by J. A. Baker
‘Can’t you see it, Mother?’ Peggy says, all too calmly, her face white with exposed bone, ‘Can’t you see what’s happened? We’re both together now. We’re both dead.’
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Audrey wakes coated in perspiration, blood rushing in her ears. She sits up and is overcome with dizziness as she tries to stagger off the bed. Is this how it’s going to be now she has survived a fire? Will she be overwhelmed with images and nightmares that tear at her already frazzled brain night after night?
Shuffling to the bathroom, she splashes cold water on her face and listens to the silence beneath. No voices, nothing but the sound of the sea thrashing the very cliff that they stand on. Soon it will be over. This whole sorry situation. She will make it all go away. Only then will Audrey be able to rest, to say that she did her level best to see justice was done.
She dries her face and stares in the mirror above the sink. A much older woman stares back at her. Bags sit beneath her eyes; lines curl round the edge of her mouth and her expression is that of rejection. It’s been her partner for so long now she can barely remember a time without it. Well, not for much longer. This is her chance, probably the only one she’ll get - her last chance in life to put it all right, to make everything better, back to how it should be.
‘Come on Audrey,’ she mutters through gritted teeth, ‘pull yourself together, old girl. No more bad dreams or worries or fear. You’ve got a missing person to find.’
41
Peggy
They both stand at the door and wave him off as if they are a close family saying goodbye to a long-lost relative. Peggy has no idea why her mother has taken it upon herself to do this; to stand so near to her, to hang around in the doorway as if she has lived here for years. As if this is her home. She is so near, Peggy can feel her hot, sour breath on her neck, the pulsating, rhythmic waves of poison escaping from Audrey’s lungs, polluting the air around them.
‘So where is it he’s off to, again?’
Peggy stares at her mother, aghast. Did her brain turn to mush in the fire? How many times does she have to be told something before it finally sinks in? ‘We spoke about this last night. He’s attending a headteacher’s conference in London. Remember?’
‘Ah yes, that’s right,’ Audrey replies as she pulls pieces of loose cotton off her blouse, ‘a headteacher’s conference. Even though he’s not a headteacher. Because he’s not, is he? He’s the deputy. Not the head.’
Peggy has to use all her self-restraint to not turn around and punch her own mother in the face. Since arriving she has taken every available opportunity to insult Alec. The way he makes tea, the type of programmes he watches on television, his taste in music; every bloody thing has been a problem even though he has been the perfect gentleman in her presence. He has waited on her hand and foot, been charming, pleasant; gone out of his way to make Audrey feel welcome and yet still she insults him, constantly on the lookout for chinks in his armour.
‘No, he isn’t a headteacher, but then you already know that, don’t you, Mother? I’m not sure why you’re asking, unless of course it’s to demean him and make disparaging remarks about his position within the school,’ Peggy barks as she closes the door and pushes past Audrey.
‘Oh, it’s neither of those things, dear,’ Audrey replies coolly as she follows Peggy back into the living room, ‘I was just asking that’s all. Just making conversation.’
Peggy finds herself too irate to speak. Her heart is thumping wildly in her chest as she watches her mother sit down on the sofa and pick up a piece of embroidery. Even the way she moves her fingers, holding the needle with her bony fingers, her dextrous, quick movements as she pulls at the cotton, the tight purse of her lips as she concentrates; it all annoys Peggy beyond reason. It’s going to be a long few days, just Peggy and her mother alone together in this cottage. Solitary walks on the beach will suddenly seem very appealing if her mother continues with her barbed comments. Regardless of the blustery weather and the forecasted rain, she will trudge on and on until she drops with exhaustion rather than spend time in here, with her own mother.
‘I was just thinking about all the posters that have been put up in town,’ Audrey says casually as she tugs at the fabric, pulling it tight, her mouth a thin, firm line. ‘Such a terrible state of affairs,’ she adds, ‘somebody going missing like that, don’t you think?’
Peggy wants to scream. Her mother is doing it again. She has done it all her life, throwing out casual remarks that have the power to explode, sending shards of red-hot metal around the room, injuring unsuspecting bystanders with their hidden meanings and thinly veiled threats. Peggy knows all about the posters. She saw them as they travelled through town to pick Audrey up and again as they came back. Sheryl’s face everywhere. Alec didn’t seem to notice them, his thoughts were elsewhere - work, Audrey, his father. Hardly surprising really considering the goings on they have had with the police recently. He has more than enough on his plate. It must have been Rachel who put them there. Peggy tries to control her breathing, which suddenly feels laboured and erratic. She stares down at her nails, ragged and torn where she has bitten them down to the bone. There’s been no further communication from Polly or any other of their friends but then she didn’t expect to hear anything else. It’s been such a long time since either she or Alec saw any of them, they’re no longer on their radar. They are the forgotten friends; the lost ones.
‘Do either of you know her? This lady who has simply disappeared into thin air? This is a small town. I thought everybody would be talking about it.’
Audrey stops sewing and stares up at Peggy who is standing by the window, her back to the raging sea outside. A silence takes hold. Their eyes lock briefly before Audrey turns her attention back to the needle in her hand. She stabs at the material, her mouth puckered, her eyes dark and judgmental.
‘Okay, Mother, we can dance around each other for the next two days,’ Peggy says, her voice raspy with anger, ‘or we can come straight out and talk about this and clear the air. Take your pick.’
Audrey widens her eyes and Peggy wants to laugh. She shakes her head and looks up to the ceiling. Even her mother’s mock astonishment is badly executed.
‘Talk about what? I just happened to mention about what everyone in town must be talking about. A missing lady. As I just mentioned, this is a small town. People disappearing round these parts must be a pretty rare occurrence. If it were me and I lived here I would be out there searching for her, doing whatever I could to help out. That’s all. I’m just surprised that such an occurrence seems to have passed you both by. Perhaps it’s to do with your location - stuck up here on the cliff edge. Removed from it all. Quite a lonely existence for you I should imagine...’
Peggy clamps her teeth together, grinding them back and forth until it hurts. She releases her jaw and wiggles it from side to side. A shooting pain travels up the side of her head as she speaks. She closes her eyes against the wave of nausea that accompanies it and exhales loudly before speaking.
‘Look, if you must know, neither of us has seen Sheryl for ages. And without wanting to sound cruel or uncaring, it isn’t really our problem. According to the police and her sister, she’s sent some text messages saying she wants to be left alone for a while so, quite frankly, I’m not sure what all the fuss is about.’ Peggy brings her hand up and drags it through her hair. She is always shocked at how knotted and tangled it is. No amount of brushing ever frees the curls that lock together, leaving her with a web of tight coils. She rests her fingers in there, hoping her mother can’t see how much she is trembling. This is one conversation she does not want to be having. Not here with her mother sitting opposite her. Not ever, actually.
Peggy turns to see Audrey staring up at her; the thin skin around her eyes is creased and her jaw is hanging open ever so slightly. The fabric sits on her lap and
she is completely motionless as she scrutinises Peggy’s face. She feels the floor begin to sway. Her words ring in her head, a clanging reminder of what she has just done; what she has just given away.
‘You know her?’ Audrey gasps, ‘Oh, I had no idea! You must be terribly upset about it. I mean everyone must be beside themselves with worry.’
‘Everyone meaning me and Alec you mean? Come on Mother, why don’t you just say it?’ Peggy can barely contain her anger. She can feel it bubbling up, growing inside her, ready to explode, ‘I mean, while we’re at it why don’t we talk about those notes you sent me, eh? And the emails. Let’s have a chat about those, shall we? That’s what you want isn’t it? That’s why you’re here. It’s probably why you started that fire, so you could worm your way in here, have your say. Ruin my life all over again …’
Peggy stands breathless, astounded at her mother’s cool demeanour while she feels as if her brain is about to combust. She had hoped for some sort of reaction with that particular statement but she watches as Audrey continues sewing, her thin fingers ploughing a line through the fabric - in, out, in, out, in, out.
‘I don’t think now is the right time, Peggy. You’re too tetchy, too angry,’ Audrey says icily.
Peggy stares for a while, notices how straight her mother’s hands are, how tightly she is grasping the needle, sees the tic in her jaw, how it pulsates while she concentrates on the task in hand and it’s only then that she realises this is all an act. She isn’t half as calm as she appears to be. Right now, her mother is anything but relaxed. She is giving the appearance of somebody detached and untouched by their conversation but as Peggy watches, she can see the skin stretched across her knuckles, taut and white. Audrey’s legs are crossed tightly, her calves perfectly aligned, but Peggy can see a slight twitch of a muscle. She wants to laugh, to yell that she can see beyond it but instead remains silent, watching the agility with which Audrey’s fingers dart across the cotton, creating a pattern of colours on the cream coloured fabric.
‘I’m not sure when the right time will be,’ Peggy says as she turns to stare out of the window. A splattering of rain hits the pane of glass. She peers up at the sky, at the grey clouds bunching up into a sinister mass overhead. A proper storm gathering up. No beach walk today if this keeps up. Just Peggy and her mother stuck here with their wicked thoughts and accusations. She breathes heavily, her fingers clasped tightly as she does her best to keep her temper in check. Today is going to be a very long day indeed.
The knock at the door takes them both by surprise, sending an electric pulse down Peggy’s spine. She is rather pleased to see her mother lose her grip on the fabric, and watches with undisguised glee as it floats onto the floor, landing at her feet in a crumpled, multi-coloured heap. Not so graceful or poised after all.
‘I take it by your expression, you’re not expecting anyone?’ Audrey says tersely as she grabs at the material and snatches it back onto her lap.
‘No. No visitors expected today,’ Peggy replies as she stalks off into the hallway thinking how easy it would be to take her mother on a walk with her in this inclement weather. Nobody else around to see them. One hard push and she could send her off into the sea never to be seen again. Until the tide decides it has had enough of her, that is, and washes her back to shore a mile down the coast. Even in death Audrey would still have the upper hand, presenting her broken and battered body for all the world to see. There must be an easier way, thinks Peggy as she pulls the door open and feels her knees buckle.
42
Maude
Her head hurts. She stares up from her horizontal position on the sofa and sees Brenda and that boy staring down at her. She has a terrible pain locked somewhere deep inside her brain and it’s making her feel dizzy and quite sick. She can’t think where she is or how she got here. Her thoughts are fuzzy and muddled, as if the top of her skull has been sawn off and stuffed full of candy floss, all her memories coated in a sticky mess that stops her from remembering things properly. It scares her, feeling this way. She wishes she could go home, see her parents again, climb into her old bed - the one she shared with her brother and sister - and nuzzle her nose up to the soft, warm sheets. They don’t have much money, her parents; hardly any at all in fact, but her mother always makes sure they’re clean and well cared for. Not always well fed, but then everyone is permanently hungry at the minute, aren’t they? It’s the war that’s to blame for that. Her dad keeps telling her so. She would like to see her parents and wonders when they’re going to come for her. She didn’t want to be evacuated but that’s just how it is. All her friends and family scattered far and wide. She does miss them though. This Brenda lady is nice and everything and that boy - well he’s a bit dim and mutters a lot but apart from that it’s okay, really, but she would rather go home and face the bombs. She’s had enough of being here now. As her mam said to her dad as she reluctantly handed her children over to the powers that be; better to die together than to live apart.
She can hear them talking and picks up snippets of their words, tries to put them together so she can understand them but it’s all such a muddle, so difficult to think straight.
‘I’m sure she was just getting confused,’ Brenda says softly.
‘Probably,’ the boy replies as he bites at his lip, ‘it just came across as real and quite scary.’
‘Yes, well she does that sometimes, Andrew. Besides, I daren’t go across and mention anything after the last couple of episodes. They already think we’re harassing them and the man there thinks I’m mad, judging by the way he looked at me last time.’
The boy laughs and then Brenda joins in with him. Maude doesn’t like them doing it. She feels sure they’re laughing at her. She tries to sit up but her head swims and her eyes hurt. They feel too big for her head, like oversized marbles sitting in her skull, ready to split it apart. Even blinking hurts.
‘It’s okay Mum, just take it easy,’ Brenda says softly and places a cool hand across Maude’s forehead. It feels quite lovely; the firm touch that gently brushes the pain away. Maude lies back down and doesn’t struggle. She hasn’t the energy for fighting. Not today. Everything is cloudy and difficult, her limbs heavy, her brain useless and foggy.
She listens to them talk some more, trying to piece all the bits together so she can understand what’s happening. Something about a board and a man coming to look around once the walls are done. What’s happening with the walls? More bombs perhaps? She hopes not. She came here to get away from the Germans and all the fighting. Something else about losing money. It doesn’t matter, that bit, anyway. Maude doesn’t have any money to lose. She opens her eyes and scans the ceiling, trying to remember how she even got here. Nothing makes sense anymore. Like how did she even end up lying here on this sofa? And whose sofa is it? Suddenly overwhelmed with the effort of trying to figure it all out, Maude starts to cry. She tries to stop it, to wipe the tears away and control herself but the more she tries, the harder the sobs come out, until she hears someone screaming, crying and realises it’s the sound of her own voice echoing round the living room; a guttural, howling noise that permeates everywhere; every crevice, every dark, shadowy corner.
‘Want to go home! I WANT TO GO HOME!’
Her chest hurts and her head pounds and every single part of her body aches and is trembling. She can no longer hear Brenda and the boy. All she can hear is the sound of her own screams ringing in her ears and no matter how much she tries, she simply cannot stop it all. Everything is disappearing out of her brain. She has no idea where she is, where her parents or brothers and sisters are and all she knows is she is desperate to get back home. She wants everything to stop. All of this anxiety and anger and confusion. She has suddenly had enough.
‘It’s okay, Mum.’ The voice cuts through her cries and she feels a pair of warm arms around her back but it doesn’t stop the fear as she rocks back and forth, wishing she could close her eyes and make it all go away. That’s all she wants now, all she can
focus on - for everything to disappear, all the bad dreams and the scary thoughts and worry about missing her family and whether or not they’re all dead; buried under a pile of rubble after another air raid. All she wants is for it to all come to an end.
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Maude isn’t at all sure how long it went on for. She has a vague memory, a fleeting thought that at some point she may have fallen, tripped when she got up to go somewhere. The toilet perhaps? But when she wakes up again she is in a different bed. Not the one that that Brenda woman always makes her sleep in, but a white one that is cool and scratchy and when she opened her eyes, the first thing she saw was a big window with no curtains. Her room has curtains so she can’t be in her own bed. The noise, as well - lots of scraping and banging and buzzers and bells going off in the distance. The sound of feet shuffling and people talking. It makes her head ache and her stomach go into an uncomfortable, painful shape.
Maude looks up at the many faces looming over her, staring at something on the top of her head. A man reaches out and traces his fingers over the top of her skull. Usually she would react, shriek, try to back away from his touch but she is sapped of all energy, her body a lead weight. She hears their words but none of it means anything to her. All gibberish. A stream of incomprehensible sounds. She can see Brenda amongst them and that makes her feel better. She’s a nice lassie, that Brenda is. Always smiling. Always quick to cuddle and say lovely things to her when she gets angry or scared.
‘… would recommend a home …’
‘… her needs too great …’
‘… very frail …’