The Thin Place

by C D Major

  ‘You read about it too?’

  Neil peeked up momentarily. ‘Yeah. I thought it was pretty weird.’

  A bird screeched nearby, startling them both. Ava wobbled before finding her balance. She imagined water in her ears, around her head, her body tossing and turning in the foamy current. She swallowed hard.

  ‘Maybe a dog could find a reason – find mink or something?’

  But what if it wasn’t a smell, something less able to explain so easily?

  ‘Did you read about the lady who lived here?’ Ava whispered. ‘The White Lady?’ A breeze ruffled the hedges and trees. They sounded as if they were moaning.

  Neil nodded. ‘There was an inquest into her death. Suicide.’

  Ava hadn’t read about an inquest. She looked back at the bridge, remembering what Keven had told her: the lady with the sick child. That was why she jumped.

  ‘Do you know anything about a child? Or a baby?’

  Neil shook his head. ‘Not that I read.’

  ‘Ava.’

  For a second her throat went dry, pulse quickening as she thought she heard her name. She closed her eyes.

  ‘Are you alr—’

  ‘I thought someone . . .’

  ‘Ava,’ came the voice again. Her stomach lurched. Craning her neck upwards, the bridge looming behind her, she stared. Moss clung to the damp stone underbelly, brown and white streaks on the aged stone like fingers climbing its walls.

  ‘Ava!’

  She sucked in her breath as a face peered down over the top of the bridge.

  ‘For fuc—’ Her hand went to her chest as she realised it was Pippa. ‘Sorry, sorry,’ Ava said to Neil, her chest still leaping. ‘It’s my sister.’

  Neil still held the drone in one hand but his face had turned pale.

  They both laughed nervously.

  ‘I’ll ring my mate about the dog,’ he said.

  Ava walked back up the path and Pippa took a couple of steps down from the bridge towards her.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ Ava asked. Then a sudden thought hit her like a train. ‘Are Mum and Dad OK?’

  ‘They’re fine,’ Pippa said, batting the words away. ‘I wanted to see you. I remembered you were coming here. I looked it up. I thought we could go for a walk somewhere new.’

  ‘Mummy!’ a voice called from above them.

  ‘We?’ Ava was horrified. ‘Is that Tommy?’

  Pippa looked at her, her face in the shade. ‘Yeah, he’s just here.’

  ‘Oh my God.’ Ava strode forward.

  ‘It’s fine.’ Pippa put her hands on her hips. ‘The bridge is safe. The walls are really high.’

  ‘He shouldn’t be here.’

  ‘Ava, honestly . . . he’s fine here. He’s playing with pebbles.’

  Although Pippa was close to the top and the bridge, she didn’t seem to be turning back as Ava, her feet slipping, pushed past her sister, fear like cold water dripping down her spine. ‘Tommy!’ she called, her stomach strained, her hips aching as she half-jogged. Pippa turned behind her.

  Tommy looked startled as Ava burst around the corner onto the top of the bridge, scooping him up from his crouched position on the floor, holding him next to her, his legs either side of her bump as her breath came in gulps.

  Pippa had an unruffled but sulky expression on her face. ‘Ava, he was like an arm’s length away.’

  ‘This is not a good place.’ Ava tried not to be angry. She was just relieved that Tommy was alright. His pudgy hands were on either side of her face.

  ‘Baby,’ he said.

  Pippa moved to take him from Ava, his sandalled legs chubby and smooth. She lowered him next to her. Tommy crouched to inspect the ground once more, pushing loose pebbles around.

  Ava couldn’t stop staring at him, remembering Gus, feeling the strange oppressive atmosphere swirling around them as they stood there. ‘What are you doing here?’ she asked again. She wished Pippa would snatch Tommy back up into the safety of her arms.

  ‘Baby, baby,’ Tommy repeated.

  ‘I wanted to talk to you. You left yesterday and I didn’t want to upset Mum any more by saying something then.’

  ‘I don’t know why she was upset.’ Ava knew she was pouting. ‘I’m upset. How am I meant to be a mum when I don’t even know her?’

  Pippa pursed her lips. ‘We do know Mum.’

  Ava couldn’t stop the small scoff from escaping.

  ‘She was upset, OK, Ava? When you and Fraser left, she talked to me at length.’ Pippa emphasised the last two words and it seemed to Ava that there was a hint of triumph there – that she had become their mum’s confidante after all the years of feeling that was Ava’s role.

  Tommy had stood up, his little eyes wide as he put a hand over one ear.

  Ava tried to concentrate, felt her body sway slightly, her words slurred. ‘I didn’t say anything that would upset her.’

  ‘She’s worried about you. Worried about Fraser and you – and this obsession.’ Pippa swept her hand towards the bridge and house.

  The light flickered; Pippa’s words seemed to swim in and out. Ava felt blood rush to her head and the onset of nausea.

  ‘You’ve tried for years to get pregnant, Ava,’ Pippa said. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘It’s not an obsession.’ Ava’s voice was weak, uncertainty in each syllable.

  ‘But I thought about what you said. How absurd it all sounded. Hearing things. Of course you’re hearing a baby – look at you! And I agree with Mum. It’s just a bridge, Ava.’ Pippa stared around at the grey stonework.

  Ava almost expected the bridge to react, to reveal itself. She glanced at Tommy, readying herself.

  ‘Liam said you were like that at school, too. Got a bee in your bonnet and never let go . . .’

  ‘Liam and I barely spoke at school.’

  ‘And whose fault was that?’

  Neil’s startled face appeared around the edge of the bridge then disappeared again. Ava wished he’d interrupted them. As she looked back at Pippa, she felt her insides roll and put a hand on her stomach. She was going to be sick. She leaned over and closed her eyes.

  ‘Ava?’

  ‘It’s nothing,’ she said as if to the ground. ‘Blood pressure.’

  Sounds faded as Ava slowed her breathing. She straightened up. Pippa looked less certain now and chewed her lower lip.

  ‘Look, Pippa, I’ve got to get on, OK? We’ve got filming to do.’

  ‘You can’t film. You should have some water. Sit down.’

  Ava batted her sister away. ‘I’m fine.’ She blinked, wanted everything around her to still, for the cotton wool in her head to dissipate.

  Tommy tugged on Pippa’s cropped trousers. ‘Baby.’

  ‘Tommy, don’t . . .’

  ‘Baby!’ he repeated, one hand over one ear, the other still pulling on the fabric of her trousers.

  ‘Stop it, Tommy.’

  ‘Baby!’

  ‘Yes, Auntie Ava’s having a baby.’

  But Tommy wasn’t looking at Ava. Ava watched him as he turned in the direction of the house and ran a few paces. She started after him.

  ‘He’s been whingeing the last few days,’ Pippa said. ‘Molars.’

  Ava bent down to Tommy’s level.

  Tommy, both hands now clamped either side of his head, didn’t really register her. ‘BABY!’ he shouted, turning towards the parapet where Gus had made his run.

  ‘Tommy, shh,’ Pippa said.

  Ava couldn’t stop staring at him. He seemed some place far away and he kept saying ‘Baby’ over and over and over again.

  Chapter 28

  CONSTANCE

  I am always tired now. I lie facing the wall day after day, week after week, not noticing when Mother pushes inside, not looking as she draws back my curtains or talks about the weather. I don’t care about the rain or the sun or the shape of the clouds. I don’t even care about the people passing on the bridge. My smiles and voice are stuck somewhe
re inside me and I wonder why God would let me be so sick. I must be bad.

  The mattress dips with her weight; her hand tucks the wisps of hair behind my ears. ‘Come on,’ she says, ‘let’s get you dressed.’ She encourages me into clothes, pulling them over me when I cannot find the strength. Lifting me, she carries me out and up the few steps. The wheelchair is waiting and she wheels me along the corridor. I wrap my arms around myself. The ceiling is too far away, the echoing sounds too loud. I see the bear and through a sliver in the door, an eye – Annie silently watching us both.

  The chair sticks on the bump of the threshold to the drawing room and it hurts the bone at the bottom of my back when she jiggles it over it. ‘I want to show you something, Constance West; you won’t believe it. The townsfolk have raised some more funds – isn’t that wonderful? – for us. It is hard to raise a retarded child. Now look!’

  She moves inside with a flourish and I gaze around at the enormous room, the green walls so bright I want to look away. On the ceiling the painted faces of the baby angels peer down, chubby cheeks and arms and legs. So healthy. A new wheelchair is standing in the middle of the room with a cherry-red leather seat and armrests.

  ‘They say it will be more comfortable. And I will get a carpenter.’ She puts a finger to her lips. ‘So that you can be more easily wheeled around. Won’t that be nice? People are happy to help. They feel so sorry for us all alone and dealing with such hardship.’

  I try to smile at her as she wraps her arms around my neck, lifts me onto the sofa next to her and brings me my lunch on a tray. Her face is watchful as I spoon my soup, her watery blue eyes always a mystery. Somewhere outside, birds chitter to each other in the tree. A child shouts, playful and excited. The noise makes me feel more lonely. I want to go and lie back down. I’m tired. Mother lifts me and takes me back to my bedroom. She stays in the doorframe for an age, and when I turn, thinking she has gone, I see tears on her cheeks and wonder why she’s the one who is sad.

  The next day, a strange wet sensation wakes me and I think I’m still in a dream. Waves, rocks, roaring water, a pirate with a hooded face. Scrabbling over my chest, his tiny claws dig into my flesh and I gasp.

  ‘He’s yours,’ Mother says – and I can’t believe it.

  I don’t spend days staring at the same patch of wall. Now I play with my puppy. I call him Crumpet. His light brown fur is the colour of warm dough. I used to see dogs from my window, on the bridge, jumping excitedly, returning to their owner for petting and smiles. I wanted one. I knew I would like having one. I hadn’t expected the swell of love, the longing as Crumpet snuggles next to me, tiny body warm, heart beating next to mine. He lies on my chest, stares into my eyes then, out of nowhere, darts his tongue out and licks me on the nose, making me shake with giggles. He knows how much I love it and does it again.

  He whines if I leave him, even for a moment, then spins with delight when I return, as if I’m the only good thing in his life. We take short walks to the walled garden. I watch him with a rug over my lap as he digs a shallow hole, sits in it until I call out that I’ve ‘found’ him and he looks delighted. He puts his head in my lap on the days I’m sick, his wet nose on my skin. If I get up, he gets up. If I go to the window, he puts his paws on the walls and looks at me until I lift him into my arms and we stare outside together, his breath hot on my cheek as he nestles next to me.

  He is the great love of my life.

  I stay in my chair and watch him endlessly as he spins and yaps. He comes to me with melting brown eyes, giving my hand and face the tiniest licks. I have so much love in my chest I could burst.

  The days are full of him. Even when I am sick from my mouth I try to play. He makes me feel better. Never-ending games, fetch, catch, cuddles. Mother seems happier too. ‘You look better,’ she says, stroking my cheek.

  ‘Oh I am. Thank you, Mama. Thank you for Crumpet.’

  She brings him food in a bowl but he often eats it all up so I make him little treats, pieces I take from the trays of food Mother brings me. He loves my porridge, creamy pieces sticking to his whiskers. He gobbles it all up, his pink tongue reaching to take the food from my hand. I think I will explode with love for him; it seems to make the whole room throb.

  Then one day Crumpet doesn’t want to get up, doesn’t want to play. He whines at me, rolling on his back, pawing at his speckled stomach. Panting, he rests in my lap, curled up in a ball, the strange sad noises still coming from him as I stroke his fur, his ribs bony beneath my hand.

  I am scared, stroking and cuddling him, trying to make it all better. His fur is wet with my tears as I pray, pray, pray so hard that he will get better, that his little face will clear, his head rise, his eyes brighten, his tail wag. He doesn’t seem to be able to hear me as I whisper soothing words. ‘Get better, Crumpet. Please.’

  Mother watches him from the doorway, biting on her lower lip. ‘I’ll fetch for the vet,’ she says.

  Everything here gets sick.

  Chapter 29

  AVA

  They’d finished filming some shots, Ava’s heart not in it as Neil showed her some aerial footage. Ava twitched as she sat in the car, replaying the argument with her sister and Tommy’s reaction to being on the bridge. Pippa had dismissed it, a concerned look as if Ava was certifiable. Ava hadn’t cared in that moment; she just wanted them all off the bridge. Pippa had scooped up Tommy and driven off in a huff, abandoning the idea of a walk.

  The weather had worsened, clouds banking on the horizon. Neil had left and she wanted to drive away too, but she found herself frozen in her seat, gripping the steering wheel, looking out into the fields beyond. The house and bridge sat behind the pine trees to her left, their menace never far, and she shivered as she recalled Tommy’s blank look, his repeated words.

  Getting out of the car, she started to walk, not towards the house but through the gate ahead; a signpost indicated a path that skirted the crags. The baby was still now that she was moving and she put a hand on her stomach as she walked past fields, verges bursting with long grasses, dandelions and buttercups, overgrown stiles and signs pointing in different directions. Sheep bleated and a butterfly dipped in and out of view.

  Disappearing into a copse of pine trees, the smell was strong and sudden, twigs and pine needles crunching underfoot. She blinked. Sunlight was barely able to find gaps through the canopy overhead. Weeds tickled her calves as she stepped gingerly over a gap in the deer fence to an empty field beyond that tugged the steep side of the crags. Stopping at a spot that looked down on the house, she wished she had brought water with her. Her lips were cracked and dry.

  There were two missed calls from her dad. She sighed as she stared at her mobile and called him back.

  ‘Dad.’

  ‘Ava.’

  ‘You called me.’

  ‘I did.’

  She looked up the path to the crags. It was moss covered and looked boggy in parts. She clung to the line of trees as she pressed the phone to her ear. For a moment, she thought he had hung up but then his voice returned. ‘I’m in the spare room.’

  This had to be serious. She felt her foot slip, regretting that she had put on her pumps. The toes were coated in mud.

  ‘Your sister’s just left. She told me you had an argument.’

  ‘We didn’t argue, Dad,’ Ava huffed. This was more exercise than she’d had in a while.

  ‘You had words.’

  ‘She was the one who chased me up here in the middle of filming to lecture me.’ Ava shot a hand out to hold a wooden post, skirting churned-up mud, scrambling up springy moss, her thighs aching.

  ‘Well, she was upset. And your mother was too.’

  Pippa must have gone straight there, which made Ava defensive. ‘I don’t know why.’

  ‘Look, Ava . . .’ Her dad’s voice was weary. ‘People are worried about you, that’s all. She told me you had a wee bit of a turn. We’re worried you’re making yourself ill, lass.’

  ‘That’s not you tal
king, Dad . . .’

  ‘It’s me and your mother.’ He didn’t sound convincing.

  Ava felt a stubbornness build in her. ‘Why don’t we all go back to not talking.’ She scuffed the ground with her already-ruined shoe. ‘It’s what we’re so good at.’

  ‘Ava? What’s that supposed to mean, love?’

  Ava lifted a hand to her head, the start of a headache behind her eyes. Squinting, she tried to concentrate on her reply. ‘Just that we don’t talk about what’s really important, do we?’

  There was a pause and she could hear conversation in the background. This was ridiculous. The pain in her eyes was building. ‘Look, Dad, I need to go.’

  ‘Why are you up there at that bridge anyway?’

  Ava sighed. ‘Not you too, Dad. It’s my job.’

  ‘We’re just worried about you,’ he repeated gently. ‘This doesn’t sound like your normal job, love.’

  ‘I’ve come for answers.’

  She felt desperate. It seemed that her family was closing ranks against her. Her dad never took sides, never made her feel like she was in the wrong. She stepped out onto a grassy ledge, a gust of wind buffeting her. ‘I’ve got to go, Dad,’ she said. The edge was so close as she crept towards it and she had a dizzying sense of vertigo as she peered down the cliffside, trees and scrubs sprouting at strange angles from the cracks in the rocks.

  As she turned in the direction of the house with its grey bulk, spiked towers and the dark stone, menacing even from up here, she felt an ominous tug towards it. There was the bridge where so many dogs had jumped to their deaths. She took a step forward.

  ‘Ava?’ Her dad was still speaking to her but for a moment it was as if the estate was calling her name. Then came a sudden jerk forward, like two hands on her back, a gasp, her phone slipping from her hand and bouncing onto the grass. Crouching in shock, she whipped around, only to see the steep incline of mossy rock and grass above her, nothing that could have pushed her in the back.

  Reaching for her phone, she tried to steady her voice. ‘I’ve got to go, Dad.’

  She barely heard his reply as she ended the call and started the descent quickly. She needed to get away from the edge, out of sight of the house. She was breathless when she finally burst from the pine trees, her car a silver glimmer up ahead. She clutched her throbbing head as she stared at the people walking past the house as if this was just any other day. Her heart had stopped racing by the time she was back on level ground, her nails biting into her flesh, her shoulders tense.