Little Girls Tell Tales

by Rachel Bennett

  ‘Went with the police,’ Cora said. ‘They wanted him to give a statement. He phoned me to let me know he was going, so I figured I should come back and wait with the car. Keep an eye on it, y’know?’

  That explained the scowl on her face. She was annoyed at curtailing her search that afternoon. ‘How did it go with the police?’ I asked.

  ‘Pretty much how you’d expect.’ Cora tucked the jack under the car. Jiggled it around to make sure it wouldn’t damage anything when she lifted. ‘They took photographs and looked for fingerprints but didn’t find anything.’

  I hadn’t thought about fingerprints. Now I was looking, I could see a powdery residue covering both tyres. ‘They had a fingerprint kit with them?’

  ‘Officer Bony-butt was a forensics … person. You know what I mean. They had the kit with them yesterday for something or other, and it was still in the car.’

  From the glimpse I’d got of the two police officers, I guessed she was referring to the passenger, who had indeed been bonier than the driver. ‘Fortunate.’

  ‘Not really, given they couldn’t get a single print off either tyre.’ Cora expanded the jack so it was tight against the undercarriage of the car. ‘But at least it means we don’t have to leave the car like this until a tow truck can get here tomorrow. The police said it’s fine for us to take the tyres off.’ She sat back on her heels. ‘You know how to change a tyre?’

  ‘In principle, sure. In practice? Not so much.’

  ‘Pity. I’ve got this far, but once the car goes up off the ground, that’s a bit spicy for me.’ Cora shrugged. ‘Well, I’m sure it’s not that awful. People do this every day, don’t they?’

  It took less time but more effort than we expected. Also a certain amount of swearing. We got the rear tyre off and replaced it with the spare from the boot. Then we tackled the front tyre. Once that was done, we dumped the two wrecked tyres in the boot of my car.

  ‘I don’t think you even needed my help,’ I said. My arms tingled from the effort of lifting the tyres. ‘You’ve obviously done this before.’

  ‘My uncle ran a garage for a while.’ Cora wiped her hands on the back of her jeans. ‘I say my uncle, but he was just this guy who was dating my aunt for a while. And I don’t think he ran the garage, he just owned a share in the business and liked the idea of wearing overalls and tinkering with cars. When I was very young I got it into my head that I wanted to be a mechanic, so I would hang out there sometimes during the school holidays. A very appropriate place for an eight-year-old, don’t you think? Anyway, there was this huge family spat – not about me, about the way my “uncle” was treating my aunt – and we all stopped talking to one another, so that was pretty much the end of it. He wound up selling the business and moving away.’ She scratched her ear. ‘But I still remember the basics of looking after a car. Which is fortunate, otherwise I never would’ve kept Priscilla running for this long.’

  ‘Your car’s name is Priscilla?’

  ‘Queen of Desserts, because she’s too slow and heavy to get up hills. If there’s a hill, you have to take a run up, or unload some passengers.’ Cora laid an affectionate hand on the bonnet. ‘She’s a grand old lady, though. Can’t believe someone would cut her tyres.’

  I was still struggling with the idea myself. ‘What did the police say?’

  ‘Ah, they never commit to anything, do they? They asked a few questions about whether I had any ill-wishers who might’ve done this. Jilted lovers, angry ex-husbands, that sort of thing.’

  ‘I take it you don’t.’

  ‘Hey, don’t say it like that. I might have jilted some lovers in my time.’

  I laughed. It was weird, how quickly a mood could change. An hour ago, Cora had looked ready to do a murder, but now she was smiling and joking as she looked at her car. Priscilla – if that really was its name – was still raised up on the jack with its front wheel missing.

  ‘It’ll be alright like that for a wee bit,’ Cora said, following my gaze. ‘Are you still okay to drive into town and get the tyres replaced? If they can do that, we can get the new one put on straight away and drive home.’

  ‘Home?’ For a moment, I thought she meant England.

  Cora laughed. ‘To the campsite. Our home under canvas.’

  I smiled. ‘How come you opted to camp instead of a hotel?’

  ‘Force of habit, mostly. I like campsites. They don’t care if you trample in at midnight with mud on your shoes. Plus, y’know, it’s cheap. I have to keep the costs of these excursions down as much as I can.’ Her lips twisted. ‘However. If I’d known how much complaining your blessed brother was planning to do, I might’ve gone for a hotel after all.’

  ‘Dallin doesn’t like sleeping on the ground, right?’ It wasn’t a surprise. Dallin liked his home comforts, like Nicole.

  ‘To be fair, not many people do. It’s an acquired taste. And, honestly, I don’t think he’s really done it before. A few nights roughing it in a pop-up tent at festivals, perhaps, which is barely the same thing.’ Cora brushed strands of hair back from her face. Her fingers left grimy marks at her temples. ‘He hasn’t said anything. But you can tell he’s not enjoying the experience.’ She laughed then. ‘And, of course, there’s the issue of the tents.’

  ‘What issue?’

  Cora tilted her head. ‘When Dallin decided to accompany me, I don’t think he envisioned us bringing two tents. I think he was expecting it just to be him and me. Snuggled up in a two-person tent.’

  My cheeks reddened. ‘And you … weren’t on board with that?’

  ‘What do you think?’

  I avoided her gaze, instead studying my hands. There was grime under my nails as well. ‘I’ve no idea,’ I mumbled.

  Cora laughed. ‘I’ve got many character flaws, but sharing accommodation with random people I’ve met on the internet isn’t one of them. Besides, no offence to your brother, but he’s not exactly my type.’

  ‘What—?’ I bit my tongue before I could ask. That was what living on my own had done to me – I’d lost the knack of interacting normally with people.

  ‘Anyway.’ Cora shut the boot of my car and gave it a bounce to make sure the lock had engaged. ‘Are you sure you’re okay to get these tyres replaced?’

  ‘It shouldn’t be too difficult.’ I hesitated. ‘Are you coming with me, or …?’

  Cora looked torn. ‘I hate dumping it on you. But I really ought to stay with my car. In case – well, in case anyone tries to damage it again. I don’t feel happy leaving it like this out on the road.’

  It was a fair enough concern. ‘I can sort out the tyres,’ I said. ‘It shouldn’t be too much of a trial. Touch wood.’ There wasn’t anything wooden nearby to touch, so I put my fingers against my forehead. Another little joke that always reminded me of Beth. Was there anything in the world that didn’t?

  Cora waved me off as I drove away up the road for what felt like the fifteenth time that weekend.

  Chapter 15

  Ramsey was busier than usual. Or possibly this was how the place always looked on a Saturday afternoon. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d broken from my routine and come here anytime other than a Sunday.

  I drove through the one-way system to reach the garage on the quayside. It wasn’t my usual garage – once a year I would drive into Douglas to get the car serviced by the same mechanic I’d been going to since I first learned to drive – but I’d driven past it a hundred times and, according to the signage out front, it was open on weekends and could change tyres while you waited.

  What took the most time was explaining to the young mechanic in the blue overalls what’d happened. Two slashed tyres from the same car obviously wasn’t a common problem. He hefted the first tyre with a lot less effort than it’d taken me and Cora, and said he’d have them replaced in forty minutes.

  I used the time to go to Shoprite for my shopping. I picked up a few extra bits I thought Cora might like. Our plans for lunch were scuppered, but maybe I could
invite her for dinner instead. I turned the idea over in my mind. It held the usual edge of anxiety – inviting people? To my house? To the shared space where for a brief, wonderful time it’d just been me and Beth? I tried to look at those anxieties objectively. Could I get past them?

  For the moment, I kept it purely hypothetical. Nothing could hurt me if it was only hypothetical. Even so, it didn’t terrify me like it would’ve done a week ago.

  Besides, analysing those feelings meant I wasn’t constantly thinking about who might’ve slashed Cora’s tyres. And why.

  I grabbed a jar of coffee and some teabags. The idea of having stimulants in my house sat worse with me than the idea of having people there. For over a year, I’d taken care not to stock anything in my kitchen that might alter my mood. No coffee, no caffeinated drinks, definitely no alcohol. I wasn’t certain about tea but I’d cut it out anyway. By now, it probably wasn’t a risk. The tablets I’d been prescribed since shortly after Beth died had stabilised me enough that I probably didn’t need to worry about anything unbalancing me. But still. I’d spent so long in thrall to my moods. I didn’t want anything to disrupt them. A cup of tea certainly wasn’t worth the risk of a relapse.

  But, if I was going to have guests in my house, I would need normal drinks, not just herbal tea and leaves from my garden. I put the coffee in my trolley. If no one drank it, I would donate it to the local bookshop to help caffeinate their monthly book group.

  I also grabbed a packet of pink wafer biscuits. They used to be Dallin’s favourite. I was still angry at him for more reasons than could be catalogued, but not angry enough to withhold biscuits.

  By the time I got back out to my car, I felt less anxious. I was still way out of my routine, but, if I didn’t focus on it, I could keep going. Only once did I remember I should still be upset about Cora’s tyres. I caught myself and thought about something else. Was that selfish? I knew how quickly I could slide into panic and distress. Sometimes, I had to think of my own sanity first.

  Back at the garage, the mechanics loaded the tyres into the boot of my car. ‘Hell of a thing,’ one of them – a different, older guy, who nonetheless looked enough like the first mechanic that I had to wonder if they were related. ‘Two tyres, cut up like that? Did someone do that deliberately?’

  ‘I’ve no idea.’ I kept my eyes averted. ‘It was my friend’s car. She just asked me to bring them here.’

  ‘Well, I hope she’s planning to pay you back.’ The man grinned.

  I hadn’t thought whether Cora would reimburse me. She hadn’t said anything, but obviously she would, wouldn’t she? I didn’t want to be a hundred and twenty pounds out of pocket. I made sure to keep the receipt.

  I dropped the bags of shopping off at my house. While I was there, I put tinfoil over the baked potatoes and toppings, stuffed them in the fridge for later, then put the cut flowers from the garden into water. I switched on the kettle and rummaged in the cupboard until I found the thermos flask we used to use for picnics. Cora would appreciate a hot drink.

  As I poured coffee into the flask, my eyes fell on the wash basket next to the door. I hadn’t started the washing machine that morning like I usually did. Alternate Saturdays were towels and the throws from the sofa.

  Leading on from that thought was the fact I hadn’t tidied the front room like usual.

  Tension knotted inside me.

  I made myself pick up the flask of coffee and leave. If I started on any of the necessary jobs, I would stay there all day, finding one thing then another to occupy my time.

  When I got back to the curraghs, there was no sign of Cora. The likelihood was she’d got bored of waiting. I should’ve texted her to let her know how long I would be.

  I took out my phone and dialled Cora’s number. The call failed to connect, which didn’t greatly surprise me. Reception was spotty out there.

  I walked around Cora’s car, which was still propped up on the jack. The doors were locked. The passenger doors at least. When I tried the boot, on impulse, it popped right open. Cora must’ve forgotten to lock it after we got the spare tyre out. Probably she’d been too angry and worked up to think about it.

  At the back of the boot, I found the tyre iron, tucked away out of obvious sight.

  For a few minutes I stood waiting. The trees murmured in the breeze. Clouds had rolled in to cover the sun. Although the day had started out nice it looked suspiciously like it planned to rain at any moment.

  I went back to my car and, with a certain amount of difficulty, manhandled one of the new tyres out of the boot. Once it was on the ground I could roll it to Cora’s car. The process only took a couple of minutes but left me winded. I paused to rest against the car.

  It’d taken both me and Cora to change the other tyre. But that had involved taking the old one off first. Putting the new one on had been less strenuous.

  I waited another few minutes in case Cora showed up. Then I took off my jacket and got to work.

  It turned out that me on my own was a lot less than fifty per cent as efficient as Cora. I struggled just to lift the tyre into place. And once it was there, I struggled more to hold it steady.

  This is a terrible idea. You’ll never manage. And even if you do, it’ll be wrong, and Cora will have to take it off and do it properly.

  But I persevered. I put the nuts on one at a time, like Cora had shown me, then tightened them with the tyre iron. The metal was cold against my palms.

  It bothered me that Cora wasn’t here. Her backpack was gone as well, so she’d probably gone to search another segment of the curraghs. But the sensible thing for her to do – the thing we’d agreed on – was to wait right here for me to get back with the tyres. It irked me that she’d wandered off instead.

  Unless she didn’t wander off.

  The thought came into my head then refused to budge.

  Someone damaged her car. Then you left her here. On her own.

  I tried to scoff at the idea. If there was someone lurking around in the curraghs intending harm, Cora was way more qualified to deal with them than me. If anything, I would’ve gotten in the way, or made things worse. I shouldn’t be anxious. Cora could take care of herself. Flakes of rust from the tyre iron dug into my fingers. I wished I’d worn my gloves.

  Although I put in as much effort as I could, I was certain the nuts weren’t tight enough. But they were the best I could do. When Cora returned she could check. We would probably have to drive – slowly, carefully – to the garage on in Ramsey and get them to tighten the nuts with their electric doodah.

  I straightened up and went to lean nonchalantly against the front of the car. It appealed to me, the idea of Cora stepping out of the forest to find me here, with the newly repaired car. I stood there for about five minutes. My fingers drummed a beat against the cool metal of the car bonnet. At last, I gave up on being nonchalant, and instead fished out my phone. Cora still didn’t answer when I called. I sent her a quick text. Just to let her know I was here.

  I tried not to worry about why she wasn’t replying.

  I went back around to the back of her car and opened the boot again. If I climbed up to kneel in the boot, and leaned through to the passenger compartment, I could just reach the door release of the rear door. The soft clunk as it sprung open gave me a nice sense of satisfaction. I had changed a tyre by myself, I had interacted with a bunch of strangers at the garage, and now I had successfully unlocked a door. It might not have seemed like much. But for me, who for the last year had stuck so tightly to a routine that it threatened to choke me, it was most definitely progress.

  The real reason I’d gone to the effort of opening the door was because I’d spotted Cora’s book about the curraghs lying on the seat. It intrigued me because, although I had a vague knowledge of most books about the island, I didn’t know this one. That wasn’t bragging. There were a finite number of books about the island. The popular ones tended to pop up frequently on the shelves of the bookshops and libraries over here. But
this one, on the backseat of Cora’s car, I’d never seen before.

  The cover was distinctive, showing view over the hills from Ramsey looking south, with a tangle of gorse bushes in the foreground. Its title was Tramping an Island, which made me smile. When I cracked it open, it was clear it was an American book – or at least pitched to an American audience – which explained why I hadn’t seen it before. I sat down on the back seat and flicked through the book.

  I found a chapter detailing the curraghs. The accompanying photos were pleasingly familiar. There was always a particular delight in opening a random book and finding pictures I recognised. I got a little thrill as I found one picture taken from the fields behind my house. At the very edge of the picture was my own house in the 1920s. What little I could see of it seemed the same – the sweep of the roof, the big windows, the stepped slope of the garden. The only major difference was a tree in the southeast corner of the garden. It looked like a big oak, although it was difficult to tell from the grainy photograph. The tree must’ve been chopped down before I was born. I wracked my brains but couldn’t think where exactly it would’ve stood. Even the stump must’ve been removed.

  A rap at the window made me almost jump out of my skin. I dropped the book into my lap and looked up to see Cora smiling in at me.

  ‘Making yourself at home?’ she asked when I opened the door.

  ‘You left the door open,’ I said. I got out of the car, embarrassed to be caught looking at her property. ‘Where’d you go?’

  ‘I went to search some of the area nearest the main track. It has to be done at some point, and I figured I’d be close enough to hear if anyone came back to the car.’ Cora pursed her lips. ‘I wandered a bit further than I meant to.’

  ‘It’s okay. I’ve been here.’

  ‘So I see.’ Cora looked at the tyre. ‘Who put this one on?’

  My cheeks flushed. ‘Me. So, I mean, you might want to check it won’t fall off halfway down the road.’

  Cora squeezed my shoulder. ‘It looks great. Thank you.’