by Caro Ramsay
Mum and Ivan are having a chat in the front room with a vodka and tonic, the way folk do when they live miles from anywhere. The curtains are open and all the lights are on – they are like a couple of monkeys in the zoo.
Or a couple of fish in a barrel.
I know exactly what my mum is doing. Ivan Melvick is ripe and vulnerable. Mum has clocked the misplaced necklace. It hasn’t dawned on Megan that Heather doesn’t drink Grey Goose, my mum does.
Mum has that thing that men like. A kind of sex appeal, a charm, something like that. She likes men, God knows she has had enough of them, most of the time they were either complete tossers or they were someone else’s. She always believed that they would leave their wives and their kids for an uneducated deadbeat like her and, from the width of her smile, she was about to go back down that lane again.
I wonder what Ivan Melvick was making of all this.
Then I saw the look on his face, that same look he used whenever he saw me. Ivan Melvick was a man for whom doing the right thing was lodged deep in his genetic make-up even when he didn’t like it.
Ivan hadn’t seen me as anything other than an inconvenient playmate for his deaf daughter. He only did that because he employed my dad. Now my mother was wandering around the house dusting and removing the keys to his gun cupboard.
But this was not our world, we could walk through it, see it, hear it and taste it in little doses but we would never be allowed to stay there – it was not ours to inhabit.
Ivan had inadvertently invited me into his family, and he had very quickly regretted it.
We could not be both inside and outside, we can never be in two places at the one time. But I think I know exactly how two people can be in the same place at the same time. In fact two people can be, they can inhabit the same place in the same time exactly.
I know that now.
Megan
The evening meal had been a torment for us all. As agreed, Debs had brought in a caterer as she doesn’t really do big posh food, it took me back to the way things used to be here when we had dinner parties and the Melvicks all dressed for dinner in old Agatha’s time. I guess that was the way of things in those days but it seems so odd in this world to spend all night eating, talking and drinking in your own house when you could be doing something useful like reading a book.
Heather was there, of course, either balancing the numbers or practising getting her feet under the table. She could be relied upon to be the hostess and do the right thing. Dad was his usual self, Jago was there with his older brother and his wife; she was a stressed ball of neurosis, maybe all the Harrington men were attracted to neurotic women. Jago looked a little sad and obviously more than a little uncomfortable when I appeared, awkward in conversation, silences that went on too long, missing the social cue of pleasant conversations. I was used to it, it happened to deaf people all the time. But I felt Jago looking at me across the table, leaving his eye on me as he caressed the stem of his wine glass over the chicken and haggis medallions, the conversation moved on, the odd laugh, the small chat about absent friends, mutual acquaintances. Melissa was largely absent from the conversation, but his eyes stayed with me as the talk rolled on to another topic. His parents were there also, his dad was cut from the same stuff as my dad, and I think they even had friends in common.
Jago did broach the elephant in the room by asking if anyone had heard from Beth yet.
There was a jagged silence, the chink of silver tapping china.
‘Not yet,’ I said, as cheerfully as I could.
‘She’ll be back if she can. I mean, she might not want to until it can be a private family affair. She will want to say her own goodbye.’ Jago’s mum, Dorothy, patted the back of my hand with hers. I think she even cast a quick glare at her husband. I liked Dorothy, she was a rather dumpy little cheerful woman who always made a point of talking to me, and she seemed genuinely interested in what I was doing. She talked about my deafness and the visual system I used at work. She nodded and said what great leaps technology had made. Then she said, as she often did, that as she had no daughter of her own, could she borrow me for a while. She had said that at Melissa’s wedding, to which I heard my sister say, There’s no point in talking to her, she can’t hear you.
‘Oh, the deaf are very intuitive,’ said Jago’s mum, smiling and fiddling with her pearls, I think she had taken me by the arm and marched me off to look at the ponies. I guess she was more like my mum, and she loved Dad’s Munnings; joking about sticking it under her arm and running off with it when nobody was looking.
Carla
It was weird to see Jago again, I think he had lost weight, matured since I had last seen him. He used to be like the fat boy in the class that you had to speak to because he had money and his dad had a nice car. Jago was never one of the cool kids, rubbish at sport so not really part of the gang yet somehow you always knew that he would grow up and get on, leaving us all behind in his wake. Stuck here in our little village while he visited the capital cities of the world, doing deals in his handmade shoes, such was the way of the Melvicks and the ridiculous double-barrelled Harrington bullshit.
And here he was returned to the big house, and technically he was fair game as his wife – ex-wife, estranged wife – was lying dead over in Dunoon.
And men don’t change, they like the taste of young flesh.
It was easy to do, the Italian House was an absolute paradise for sneaking around, the outside veranda ran the full length of the building outside all the bedrooms with their French windows, and some of them didn’t open now. The balcony at the far end had been declared unfit and crumbling, but he was in there, my prize.
It took me a long time to prepare, a long hot bath, I poured in some oils, brushed my dark hair, beautiful make-up, deep red lips like he liked on Melissa. It was easy to go into Melissa’s room, her clothes were still there, her nightwear piled up, washed and ready for someone to decide what was going to be done with it. A quick ruffle through, a silky navy number, setting against my pale skin.
I climbed onto the veranda, Melissa’s housecoat pulled over me, dark air piled on top of my head. The door to the bedroom was locked, as they always were, but the window was open, as always in the hot weather, but I stood there looking right at him.
He was sleeping, eyes closed, bare chested, his head slightly back so that the arteries and veins of his neck were visible. His ribcage was easy to see through the thin sheet which covered his body. Jago. The object of our foolish teenage desires, that crush we had on him because he was unattainable, unobtainable and yet here he was naked and as vulnerable as a baby.
He turned over, maybe aware of my presence, my observation of him, he stirred slightly, and his hand outstretched towards the window, towards me …
‘Melissa?’
THIRTEEN
Thursday
Megan
I was still half asleep, drowsy, dreamy. It was warm, the house had not woken up yet. I sensed rattling in the hall outside my door, then the handle was jammed down and the door burst open. Jago stormed in, furious, but then closed the door behind him gently. He turned to me, his face red and incensed. He was dressed in jeans, unzipped, a white T-shirt flung on. He was unshaven, red-eyed as he strode over to the bedside, and pointed at my hearing aids and then at his ears so I heard him when he said, ‘So you get this, you sad little bitch.’
‘I’m sorry?’ I said, pulling the duvet round me.
He sat on the side of the bed, leaning over me, spitting saliva into my face as he spoke.
‘What the fuck do you think you are doing, how dare you?’
‘Jago, I have no idea what …’
‘And don’t give us that shite, you take a long hard look at yourself, right! You are one diseased, evil, little whore.’
‘I have no idea what you are talking about. Get out!’
His voice went very quiet, his finger was right in my face. ‘You were at my window.’
‘In your dreams. Ge
t out of my room right now.’
He grabbed my arm and pulled me out of bed, over to the dressing table and the mirror. He yanked out the stool and sat me down on it, spinning me around so I caught sight of the woman who looked back at me. Red lipstick drawn across her face, smudged down onto her chin, panda eyed.
‘Do you see? Do you see that?’
‘Oh my God. Oh my dear God … Jago, I have no idea.’
He grabbed hold of the sides of my head, forcing my face into the mirror. ‘You are not Melissa, do you understand? You are nothing compared to her, standing there, pretending that you were …’
‘Jago, no, no.’ I was horrified. ‘Jago, no!’ And then the tears started to come. ‘I didn’t, Jago, I have no idea. I went to sleep …’ I looked back into that face, the face that wasn’t mine. I never wore lipstick like that. I never wore my hair like that … the way Melissa did. ‘Oh my God. God! Jago? I never.’
‘Look.’ He stood behind me, grabbing the side of my head and forcing me to look straight in the mirror, confronting this version of myself. ‘Look, who is that? Who are you? If you think you can be Melissa, fill her shoes, then you have another thought coming, young lady. You are nothing. You should be ashamed of yourself.’
I tried to open my mouth but his fingers gripped tighter, around my jaw, his thumbs pressing deep into my cheeks, preventing me from speaking. It hurt, it really hurt. I squealed but he didn’t ease off the pressure. I could see my skin blanching under the force of his fingertips. He squeezed tighter and tighter muttering obscenities into my ear. Suddenly I was Melissa and this was the violence she had suffered during her marriage. Was this what she had to endure every day? No wonder she left him, threw him out. No wonder she killed herself. How dare he.
‘Trying to look like her.’
Well, that was as far as he got. I pulled back my elbow and rammed him. I was aiming for his testicles but caught him in the lower abdomen. He was still shocked enough to let go.
I stood up and whirled round. My finger stabbing him in the face. ‘How dare you touch me.’
‘You are one fucking psycho. I didn’t believe your little deaf girl act for one minute, you are one fucking screw ball.’
‘Why the hell would I want to come near you, you disgusting little pervert? I know what you did to us, when you used to stay here, so don’t you play the innocent with me.’
That pulled him up short. He sat down on the corner of the bed, his T-shirt rumpled, dark rings round his eyes, hair sticking up showing his bald patch. He looked ridiculous. I started to sob uncontrollably. ‘I have no idea why I am like this, dressed like this. I have no idea.’
‘Megan.’ Suddenly the fight went out of him. ‘Megan? I am serious, you were standing at my window last night.’
‘I have no memory. Yesterday I hit Deborah. I don’t remember it, but I spent a long time yesterday talking about Melissa, going through it with the police.’ I don’t know why but I enjoyed saying it like that.
It had the desired effect. His head whipped round in shock.
And I enjoyed repeating it. ‘Didn’t you know the cops are reinvestigating it? They are re-interviewing everybody. Without Dad’s protection this time.’
I thought he was going to walk out. Instead, he rubbed his face, scraped his hair back, covering his bald spot, trying to clear the confusion in his head.
‘Well, maybe that is a good thing,’ was all he could say. ‘Megan, I have a lot of respect for your father but you are unwell. Very. You need help.’
‘I don’t know if I do,’ I cried. ‘People always say that when I point out something unpleasant. I sleepwalk and last night I walked along to the room where my sister died four days ago. I don’t think that’s so odd.’
‘Oh, is that the story? Just look at yourself. I’m glad the police are onto you, Megan, you and your deaf girl act, you don’t fool me for one minute. You and your pseudo dose of Melvick madness. I have always suspected that you killed Carla. It was all a bit convenient that she died, wasn’t it? And then you gave Melissa no peace, driving her to her death.’ He nodded, looking out the window. ‘Yeah, you are responsible for the shite and crap that Ivan has had to suffer over the last few years. God, not even your own mother could stand the sight of you.’
I stared him down. ‘That’s not true.’ A little voice in my head said, Or was it?
‘Look at the bloody evidence, Megan. Melissa got married and Beth couldn’t stand being here with you. Your dad and the others who looked after Melissa need to grieve in peace without you’ – he struggled for the words – ‘doing what you do.’ He stood up and closed his eyes, as if he was counting to ten. ‘I’m going to talk to Ivan now, he needs to know. You made Melissa’s life miserable, Beth’s life intolerable and I am not going to let that lie. You can stay here until after the funeral, then after that you can get out.’
He walked out the door, leaving it open, then putting his head back round.
‘I pity you as much as I hate you. Stay away over breakfast, I want to talk to your father.’
Carla
Oh shit, well it really is all going a bit tits up, isn’t it? Poor Megan, I didn’t really think that he would do that but I doubt that he is going to go and run and complain to Ivan in case Ivan says, ‘Why did you not come and tell me this during the night, why did you not wake Megan up at the time? My precious daughter.’
To which Megan might just ask why Jago shagged the two bridesmaids – underage bridesmaids.
So good luck with that one, Jago.
But I know he’s not thick. Why is he banning Megan from a house that she will inherit? He has no power here, not now.
I think Ivan will be on to him pretty quickly. Megan is his daughter, his only daughter now and he will always protect her. Jago is angry at himself more than anybody else, and Ivan had probably told him that Megan had gone a little peculiar since the death of her sister and that she had started sleepwalking again.
And chatting with anyone who has madness in the family is usually quite amusing, it has a raw reality. They can say, ‘Oh, he went mad and hung himself in 1952’ as easily some folk would say, ‘He popped out to the shops and came back with skimmed milk instead of semi-skimmed …’
Conversations with Megan used to go like that, ‘Oh yes Agatha, she topped herself in the Tentor Wood, as did my great grandfather and Uncle Sebastian’. She’d say that as we sat on the Benbrae looking at the dark and not so distant trees of the Wood. I could imagine somebody walking out of that silent house, down the Long Drive in the bright sunshine and round the path into the wood. They don’t need to bring the rope with them, it’s already there, hanging off the low-slung branch of the tree, swinging out over the water, the noose pulled back and then left on the bank side of the tree for the next suicide to come along. Is that my memory or is that Megan’s memory? We get blurred now and again. I mean why does anybody need a ready-made suicide spot at the bottom of the garden?
Funny that all my memories of Megan and me are always down at the Benbrae and always in the sun. I’m sure we must have met up in the winter time. But I can’t recall any, not really, never at Christmas, never at New Year, never in the snow. Did I ever exist in the winter at all or would that have been a different story?
Megan
Was he right?
I was looking in the mirror.
Am I a monster?
I knew there was something wrong with me.
I am not a monster. My disease is a monster. It was terrifying.
They were downstairs talking about me, whispering behind my back where I couldn’t see them. I put my hearing aids in. I was getting paranoid. I remembered Dad saying to somebody that they should not talk in front of mirrors as I can read lips. Suddenly I saw a meaning in that that I didn’t know before. Be wary of Megan.
Was any of that true?
Was I jealous of Carla?
Jago believed that I, in some way, was responsible for her death.
I was not sure.
/>
I know what I thought happened, but there were bits where I had no memory, nothing at all.
And why did my mother leave? Did she leave Dad? Did she leave us? Or me?
I lay on my bed, Lonesome Dove open on the pillow. The sun was shining across the floor, making cube patterns on the light green carpet, and everything seemed the same.
Dad would already have called Dr Scobie, telling him that Megan is having her issues again. And I knew that I had to see him and that I would become my father’s puppet.
He would be in command again, just as I was spiralling out of control.
Carla
M and M had no chance as Beth wasn’t totally right in the head either – although I think she might actually have been the sanest of them all. Given she had the wits to get out. I see history repeating itself with Megan. If a member of the family deviates from the normal behaviour then a private doctor comes in and says they are bonkers and they are medicated until they come back into line. There is an all-powerful evil overlord that gives that family, the name, and they operate a secret code of silence, an omerta. The family member doesn’t count as an individual, they have to keep in line. Or else.
It was all rumour but even my dad said it and he doesn’t gossip but he does pick stuff up from the pub so he’s pretty reliable. Beth Melvick was supposed to be having some kind of affair, no problem there, as long as the children had the right DNA then it didn’t really matter who went on to shag who. Talk was Ivan Melvick kept a lady in a flat in Glasgow. Beth’s problem, so the rumours went, was she was seeing one of the local vets and that was a bit too close to home. That kind of thing went over Megan’s head. She thought Beth and the hunky vet were together a lot because of the Benbrae Highland ponies, fat chunky wee beasties that were better looked after and had more attention doted on them than her own children ever had.
As Drew said, Beth was not having an affair. She got up one morning and went through her usual routine, feeding ponies, looking at ponies, patting ponies on the head. Then she put a few things together and disappeared. Seemingly when somebody pointed out she wasn’t back at teatime and nobody knew where she was, Ivan’s first response was to put on a jacket and walk down to the hanging tree to check, so I guess there must have been something going on behind the scenes.