Ten Little Words

by Leah Mercer

  I walked to the window, watching the waves churn as my mind spun. I’d go to him. I’d go up to Edinburgh, tell him what I needed to, then come back to my life. I didn’t want to prolong this. The sooner I saw Bertie, the sooner normal service could resume.

  The instant I made the decision, I propelled myself into action. I called work to say I wouldn’t be in, then booked the train, groaning at the long journey ahead. Even if I managed to make it to the station in the next hour, it looked like I wouldn’t get to Edinburgh until eight-thirty tonight . . . if everything ran on time. I didn’t fancy trundling around an unknown city in the dark, so I booked a hotel near the station. I’d head to Bertie’s tomorrow morning, praying he still lived there.

  I let out a low laugh. This was crazy, wasn’t it? Asking for unscheduled time off work, taking a train across the country to a city I’d never been in, tracking down my mum’s former lover to an address that might not even exist any more . . . all to tell someone my mother had died years ago, and that he didn’t need to – he shouldn’t – hang on to hope any longer?

  I shook my head. Maybe it was crazy, but I couldn’t let this man continue to suffer. I’d read his words; I knew his pain. Now that I was finally free, I had to help him, too. I had to end the awful legacy of my mother’s actions.

  I stood in my flat for a second, wondering what to bring – wondering what to pack my things in. It sounded stunningly boring, I knew, but I couldn’t remember the last time I’d left England . . . Maybe back in Year 6, when Carolyn and Rob had arranged a trip around Europe for us all? I cringed, remembering how I hadn’t spent time drinking in the sights around me. Instead, I’d examined every woman who bore even the slightest resemblance to my mother, asking Carolyn over and over if that could be her.

  We never went to Europe again, and the next summer Carolyn said we’d take it easy at home instead.

  I dug out the rucksack I used for work and threw in some knickers, a clean pair of jeans, and a few jumpers. I was as low maintenance as you could get, even wearing mascara only for special occasions and my trusty Chapstick to protect my lips from the salty wind when I made my way to work. My keys, my wallet, my mobile phone . . . Oh God, Dolby! I’d only be away one night, but I didn’t want to leave her alone even that long. She wasn’t used to being on her own. Who could I get to look in on her?

  Carolyn would ask endless questions about where I was going, and no way was I about to tell her the truth. For whatever reason – perhaps Bertie could tell me, for there was nothing shocking – she hadn’t wanted me to see those letters, and I wasn’t about to tell her I’d read them all now. As much as I loved Rob, he had the memory of a parakeet and I didn’t trust him to keep a plant alive, let alone remember to visit my cat.

  I tapped my foot, for the first time realising how limited my circle was. I hadn’t had a best friend since Lizzie, back in primary school. I’d started school a few months after my mum had left, and all the kids were the best of friends from nursery. But it wasn’t only the kids that were foreign: it was everything. From the structure of the day, sitting on a hard floor in an uncomfortable cross-legged position while sharing during circle time, the hustle and bustle of playtime, and the smells that made me sick at lunchtime, school might as well have been Mars. And although Carolyn was deputy head when I’d started there, she’d expected me to slot in and had not given me any special considerations, thinking it was best I made my own way. I don’t know now if she could have made it any easier for me even if she had tried. I was locked in my own cycle of hope and despair – although I wouldn’t have labelled it like that, of course – and school was just one more thing in this new life to drag me down.

  I might have sunk if it hadn’t had been for Lizzie.

  Even now, I can remember the damp, earthy smell of the furthest corner of asphalt in the playground where I used to stand every morning and afternoon playtime. The area was fenced off but I’d latch my fingers on to the chain-links, as if they could anchor me down. If I craned my neck and stood on my toes, I could see the sea. I’d stare and stare, telling myself over and over that my mother couldn’t be in there. She wasn’t in there. She was coming back for me.

  The other kids didn’t see me – or if they did, they didn’t care. Only Lizzie would venture out to where I stood, chattering in her bright little voice about whatever was happening in her world: her hamster, her annoying brother, how her mum wouldn’t get her whatever toy was popular at the moment. I ignored her at first, but she kept coming back, and eventually I couldn’t help joining in with her chatter. We’d stayed firm friends through Year 1 and Year 2, but then her mum had remarried and she’d moved to Liverpool, only bothering to return my letters once. I’d missed her chatter – it had distracted me when I’d needed it most. The silence swirled around me, closing me in. I’d soon learned it was easier to bury myself in it.

  There was no way I’d invite someone from work to help me; I didn’t want them knowing where I lived. It was like crossing an invisible line. Maybe . . . Maybe my next-door neighbour? I hadn’t been overly friendly, but I hadn’t been unfriendly, either. She’d always offered to keep an eye on my place if I ever needed her to, probably hoping I’d offer to do the same for her (I hadn’t). I’d no idea what she did, but she seemed to be around an awful lot. I could hear from the terrible music thumping through the walls that she was home now.

  I hated to ask anyone to do something for me – even when I’d first got my period, I’d made an excuse to leave the house and gone to Boots to buy sanitary towels myself, rather than risk telling Carolyn and kicking off a cringey ‘you’re a woman now’ talk – but I didn’t really have a choice. I scrounged around for the extra key I should have left at work or at Carolyn’s, then stepped outside. Steeling myself, I knocked on my neighbour’s door, desperately trying to remember her name.

  ‘Coming!’ The music was turned down, and I could hear footsteps approaching.

  ‘Oh! Hi, Ella.’ Her eyebrows flew up as she faced me. She was taller than I’d remembered and her blonde hair was screwed up on top of her head, the bun secured with a pencil poking out of it. ‘Sorry, is the music too loud?’ She scrunched up her nose. ‘It’s terrible, I know, but the worse the music, the better my concentration. If it’s too good, I just have to stop and listen.’

  I bit my tongue to stop from suggesting that maybe she should try not listening to music at all.

  ‘No, no, it’s not that.’ I took a breath. ‘It’s just, I need to go away rather unexpectedly.’ You could say that again. I could hardly believe I was going myself. ‘I wondered if you could look in on my cat? Make sure she has enough food? I’ll be back tomorrow night.’

  ‘Oh, of course!’ She nodded so enthusiastically I worried she might hurt her neck. ‘I love cats, and I’d love to take care of her. What’s her name?’

  ‘Dolby,’ I said, and she smiled.

  ‘Dolby. Great name.’

  I nodded back, wondering what to say next. Small talk wasn’t exactly my forte. I cleared my throat. ‘Here are the keys. Dolby’s not really used to strangers, so she might be a bit skittish . . . just leave some food in her bowl, if you can’t find her.’

  ‘Oh, don’t worry.’ She waved a hand. ‘We’ll be fine.’

  ‘Great.’ I stood for a second. ‘Well, thanks again.’ I turned to go.

  ‘Wait! Don’t you want to swap numbers? I mean, I’m sure all will be okay, but just in case.’

  I felt my cheeks colour. ‘Oh yes, of course.’

  ‘Just call me, and then I’ll have your number,’ she said. ‘Oh, you don’t have your phone?’ she asked, when it was clear I had nothing in my hands. ‘I’m never without mine, but I suppose you have only come from next door.’ She grinned, and I thought of how I was the exact opposite: I rarely had mine close to me, and if I did, half the time it was either uncharged or on silent. I never would have got a mobile if it hadn’t been for Carolyn buying me one for Christmas a while back.

  She grabbed
the pencil from her hair and scribbled down her name and number on a Post-it note. ‘Here you go.’

  ‘Thanks, Lou,’ I said, relieved that I finally knew what to call her. I was sure she’d told me at some point, but I was terrible with names. It was like my mind just knew I wouldn’t need that information again.

  ‘Give me a call when you leave and then I’ll have your number, too,’ she said.

  ‘Okay. Well, thanks again.’ I smiled awkwardly. God, I was out of practice with this. ‘I’d better get going.’

  ‘Have a good trip,’ she chirped.

  I nodded, then turned and went back to my flat, trying to shake off the uncomfortable feeling that I’d invited a stranger into my protected space. It was only for a day, I told myself. One day, and then my comfortable, closed life would resume.

  I couldn’t get to Edinburgh and back quickly enough.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  ELLA

  I leaned my head against the train window as the landscape flashed past, feeling like I was in another time, another place. I was miles outside the boundaries of my comfort zone, but I was being driven to do this . . . by the connection I’d felt with Bertie and the feeling that I had the power now to stop the terrible torture of hope.

  The train pulled into Charing Cross, and I grabbed the underground to King’s Cross station, where I’d begin the five-hour journey to Edinburgh. I joined the crowds of passengers streaming down the crowded platform towards the exit, the quiet of Hastings firmly behind me. I hadn’t been in London since a secondary-school trip. After being dragged around the tourist-clogged attractions of the Natural History Museum and the Tower of London, our teachers had taken us for a quick visit to the British Library before heading home – I reckon their main motivation was grabbing a pint at one of the pubs outside while we were doing something ‘educational’.

  Most of my class had quickly diverted themselves away from the hulking library and dispersed in the cafés, too, but for me, the library was a chance to pull the silence around myself again; to walk the corridors and breathe in the air, uncluttered by anything other the delicious scent of books and years of knowledge.

  I suspected now that our teachers hadn’t ever visited the library themselves, because if they had, they would have realised that this wasn’t a normal place where the public could roam free. To access many of the areas, you needed a special pass, which none of us had. I’d spent my time wandering through the free exhibitions that allowed anyone to enter. One of them featured Sounds of Britain, an exhibition celebrating our nation’s soundscape. From the moment I stepped into my own sound booth to have a listen, I was completely absorbed. I heard voices from the past stretch out towards me, as if they were right beside me. I heard animals come alive, music curl inside of me . . . I was transported, in a way I’d never been – away from me and my small life. When I closed my eyes and listened, nothing existed apart from that noise. If I could, I’d have shut myself up in that booth for ever.

  I knew from that moment on that I wanted to work with sound. To do what, exactly, I didn’t know. All I knew was that it had the ability to take me out of myself, unlike anything I’d ever experienced. I’d finished secondary school, enrolled in a sound-technician course at the local college (much to the disappointment of Carolyn and Rob, who were desperate to get me into university), and in a stroke of luck, the Musical Museum opened just when I’d graduated. I had no experience working in any archives, but I’d been keen and enthusiastic – and willing to work for hardly any money.

  I’d dreamed of one day returning to the British Museum, with an eye on working there as an ultimate goal. How wonderful it would be to have such a huge digital bank at my fingertips that I could disappear into at the flick of a switch. Striding across the courtyard and through the entrance of the building, then into a room only staff could enter . . . incredible. But the past few years had flown by and I’d carved out my niche back home, treading a comforting path. Things were fine now. I enjoyed working at the Musical Museum, and people – apart from Jane and her unusual persistence – knew to leave me alone and let me get on with things. I didn’t have the energy to go through all of that again.

  It was dark when the train arrived at Edinburgh Waverley station. I breathed in, bracing myself for the unknown city. Even listening to my favourite classical music playlist on my headphones couldn’t calm the knot of tension inside at being so far out of my familiar surroundings. Thank goodness I’d booked a hotel so close to the station.

  I forced myself from the safety of the train carriage, through the busy station and out into the night. Had my mother followed this same route all those years ago, when she’d come to live with Bertie? Had she hoped to make a life here? What had made her leave? I shook my head. I didn’t need to know, actually. Whatever had happened, I was here to tell Bertie about her death, and that was all.

  The air was much colder than it had been in London and the street was buzzing, full of noise as people hurried to their destinations. The sound of bagpipes filtered through the air, and I spotted a man in a kilt belting out Stevie Wonder’s barely recognisable music. Light spilled out of restaurants and bars, and a longing to be back at home, tucked under my duvet petting Dolby, washed over me.

  I managed to find my hotel without too much trouble, shrugging off my backpack on to the small twin bed barely long enough for me to stretch out. Every bit of me throbbed with exhaustion, and even though the room was noisy and my stomach was rumbling, I turned off the light and crawled under the covers.

  Tomorrow, I’d meet a man my mother had loved . . . a man who still hoped for her return. And tomorrow, I’d set him free, then head home and back to my life – stronger and more resilient than ever.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  JUDE

  August 1980

  Jude didn’t know how long it took to get to Edinburgh. She didn’t care, really. All she cared about was being with Bertie – that he didn’t have to leave her now, and that they would be together. She was getting out of Hastings with a man she . . . dare she say, loved? They hadn’t used that word yet, but she felt it.

  She couldn’t really use anything else to explain her emotions, other than buoyed up and anchored at the same time; like she was flying but wrapped in a million soft blankets so she needn’t be afraid. Bertie would catch her. Bertie would be there. And even though she’d never been to Edinburgh – even though she rarely left Hastings – she knew she’d be happy. She knew they’d be happy.

  Shame Carolyn wasn’t so easily convinced, but then . . . that was Carolyn. She and Rob had been together for ages before they’d agreed to marry each other. Jude had expected her sister to kick up a fuss, and that was part of the reason she kept Bertie at a safe distance when she’d gone to pack her bags this morning. The other part, well . . . she’d wanted to keep Bertie to herself. She didn’t want her sister to sully anything with her cautions and warnings, not like she usually did.

  She’d given Carolyn her address (well, Bertie’s address) in Edinburgh, and that had gone some way to mollify her, but it hadn’t stopped her sister standing over her as she packed her bags, asking what Mum and Dad would think right now.

  Anger had surged up inside of her, and before she could stop herself, she’d turned to face Carolyn.

  ‘Mum and Dad aren’t here,’ she’d said, her voice loud in the sweltering room. Her face flushed even hotter. ‘They haven’t been for years. They’re dead.’ She spat out the word, guilt squeezing her heart as Carolyn winced. But seriously, Carolyn needed to stop acting as if they were still around, watching over them – as if she was their appointed representative in this place. Carolyn was her sister, and that was all. She wasn’t and she never would be her parent, and enough was enough.

  ‘Look,’ Jude said in a softer voice, reaching out to touch Carolyn’s arm. ‘I know this seems crazy.’ She shook her head. ‘Okay, so this is a little crazy.’ Carolyn met her gaze with a little smile, and Jude could see she was forgiven for her
earlier outburst. ‘But I need to do this. I need to go.’ She couldn’t let the one person she’d really connected with since her parents’ death fade from her life. She couldn’t.

  Carolyn sighed. ‘Well, you know what I think. But I know I can’t stop you, so . . .’ She took Jude’s hand and looked into her eyes and, for a second, Jude could see a flash of her mother there. ‘Just remember one thing. I—’

  Jude stepped back before her sister could finish the sentence. She didn’t want to hear more. She couldn’t hear more.

  And now, the train was pulling into Edinburgh Waverley station. It was dark and, even though it was summer, the air had a chill to it. She shivered, and Bertie wrapped his arms around her.

  ‘You’ll get used to it,’ he said, smiling down at her. ‘Did you want to get a bite to eat or head straight home?’

  ‘Home,’ she said, without even thinking. Her stomach was rumbling and the streets around her were filled with music and people. Normally, she’d be dying to join the throng and explore but, right now, she was desperate to see where she’d be living with Bertie. She shook her head, wonder flooding through her. She’d be living with Bertie!

  She waited once more for the trepidation she’d been sure would rear its head once she’d boarded the train. She’d been ready to slap it down but, to her surprise, it had never come. She squeezed Bertie’s arm as he led her to a taxi. She was here, in a strange city, about to start a new life, and she’d never felt more certain of anything.

  Certain, and oddly relieved.

  ‘Ten Belford Mews,’ Bertie said, and she leaned her head against his shoulder as the taxi pulled away.

  ‘Tired?’ he asked, stroking her hair.

  She lifted her head. ‘No. Just excited.’

  ‘Me, too.’ He pulled her close, his face obscured by darkness. This was a big move for him, too – inviting someone he’d only just met to live with him. She bit her lip, wondering if he was sure of his decision; if he regretted it. She’d been so focused on how she’d vanquish her own emotions that she hadn’t actually thought how he might be feeling. What if she had made the move up here, only for him to tell her it wasn’t working out?