by C D Major
Her mum swallowed. ‘I do care. Of course I care. It’s not that.’
‘So why the silence?’
‘I haven’t been silent.’ She paced in front of Ava, the noise of the water accompanying her steps.
‘But you’ve been . . . different. I thought we were close.’
At this her mum looked hurt, her head drooping. ‘Oh, Ava, we are close. I’m sorry. I just didn’t understand – couldn’t understand – why you had latched on to this place . . .’ Her eyes were unable to meet Ava’s as they roved past her to the bridge, her body stilling as she stared at the huge stone structure. ‘It’s . . .’
‘Unearthly,’ Ava breathed, unable to keep the word inside.
‘Nonsense!’
Ava felt a dull drop in her stomach. Was this crackle in the atmosphere, this feeling that she could disappear into some other place all in her head, the things she’d felt in that room been simply the inventions of her own frightened imagination? ‘I don’t know why. I can’t explain it, not logically, but it’s like something here responds to me being here, like . . . it knows.’
Her mum’s face drained of colour, her pale skin stark in the darkness.
‘I read the diaries of the woman who lived here,’ Ava explained, her voice cracking.
‘Diaries?’ The word sounded lost to the water.
Ava nodded. ‘They were so sad. She’s the one they say haunts the place. People say they’ve seen her. On the bridge. They say it’s why the dogs jump.’
Still her mum didn’t speak. Ava felt desperate. Was this just any old house, any old bridge to other people?
‘The poor woman went through so much.’ Ava was desperate for someone else to understand.
Her mum looked up, an unreadable expression crossing her face.
A fox shrieked in the distance and Ava jumped at the sound. The sky was even darker now as the moon hid behind a sheet of pockmarked clouds.
Her mother turned to her. Over the years, Ava had grown familiar with her mum’s every expression, but this was something new. ‘You think the woman should be pitied?’ she sneered. ‘Pitied?’ The word was screeched, enough to set Ava’s teeth on edge and send a panicked fluttering from some branches. Ava was made rigid by abject confusion. Then, without warning, her mum started to cry – great gulping sobs. Tears streaking her cheeks and her eyes were wild.
For a moment, Ava was too shocked to say anything. ‘I don’t . . .’
‘She shouldn’t be pitied. Not her. She was . . . she was . . .’ Her words were lost in the tears. Then came another choked sob, a harsh, bitter laugh, then uncontrolled weeping.
What was going on? How had her mum any connection to Overtoun? To the woman and the diaries? ‘I don’t understand,’ Ava said, finally. ‘How do you—’
‘My name,’ her mum said suddenly. She tilted her chin as she looked at Ava. ‘I changed my name when I left.’
Ava was silent, still. Her mum had changed her name?
‘Frances means free one. Because that was how I felt.’ She laughed again, that horrible, frightening laugh. ‘I was free. I had escaped this place.’ She glared at Ava, then past her, her face twisting as her voice dropped almost to a whisper. ‘That woman . . .’ Her body shivered in the fading light. ‘That woman you pity so much? She was a monster!’
Then the hatred in her face dissolved as she stared across at Ava. ‘She was my mother. My name was Constance.’
Chapter 50
AVA
There were only a couple of weeks left of work, she reminded herself, as she gripped the edge of the bath, the white walls still tilting as she steadied her breathing. Christmas had seemed an obvious stopping point; she would be at thirty-six weeks then. Right now, she wished she could stop work today.
‘We are having one baby, aren’t we?’ Fraser had asked that weekend as he took another delivery.
‘You were the one who said we needed a bath thermometer.’
‘Safety first.’ He’d stopped to rest a hand on her shoulder and kiss the side of her head.
‘And the bath toys were ordered by . . . ?’ She felt a glow where he’d touched her as he moved away, laughing to himself.
Moving around hurt, her stomach strained, most of her maternity clothes were already too tight.
She should tell him.
She hadn’t spoken to her mum since that day at Overtoun and she hadn’t returned any of her calls. When Ava had turned up to their house a few days later, her mum had been out on one of her big walks, Gus no doubt trotting dutifully at her side. She had left the box of diaries with her dad. ‘Make sure she gets them,’ she’d urged, pressing the heavy shoebox into his arms.
She hadn’t included the scrawled pieces of paper from the trunk that she’d stuffed into her jacket. At first she had almost forgotten them, returning in a daze to the flat that night. Fraser had just passed out in front of a football match, a beer bottle empty on the floor beside the sofa. Switching on the lamp on her side of the bed, she had hunched over the sheets, smoothing them out, reading hungrily, desperate for any hint or clue.
There had been loose sheets written in Marion’s hand that didn’t make sense separately. There was a list of medical terms – question marks after many of them: Polio? Tuberculosis? Chronic dyspepsia? Had her mum had all of these things? Had she had polio? There were other notes too: an entry about a puppy, a Christmas at the house with almost forty cards from people living in Dumbarton! Another list for the garden, perhaps: apple seeds circled, making her heart beat faster. Ava scanned the disjointed information, snatched up the sheets as she heard Fraser call out and then appear, rubbing his face, berating her for letting him fall asleep in front of the football again.
She had barely slept, recalling her mum’s face in the darkness, her features as grotesque as the gargoyles on the bridge nearby. Her mum didn’t hate anyone; she didn’t have time for that, too busy climbing a mountain or dragging Gus out on a walk, organising some petition about littering, raising money for the Crisis centre. Why had she been so angry? What had she escaped from?
Ava thought then of the bone she had found: not the child, but what? She felt a thin sheen of sweat on her top lip as fear seized her: she was Marion’s granddaughter. Beneath her layers her chest rose and fell in rapid movements. She had a GP appointment the next day. The words in the diaries swam before her. Those babies. Marion hadn’t been fine.
‘You OK?’ Fraser paused from doing up his tie, unable to hide the worry etched into his features.
‘Just aching everywhere.’ Guilt made her insides churn. But this wasn’t her secret to share. How could she tell Fraser about her mum before she knew the truth?
And what is the truth? she asked herself for the hundredth time. She couldn’t reconcile her mother with what she knew about the girl in the house: a sickly child in a wheelchair, a child who was apparently so sick she was thought to have died. Two words ran like tickertape beneath the pitiful image: help me. If her mum was that girl, what had her own mother done to her?
She wished she’d cancelled on Pippa. She didn’t want to be tempted to unburden herself on her. She prayed the day’s filming would be quick, that she wouldn’t have to be on her feet too long. It was Mum’s secret to tell. Ava knew she needed to stay silent.
She checked her mobile: still nothing. A rush of despair overwhelmed her again. This wasn’t fair. Her mum needed to call her. She would have read the diaries by now. Why had they stopped before mentioning Mum? Her head was crammed too full; the task of a day’s filming seemed insurmountable.
She almost missed the single sheet of paper as she left her flat, folded once and lying on the dirty brown mat, her name in capital letters: AVA. Inside the fold, four words: You should stay away. Ava turned it over in her hands and licked her dry lips. What the . . . The letters were bold and spaced out, impossible to tell the handwriting. Unease dripped slowly down her spine. Suddenly, all the tiny moments of the past few months fell into place. It had begun after her fir
st visit to Overtoun and now she’d gone back. Someone didn’t want her at that house, at that bridge.
The note disappeared into her handbag as she opened the door of their flat. Outside seemed full of dangers: the path was icy; figures in the distance seemed to look in her direction; a car passing slowly – watching her? She couldn’t shake the mood, tense and alert to her surroundings, her body aching and stiff with the strain of it.
Town was busy. Christmas shoppers, with pink ears and running noses, clutched carrier bags as they pushed past. Ava stared at every single face, searching for someone familiar. She thought of the Dumbarton locals she’d interviewed. She must have given her card to twenty or so. They hadn’t wanted her visiting the house. Would it have been so hard to find out where she worked? Where she lived?
‘Ava!’ Pippa waved, startling her as she pushed through the door of the cafe.
Pippa sat at the table in a bottle-green polo neck. Her skin smooth, her eyes bright in direct contrast to how Ava felt. She let out a bark of laughter when Ava removed her coat. ‘Look at you!’
‘Shut up.’ Ava gave her sister a half-smile, her back aching as she lowered herself into the chair. She wore a black stretchy maternity dress; they were filming around the corner at the King’s Theatre with a couple of the stars of the pantomime.
‘You look fab.’ Pippa’s eyes softened and she reached across to give Ava’s hand a squeeze. ‘I just ordered you a decaf latte. How are you doing?’
How was she doing? The urge to share engulfed her. Going quietly mad . . . ‘I’m good.’ Ava took a breath; this wasn’t the right time. And Pippa was already asking about the pregnancy. A waitress delivered a glass, sprinkled chocolate on frothy white milk, and Ava thanked her, composing her face. ‘Well . . .’ She looked up at Pippa. ‘I’m good. And apprehensive. And terrified . . .’
Pippa started giggling and Ava felt a glow inside as she took a sip of the coffee. Why couldn’t she just be thinking about her pregnancy? Why had she allowed herself to be pulled back to Overtoun? Recalling the note in her bag made her heart sink. The house was still reaching out for her, still linked with her own life.
‘And everything’s fine? The baby?’
It was a few seconds before Ava answered. She nodded quickly. ‘I’ve got my thirty-four-week midwife appointment in a couple of days.’
‘That’s good,’ Pippa said. ‘I remember . . .’
Pippa’s voice faded away as another shot of fear seized Ava’s insides. Late miscarriages, blood loss, babies buried in a shady spot.
‘. . . so Liam had to race back out and get it!’
Ava straightened in her chair, her head woozy again. She had barely eaten breakfast, though. It was the coffee.
‘Ava?’
‘You never told me much about Tommy’s birth,’ Ava said, a hand on her stomach. Had the baby kicked this morning? She felt a flutter of panic as she tried to recall the last time. Count the kicks.
Pippa repeated some of the facts and Ava tried to listen, tried to immerse herself in another person’s life. ‘And what about the first few weeks?’ Ava asked, not able to contribute much, her stomach clenching. Braxton Hicks. She had Googled it, the strange sensation, as if someone was squeezing her insides. Just Braxton Hicks. She was fine.
‘. . . was it tongue tie? Colic? A milk allergy? I used to look it all up at 4 a.m., convinced he had it all . . . I thought I was going mad . . . that it was just me.’
Ava sat taller in her chair and fired more questions at her, guilty that she had never asked this stuff before. Pippa had finished her cappuccino and tucked a strand of hair self-consciously behind her ear. ‘It can be hard,’ she said. ‘And you might feel bad. You feel like you shouldn’t complain. I so wanted a baby but it was so bloody hard and I was too embarrassed to admit I wasn’t coping.’
‘I had no idea.’
‘Well . . .’ Pippa bit her lip. ‘I suppose we didn’t talk about babies, stuff like that. Mum was great. She offered to help me. You know what she’s like. She has more energy than both of us.’
Ava found herself shredding the paper napkin in front of her. ‘She does.’ Her neck muscles felt strained. She couldn’t face talking about Mum, not today. Not before she knew more.
‘She’ll be great with you too. Too great. She’ll be dropping in every second to check on you. I don’t really remember those early days much but it’s not the same for every mum.’
Would she be great? Ava felt her chest ache with the loss of her mum, alarmed that she could feel tears building at the back of her eyes.
Pippa pushed her cup and saucer aside gently and looked at Ava, a serious expression on her face. ‘You will promise, won’t you?’ She reached across the table. ‘You’ll promise to tell me if you need help, or you’re hating it all or anything.’
‘I will.’ Ava swallowed then smiled gratefully. ‘I’m going to need you. Expect 4 a.m. phone calls.’
‘Absolutely.’
Pippa had to go. Ava said she’d pay the bill. Shrugging on her knee-length black coat, Pippa pulled her hair free of her collar. The bob almost reached her shoulders now. ‘Have you seen Mum recently? She’s gone a bit quiet.’
‘Not since Tommy’s.’ The lie slipped out easily, her voice a touch high but Pippa didn’t seem to notice.
They kissed goodbye and Ava paid the bill and left. She checked her phone: no messages. She tapped out a text to her mum: We need to talk, pls call me. She almost careered into a woman walking past the cafe – a familiar face.
‘Ava!’ The woman pulled to a halt in front of her. ‘Oh my God, hi! I’ve just had a coffee with Garry. He told me he was heading to a job. He didn’t tell me it was with you. How are you?’
Ava dragged herself into the present, adjusted her features. Katy was standing in front of her, a gloved hand on her handbag.
‘I’m well. We’re filming at the theatre.’ Ava remembered what Garry had hinted at when they’d been alone in the editing suite all those weeks ago. She should have called Katy afterwards. She had liked her. How had she let her life be so taken over?
‘It’s been ages. How’s Fraser? Is he still at Fernhouse High?’
She hadn’t seen Katy since a cosy dinner party in their apartment, Garry’s arm round the back of her chair as they all played a drunken game of Pictionary. Ava pulled her scarf around herself. ‘Still the same. He’s about to finish his first term as head of sixth form, actually.’
‘That’s great. God, I wish he’d replace ours. She is the actual worst . . . And you’re still doing the news? I see you sometimes. I saw you the other night – the piece on knife crime.’
A bicycle bell sounded and someone shouted. Ava’s nerves felt frazzled as she tried to concentrate on what Katy was saying.
‘We’ve got a careers event coming up, actually. It would be great to get you in to talk to some of our sixth formers.’
‘Oh, I would but . . .’ Ava trailed away, about to tell her that she’d be off work for a while on maternity leave. Her mouth opened and closed hopelessly. Should she tell her? Wasn’t it obvious now, her bump pushing through her coat?
‘And look!’ Katy drew back both of her arms and inspected Ava. ‘You’re pregnant! How exciting! You and Fraser will make brilliant parents.’ Ava felt her shoulders drop a fraction. ‘When are you due?’
‘Mid-January. I didn’t know you and Garry were still together?’
‘We’re not. We’re friends. Well . . . sometimes . . . Oh God!’ She laughed, throwing up her hands. ‘It’s complicated. So, do you know if it’s a boy or a girl?’
Ava was slow to respond. Garry hadn’t mentioned Katy for months. ‘We . . . um . . . we haven’t found out.’
‘A surprise, oh, that is lovely.’
‘Katy . . .’ Ava was unable to bear it any longer. ‘I’m sorry I haven’t called you. And especially since Garry told me, about you and him breaking up and the . . .’ She trailed away. Why didn’t she say ‘baby’? She could hear the sound of a r
iver, see a figure crouched in the dirt – another hole for another baby. She blinked and the smell of rotting leaves and wet soil faded, to be replaced by petrol fumes and onions from a nearby takeaway.
‘About what?’ Katy’s smile was lopsided, a line forming between her eyebrows.
‘I wish I’d known when it happened. I’d have wanted to have been there for you.’ The cold bit at her face, stung her eyes. ‘I just had no idea until Garry let it slip a few weeks ago.’
Katy’s happy expression faltered, her voice dropping; a passing car almost smothered the words. ‘What did Garry let slip?’ The cold wind whipped around them both.
‘That you were . . .’ Ava took a breath. ‘About the baby.’
‘What baby?’ Katy’s eyes narrowed.
‘Your baby. The one—’ A bus hissed as it stopped nearby. Ava lowered her voice as passengers moved past. ‘The one you lost. I’m desperately sorry.’
Katy’s mouth parted. ‘Ava, there was never any baby. I’ve never been pregnant.’
‘I . . .’
‘I need to go,’ Katy said. ‘That’s my bus.’ She moved away slowly, her brows knitted together. ‘Good luck!’ she said, almost as an afterthought.
Ava moved to catch up with Katy but her mobile phone interrupted. Maybe it was Garry with a meet place? What would she say to him? Had she imagined their conversation? With everything else going on she couldn’t focus. What had he said? Had she somehow misunderstood?
Still lost in thought, she pressed the phone to her ear. Liam’s voice was agitated when Ava finally tuned in.
‘Ava! Ava, I’m glad I got you.’ He was breathless, his voice rushed.
Ava tried to concentrate. Katy had now stepped onto the bus, lost among the Christmas shoppers. The doors hissed closed and it pulled away.
A car horn sounded. Garry waved and smiled from the other side of the road.