‘Dallin,’ I said, then had to stop before I said something too harsh. ‘I’ve not done much to the house,’ I said instead. ‘We repainted the bedrooms and put in a new bathroom suite, but that’s it.’
‘Is Mum okay with you doing that?’
This time I didn’t try to hide my exasperation. ‘This is a really weird time for you to take an interest in our interior decoration skills. If it bothers you so much, you could’ve said something earlier. I’m sure Mum would’ve let you use the house instead of us, if you’d wanted to.’
Dallin looked away. ‘Yeah, well. I had no idea she was even planning to move out. I didn’t find out until after the fact.’
‘And who’s fault is that? What did you expect us to do, sit around on our hands waiting for you to come home before we made any decisions about our lives?’ I turned to go back into the kitchen, then remembered I had additional things to be mad at him about. ‘You set up that website.’
‘What?’ He blinked at the abrupt change of topic.
‘The website. The forum, where you met Cora.’
Dallin held up his hands defensively. ‘I never set up the forum.’
‘But you wrote the page that talked about the curraghs, didn’t you?’
‘How did you—?’
‘I might be a technophobe but it doesn’t mean I’m dumb. You used your own email address to register on the forum. It’s right there on your profile page. Username “Daytripper”. That’s you, isn’t it?’
In honesty, I never would’ve put the pieces together if Cora hadn’t told me. I’d gone onto the forum when I’d got home, looking for confirmation, and it’d taken me an embarrassingly long time to find the author of the page about the curraghs. And then a while longer to access his profile, because that involved me having to make my own profile for the stupid forum. But, eventually, I’d confirmed what Cora had already told me – someone by the name of Daytripper, using an email even I recognised as Dallin’s, was the author of the page detailing my story.
Dallin scrunched up his face in annoyance. But he didn’t deny it.
‘So—’ I held out my hands like he might drop a good explanation into them. ‘Why? Why on earth would you put all that personal stuff on the internet?’
‘It was all anonymised. There were no personal details.’
‘Are you kidding? Every single bit of it was personal.’ I lowered my voice so Cora in the kitchen wouldn’t hear me. ‘It was my personal story. And you put it on some scuzzy website for all the world to see.’
‘Okay, first of all, it’s not a scuzzy website, it’s a perfectly legitimate forum. I’ve been posting there for years. I’ve met some of my best friends there. And, second of all—’ He kept talking when I tried to interrupt. ‘Second of all. Since when was it private? For the last fifteen years you’ve told it to anyone who’d listen. For all I knew you’d already put it online. Beth certainly blogged about everything else that crossed her mind. Your whole life was online, thanks to her.’
I flinched at Beth’s name. ‘She didn’t— It wasn’t—’ But I couldn’t refute it, could I? Beth had blogged about everything. It’d started as critiques of TV shows then expanded outwards. Her life, my life, our marriage, our house. Her illness. The last post she’d ever done, the morning of the day she’d died, was four lines, which was as much as she’d been able to write before she’d been exhausted. She’d never kept anything back.
But, on the other hand, I’d always read every single word she’d written before it was posted. On the very few occasions when I’d felt uncomfortable with something she intended to put on her blog, she deleted it. One time that’d happened, it’d been to do with Mum, something minor that I nevertheless didn’t want the entire world to know.
The other time had been about the skeleton I’d found in the curraghs. She’d typed up the story but when I read it, she knew, without me having to say, this was the one thing I didn’t want to see written down in black and white.
Dallin was right. The feeling was irrational. How was a webpage any different from me telling the story to people in the pub? But still, I couldn’t shake the feeling. I didn’t like the fact that Dallin had taken my story and put it online in his own words. Was I too sensitive?
‘It was never meant to upset you,’ Dallin said. His voice was sympathetic now. ‘Honestly, I just wrote it up because … well, someone was talking about unsolved mysteries around the country, and I mentioned the curraghs because, y’know, it’s the only one I’ve heard first-hand. They said I should write it up. Other people would be interested, they said. So I did. It was just a bit of fun. I tried to keep it exactly like you told it. It’s not like I exaggerated the details to make myself sound better.’
That was true. I hadn’t fully read the webpage this afternoon but it hadn’t sounded sensationalised. If anything, from my skimming, it read as a fairly dull summary of the facts.
‘People really connected with it,’ he said. ‘I’ve got a lot of emails. Not just the randos who comment on every forum post. It struck a chord with people. But it was never meant to be anything more than that. Honestly, I didn’t think anyone would read it.’ He gave a self-deprecating chuckle. ‘But, you’re right, I should’ve run it past you first. It wasn’t my story to tell.’ He quirked a smile. ‘This probably doesn’t make it any better, but I genuinely thought you’d never find out. Unless you specifically Googled your own story, I suppose, there was never much chance of you stumbling across that forum.’ He did that half-laugh again. ‘If you stop and think about it, if Cora hadn’t contacted me, none of this would’ve ever come to your attention. How could I predict that?’
I noticed he wasn’t apologising. But then, I wasn’t sure if I would accept an apology for this, not when he had so much else to apologise for first.
‘To be honest,’ Dallin said then, ‘I probably should’ve gone with my first thought when Cora messaged me.’
‘Why? What was your first thought?’
Dallin did a shoulder-check, then leaned forwards to whisper, ‘I thought she was crazy. Obviously.’ His expression was serious now. ‘I’m still half convinced she is crazy.’
Chapter 21
I woke the following morning with an ache behind my eyes. I couldn’t even blame a hangover, because I stuck to water all night, despite Cora’s best efforts.
‘Don’t you even want a fizzy drink or something?’ she asked. Her bag had been stuffed with cans of caffeinated, over-sugared, alarmingly-coloured beverages. ‘I’ve plenty to share.’
I’d stuck to my guns. But that hadn’t made me feel better. All I’d been thinking of was the other dinner parties we’d hosted in this kitchen. The times when Beth and I had cooked, each making our personal favourite dishes, both laughing and sniping as we invaded each other’s spaces and stole vital utensils and ingredients from the other. By the time our guests arrived, we’d usually made decent headway on the drinks, and were giddy and over-excited by the prospect of food and friends.
Did I miss those days? In some ways, yes, of course I did. I would’ve given anything to step back into one of those evenings, with Beth at my side, if only for a few hours. But did I want to do them again? That was a more difficult question. Those sociable evenings, full of food and cocktails and friends, felt so long ago they might’ve happened to another person.
I got up, went downstairs, and put the kettle on. Despite my persistent headache, I was still in that pleasant, half-awake state where the outside world didn’t impact on me much. I could pretend that this Sunday morning was no different to a dozen other days I’d spent alone.
There was an empty beer bottle on the kitchen table. Before he’d left last night, Dallin had put the rest in the recycling, but he’d left the last one, like a prize for me to find. I flinched at this obvious reminder of people being in our house.
That was the source of my headache, I realised. Not an alcohol or sugar hangover, but a social hangover, caused by interacting with other people. My brai
n was cringing from the memory of what I might or might not have said.
Last night, Dallin had tried his best to keep the conversation away from difficult topics, but inevitably we ended up talking about Simone. Cora filled us in on more details about her extensive family. I kept getting confused with who was related to who, until eventually Cora dug out a folder from her backpack and unfolded a large sheet of paper across the kitchen table.
‘I knew I’d brought this,’ she said. ‘This is the closest any of my family’s managed to making a proper family tree.’
Cora’s family took up the whole sheet. She smoothed the paper flat with both hands.
In the centre of the page was Simone’s name. It was surrounded by a box, drawn in black ink, so it immediately caught the eye. Most people would’ve put themselves at the centre, then drawn their family radiating out from there. But Cora’s name was off to the side, almost like an afterthought. It was clear, in everything, she was overshadowed by her sister.
‘What’s with the lines?’ I asked. Almost every name on the page was underlined in different coloured inks. Some were red, others blue, a very few in green. Some had multiple red lines underneath them.
‘They show who’s talking to one another,’ Cora said with a laugh. ‘It started as a joke, so I could keep track of which aunts I should be stonewalling, but it’s become a handy visual guide.’ She put her finger on her parents’ names, both of which had blue lines underneath. ‘My parents are talking to everyone who’s underlined in blue. They’re not talking to anyone who’s underlined in red. They’re really not talking to anyone with more than one red line.’ She took a sip of her beer. ‘The ones in green aren’t speaking to each other, but we haven’t taken sides in the argument, so we’re okay to talk to either one, if we want to.’ She shrugged. ‘Families are complicated.’
I avoided looking at Dallin. ‘It’s a wonder you can keep this straight in your head.’
‘I can’t. That’s why I drew a chart.’
I put my finger on one of the names. Florence. She had several alternating red and blue lines underneath her name. ‘What’s going on here?’
‘That’s my Aunt Florrie. She’s my—’ She peered at the chart as if to remind herself of her own family. ‘My dad’s step-sister. We weren’t speaking to her for years. I can’t remember why. Then we patched things up and everyone was friends for a while, until she and my dad fell out again. That’s kinda repeated itself for the last few years. Hence all the lines. I really should come up with a different colour-scheme, just for her.’
‘What do they argue about?’
‘Literally anything. Aunt Florrie has terrible luck with boyfriends. Every single one of them has been an awful decision. I told you about that one guy, who she dated for a couple of years? Ran a garage and thought he looked spiffing in blue coveralls?’
‘The one Simone was—?’
‘That’s the one.’ Cora’s expression twisted at the memory. ‘Florrie insisted he wanted to marry her but – get this – he was already married, with no intention of leaving his wife, so she changed her surname by deed poll to match his, and literally pretended they were married.’ Cora shook her head. ‘Sometimes, looking at her, I can see where Simone got it from. Aunt Florrie is a series of disasters poured into a Chanel suit. She infuriates my dad something chronic.’
‘Family gatherings must be fun,’ Dallin observed.
‘Fun is not the correct word.’ Cora ran her finger over the names at the periphery of the family tree. ‘Did I ever tell you about how my cousin Benji got barred from KFC for indecent exposure?’
For the next half hour, Cora told us the various ridiculous things her families had done. Dallin retaliated with some horror stories from his time in Barcelona. It was like they were trying to outdo each other. I smiled at the correct times and wished I had some funny stories about my own family I could share.
Eventually, Dallin succeeded in changing the subject, and Cora folded away her family map.
Now, I left Dallin’s beer bottle on the tabletop and instead took my cup of tea out into the garden.
Instead of drinking my tea on the back doorstep, like usual, I wandered down into the garden. It was early and the sun was barely risen. I shivered in my dressing gown. The grass was wet and cold beneath my feet.
I walked across the lawn to the southeast corner of the garden. I was vaguely thinking about the photo I’d seen in Cora’s book, of the tree that’d once stood there. I was interested to see if there was any sign of where it’d stood.
Right in the corner was a spill of ivy that’d grown over the back wall and tangled into a huge matted clump. It’d been a while since I’d come down to this shady corner. Mostly it was given over to whatever wildflowers could find a foothold. During the spring, there were clumps of snowdrops, daffodils and bluebells, one after the other, which pushed up through the tangle. But I hadn’t realised how much the ivy had taken over. I wondered if I should get the shears out.
I set my cup of tea down on a flat stone at the edge of the lawn. With both hands, I started to pull aside the thick tendrils of ivy. They resisted my best efforts. Over the years, the ivy had put down roots into the soft ground, the space between the stones of the wall, and anywhere else that gave them an inch-hold. I ended up ripping up big handfuls of it. Well, it would undoubtedly grow back. I flung the torn strands over the back wall.
It occurred to me there might be nothing left of the tree. If it’d been pulled down, the roots dug up, there could be nothing for me to find. I gave up on the ivy and started shoving aside ferns and bindweed.
Eventually, underneath the ivy and bindweed, I found the tree stump.
It was no surprise I’d never noticed it before. Even now, when I’d known it was there, it still took me a solid ten minutes to find.
I pulled the strands of bindweed away. It felt like uncovering history. I felt a small frisson inside me. I’d lived in this house for years, yet it could still surprise me.
The base of the tree stump was blackened with rot. No, not rot. As I pulled away the obstructing vines, I realised the stump had been scorched with soot. It looked a lot like someone had started a fire that burned the bark on one side.
I wondered if Dallin or Mum remembered the tree, or what had happened to it. I made a mental note to ask next time I spoke to either of them.
In the meantime, I picked up my cup of tea and went back into the house.
Cora and Dallin were spending the day searching the curraghs. I’d agreed to meet them at lunchtime to bring food and get updates. It was probably quite telling that I assumed they’d have nothing to report.
For the duration of the morning, I made myself think about anything other than Cora. I spent my time dusting and hoovering the sitting room. It was nice to get back into my rhythm. The sitting room often took an entire day to tidy, since I had to dust under or around every single one of Beth’s ridiculous ornaments. Once I got past the trauma of opening the curtains, I could bring my dust-cloths into the room, break out the beeswax, and get to work.
At midday, when I came to the natural halt where I would normally make my third cup of tea, I picked up my mobile phone and found a message from Cora. It was embarrassing how a few simple words from her could make me smile. I hunched my shoulders, still hiding the message from prying eyes.
Want to talk to neighbours again today? My turn to buy lunch.
I read the message three times. Was I reading something into it that wasn’t there? Cora wanted to see me. Wanted to buy me lunch. That was pretty clear. Wasn’t it? I wished I wasn’t so out of touch. The last person I’d flirted with was Beth. And, to be honest, she’d done all the flirting. I’d just been swept along in its wake.
Sounds great, I typed, then dithered about whether I should put a kiss at the end. No, better hadn’t. I went for a smiley face instead. Smiley faces were neutral.
I hurried upstairs to get ready.
Chapter 22
When Cora arriv
ed, she was driving Priscilla.
‘I’ve checked the wheels aren’t going to fall off,’ she said as she leaned out of the driver’s side window. ‘How strict are the laws over here? Will I get pulled over for not having all my wheels?’
I laughed and got in the passenger side. ‘That depends on a lot of things,’ I said as I settled into my seat. ‘Like if anyone’s watching. How’s Dallin?’
‘Unhappy. He didn’t drink much, but you can tell he’d rather have stayed curled up in bed than stomp around in a bog this morning. He still isn’t sleeping well, I think. The hard ground disagrees with him.’
‘What about you?’ I snuck a glance at her. She looked pale, with shadows under her eyes.
‘Me?’ She sounded surprised at my concern. ‘I’m fine. I don’t sleep much anyway. Thank you for dinner last night, by the way.’
‘No problem. Thank you for coming over.’ And like that, I ran out of conversation. I stared at my hands, then up at the clouds. Should I comment on the weather? Or maybe give her a compliment – tell her I liked her hat, or her jumper, or—
I closed my eyes in annoyance. Why was I so bad at talking to people? How did everyone else in the world manage small talk?
Fortunately, the drive to Nicole’s house only took a matter of minutes, so there wasn’t time for the silence to become awkward. I got out of the car and stretched my back. The front door of Nicole’s house was open, and we could hear a radio playing from somewhere inside.
‘Looks like they’re in,’ Cora said. ‘Thank goodness. I was beginning to think we’d have to stake out their house to find them.’
I laughed. ‘While I was waiting for you to pick me up, I gave Nicole a call to check she was in.’
‘See, I should put you in charge of planning everything.’
Together we went up and knocked on the open door. ‘Hello?’ I called. ‘Nicole?’
‘In the kitchen,’ her cheery voice called back. ‘Come on through. Leave the door open, will you please? One of the farm cats has gone to sleep on my bed and I don’t want them getting locked in the house.’
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