by C D Major
Mother begged me to stay on for a few days, flinching at the feel of my jutting collarbone, the wisps of hair at my temple, but I insisted that the estate needed me – I was a vital cog. Mother understood. I didn’t see Susan. She is companion to a rich widow in Pimlico, Mother tells me. She has a beau.
I have stopped bleeding now but I am not pregnant. Hamish has not visited me for months. I heard him once on the telephone – the word divorce stopping me as I passed – a thing more common now than when I was growing up. Still a shock to hear the term. How ungodly! He can’t mean for us. We will be married ten years this summer.
I picture the girl I was when I first appeared here: plumper, livelier, excited. She is buried now, in little pieces beneath the bridge.
Perhaps he does mean us.
I try to be a good wife still. I wait for him under the bedclothes when he is home. I still want to be held, stroked, touched.
Today I saw a young couple meander across the bridge, not looking at the views, the birds in the sky soaring above them, the lush meadows bursting with wild flowers, the butterflies that dipped into view. They were immersed in each other, her face tilted to his, a peachy glow, a smile on her lips. He paused to hold her closer, lower his face to hers. I wished I could taste that kiss.
My palm left smears on the window that slowly disappeared as they moved out of sight.
Hamish has gone and I have stopped eating. I can’t leave the house for my spot next to the river; the walk exhausts me, my muscles aching. I am so very tired.
Chapter 35
AVA
She didn’t sleep. The flat was too hot and the weight on her stomach pinned her to the bed, making her feel nauseous until she rolled onto her side. Then she would see the empty space, remember the note he’d left.
Her dreams were twisted, grey-white skeletons and the oversized wheels of a wheelchair and a baby’s urgent wail a soundtrack to it all. She woke sweaty, her body pulsing, her hair askew, one hand on her stomach until she caught her breath. She was OK. She was safe. The bone was in its bag on the bedside table, its vague outline just visible. Sleep returned and she tumbled straight back into the same dream.
He stayed away the whole weekend, told her he and Calum were going fishing. He was sure she would find some work to do. Term didn’t start till Wednesday the following week so he was in no rush to come back. She had done this to them. Where had she been all summer? Why the hell hadn’t she come straight home the other day? He rarely asked her for anything and she hadn’t even given him that. She tried not to cry when she said, ‘We have the scan.’ Their twenty-week scan, their chance to discover if the baby was healthy, growing, a boy or a girl. His voice sounded choked as he told her he’d be there. The phone went dead after that.
She was exhausted when she woke early on the Tuesday morning after three nights of broken sleep. The dreams had been darker and more dreadful every time, as if the flat was possessed the moment night fell. She’d seen the towers and the bridge and the small diamond-paned window, its ivy choking the glass and the face inside, a little girl in a chair. She saw dogs leaping, a woman plunging, she saw them all dashing their heads on the rocks below and always the wail of an infant that made her sit bolt upright. Even with the bone now in the top drawer of the bedside table, she had brought Overtoun into their home. She could feel its reach wrapping itself around her even here.
Emerging from the flat, she was red-eyed and groggy, surprised at the daylight, the traffic meandering past, the gentle breeze, the smell of freshly mown grass. She started her car, lurched forward and realised there was something wrong. As she stepped onto the kerb, she stared at the nearside front tyre, which was completely flat. She swore. This was the last thing she needed. Reaching for her phone to call the local garage, she paused, a look darted over a shoulder, not sure why she felt such unease. The mechanic was kind, agreeing to come out and fix it while she was at work.
The train carriage was stuffy with the swell of people, the clash of body odours making her clutch the rail, her stomach churning. The sight of a man chewing opposite, croissant flakes on his jeans, forced her off a stop too soon, a hand covering her mouth, spitting bile on the platform, people watching her as they slid past. She could phone work; she could say she was ill.
She stepped up and out of the station on shaking legs. The short walk should have cleared her head, but she was so tired and unsettled that she was dizzy with the effort. There was a light sheen of sweat as she neared the office. She was late again. Her mouth was woolly, breath sour as she stepped through the space to the right of the car park barrier.
She tried to thrust her shoulders back and clear her face but she knew she must have looked a state. The clothes she had practically sleep-walked into needed an iron. Dark patches on her shirt would force her to keep her jacket on. She pulled out her small hand mirror and tried to clip her hair and wipe her eyes. The liner already smudged. Someone was watching her. She felt her eyes drawn towards the entrance to the building. A figure stood just inside the double doors and she strained to make out a face. Her eyes met Neil’s for a second before he disappeared.
As she pushed through the revolving doors, she heard the clack of heels and a carrying voice. ‘I’ve just finished the programme. Going to grab breakfast. I’m starving! Can you sneak off?’
Claudia stood in front of her, looking immaculate in a magenta-pink suit and with kohl-ringed eyes and a hair-sprayed chignon.
Ava shook her head. ‘I’m already late.’
‘Ah, but you are a senior reporter.’ Claudia cackled. ‘Surely you have the power!’ She reached back to remove some hairpins from her chignon.
Ava’s laugh was a little too high, a little too late.
One hand still in her hair, Claudia appraised Ava. ‘You look like shit.’
‘Thanks,’ Ava said.
‘Not what I mean. You look knackered.’
‘I didn’t get a lot of sleep.’
‘All OK?’ Claudia shoved hairpins into her handbag.
Ava chewed her lip. ‘Yeah, yeah, just . . .’ Where to start? Fraser? The bridge? The bone? She wanted to talk, but this wasn’t the moment to share. Garry’s face appeared in the small square door pane to her side and she winced. ‘Sorry. I’m about to get told off.’
Claudia glanced at the door. ‘Garry’s cool, and he loves you.’ She adjusted the strap on her handbag. ‘Look . . . I’m about later, if you want to catch up.’
Ava nodded as Garry opened the door.
‘Alright, Garry?’ Claudia called as she moved away. ‘Be gentle with our Ava, alright?’
Garry frowned as he approached. ‘Hey, Ava, where’ve you been?’ He tapped a clipboard with his biro over and over again. ‘You missed the briefing. Again.’ Garry was her friend, laid-back and jokey, but she’d been late a lot these last few weeks – and distracted when she did show up. ‘Neil says you spent the bank holiday with him.’ Garry waggled his eyebrows.
‘That’s not exactly true.’ Ava forced a laugh. ‘I’m sorry about the briefing.’
‘It’s OK. I covered for you.’
‘Thanks, Garry.’
‘We’re friends, aren’t we.’ His face was serious for a moment.
‘Of course.’
‘I’ve got the info here. Shall I drive? We’re off to see a woman who runs a funeral parlour.’ He read from his clipboard. ‘Jackie, fifty-seven.’
‘Right,’ Ava said, adjusting her handbag.
‘Looters ransacked the place two nights ago. Stole jewellery with her mum’s ashes inside.’
‘Great!’ Ava tried to inject some brightness into her voice. If she at least sounded breezy she might get through her day.
Garry gave her a strange look. ‘You alr—’
‘Hey!’ Neil emerged from a side room as if he had only just arrived. Ava nodded at him awkwardly.
‘Neil – hold on . . .’ Garry put up a hand as if he was about to say more, but Ava didn’t want to stick around.
&nb
sp; ‘Well, I’m ready if you both are?’ she interjected.
As she settled into the front passenger seat, Ava told Garry about her tyre.
‘That’s bad luck,’ he said, and Ava nodded slowly.
Neil clambered behind her with all his equipment. As he leaned inside, she could feel his breath on her neck and a faint whiff of cigarettes. Garry started up the engine, and the radio came on – the sports news. She could feel him casting her small sideways glances as she rolled down the window, her eyes already drooping with tiredness before they even left the car park.
Jackie was waiting for them, her face peering out from behind thick, pale blue curtains as they parked outside the funeral parlour, the navy-blue facade peeling in places.
She emerged, face pudding-beige in the harsh daylight, powder collecting in the lines on either side of her mouth. She shook their hands. ‘They disconnected the electricity,’ she announced, as if they were already partway through their questions. ‘I’ve had to call someone out.’
‘I’m sorry. Talk us through what happened while Neil sets up.’ Garry listened as they followed her inside. Ava knew he had most of this information already, collected over a phone interview, but it was obvious Jackie wanted to talk.
‘We turn ashes to glass. Some is made into jewellery and they took a lot of that. And a laptop.’
‘How dreadful!’ Garry’s head was tilted to one side, his voice low.
‘They must have thought turning the electricity off would turn off an alarm. But I don’t have an alarm. You don’t think someone is going to steal from a funeral parlour.’
‘You don’t,’ Garry agreed.
Normally, Ava would be the one to build a rapport, but today it was all she could do to sit there dumbly, removed from it all, her eyes twitching with tiredness. She needed to concentrate. But when she looked up all she could see were urns in every shape and colour, blurring. She was aware of Neil watching her as he fiddled with the hand mic. Her mind was still elsewhere, on urns, death, buried bones and a question just out of reach.
It took an age to get through it all. Garry asked Ava to go over it again as she fluffed her questions, repeated things Jackie had already told her. They filmed a segment outside in front of the parlour’s signage. Jackie held up a pendant that was the product of turning ashes to glass. ‘I could hear them moving around from the flat above.’
‘And what could you hear?’
‘Ava?’ Garry said.
‘Sorry.’
‘I think they were looking for cash but we don’t keep any on the premises,’ Jackie said. ‘I used to have a sign up saying that, but the tape peeled off and I threw it away.’ She wrung her hands, clearly distressed. ‘What kind of scumbags do this? Steal from a funeral parlour? The police told me they used gloves . . .’
‘Was what they took worth a lot?’ Ava tried to stay focused, aware of the time slipping away. She would be seeing Fraser soon. The thought threw her for the thousandth time. The woman in front of her bristled . . . Jackie . . . Jackie who ran the funeral parlour . . .
‘Ava?’
‘Sorry.’ Ava shook her head and repeated the question. ‘Was what they took worth much?’
Jackie still looked displeased. Two high pink spots emerged from beneath the powdery make-up. ‘It wasn’t so much the cost. One of the necklaces was made from my mother’s ashes . . .’
‘And how much was it worth?’
Garry gave her a sideways look.
‘A couple of hundred pounds, perhaps. But the jewellery meant a lot. That’s the point! It was a beautiful pendant. I don’t have more of those ashes. That was my mum. They’ve stolen a bit of my mum!’
Ava blinked, the words circling in her mind. She lowered the microphone. ‘I have to go. I’m sorry, I . . .’ She couldn’t miss this too. Fraser was already angry with her. This would be unforgiveable. And she needed him; today had shown her that. She didn’t want to face everything on her own. She had prodded and pushed and dug up the past and she could feel the danger circling her.
Neil peeked out from behind the viewfinder at her. Garry stepped forward to put a hand on Jackie’s shoulder.
They were all waiting for her to speak. But Ava turned and walked away.
Chapter 36
CONSTANCE
I can hear him howling somewhere in the house and I pound my fists on my bed. I think my heart is breaking, tearing in two, the pain in my chest taking my breath away. A yap, claws on tiles – or is it all in my head?
Mother won’t talk to me when she visits, leaving and taking away trays, staring at congealed porridge, too-warm milk that coats the glass, soups with thick skins. She won’t answer my questions. I plead, I beg, I scream, I shout. I want to run for the door, want to search the house but I’m frozen, not wanting to make her angrier. If I’m good she’ll give him back. ‘Please, Mama . . .’ I cry again, tears that wet my cotton nightdress, stick it to my skin.
For a moment I think it is her, returning after breakfast, but then the door doesn’t open. I tiptoe to the door and press my eye to the keyhole.
‘Annie, Annie, please!’ My voice cracks. ‘My dog, please . . . ask Mother . . . please!’
‘I . . .’
‘I need him. Please, Annie, I need Crumpet. He’ll be missing me. Please . . .’
She wrings her hands, turns back up the ramp then changes her mind as I softly start to cry.
‘I’ll ask, Miss. I’ll ask . . .’ Her footsteps are quick and fading. A door opens and closes.
I feel as if I have really lost a part of me. I dream of his drumming heart, his soft fur, the smell of him. I imagine waking to his tongue on my cheek. I pull at my hair. The ache in my chest is never gone now.
Then, after a few days, Mother visits me. We have an appointment with the doctor. She runs through what I have to say, if asked.
‘But I will do the talking. You don’t know the medical words.’
‘I can’t.’ I shake my head.
‘Of course you can. The doctor wants to make you better. Don’t you want that?’
I just want Crumpet. I can’t speak, curled into a ball on my bed. My arms are tight around my chest but I have nobody to hold. I can hardly remember how he felt, how he smelled. It is worse than before, when I had never known him.
‘If you come and talk to the nice doctor you can have your dog back.’
I am still, as if I have imagined the words. ‘Oh!’ I am transformed. Struggling to sit up, I start to gush. ‘I will, I will, I promise! My legs are weak. I can’t walk at all now and I must always use my chair.’
‘That’s a good girl. See? Won’t it be nice to see the doctor so that he can help get you well?’
‘Yes. Yes, it will! Thank you.’ I start to cry, my whole chest up and down, up and down. ‘Thank you, Mama!’
The doctor greets me with a smile, his head tilted to his shoulder when Mother wheels me in. The baby angels on the ceiling watch, too. When I open my mouth to say hello, he stares at the gaps where my teeth were – another gone. It makes my smile slip away.
Mother tells him about my muscular atrophy, her worry about the strength in my left leg, and mentions some research from America. She knows such a lot and the doctor beams and tells her so. ‘You are lucky.’
‘Yes.’ I nod. ‘I am.’ I think of Crumpet waiting back in my bedroom for me, his deep golden-brown body in my arms, his little heart next to mine, the tiny wags of his tail that mean he wants to play.
Mother doesn’t sit. She watches by the mantelpiece, smoothing her hair when the doctor isn’t looking.
He asks me to try to stand and wants to check my weight and I see Mother biting her lip and I know I need to do it slowly – show the doctor that my leg is very bad. Crumpet. The way he lies on his back demanding to be stroked, his lip curled if I refuse then wriggling when I always give in.
‘Yes, Doctor.’
Clutching the chair, I stand slowly, making sure to wobble a little before I sink back into my chair
with a big gasp and Mother looks across at the face of the doctor.
He is thoughtful, writing things on his notepad. I can’t breathe as the silence stretches on. Then he closes the pad and asks Mother about the days where I am sick from my mouth. He gives her vitamins that might help my hair thicken and grow back. I touch it, imagining myself covered in thick fur like Crumpet. I just want to be with him and away from here.
‘Is there an operation perhaps that might cure her?’ Mother asks. ‘I have read that some have to undergo amputation if they decline.’
I don’t know what amputation is, but the doctor looks at me hunched in my chair. ‘We will see,’ he says. He thanks Mother for another Dundee cake. ‘Really excellent!’ I am a lucky girl to have such a clever mother.
‘I have heard about the real advances in prosthetics these days,’ Mother says.
‘We will see.’
I think Mother is pleased because she smiles. I think of Crumpet. Soon he will be snuggled in my arms and I can’t help a wide smile back.
Chapter 37
AVA
The subway hummed beneath her, lulling her once more into a strange half-sleep, her limbs aching as she exited, queued and boarded a bus to the hospital. Why hadn’t she ordered a taxi? She was hit by a smell of egg sandwiches and sweat as the bus hissed to a stop outside the enormous building.
A text message pinged on her mobile. I’m here until 6 p.m.
Will get to you just before. Pls wait if I’m late, she replied. She could head there after the appointment. She had the bone in her bag and she didn’t want to take it back into their flat. She didn’t want that thing by her bed another night. She trembled with the memory of her dreams, sweat beading at her hairline as she stepped off the bus.