Knife Edge

by Fergus McNeill

  Kim watched as he pulled away, the red brake lights glowing brightly, until the car turned onto the road and disappeared round the corner. She stood there for a moment longer, then closed the front door and was immediately hit by the silence of the house. It was an almost tangible blow, like a wall of water that crashed over her and washed down the hallway, blanketing everything in a terrible stillness. Turning, she made her way through to the kitchen, walking softly to try and make her footsteps seem less noisy. In the middle of the room, she paused beside the table, her eyes flitting around the walls.

  A quiet prison.

  She frowned and bit her lip. This was home. Their home. Her home. But there was something troubling about the place now.

  She found that she was holding her breath, and forced herself to exhale. What was the matter? Walking over to the counter, she reached for the kettle, but her hand felt clammy as it touched the handle, as did the other when she placed her palm on the worktop.

  Was she sick?

  Her breathing was still irregular, trying to balance itself back into a normal rhythm, but she couldn’t quite master it. She turned and walked back into the hallway, hesitating, unsure where she should go.

  Part of her wanted to scream, to drive out the creeping quiet with a howl of anguish. Tears pricked in the corner of her eyes, but the rising storm of thoughts stole her ability to cry. She trembled, rooted to the spot, until finally she sagged to her knees. Down was the only way she could move, fingers clawing at the carpet as she crumpled and curled up as though in pain.

  That cold knot in her stomach, now a block of ice that burned, weighed her down. Her cheek touched the carpet, and a tear slid across her temple. Her mouth opened as though to cry out, but no sound would come.

  How long would she have to lie here, waiting for something to happen?

  She blinked away another tear and stared out across the floor. The hallway seemed long and tall from down here, the familiar made foreign and unsettling. Her nails gouged into the carpet once more as she managed to force out a strangled sob, tensing all her muscles as hard as she could before releasing them, gulping down a breath to make up for the ones she’d forgotten to take.

  What was she going to do?

  Everything was wrong. She raised her eyes to the front door, a tall and distant barrier looking strange from this angle.

  The front door.

  She closed her eyes, fearful of even the thought. Trapped behind a door that she was afraid to open. Afraid to step through. Because of the terrible uncertainty that lay on the other side.

  Her body stiffened again, knuckles whitening, knees pressing together, teeth clenched and eyes screwing more tightly shut – desperately trying to drown out the noise that roared in her head.

  And then, rising above it, there was a strange, despairing sound, like an animal crying in pain, rising in pitch and volume until it filled her ears and her mind. She felt her lungs empty, pushing out every last ounce, her throat twisting the air into a scream that shook the house.

  When she came to herself, she was on her back, staring up at the pale ceiling. Her breathing was shallow now and her throat hurt. She felt weak, but sensed that she could move again.

  At first, she just turned her head, gently rolling it to one side to look at the skirting board. Her fingers tensed and relaxed, the heel of her hand brushing the carpet. Drawing in a deep breath, she pushed herself up to a sitting position, swaying as her head came upright, a little faint.

  She felt very small, a forlorn figure sitting at the foot of the stairs, walls on either side of her. But her eyes turned again to the door. Another breath – this one felt easier than the last, her body was levelling out. Good.

  With one hand, she rubbed her eyes, surprised at the wetness on her lashes, the dried tears on her face. Had she managed to cry?

  She got to her feet, steadying herself with a palm against the wall. The plaster felt cold, but her hand was no longer sweating, and she lowered her arms to her sides as she stared down the hallway.

  She had to get out.

  And now she was moving quickly, running up the stairs with an adrenalin-fuelled urgency, as though he might have somehow felt her thoughts and returned home to burst in through that terrifying door. She raced along the landing and into the bedroom, reaching for her handbag and checking for her purse. Her phone was beside the bag and she swept it up.

  Sarah!

  She would call her sister, tell her everything … Her finger hovered over the speed dial as she tried to imagine how she would say it.

  No. Not now, not over the phone. She slipped the handset into her bag and went back out onto the landing. She needed to think. She needed to get out.

  At the top of the stairs, she hesitated for a moment. What if he came back? What if he’d forgotten something and was driving back to the house? If he found her like this, sobbing and shaking …

  Stop it!

  She closed her eyes and rubbed her temples with clenched fists. Then, taking a gulp of air, she half stumbled down the first few steps, her eyes peering down to the hallway, her ears straining to hear the door.

  But he didn’t come. She found herself at the foot of the stairs, with the silence drawing in around her, as though the entire house was waiting for something. Picking up her keys and grabbing her jacket, she took the final steps towards the front door and stood beside it, listening intently. Then, with a violent lunge, she snatched the handle and jerked the door wide open.

  There was nobody there. She was on her own.

  15

  Kim slammed the car door shut, and fumbled her key into the ignition. It wasn’t cold, but she could feel herself shivering and turned the heater up. Gripping the steering wheel, she took a deep breath and looked out at the sleepy village, and their house.

  What was she going to do?

  She bit her lip, then frowned and dragged her gaze to the road.

  Sarah. She would go and see Sarah.

  She eased the car to the junction, then turned left and drove slowly away. At the main road, she turned left again, accelerating up the hill until the houses and trees slipped away behind her, and she emerged into the open countryside.

  Her heart was still racing as she followed the road along the side of a broad green valley, and she had to brake suddenly for a speed camera that loomed up ahead of her. Nothing seemed real.

  She wondered what she would say to her sister. How should she tell her – gradually, or just blurt everything out in one go before she lost her nerve? And what would Sarah say? Support her? Or shout at her for being so stupid?

  She still remembered that night, all those years ago. She remembered the bare bulb, hanging by its twisted brown flex, the harsh glare, and the long shadows it cast along the upstairs hallway. Everything had seemed unnaturally still as she walked towards the bathroom – even the TV down in the lounge was silent, as though the whole house was holding its breath. And then a momentary hiss of anger from below, the frustration of someone trying to be quiet, reached her ears and drew her to the landing at the top of the stairs. Reaching out with small hands, she gripped the white-gloss banister struts and leaned forward to rest her head between them, listening.

  Her mother’s voice, indistinct snatches of conversation, with the odd loud word punctuating a rapid tirade of low fury. Her father’s voice, harder to discern, as they tried to talk over each other, then descended into angry whispers again.

  Kim turned her head so that her ear was between the struts, straining to hear, but she couldn’t make out what they were saying. After a moment, she straightened up and started to edge her way down the stairs, one hand sliding fitfully along the banister rail.

  Stepping down onto the carpet, she peered around the corner to look along the dark hallway. Her parents never closed the kitchen door properly, but they had this evening – tiny cracks of light bled out from under it. Why had they decided to shut her out?

  Fearful but desperate to understand, she crept forward.
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  The voices were clearer now, harsh words from just a few feet away.

  ‘That’s crap, John.’ There was disgust in her mother’s tone. ‘The reason you didn’t take the job is because you were afraid you couldn’t hack it. You’ve always been scared of things like that. No courage.’

  ‘What the bloody hell do you know about it?’ Her father sounded bitter. ‘You know nothing about the situation and nothing about—’

  ‘I know one thing,’ her mother cut in. ‘I know I married a bloody coward.’

  It was as though the temperature suddenly dropped; the rhythm of their argument faltered.

  ‘What?’

  ‘You heard me.’

  ‘Coward, am I?’ he snarled, his voice rising, but she either didn’t notice or didn’t care, her voice shrill, goading.

  ‘What are you going to do, hit me again?’

  Kim flinched, waiting for the explosion, but it didn’t come. There was a long, uneasy silence before her father spoke again.

  ‘No.’

  Her mother started laughing, but it was a humourless, mocking sound. ‘You can’t even—’

  ‘No! I’ve had it. With you, with everything.’ He sounded horribly calm. ‘It’s over.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Her mother wasn’t laughing now.

  There was the sound of a chair being scraped back, and shadows shifted in the crack of light under the door.

  ‘Congratulations.’ The way he spoke was different, unsettling. ‘You’ve won. I’m leaving you.’

  Kim stared up at the door, trembling, her small hand pressed flat against the wall. Her father didn’t sound angry any more. He didn’t even sound like her father now – it was as though some part of him had broken inside, and this cold quiet voice was all that was left.

  She strained, waiting for something more, something to pull the argument back from the edge, but, when it came again, her mother’s voice was cruel.

  ‘Good. You can go tonight.’

  Kim choked. She began to back away from the door, hand dragging along the wall to steady herself as the tears overtook her. Turning, she stifled a sob and ran up the stairs, almost stumbling as she reached the top, and raced along the landing to burst into her sister’s room.

  Sarah was sitting propped up on the bed, her Walkman on and a magazine spread open on her lap. She looked up, startled, as the door flew open.

  ‘What’s wrong with you?’ she frowned, pulling her headphones off. ‘I’ve told you to bloody knock.’

  ‘It’s Mum and Dad.’ Kim gulped down a breath, struggling to get the words out. ‘They’ve had a really bad fight—’

  ‘I know,’ Sarah scowled, holding up her headphones. ‘What do you think these are for, stupid?’

  ‘No, listen!’ Kim fought down the tears – she needed to tell her sister, needed somebody to tell her that it would be all right. ‘It’s different this time. Something’s happened and …’

  Her voice broke, and she began to cry again, sobbing the words out.

  ‘I was downstairs listening and I heard them arguing and Mum said some things and then Dad said …’ She took a breath, rubbing her eyes. ‘He said it was over and he said he was leaving, and Mum said it was good, and he’s going tonight.’

  Sarah was staring at the floor, her face ashen.

  ‘What are we going to do?’ Kim pleaded, stumbling forward, arms outstretched.

  Sarah’s head snapped up, her eyes dark and tearful.

  ‘Get away from me,’ she hissed. ‘Get out!’

  Springing off the bed, she pushed Kim’s open arms aside, and bundled her little sister out of her room.

  ‘Out!’

  Forcing her into the hallway with a final shove, she stepped back and jerked her door shut.

  The sound of her mother’s voice drifted up from below, yelling out a stream of abuse. Kim rushed forward, turning the handle, pushing on the door, but Sarah was holding it closed from the inside.

  Downstairs, the pleading and the cursing grew louder, moving into the hallway, echoing up the stairs. Her mother, bitter and defiant, shrieking out one final insult …

  And then the front door slammed, her mother’s voice faltered, and a terrible silence fell over the house.

  But that was years ago. Kim blinked away her tears and sniffed. Things were different now. Sarah would understand.

  The road curved on ahead of her, the repetitive flash of the white lines oddly soothing. She found that she had no recollection of driving the previous few miles. There was a roundabout ahead, and she slowed as she approached it.

  What if she were wrong? What if she were making a huge mistake, one that could cost her everyone she cared about, everyone who cared about her? She didn’t want to be pushed away – not again.

  Ahead of her, she could see the exit for Taunton and, further round, one signposted to Bristol.

  She needed time to think, and Sarah would be at work anyway.

  An impatient horn sounded from a car that had come up behind her, jarring her back to the present. Cursing the driver in her rear-view mirror, Kim pulled forward onto the roundabout. Gripping the wheel fiercely, she drove past the Taunton exit and continued along the main road, putting her foot down as the long straight tarmac opened out in front of her.

  Now, an hour away from home, the anguish of that morning seemed hazy, overtaken by the terrible fear of doing the wrong thing. She couldn’t afford to screw this up – she had to be sure.

  A sign slid by: Bristol 32 miles.

  Bristol – where he’d brought her the previous week, where he’d suggested they drive out of town and go for a walk on that bleak stretch of shoreline.

  And suddenly, she knew where she was going.

  At first she wasn’t certain of the route they’d taken, but she remembered passing under the Clifton Bridge and that was somewhere to start. As she drove beneath it and along the deep cut of the gorge, she wondered why he’d not told her before that it was a woman, why he’d waited to fill in such a crucial detail.

  Hadn’t he realised how important it was? No, he was smarter than her. He must have guessed how that would hit her, and tried to cushion the blow by not telling her everything at once. He understood her, and was trying to protect her …

  Stop it!

  She shook her head and choked down a sob. What was wrong with her?

  The road swept her along below a concrete motorway overpass, and she peered out, trying to remember the way they’d come before, trying to distract herself just a little longer.

  The houses all looked the same now and she wasn’t sure if she’d taken a wrong turning. Playing fields and garages slid by, but she carried on, reasoning that she would come to the coast at some point.

  And then, ahead of her, she saw the windmills – their pale arms rising above the scatter of low buildings, turning against the distant grey clouds. The road brought her to a large roundabout in the shadow of a tall, derelict building that stood stark in her memory. She swept around to the right and drove along the long straight road, fenced in on either side and disturbingly familiar.

  Not far now.

  There were the factory chimneys, reaching up before her, sighing out their swirling fumes into the overcast sky. The road climbed as it passed over the railway line, revealing the dark swathe of the Severn estuary on her left and the jagged piers of the bridge, rising bone white above the water.

  She indicated left at a sign for Severn Beach and drove slowly into the village, trying to recall which street Rob had turned down. A line of trees slid by, small houses and parked cars. The sound of children drew her eye to a school playground that she didn’t remember, though it had been Saturday last time she was here …

  And then she saw it – the sign for the railway station. Turning left, she followed the narrow road round. This was the place – she remembered it from the previous visit, the neat little houses with their tiny gardens. There was the entrance to the station, a red sign on a tall pole, the little café and
the entrance to the caravan park.

  She coasted forward until she came to the end of the road and parked at the foot of the tarmac slope. After a moment, she switched off the engine and sat, staring out through the windscreen.

  What was she doing here?

  But deep down, she knew.

  Opening the door, she got out and locked the car. It felt cold after such a long drive with the heater on full blast, but she hugged herself and walked up towards the promenade, following in her own footsteps, recalling Rob’s words to her. As she crested the rise, the dark water slid into view once again and she stood there, gazing down at the broad beach, just as she had less than a week ago.

  What had he done here?

  ‘You once asked me what it felt like …’

  That was what he’d said to her.

  ‘Imagine it. Imagine how it would feel …’

  She stumbled as the images surged into her mind, flashes of red, wide eyes and muffled screams. Her trembling hand gripped the metal railing and she gulped down a deep breath.

  ‘No!’

  It was all too much.

  She steadied herself and moved back from the edge of the sea wall, the steep drop and the unsettling expanse of the beach yawning below her. Turning away, she gazed back along the promenade.

  An elderly couple were coming towards her, their pace slow, eyes turned out to the water. Kim straightened and walked over to them.

  ‘Excuse me,’ she asked, forcing her voice to remain calm. ‘Where’s the nearest police station?’

  Portishead was only a fifteen-minute drive back down the Severn, but it took her a while to locate the police station. It was a small, ugly building, set back from the road at one end of the main street – the sort of place you didn’t notice unless you were really looking for it.

  The officer at the front desk looked at her dubiously when she walked into the reception area, but after listening to her for a moment, and noting down her address, he picked up a phone and spoke in hushed tones – to someone senior, judging by the number of times he said ‘sir’. His eyes never left her the whole time he was on the phone, and when he was done he ushered her into a narrow corridor and showed her to a tiny bare room with a table and four flimsy-looking chairs.