The Thin Place

by C D Major

  ‘But she was doing it?’ Ava was horrified, her eyes landing on the smooth skin of her own daughter. To think anyone could do that to a child, to their child. She felt her stomach swirl.

  ‘We went to different doctors. She would speak for me. Tell them new things. That I had polio as a child, that I had a wasting disease. She made me go in a wheelchair when I knew I could walk. I knew . . .’

  Ava covered her mouth as it all spilled out, her mum’s tears falling onto Leonora’s oblivious head. She had seen those medical terms, had never imagined this scenario.

  ‘The gardener, Mr Hughes, suspected. He saw me some days, in my room, leaping from bed to rug, making stepping stones with my books, anything to alleviate the terrible boredom. Waiting for hours, watching that bridge.’

  Ava thought back to the small bedroom, the single bed, the dusty shelf of books, the scratched words on the sill.

  ‘He was married to the housekeeper.’

  ‘Keven’s parents,’ Ava said slowly.

  ‘Yes,’ her mum whispered. ‘They were so kind to me. After my mother . . . after she jumped, they helped me leave. They had a friend in Glasgow who agreed to take me in, promised to hide my whereabouts. They gave me a small amount of money. I changed my name.’

  ‘But surely Keven knew, then?’

  Her mum shook her head. ‘They told him – they told everyone – that I had died. Everyone had heard that I was in a wheelchair and that I was sick.’

  Ava’s mind was reeling. ‘And the family that took you in?’

  ‘Carol. She was a woman in her fifties, whose son had emigrated. She was kind. She died when I was seventeen.’

  ‘So, whose funeral was the one I remember?’

  ‘It was Annie’s funeral. 1987. I can’t believe you remembered that. You were so young.’ She looked up then, gave Ava a watery smile.

  ‘Here . . .’ She passed Leonora back, cradling her head as she reached down for her handbag and pulled out a packet of tissues.

  Ava felt her body melt into her daughter’s as she felt her tiny heartbeat thrumming its rhythm. Sleep on, my lovely girl.

  ‘I’d kept in touch with Annie over the years. I told her when I got married, when I had you and Pippa. I wanted her to know she had done a good thing.’ Her mum dabbed at her face and took a slow breath. ‘I didn’t want to cause any trouble. There had been . . .’ She pressed two hands to her eyes as her voice wobbled once more. ‘Rumours . . . rumours that Mr Hughes had pushed my mother, even though Keven was there and saw nothing of the sort. He said so at the inquest but the locals thought he was covering for his father.’

  ‘And was he?’

  ‘I asked him myself. That day under the bridge. He thought he’d seen a ghost. He thought I was her returned. He told me he saw her jump. That she killed herself.’

  Ava felt her skin break into goosebumps, not ready yet to return to the mud and the fear of Overtoun Bridge or the image of a lady tumbling to the rocks below.

  Her mum was crying softly. ‘I knew I couldn’t go to Annie’s funeral but I wanted to be there that day. But Keven might have recognised me, blamed me for the rumours, and I couldn’t risk him telling anyone I was alive, telling them who I was. No one knew.’ She looked up and met Ava’s eye. ‘Until now.’

  ‘What about Dad?’

  Her mum’s head drooped onto her chest. ‘I never told him. I never told anyone what she did to me, never told him about Overtoun. I fabricated a story: an abusive drunk, a belt, a story told a hundred times before. He accepted it. I think he knew on some level I was hiding something but he trusted me.’

  That was Dad. He loved her mum so much. She thought of his anger on the phone that day on the crags, the hurt in his voice. He had known something wasn’t right.

  ‘I’m going to tell him everything,’ she added.

  ‘I think he’d like that.’

  Her mum wiped at her eyes. Leonora stirred and Ava dropped a kiss on her head. Mum reached across to tap the top diary with one finger. ‘I tortured myself for years with why she did it, why she made me ill. I always thought it was because she resented me or hated me or was just plain evil but these . . .’ She lifted the top one from the pile and turned it over in her hands. ‘They’ve made me think she couldn’t help it. That her losses twisted her.’

  Ava shivered despite the tropical temperature of the cafe. Her mum was finally breaking down. ‘If you hadn’t gone there, if you hadn’t given them to me, I might never have understood.’

  The noise was pitiful as her mum’s face crumpled. Ava darted to put Leonora back in her pram so she could scoot round and draw her mum to her. Though people were looking over, nothing mattered as Ava hugged her mother to her. ‘It’s OK. I understand now. I do. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Keven said you found a bone.’ She sniffed. ‘That you’re going to keep filming there . . . that others might look into the story, bring up the inquest all over again.’

  ‘We won’t . . . we won’t . . .’

  ‘He said he always wondered if his dad had done it. They’d both known what she was doing to me. But I knew he hadn’t. I’d seen his dad in the garden. He couldn’t have done it. But if you do keep filming, maybe others will bring it all up. Maybe he will be hounded.’

  ‘Mum, I promise, it’s over.’ Ava rocked her. ‘Of course we won’t. I’ll tell Garry there’s no story. He owes me anyway. I’ll tell him we’ll stay away. I’ll sort it.’

  Her mum pulled a handkerchief from her handbag and blew her nose loudly. Leonora jerked in her sleep in response. ‘Thank you,’ she whispered, her hand over Ava’s. ‘Thank you.’

  Chapter 58

  CONSTANCE

  I am standing on my bed, dressed in my white cotton nightdress, stained from the day. No clothes today. No leaving my room. Mother is still busy preparing.

  My feet are bare, my mouth open, the scream long and loud. I repeat it. I repeat it until I hear footsteps rushing to my door. Murmured words.

  ‘I am here! Wait! I am here!’

  I scream some more.

  There’s a key in the lock.

  I am pointing now, pointing at the diamonds on the window. A longer scream, high, tearing through her as she explodes into the room, almost tripping over my lunch tray, the crusts rejected.

  ‘What is it? What is it? Where does it hurt?’

  She stops. I am not meant to be standing. My legs can’t hold me and I collapse down quickly, not wanting her to see through the fabric, wonder about what I’m wearing beneath my nightdress. I don’t let her speak, I just scream and point until she pulls me towards her on the bed, cradles me in her lap as if I am a small child again, stroking my hair as she asks, ‘What is it? What is it?’

  I keep screaming. She lifts me back to sitting, rattles me like a doll; my eyes roll back, my jaw is jolted.

  ‘You’re scaring me. What is it, Constance?’

  ‘The bridge! I saw something jump! It jumped – I saw it.’

  ‘What? What jumped?’

  I make big, tearful sounds. ‘Please! Please check it’s alright! Mama, please!’ I grip her sweater, begging her, begging.

  ‘I will, of course I will.’ She leaves the room quickly, my screams and sobs following her along the corridor. I hear the big front door shut.

  I move quickly, grabbing the bag, the shoes, the coat, my screams so loud she had forgotten to lock the door behind her. I run from my room and follow her. Her house slippers are abandoned on their sides by the door as I pull it with all my strength. For a moment it is as if hands are stopping me, pulling me back inside the house, as if it won’t let me leave. The handle freezes in my grip – cold, as if I am already outside. I cry out, real tears now springing to my eyes. She will return. I need to leave. I won’t stay. I won’t. The door swings open.

  I wobble for a moment – dizzy. I mustn’t fall. Come on! I’m out into the weather, the fields a mushroom-grey in the late afternoon, rain spattering my face as I turn and stumble, try to run, stones digging i
nto the soles of my feet, muddy water wetting my nightdress, my flesh dotted with cold as I move as quickly as I can towards the bridge. I could run down the road. I could run to Mr Hughes and Annie in Dumbarton.

  But I see her. She is on the nearest ledge to me, the parapet closest to the house. She is leaning over the thick stone, shielding her eyes as she searches. For a second I’m frozen, remembering another time when she was on the bridge, Crumpet bundled in her arms.

  I step onto the bridge, aware suddenly of a movement in the ravine below. An animal? Or is it a face I see?

  I speed up, staring at her wellingtons, the thin strip of pale skin above them. I approach softly. The rain is so heavy, bouncing off the surface of the bridge, puddles merging with each other. I can’t see anything at all over the height of the wall.

  A clap of lightning makes me jump. For a second, all the windows of the house seem to flash a furious blue as it watches me, a rumble of thunder like a warning as I tiptoe right up to her, crouching low.

  She is still looking, her body bent right over.

  I move quickly, grab the strips of pale skin in my hands and throw my weight upwards and over. It is surprisingly easy.

  The shortest scream, the splash lost to a host of other sounds: of the river and rain and the rumble of thunder. She is gone.

  See, Mother, I think as I turn and race back to the house, back to my room, unpack the small running-away bag, take off the clothes beneath my nightdress, hop into bed to be found sleeping peacefully in the morning by Annie, my arms and legs are strong.

  Epilogue

  PRESENT DAY

  The dog was a collie – Sandy, perky, curious, rushing on ahead of her owner, a woman visiting the area for the first time, a smile on her face as she thought of their long walk up from the nearby town of Dumbarton. Spring was around the corner, the trees along the driveway filled with tiny buds.

  She only noticed the sign at the last moment, as she set foot on the bridge, the water a roar far below her. Sandy was still trotting up ahead. She felt the lead sticking out of the pocket of her Barbour and was about to call for her. It didn’t look like a dangerous place; in fact, for a second, when the sun shone, it seemed as if the stone of the bridge became translucent, shimmering in the weak sunshine. Her hand dropped to her side. Sandy spun joyfully to check she was following.

  She took a few steps forward, a sudden gust of wind blowing the hair back from her face as the light flickered and faded, the sun gone. Up ahead, the Gothic grey house loomed, towers pointing to the heavens, blank windows staring down at her, poised. The roar of water filled her head, the smell of damp all around her. Her smile slipped, her skin prickling. Over the noise of the water, the sudden wail of a baby made her twist her head to the side.

  ‘Sandy!’ She reached into her pocket to take out the lead.

  It happened so quickly that in the moments afterwards she thought she had imagined it.

  Her lovely dog, her faithful companion who had been by her side throughout her long illness, witnessed her children leaving the nest, who had walked the hills by her side, suddenly stuck up her head, nose twitching. And with a few simple leaps she bounded straight for the wall, leaping onto the parapet without a pause, only to sail straight over the thick stone, suspended for a second in her mind’s eye before plunging out of view, a strange, startled howl before a splash and then silence.

  The house seemed to breathe in and out as the woman raced over to the edge of the bridge, watching her as she peered below, her mouth open, screaming over and over into the void.

  HISTORICAL NOTE

  Creepy goings-on have always fascinated me and the mystery surrounding Overtoun Bridge is no exception.

  It is believed that since the 1950s, more than fifty, if not upwards of five hundred, dogs have leaped to their deaths from this bridge.

  Why Do the Dogs Jump?

  A Thin Place

  There is a Celtic belief that the house and bridge form one of the ‘thin places’ – where heaven and earth are only separated by a thread.

  Certainly, Overtoun fits the bill for such a place, with reports of fairy sightings in the grounds in the late nineteenth century and plenty of witnesses to the supposed ghost that haunts the estate – the White Lady. There is even a photograph of her in an upstairs window of the house, looking out as if staring at the bridge.

  A Tragic Place

  There have certainly been plenty of tragedies to befall Overtoun. In 1994, a man was committed after throwing his young baby over the bridge to his death and then attempting to leap in after him. Bodies have been found in and around the estate, miles from where they are meant to be, with spent guns lying next to them. Some locals fear that the bridge does exert a strange pull on people and is to be avoided.

  Scents or Sounds

  Some point to the introduction of mink in and around the 1950s. Supposedly the scent of mink proves so powerful to dogs that they leap, unknowing, towards it and plunge to their deaths. The stone wall is thick and high enough that the dogs cannot see. This heightens their other senses, notably the sense of smell, so they are driven to distraction by it.

  Others have theorised that a nearby nuclear base emits a terrifying frequency that only dogs can hear, driving them wild enough to leap.

  Some dogs have been known to jump from the bridge, survive the fall, get back to the top of the bridge and jump from the same spot again.

  A warning sign was commissioned to warn dog walkers to keep their animals on their lead as they cross the bridge.

  If you would like a more detailed look at the mystery, a book by Paul Owens titled The Baron of Rainbow Bridge proved helpful during my research.

  Overtoun House and Bridge

  You can walk around the estate today, which is currently a Christian centre. There is a charming tearoom where visitors can take a look inside the house. Although looters did clear the house of many valuables, you can still see the incredibly ornate painted ceilings, plasterwork and even the wonderful silver bannisters on the staircase.

  For the purposes of my story, I did ignore certain historical facts. Overtoun House was in fact used as a convalescent home during WWII, for instance, and the family who owned it was not the Wests, but the Whites. The truth about the mystery of the dogs, however, remains as I have written it, the first recorded incident occurring in the 1950s.

  Munchausen by Proxy

  I became fascinated by the tragic story of Gypsy Rose and her mother Dee Dee Blanchard in the US. When Dee Dee, the mother of a terminally ill girl, was found murdered in her bed in 2015, the whole country was shocked. Worse still, her daughter, who could only get about in her wheelchair, was missing. A hunt was launched and Gypsy Rose was found. Soon a very different picture emerged.

  Dee Dee Blanchard had in fact been abusing her daughter from birth. Suffering from Munchausen by proxy, a condition in which a person will fabricate or induce illness in another person to gain attention, she had been making her only daughter extremely ill. Gypsy Rose underwent countless operations as an infant, was told that she had sleeping problems, muscular atrophy and cancer. She had a feeding tube, she moved around in a wheelchair and her head was shaved.

  As Gypsy Rose grew up, she secretly discovered the online world and met a man who went on to help her kill her abuser. She is currently serving a lengthy prison sentence for her part in her mother’s murder.

  It is rare to speak to people who suffer from this illness because they do not want to admit that they have it and often switch medical practitioners if it is suspected. I wanted to explore how somebody might develop a desire to gain attention from a kindly doctor and look at the lasting damage it could cause.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  As ever I have plenty of people to thank.

  I am indebted to both my editors – Jack Butler and Jane Snelgrove – who were enormously understanding, patient and good humoured through early drafts of this book. Their insightful editorial feedback at every stage really transformed this
novel and I am so grateful to them for their efforts. Thanks also to Edward Handyside and Becca Allen for their thorough line and copy edits and to The Brewster Project for the cover. A big thank you to Nicole Wagner and the entire Amazon team for their support.

  Thank you to my agent, Clare Wallace, and the entire Darley Anderson team for finding ways to keep working through this mad time in the book world. To Mary and Kristina in the rights department, and Georgia for such encouraging early feedback. To Sheila for all her work in the film and television department.

  Thank you to Lisa Howells for shouting about The Other Girl and alerting me to the Dr Phil podcast, thus triggering the acorn of an idea for part of The Thin Place. An enormous thank you to Emily Kerr and Claire McGlasson, who spent a large amount of time answering my questions about broadcast journalism. Any errors are down to me and my dated knowledge of a regional newsroom!

  Thank you to the dog lovers in my Book Camp crew for their varied stories of being owners. To Michael Jenkins for information about detection dogs, to Ginny Skinner for local walks and keeping me sane during lockdown. To my sister, Naomi, and my parents, David and Basia, for reading early drafts of the book. Another thank you to the Lady Novelists for their advice on a whole range of writing-related things.

  Thank you to my family, who needed to be extra patient as I wrote drafts of this book during a global pandemic. To Ben for never complaining when I was in the shed. Barnaby for spending an inordinate amount of time drawing pumpkins so I could write. The twins, Lexi and Ness, for lifting all our spirits and to Dena for looking after them so well.

  Lastly, the biggest thank you must go to the many authors, bloggers, readers and reviewers who supported The Other Girl with sales, reviews and shout-outs. It was wonderful to feel so welcome in the crime and thriller world. I hope you take The Thin Place to your hearts too.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  C D Major is the pen name of Cesca Major. Cesca has always been fascinated by extraordinary stories from the recent past. Her last book, The Other Girl, set in an asylum in 1940s New Zealand and inspired by the strange phenomenon of children with past life memories, hit number one in the Amazon charts.