The Thin Place

by C D Major

  ‘He’s a good boy.’ Her mum’s face softened as it always did when she spoke about him. Butter wouldn’t melt . . . Ava often teased.

  ‘He made your famous barbecue sauce the other night, Mum.’

  Her mouth lifted. ‘Did he?’

  Ava took a sip of her decaf coffee, relieved that her mum seemed to be relaxing. ‘We’ve got the twenty-week scan coming up in a few weeks. That’s where they can tell the sex of the baby, apparently.’ She picked up her fork and divided the slice of carrot cake into two pieces.

  ‘Are you going to find out?’

  ‘I’m not sure.’

  ‘What does Fraser think?’

  ‘I . . . You know, I’m not sure.’ She took a bite of the carrot cake, feeling guilty that she hadn’t asked him. She had barely thought about the pregnancy lately, or made the promised plans. ‘There’s still time to decide.’ Was that to make herself feel better?

  ‘Well, as long as the baby is healthy.’

  For a second, their eyes met . . . the past conversations . . . the elephant in the room. Ava felt the cake sticking in her throat as she swallowed. She felt as if the noise in the cafe, the chatter of customers and the hiss from the coffee machine, was melting away.

  ‘Look, Ava . . .’ Her mum struggled to straighten in her chair. ‘I know we haven’t spoken a great deal in the last few weeks . . .’

  ‘That’s OK.’ Ava’s voice was small, as if she was a teenager again, wanting to avoid the black cloud that crossed her mum’s face on occasion.

  ‘No.’ Her mum smoothed a loose tendril of hair. ‘No, you had every right to ask me what you did and I haven’t handled it very well.’ She coughed; apologies were hard. ‘But you’re an adult now.’

  ‘Mum, I’ve got grey hairs.’ Ava laughed, trying to lighten the tense atmosphere. Her mum’s half of the carrot cake was untouched. Ava took a sip of cooling coffee as her mum took a deep breath.

  ‘The thing is, it’s been so many years now. But when I think of that time, it still hurts.’

  ‘I . . . I u-understand.’

  Her mum’s eyes had clouded with pain.

  ‘Honestly, Mum, it’s fine. It’s none of my business.’

  ‘No.’ Her mum put her mug on the table. ‘You were right. My history is yours, too. I’ve been selfish in the past for not wanting to talk about it.’

  ‘It’s OK, Mum. Really.’ This was clearly difficult for her mum and a lifetime’s habit was hard to break. But Ava did want to know. Awareness of becoming a mother herself had awakened a dormant desire to know more about her own.

  ‘No, I should have told you.’ Her mum’s eyes were planted just over Ava’s shoulder. Ava’s whole body stilled, not wanting anything to interrupt. ‘You know I was adopted when I was a baby . . .’ She cleared her throat.

  Ava pressed her lips together, desperate not to interrupt. She nodded.

  Her mum smoothed her trousers. ‘I didn’t get on very well with my adoptive parents. My father was . . . difficult.’ Her voice dropped. Some children at the next table squabbled over a cookie. Ava wanted to twist around, plead with them for silence. ‘He had a temper . . .’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Ava reached for her mother’s hand, imagining her as a young child.

  Her mum’s eyes stared fixedly at the table. ‘I was lonely, mostly. No brothers or sisters. I used to dream of having my own family.’ Her smile was weak as she finally caught Ava’s eye before averting hers again. ‘I left when I was sixteen. I met your father a few years later. He was a bit older, very kind, very loving. He gave me such confidence. And I never saw my parents again. Never wanted to.’ She had finished. Her eyes filming just slightly when Ava squeezed her hand. ‘Anyway . . .’ Her mum’s face cleared and her shoulders straightened. ‘It was selfish of me to keep my past to myself. I just wanted to reassure you that none of this should have anything at all to do with your baby.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Mum.’ Ava’s throat felt thick with the emotion.

  ‘It was a lifetime ago now.’ Her mum’s voice wobbled.

  Ava tipped her head to one side. ‘Thanks for telling me a little more.’ She swallowed down more questions, could see that even this small step had been a momentous moment for her mum. ‘I’m sorry you had a miserable time as a child.’ Ava placed a hand on her now unmistakeable bulge, a reminder that she would soon be a mother too.

  ‘The past is the past,’ her mum intoned. And she took up a fork and took a bite of the carrot cake. ‘And Fraser will be a great father. He’s a loving boy.’ She quickly stirred her cappuccino that was surely cold by now.

  ‘I know.’ Ava wanted to lighten the mood. ‘As long as I don’t mess it up.’

  Her mum placed her teaspoon down, her eyebrows knitted together. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘Nothing. Bad joke.’ Ava waved a hand. ‘I pissed him off the other night. I’ve been a bit distracted.’

  ‘With the baby?’

  Not wanting to shatter their fragile peace by mentioning her trip to Dumbarton, she nodded slowly. ‘Yup . . . baby . . . work . . .’ She didn’t want to lie to her mum.

  ‘Remember, a job is a job. You’ve been there years – you don’t need to prove yourself.’

  ‘I know. It’s not that. It was just there was this place we went to. It got under my skin . . .’ She wanted to confide in her mum, wanted to tell her more.

  ‘How so?’ Her mother’s fork was poised over the plate.

  ‘Well, it felt . . .’ She half-closed her eyes, replaying the feel of the place all over again. Her body recoiled, as it always did when she thought of being on the bridge – then followed a compulsion to relive it. ‘It felt like nowhere I’ve ever been before. It’s just a bridge, but it’s thought that dogs jump to their deaths from it.’

  Her mum’s face drained of colour. She had always adored animals, fussed over them like children, had never been without a dog. ‘How horrible! Why would you want to cover that on a news programme?’

  ‘Well, it’s interesting. Why do they ju—’

  ‘Oh my goodness!’ Her mum’s eyes widened, realisation dawning. ‘Is that where you went with Gus?’ Gus was spoiled rotten. With her empty nest, her mother doted on Gus like a beloved third child, sent photos of him on endless walks, videos of him rolling on his back demanding to be stroked, her laughter in the background. The family at the next table looked up as her voice carried. ‘Did you take him there?’

  Ava felt her toes curl. ‘Well, I . . . I had him on the lead. Although . . .’

  She knew she should tell her mum what had happened, but perhaps the eventual piece didn’t need to include his sudden run. She felt things taking a turn for the worse. Her mum made no attempt at keeping her voice down and her fork clattered onto the plate. ‘I can’t believe you would endanger Gus like that!’

  ‘Well, I didn’t really believe any of it . . .’ Ava tried to conjure up the feel of the place, sitting in this warm cafe miles away. A thin place. She had endangered Gus. She hung her head. ‘But you’re right, Mum. I’m sorry.’

  Her mum nodded curtly and Ava wished she’d never mentioned it. Her mum might never have found out. Unlike the early days when Ava was a young reporter, her mum rarely watched the news. She didn’t watch television at all, really, berating her dad for wasting his life sitting down. Maybe the final piece wouldn’t have to include Gus. They talked a bit more – about Tommy, about the baby, about Fraser’s new job in the autumn, about Dad and his garden – but the atmosphere had altered and soon her mum was reaching for her jacket.

  ‘Do you have to go already?’ Ava felt bereft. They had only just made up and now she had ruined it all.

  ‘I should get back. I need to finish the book for the book club. I’m hosting tomorrow night. And I should check on your father.’ Her mum was suddenly brisk and no-nonsense. ‘And Gus,’ she added, making Ava feel guilty all over again. ‘I’m glad the appointment went well,’ her mum said, relenting. ‘And I hope you can spend some proper time
with Fraser. Remember what’s important, Ava. You’re pregnant now. You’ve got a wonderful partner, a great job . . .’

  ‘I will, Mum.’

  ‘Good.’ Her mum leaned down and gave her a quick hug. Then she turned and left and Ava sat alone, staring at the half-eaten carrot cake, her appetite gone.

  Chapter 17

  MARION

  He reached for me in the morning, daylight edging the bottle-green curtains, his breath smelling sour. I so wanted to please, embarrassed by the pants and sounds that he made, my head thrust into the pillow. I never dreamed it would all be so frantic. I hope I shall learn to get used to it; it is a strange and novel feeling to feel bare flesh next to my own.

  My cheeks flamed as I watched him stand and stretch, all of him on display, unapologetic.

  Breakfast in the dining room. He was sure I could find my own way. I nodded.

  The door clicked shut and still I remained there, staring up at the once-white ceiling, the corners streaked with yellowed damp. I stepped down gingerly from the bed, horrified to feel dried blood between my legs. I wondered if I should strip the sheets. I bit my lip, pulling back the heavy velvet of the curtains, a wash of greys and greens blurring through the glass.

  I washed myself as best I could and the water in the bowl turned pink.

  When I emerged from my room, I gasped. It seemed that the corridor went on forever, a hundred closed doors on either side, as if I could walk and never remember which room was mine. The threadbare blue runner seemed to absorb my footsteps and, with a shiver, I glanced over my shoulder, as if someone could be following me in the silence. All I could see were more closed doors and faded gaps on the walls hinting where paintings might have once hung.

  I came across the shocking silver of the staircase suddenly, reflections bouncing off it, distorting the air, the walls, so that for a moment I was sure I would topple straight down it.

  A clatter from downstairs made me jump, a hand on my chest, an admonishment to myself: it was the scale of the place, the lack of sleep, the strangeness of it all. I had no choice but to grip the silver, feeling its chill enter my skin, move through my veins, making me wrap my cardigan more tightly around myself as I descended.

  The hallway was dominated at one end by an enormous brown bear, stuffed and watchful, its claws mid-scrabble in the air as I approached. I stifled a scream, as if it might step off its plinth and come at me, rearing up, its jaws clamping down on my neck, its claws tearing into my flesh. Holding my breath, I forced myself to put one foot in front of the other towards it.

  The bear wasn’t guarding a great deal: cabinets with a strange uneven scattering of figurines; a wooden pew; two golden chairs in desperate need of upholstering. The other end of the hallway seemed closer, as if the downstairs of the house didn’t fit the upstairs. The tiles stopped abruptly, disappearing down a few steps to a heavy wooden door at the bottom, an inscription carved into the stone above it. I will fear no evil, for you are with me.

  ‘Marion? Don’t loiter.’

  My head snapped back as if the bear had spoken. The voice was close, a doorway open to its right. I stepped inside, the high-ceilinged dining room with its blood-red walls making my grey, high-collared dress even duller, my whole self smaller.

  ‘Good morning.’ He smiled and lifted his curly head, the same rich brown as the bear.

  I returned the smile, remembering my prince in the fairy-tale castle. How silly I was to be jumping at shadows.

  Hamish sat at the end of a glossy mahogany table. Another place was set farther along. I felt my heels clack on the wooden floorboards, dust motes dancing in the shafts of light from the latticed windows. The grounds beyond looked exceedingly lush, the grass grown quite tall. How marvellous! I found myself drifting towards the window to take a better look.

  He crunched his toast as I scuttled back to sit next to him.

  We ate in silence, my body weary from lack of sleep and all the travel, but my mind racing with everything I had to explore. What plans might Hamish come up with now he was at home and able to show me the estate? I revelled in the sound of another person, the comfort of him biting, chewing, swallowing.

  I was shocked when he told me he had business in Edinburgh and would be back the following day. The toast stuck in my throat. All I could do was nod.

  ‘There’s a woman who looks after the house, Miss Kae, who can answer your questions. She has a room beyond the kitchen. Many of the rooms are locked. We cannot afford the upkeep of a large part of the house.’

  I thought of the sepia, scalloped-edged photograph, the romantic castle of my imaginings dissolving into dust.

  I waved him off from the grey stone porch feeling a sudden urge to weep. The strange impenetrable line of the crags rose up to my right, a natural boundary. There was a verdant forest, fields and meadows hinting at long walks. How I wished I could walk down paths and see nature with my new husband. I would not mope, though; two days wasn’t a terribly long time and we had a lifetime of each other ahead.

  Miss Kae emerged as I moved back inside, feeling terribly small as I stared around the hallway. The bear was still frozen in his stance. Enormous oil portraits, Hamish’s ancestors, looked down on me – a brief worry: had I already let him down? I searched their faces for answers. I could have asked him who they were, moved arm in arm around the estate as he told me the history. I shook my head, scolding myself for my self-pity. Miss Kae, a short woman in her forties with a left eye that drifted when she talked, showed me the other rooms that were open – faded furniture, gaps where things had once stood. She brought me tea on a tray with shortbread, crumbling and warm from the oven.

  ‘You are kind,’ I said. I wanted her to stay in the great room with me, unused as I was to the cavernous spaces I now inhabited.

  ‘Mrs West liked this room,’ she said, swallowing. She had known them, of course. I was reminded again that my husband was an orphan. I had never asked him how they had both died.

  I unpacked, alarmed at how the light had failed so early that I had lost the chance to set foot outside. Trying to focus on my book, I twitched at the rustling of trees, clanking of ancient pipes, my own breathing. The sofas and armchairs with their plumped cushions seemed to be waiting for people to sit on them.

  The sheets on my bed had been changed and they were cool to the touch, the bedspread thick and much needed. I brushed my hair for a hundred strokes, trying not to see monsters in the dark corners or hear insects chittering in the ivy that climbed my wallpaper, trying to silence my nerves. I pictured our own small house on Adams Street, my parents sleeping in the next-door room, the familiar street sounds outside – milk bottles, carts, bicycle bells. Getting up, alarmed at a blockage in my throat, I opened the stiff window and dusty flakes were dislodged onto the sill. Leaning out, I could hear water running over rocks – and then the screech of an owl, startling me.

  There was no moon, nothing for me to look up to or for Hamish to share with me. I willed him to return to his new bride as quickly as he could manage.

  Chapter 18

  AVA

  ‘Thanks for meeting me here,’ Pippa said.

  ‘Is this some kind of test?’ Ava joked as she drew up a chair. The red plastic table wobbled as she put down her bottle of Sprite. She scrubbed at the smears from the last occupant before she sat, and noticed a barely perceptible eye roll from her sister. ‘It’s gross,’ Ava laughed, before chucking the balled-up tissue at her.

  The soft play centre was sticky and loud. There were kids everywhere: shouting, appearing through holes, diving onto nets, chucking plastic balls at each other as they clambered over an enormous structure in primary colours.

  Tommy had toddled away and Pippa was talking out of the corner of her mouth as she watched him navigate a small plastic tunnel, another child coming in the other direction. ‘Sorry. He loves it, and I can’t keep going to the park on the days I’m not working. I’m so bored of the park, and I didn’t know it would be this busy.’
r />   ‘Everyone’s on holiday,’ Ava pointed out.

  ‘Yes, I thought they’d be away. Away on an actual holiday, not stuck in this sweat pit.’

  Ava unscrewed the lid of her Sprite. ‘Where’s Liam?’

  ‘Tommy!’ Pippa called out suddenly. ‘Play nicely.’ Tommy dropped the ball he was holding and waddled off. ‘Oh God, don’t. Working on his PhD about molecules or stem cells or whatever. He’s like 55,000 words in or something and might finish it in ten years or so – and that’s probably a conservative estimate.’

  Ava grimaced and raised her bottle. ‘Commiserations.’

  ‘I thought his long holidays would be great, but there’s always some book to read or someone to interview or some way of getting out of, you know, actual parenting.’

  It was a familiar rant and Ava felt sorry for her in that detached way because it was a world she didn’t yet understand. She wondered then what Fraser would be like with their child. The thought, as ever, made her insides flutter.

  ‘He came back the other day with a new camera – for interviews or something. For a blog he might do, he said. It looked expensive too.’

  Ava smiled weakly. ‘Well, at least he’ll be a doctor.’

  ‘Not a proper one,’ Pippa scoffed. ‘Anyway, enough . . . how’s it all going?’ Pippa still scanned the room. A tiny girl in a silver leotard and a pink tutu passed their table, clutching a Power Rangers football.

  ‘Yeah, it’s good.’

  ‘Mum said you and her met up? We should sort a barbecue or something.’

  ‘We should. What did Mum tell you?’

  ‘Nothing much. Well . . .’ Pippa twisted in her seat. ‘Tommy! Let the other boy have a turn!’ She turned back to Ava. ‘Said you had a good scan, that everything was going well with the baby. It is, isn’t it? You weren’t just fobbing her off because she gets intense about everyone’s health?’