voices. She sat up, feeling her arms ache, her head throb. She listened, her mind more alert than it had been in days.

  ‘Hey. Hello. Help.’ Her voice was raw, dry, weak. She listened and heard nothing. She called out again. Again nothing. She sank back down onto the hard makeshift cot. Maybe the voices had been a dream after all. She had called out so many times before. No one had come. And it had slowly, dreadfully dawned on her that she was in some kind of underground room. She could smell the earth and the roots and the damp. It was no bigger than a bathroom with dirt walls and a stack of mouldy boxes in the corner. Some of the foodstuffs dated from the 1950s. Rusted cans and bags full of salt and flour that turned to dust at the touch. But there were bottles of water and cans of baked beans and tuna. It was some kind of basement storage that they must have used when the mines were in operation.

  There had been an electric light at first. It worked for about 24 hours and then spat terrifyingly and fizzed out. And now she was using single white candles that looked like they were from a time of rationing. She lit them carefully. Each match a lifeline. She resisted counting the candles, counting the matches. She was terrified of when they would run out. Of when she would be in the dark.

  The last normal thing she remembered was the beautiful breakfast Will had brought her in bed. A spindly daisy picked from the garden on the tray, the cornflakes soggy and the tea mostly milk. She had felt an enormous rush of gratitude and guilt, which mingled together like that lukewarm tea. She had been so cruel to Will the night before over that diary. So unnecessarily unkind, and then he’d gone and done something so beautiful. She’d never felt such self-disgust.

  She had played everything over so many times in her head. She knew, deep in her bones, that Macie must have put something in that tea. It was the only thing that made any sense. She remembered the fierce burn of Macie’s eyes as she’d pointed out that Will had wet himself. The intense, crushing shame she’d felt. And the suffocating tiredness after a few sips of that tea. She remembered kissing Will’s cheek, sinking back into the bed, closing her eyes. She’d woken briefly once, so delirious that she couldn’t move. She’d felt frozen, her body a numb, useless thing. She’d seen through slitted eyes that she was in another room in the hotel, not her own but almost a carbon copy with the pretty bed covers and antique furniture. She’d tried to call out, mustered everything she had, but it was as though a dark hood had been pulled over her head.

  And then she was here. She’d had so much time to think. Too much time. Truth and regret were her constant companions, like the cockroaches and ants, the daddy-longlegs in the corner. So much regret. She would have stopped eating and drinking – it was hardly eating. When the tuna and baked beans ran out it was tinned soup, gloopy and cold and hard dried noodles way past their expiry date. But she forced the food into her body for her children. She took tiny sips of the water for her children.

  It would have been easier to find a way to die quickly. But she thought about them growing up without a mother, in the world alone. Especially Will. Where was he now? Were they looking for her? How on earth would they find her here, somewhere under the ruins, lost, like the history of the valley. These thoughts haunted her. She scratched them all on an ancient pad of paper with a pencil. It was the only thing she had to do as the intense anger cooled to despair.

  Dear Will. Dear Catelyn. She wrote them letter after letter.

  Dear Will, I didn’t love you like you needed to be loved. I let you down. I imposed my own expectations onto you instead of seeing you for who you are. Loving you for the person you are. Accepting you for who you are. I made it about me instead of you. You are everything to me. I’m so sorry.

  Now she pulled herself off the cot and crawled to the top of the metal stairs. She pushed the trapdoor above her and banged on it as she had countless times before and cried out. She listened. Nothing. The voices had been in her head. Of course they had. Every molecule of her body felt the disappointment, like thunder rolling over an already blackened sky. The thick dread settled back into her. She knew she mustn’t give up. She couldn’t. But she was getting so tired. It was getting so hard to keep the darkness at bay. Maybe she shouldn’t even blame Macie . . . maybe Will was better off without her. That boy deserved a mother who loved him easily, accepted him and understood him. Macie seemed to be able to do that better than she’d ever manage
d to.

  She thought back to his birth. It had been a difficult one. She’d laboured for hours, a whole day, only to have him cut out of her. She remembered the shock of his slimy body on her chest, his scrunched-up face. She remembered pasting a smile onto her lips when the doctors looked at her. But there had been no recognition. No spark. Not like with Cate. And there had been no help. Her mother had just started down the road to dementia and there was no father this time. There was no time either. She couldn’t take maternity leave like she had with Cate. She had to keep going because she had to keep her job to pay the rent. And Will hadn’t slept well. She remembered those early days with him in her arms heating the metal coffee pot on the stove on those cold July mornings. She must have had eight cups of coffee some days. She’d never had time to stop and consider what was going on. She had just been running. Scrambling, trying to hold everything together. But now she had time to think and the thought had bubbled up, like the thick black espresso that ran in her veins all those years, that maybe she’d had post-natal depression with Will. And it had never gone away. She had mistaken caring for a child for loving one.

  She pulled herself into the corner of her cot, drawing her knees up to her chin. She wondered if she just allowed her mind to give up, her body would eventually let go too. If you decided to die, would your body obey? She closed her eyes and heard his voice. Mummy. Felt his breath, warm on her face, and she thought, This is what dying feels like. In the dim light of the candle she could make out the small shape of him.

  Will.

  She felt his skinny arms around her and she wished with all her heart that she had hugged him more. She was slipping away, but at least Will was here.

  I’m sorry.

  But then she felt someone wrapping something around her. A blanket. She was too tired to even open her eyes properly, to register the face, but it looked familiar, like a recurring dream. Emmie. Emmie was here. She could feel the wetness of Emmie’s tears smear across her face. And she was being lifted, her arms wrapped around shoulders, her body pulled up the metal stairs and then there were stars. Millions of them. And air. So bright and cool it stung her skin, her lungs. She gulped it in.