by C D Major
‘I got the results from that bone back,’ Liam said. ‘Do you want me to tell you now?’
Chapter 51
AVA
The filming went quickly, the actors both keen to promote the pantomime, their stage make-up bright and preposterous in the winter sun. It would be a light-hearted piece for the news, which she edited from home. A text from Garry thanked her for it. He’s behind you! She scrolled back up through a hundred or so messages from her colleague: light-hearted, professional, thoughtful. She must have been mistaken about their conversation about a baby. She didn’t tell him she’d seen Katy.
Fraser had returned that evening, inching towards the end of term, forty reports still to write. He seemed distracted, making notes in between mouthfuls of food, Ava pushing mashed potato around her plate. She didn’t say a great deal, listening to the scratch of his biro, relieved that Liam’s call meant she didn’t have to do anything more. The bone had been a dog bone. A reasonably large dog. Liam had known because of some hole that ran through a distal articulation. Ava had been too relieved to really listen to any more. She had known, of course, the bone could not have been a child but who knew what else could be buried at Overtoun?
‘I bumped into Katy today.’ Ava picked at her food. She wasn’t very hungry. The baby pushed right up under her ribs, making her breathing shallow.
‘Who?’
‘Katy? Garry’s ex?’
‘Oh yes.’ He looked up, ink on his cheek. ‘How’s she doing? Is she still at Downside?’
‘She is.’ She decided not to tell him any more. What was there to tell? And she didn’t want to think about baby loss, couldn’t help picking at her nails as the words of her grandmother’s diary returned to her.
Fraser had finished; his knife and fork were together. She should tell him what she’d discovered about her mum. He’d make her feel better. He was discreet. He was her best friend.
‘God, I’m going to be finished at 2 a.m. at this rate.’
Ava bit down the words and stood. ‘I’ll wash up. You crack on.’
Another day of work, another day checking her phone for news from her mum. Anger pooled inside her, bubbling beneath the sadness. It made her stomach feel heavier, her back ache more. She knew this couldn’t go on forever; Christmas was around the corner, at least. Her mum would have to talk to her. They were going there for lunch, for God’s sake. She still felt hurt as she left early for her thirty-four-week appointment with the midwife.
She’d told Fraser not to come, waved away his guilt. She knew he would need to arrange parents’ meetings, end-of-term events, finish the reports. She knew he wanted to clear as much work as possible, anticipating having to take his paternity leave in late January during the next term. His shoulders dropped as she reassured him that she’d be fine to go alone this time.
It was fine: the usual blood tests; her blood pressure still not quite right, perhaps; the midwife bent over papers, horizontal lines deepening in her forehead as she made a note. Then came the urine test. There was a pause, the tiniest inhalation that made Ava’s insides lurch. ‘Your protein levels are high.’ Her voice was slow as she tapped her computer. ‘I’m going to book you an appointment with our specialist.’
Ava felt her mouth dry, unable to stop thinking about a woman hunched over soil, the same woman frightened in a bathroom streaked with red.
‘The day after tomorrow . . . would that be alright?’
Ava nodded, allowed herself to be ushered out, barely asking a question. She wished Fraser was there, she wished . . . She lowered herself into a plastic bucket seat in the foyer and put her head in her hands. She wished her mum was there.
She was struggling in the bathroom on that morning, bending awkwardly, her stomach squashed uncomfortably as she reached to roll on her tights. Fraser was hastily adjusting his tie in the mirror. He’d returned late the evening before, wearily appearing after a sixth form parents’ meeting, bloodshot eyes and grey skin. ‘I need a holiday.’ He’d smiled weakly. Ava didn’t mention the new appointment, not wanting to add to his stress. If anything was wrong she’d tell him then.
Ava reached for her earrings, every move making her twinge. God, pregnancy was hard enough – lumbering around with this extra weight and still trying to function in the same way – without this extra anxiety. She had Googled various scenarios, frightening herself with online tales that had ended badly. Was she wrong to wait and tell Fraser afterwards? It would only freak him out and she’d hate for him to miss the end of term, the end of his first term as head of sixth form.
‘Have you seen my other earring?’ she asked, rootling on the top of the dressing table.
‘Nope, sorry – and I’ve got to leg it if I’m not going to be late for my own breakfast meeting. Oh, by the way . . . I left a letter for you that got delivered to me at school.’ He rushed across and gave her shoulder a squeeze.
‘For me?’
He shrugged and flicked the one earring dangling. ‘You are totally rocking the pirate look.’
‘Ha ha,’ she grunted. She twisted to watch him leave the room. ‘See you later!’
‘You mean “Harrrrrr haaarrrrrr”!’ he called. ‘Love you. Love you both.’
She caught her eye in the mirror and smiled, feeling marginally comforted. ‘Idiot,’ she muttered, removing the earring. Another twinge – a ripple through her stomach. God, only just over a week left of work and at least one of those a day of research – no need to be on her feet for too long.
She had almost forgotten about the letter but Fraser had left the envelope propped up against her handbag. She tore it open quickly, searching around for the boots she had kicked off the previous day, mentally preparing herself to squeeze into them. She drew out a white A4 sheet. Some Christmas-related junk mail? An invite to some Christmas party for her and Fraser? She unfolded it, confused immediately by the expanse of white nothing. Look after your baby. The words were written in a familiar black pen and she felt the hairs on her arms rise to attention, her breathing speeding up.
‘What the . . .’ Turning over the page, a cold stone lodged in her stomach. Someone had sent this to Fraser? For her? For a second the room tilted and she shut her eyes. Nausea nudged at her as she stared again at the words. Fraser and she didn’t share a surname. How had they known to deliver it there? What did it mean? She checked the postmark: sent from the centre of Glasgow. That gave her nothing. She slid the letter back in the envelope and put it in her handbag. She needed to think about what she should do.
The newsroom was busy. Bright strip lights contrasted with the grey outside. The monitors all showed the morning programme: the lime-green sofa, Claudia in a lilac dress chatting to a rather earnest-looking guest. The red light was on, reminding everyone that recording was underway, and people spoke in low voices, huddling round desks, water coolers and doors to the editing suites.
Ava wished she wasn’t on air, wished she could talk to someone. The note burned a hole in her handbag as she sat, barely present, in the morning briefing. She would show the note to Fraser. She would write down some of the other things that had happened over the last few months: the hand-delivered note at the flat; the letter at work; the slashed tyre; the feeling of being followed. But then she learned that Garry had already assigned her job that day.
‘We’re leaving for Overtoun in ten,’ he said on the way past. ‘I’ll drive.’
‘Overtoun?’ Ava couldn’t disguise the shock on her face. ‘But why?’
‘A dog jumped. Someone phoned.’ He turned to talk to another reporter as Ava felt the blood drain from her face.
She shouldn’t go.
She didn’t want to give more attention to Overtoun, not now she knew about her mum’s link to the place. She hadn’t found out what had happened to her there. What she did know in her bones was that the bridge and house were central to the mystery, a menacing energy that recognised Ava, recognised her connection to the place. Marion had suffered so much loss, had jumped to he
r death. Someone had scratched those words in that room. What would she stir up if she returned there? She relived that moment outside the window when it had seemed the house had released a furious roar. It didn’t want her there. Fear dripped down her spine, a terrible foreboding. She should not go.
Look after your baby.
‘Ava, come on!’ Garry stood in the doorway of the newsroom, car keys dangling from his hand.
The weather had worsened as she made her way outside, brooding grey clouds overhead, trees that edged the car park slanting sideways in the wind. She felt freezing despite her layers. Just under two weeks to go, she reminded herself as she squeezed into the passenger seat and struggled to get the seat belt across her bump.
She sent a text message to her mum. Another dog jumped. They’re sending me back there. We have to talk. Call me! What would make her mum get in touch?
Rain spattered the windows as they left the car park and drove out of the city. It was just them. ‘Neil’s going to meet us there.’ Garry smiled brightly as he overtook another car. Ava gripping the handle overhead, one eye flicking to the speedometer. Did she imagine the stilted atmosphere in the car or was she simply paranoid?
The windscreen wipers swished frantically and the wind nudged the car as they sped north. The Clyde looked grim, its steel-grey surface choppy as they made their way over Erskine Bridge.
The Gothic facade of the house seemed perfectly suited to the wild weather as Garry parked. The rain fell like bullets onto the car’s roof and glass. ‘We could shelter in here for now,’ Garry said. Ava suddenly didn’t want to. She grabbed the cagoule she kept in her handbag and stepped out. The wind blew her hood off immediately and her face and hair were coated instantly with droplets. She wished they hadn’t come. She wished she was at home now, making plans for Christmas, a happy cocoon with Fraser, terrible movies and all the food.
Her hips and back screamed in pain as they walked around the side of the house, sheltering for a moment under the portico, the howling gusts flattening the long grasses in the field in front of them. Puddles grew bigger as the rumble of distant thunder sounded.
‘Shall we start on the bridge?’ Garry called.
‘Sure.’
Garry pulled out his phone. ‘Neil’s delayed. Accident on the A82.’
‘Oh? Oh, right.’ It must have happened just after they’d driven on it.
‘Show me the way.’ He smiled, shifting his rucksack to his other shoulder.
Huddled over herself, hood up, she stepped out from under their sheltered spot, turning the corner of the house. As she glanced down the stone steps, she couldn’t stop her gaze resting on the window, the ivy broken in places where she had disturbed it. She thought then of the words scratched into the windowsill, her blood running cold. What had happened to her mum?
‘Ava?’ Garry had almost bumped into her as she’d stood rooted to the spot, the wind and rain still lashing them from every angle.
She shouldn’t be here, the roar of the water merging with the howl of the wind, the rain in diagonal strips streaking down her cheeks, her neck, under her collar, into her clothes.
Help me.
‘Are we mad?’ Garry’s voice in her ear make her jump.
Lightning flashed in the distance.
‘We can’t film in this. Let’s get beneath the bridge – see if we can do something there.’
She descended the path, wondering now if everything she had felt about the place was because her own history was so caught up in it. Her maternal grandmother had killed herself right here. The bank where they had found the bone looked barely disturbed, droplets clinging to the grass. There was some shelter from the rain underneath the canopy of dripping leaves.
‘Here.’ She pointed.
‘Here?’ Garry circled her, brushing her body as he moved past on the narrow path. She flinched. Another ache in her body winded her and she winced. ‘So maybe we could start the piece standing here – the bridge in the background?’
Ava swallowed, her throat dry. The rain had eased but the noise of the swollen river seemed to fill her up. She started shivering. It was as if the house and bridge had realised she was back and were reaching their shadowy hands out to her, twisting around her limbs, suffocating her. It was so dark despite not even being midday. What had happened to her mother here? Being physically present suddenly made the questions more urgent.
Garry had taken out a notepad and pen, hunched over, trying to shield them from the wet. ‘OK,’ he said. He looked at the bank and then back to the bridge as he planned their piece.
Ava, however, was staring, staring at the writing on the page. The letters dragged her back to the present – to this moment. Something about the flourish on the ‘A’. Her heart raced. Stepping backwards, she stumbled.
Garry frowned and moved forward. ‘Ava?’
She couldn’t speak. Her body was hurting, her hips and back grating. Pain shot through her as panic bloomed in her chest. Could it be?
A message on white paper . . . He knew where she lived. He knew where Fraser worked. He had lied to her about Katy. She was followed after work – followed home. Garry?
Why was she here with him? Oh my God, had a dog even jumped?
‘Look, Ava . . .’ Garry sighed. ‘I know why you’re being off. I spoke to Katy, OK? She told me what she told you . . . she was angry . . .’
‘I . . .’ The pain in Ava’s side worsened, robbed her of her next breath. Her mind was cloudy, sluggish, as Garry’s face swam in front of her, as his words swirled around her.
‘I don’t know why I said that stuff. It was . . . I wanted you to think I understood or . . . or something.’
She had shut her eyes, was breathing through the pain. It couldn’t be what she thought it was. It was too early.
‘Ava? Are you upset? Look . . . this is a bit embarrassing . . . but I suppose I sort of realised a few months ago that I . . . I liked you. And I thought you and Fraser might break up. I wanted you to know that I liked babies. I’m sorry . . . Ava?’
She felt real fear take hold, her baby kicking and moving as if sensing she was distressed.
‘Ava, I really hope I haven’t screwed up our friendship. It means a lot and it was just a mad moment. It’s why I’ve kept my distance a bit these last few weeks. I’m totally over you now . . .’ He laughed and the noise made her squirm. The words of the note flashing across her mind.
‘Ava . . .’ He gripped her arm and she let out a small cry. ‘Ava, what’s wrong?’
‘I’ve got to . . . I think . . .’ The panic was overwhelming her, her stomach squeezing, making her gasp and double over. The air seemed to shift, the bridge quivering in her eyeline. Time slowed then sped up again. A thin place. The pain in her body, her mind too full. She thrust her hands to the sides of her head. She didn’t know what to think. Oh my God! Her brain was swimming. What was happening to her? Could she make it back to the house? If she did, would anyone be in? She didn’t have her own car. Was Neil even on his way?
‘Ava?’ Garry’s hands shot to right her before she fell on the path, concern filling his eyes as she sucked in her breath. ‘Ava, are you alright?’
A fresh wave of pain threatened to wind her and she gasped and bent over herself. She couldn’t respond, just shook her head from side to side. ‘I’m getting . . .’ She was only thirty-four weeks – it couldn’t be, it couldn’t. Her breathing got faster as her fear exploded inside. ‘I think I’m . . . I need help!’ She looked back up the path, the climb suddenly insurmountable, the bridge itself looming over them, casting a shadow. Rain stuck her eyelashes together, ran into her mouth, flattened her hair. The smell of soaked foliage and thick mud filled her nostrils.
If she could just get back onto the top of the bridge . . . Another shot of pain fired through her and this time she lost her balance, one knee sinking onto the path. She wailed.
Garry’s face peered at her. ‘Is it the baby?’
She nodded, clutching her stomach, barely
able to speak. ‘Please. Oh my God.’ Fear almost choked her; they were in the middle of nowhere, the estate miles from a hospital. This wasn’t Braxton Hicks. The baby would need help. Above the bank to her right she could just make out the diamond panes of the ivy-covered window. The dusty room behind.
Help me.
Chapter 52
MARION
I am ready for the blow. I will telephone the doctor when it happens. He has been attentive throughout, knowing my history. But it doesn’t come. This time my stomach grows, protrudes, making my clothes uncomfortable. Annie takes them out, delighting in my state. Did Miss Kae tell her niece of my losses? Lord West will be thrilled. She sends a telegram. I am not sure he receives it.
Hamish is missing, presumed dead. I can’t find the tears for him. Miss Kae visits and cries for us both. A poor soul, a poor lost soul. I imagine, in a grand house forty miles from here, there is a blonde weeping buckets, her elderly husband no comfort as he sits wrinkled in a chair.
I drink the milk Annie brings from a neighbouring farmer’s cow and place a hand on my stomach. It is spring and the estate stirs into life. The thought of war feels as remote as ever; the bombing raids nearby were more than two years ago. The sun peeks shyly through cotton wool clouds and sheep bleat as lambs roam around their ankles. Leaves bloom on the trees, rich and full. Flowers grow, buds opening to reveal a riot of merry colours.
The pregnancy progresses and I take gentle walks around the garden. I make sure I am eating well and not listening to music at loud volumes to harm the baby. I am astounded to hear the heartbeat from the doctor’s stethoscope, feel the hard, round head beneath my skin.
‘You have a good colour in your cheeks,’ he says. He is rapt, concerned that I am taking care. ‘After the losses before, we must be careful.’ I assure him I am following his advice. He beams. His perfect patient. He’ll be back to check on me soon. It is my turn to smile.
The baby is born at home in my bedroom, the ivy blurring as I clench the sheets into a fist. The walls of the room contract and expand as if they too are experiencing this moment. It is painful, shockingly so. A white and wide-eyed Annie brings towels, not yet twenty and horrified by the scene. I scream into the pillow, which is soaked with sweat and tears. I feel like I am being turned inside out, torn in two. I need it to stop, I am begging for it to stop and finally, impossibly, as the sky turns a midnight blue and I realise I have lost the day to this agony, I feel an enormous pressure. The doctor has come and it is he who removes the fragile being, who cuts her from the strange sinewy rope. She bawls and I collapse backwards, the foreign sound reminding me of nothing else.