The Girl in the Red Dress

by Elaine Chong

  It’s still dark outside when I wake and after thirty minutes of turning restlessly from one side to the other, I accept that I’m not going to be able to get back to sleep.

  Silvio is lying on his back snoring softly. His mouth sags open, and every now and then he gives a little pig-like snuffle, but this only endears him to me more deeply. I press my lips to his temple then carefully slide out of the bed so that I shan’t wake him.

  I don’t suffer from insomnia, but when I have a difficult decision to make, I’m inclined to sleep lightly and I’m disturbed easily – on this occasion by the sound of passing cars, even though it’s a Sunday morning.

  I tiptoe to the kitchen and make myself a cup of camomile tea. Silvio will demand espresso as soon as he wakes, and I don’t need a double dose of caffeine when I’m already feeling anxious about the day ahead.

  I don’t like keeping secrets. Nothing good ever comes from concealing the truth. It’s like trying to hide the bone from the dog. You just know he’s going to sniff it out, chew it up and the only thing left will be a big mess, so this is my dilemma: do I tell Julia that Henry Silver has arranged for me to meet our half-sister, Miriam. I’ve been wrestling with the question ever since I arrived home on Friday evening.

  When I left Hutton Home Help, I headed straight back to the flat. Silvio had already left for work, so I threw together some bits and pieces from the fridge for dinner then checked my emails. There were a dozen or more work-related messages which I ignored, because I saw there was something marked ‘Urgent’ from Silver, Reid and Bateman Solicitors.

  Henry Silver had discovered a recent phone number for Miriam in a file. He said he’d taken the liberty of contacting her because he felt it would be in everyone’s best interest to have a working relationship, especially if Julia was adamant about contesting the will. He’d taken the further liberty of making an appointment for me to meet her and offered the use of a private room at Silver, Reid and Bateman offices on Monday morning, when he would also be available if his services were required. He apologised profusely for this presumption but assured me that he was trying to act in the best interests of everyone concerned. Could I please confirm my availability?

  I replied immediately that I would be available and that I was grateful for the opportunity to speak to her, but then I thought about Julia and how she would react if she only found out about the meeting when it was done.

  I wasn’t able to talk it over with Silvio until the following day and his response was an enthusiastic endorsement of both the meeting but also of letting Julia know about it.

  “That’s great news! Of course, you must go, Ricardo. Julia sarà molto contenta.”

  “Will she be happy? I wish I felt your confidence.” I said. “I know if I tell her about it, she’ll want to come with me.”

  “Why is this a problem?” he asked.

  “Well, she hasn’t been invited for a start, and I know my sister: she’s not going to sit in a room with the person who stole her inheritance without offering an opinion on the situation. That’s the last thing we need.”

  “This girl, she is also your sister. Perhaps she will understand.”

  “She might be our sister but she’s still a stranger, and I think if she wanted to offer us our fair share then she would have been in touch before this.”

  Silvio pursed his lips and wagged his finger at me. “You don’t tell Julia … this is not good.”

  “I’m going to tell her – obviously – but maybe not till after I’ve met the girl. Henry Silver said we can arrange to rent out Hillcrest, but he doesn’t think we should do anything until the situation with the will has been resolved one way or the other. After the conversation I had with my mother yesterday afternoon, she clearly can’t go on living there by herself. She’s convinced that the house is being haunted by Agnes Bagshot.”

  Silvio was draped across the sofa with his feet in my lap after a late night working the dinner shift at Bocca Felice, but he immediately sat up and stared at me with a look of utter disbelief on his face. “Aggie?” he said. “Her friend, Aggie?”

  “Yes, her best friend Aggie. And that’s not the worst of it,” I went on. “She thinks that Aggie is trying to kill her.”

  Silvio swiped away this idea with the back of his hand. “She’s just confused. She hit her head, no?”

  “Well, she fell down the stairs so it’s highly likely she hit her head. The point is we need to get things moving if I’m going to help her, whether it’s hiring a ghost-buster or a carer.” My attempt at humour didn’t go unnoticed – he knows how much I worry – and he immediately threw a comforting arm around my shoulder. “As far as I’m concerned,” I went on, “Miriam can have the house and do what she likes with it when my mother isn’t here anymore, but while Mum is here it’s going to have to pay for the help she needs. I’m worried that if I bring Julia with me to the meeting, she’ll just antagonise the girl and things could drag on for months, even years.”

  Silvio’s eyes glazed over – in his family, everything is discussed openly; everyone has an opinion, which they express loudly and passionately; everyone disagrees with everyone else and, when the shouting has stopped, they kiss and make up.

  “When we see her tomorrow, just don’t say anything, please,” I pleaded with him.

  “I think you make a big mistake not telling her, Ricardo,” he told me. “You going to regret this.”

  Am I going to regret it? Well, only time will tell, I think to myself. Tomorrow has come and the plan is to spend the afternoon with Julia and my mother – take them out for a nice lunch and afterwards try to lighten both the mood and the atmosphere at Hillcrest House.

  Silvio is a master extraordinaire when it comes to generating the feel-good factor. His positive outlook on life can be infectious so that even when in the darkest of moods, you allow yourself to be swept along on a wave of optimism and good cheer.

  My mother and Julia are ready to fall under the Mazzi spell when we arrive at Hillcrest. They’re dressed in outdoor coats and waiting in the hallway when we pull onto the drive. Silvio jumps out of the car and races into the house, envelops them both in a huge hug, tells them they are ‘le più belle signore’. My mother rolls her eyes at being told they’re ‘the most beautiful ladies’, but Julia smiles appreciatively.

  Silvio removes one of my mother’s crutches then links her arm through his. He guides her with great care to the car and helps her to sit in the back seat, adjusts the seat belt tightly across her lap and kisses her cheek. Julia follows after them carrying two handbags and appears slightly miffed at being overlooked.

  I’ve already booked a table at a pretty riverside restaurant where we can gaze out over the water, relax and enjoy watching the little sailing boats flit and float like pale-winged butterflies. Even the weather is joining in the party atmosphere: the sun is shining; the sky is a deep shade of blue, and the breeze still holds a touch of summer warmth even though it’s October.

  On occasions like this, I fall in love with Silvio all over again, not because he’s handsome and charming, but because he wants the people he cares about to be happy, and it isn’t long before Julia is laughing. She looks carefree and untroubled. My mother also seems much more at ease although I notice that she glances at Julia from time to time with genuine concern in her eyes.

  I see that Silvio has noticed it too. He invites Julia to take a stroll while we wait for the bill, and smiles encouragement at me as they make their way down to the riverbank.

  As soon as they’re out of earshot I ask my mother, “What’s wrong with Julia?”

  “Nothing’s with Julia,” she says. “She seems fine to me, anyway.”

  “Are you sure?”

  She suddenly looks serious. “Has she spoken to you about …” She hesitates, turns her head so that I can no longer read her expression.

  “She told me that things with Colin aren’t too good,” I say.

  My mother sighs. “He came to the house yesterday.”


  “Who? Colin? I didn’t realise he was over here.” She nods. She still won’t look at me, but I think she doesn’t want me to see how much this has upset her.

  “He’s been offered early retirement and he was looking at property. He said he’d found a nice bungalow in a village near Felixstowe and all being well he’ll move back here in the spring.”

  “Oh, I see,” I say.

  She fishes in her handbag for a tissue and dabs at the corners of her eyes. “He didn’t use the word ‘divorce’ when he told me about it, but he didn’t mention Julia’s name even once when he was outlining his plans. I found I couldn’t ask him and then I felt such a coward afterwards. I mean … she is my daughter.”

  I don’t mean to sound uncaring, but Julia made this mess herself, so I ask my mother, “Did she tell you why this has happened?”

  “I know she’s got involved with another man.”

  “She’s basically done what Dad did,” I say, knowing that those words will strike a chord with her albeit an unhappy one. “She didn’t want to be with Colin any more but she didn’t want to give up all the advantages of being married, so she kept her mouth shut and just had an affair – actually a bit more than an affair because she’s been in a relationship with this man for eight years. ”

  My mother’s head swings round, and she looks back at me with shock and surprise written large in her expression. “I had no idea!”

  “That’s why she’s been banging on about this inheritance. She wants to divorce Colin, but she can’t manage on her own financially, and they’ll have to give up their apartment if he retires and comes back here. She needs money if she’s going to carry on living in Singapore.”

  Something changes in my mother’s face. She feels a kind of empathy for Julia, I know. I understand. I don’t doubt for a single moment that there are similarities between their situations, but it’s Colin who’s been deceived.

  “I’m pretty certain she won’t be able to contest the will so don’t encourage her to think that she can,” I say.

  “I still have Tyne Lodge.”

  “But you don’t want to sell it, remember?”

  “I could if I had to.”

  “Not to fund Julia’s uptown lifestyle,” I say firmly.

  I know she wants to argue the point, but Julia breezes back into the restaurant with Silvio on her arm, so we all make ready to leave. My mother mouths at me, “I’ll speak to you later about this.”

  By the time we get back to Hillcrest, it’s obvious to everyone including my mother that she needs to rest. I stand at the bottom of the stairs and watch her climb with slow but now practised ease. She calls back to me, “Don’t forget I want to speak to you before you leave.”

  Julia and Silvio are discussing Thailand as a potential holiday destination when I join them in the sitting room. She insists we go to Hua Hin beach resort – apparently, it’s a favourite haunt of Bangkok’s rich and famous. According to my sister it’s the only place to go if you want an authentic taste of Thailand. I just want a nice beach and good food, but Silvio is completely sold on the idea when she tells him about the Monsoon Valley vineyard only twenty miles from Hua Hin town centre.

  The afternoon passes quickly, and I only notice that it’s beginning to get dark outside when Julia rises from her seat to close the curtains and switch on the lights.

  “I think I’d better wake Mum up,” I say.

  “When you come down, I’ll make tea,” Julia replies.

  As soon as I step into the hallway and close the door behind me, I’m immediately struck by the change in temperature and the lack of light. The sitting room was cool but comfortable, and the windows and patio doors opening out to the back garden made it possible to enjoy the last, golden rays of the setting sun. The hallway on the other hand is simply cold and dark.

  As my hand searches for the light switch, a movement at the top of the stairs catches my eye. “Mum? Are you okay?” I call out. My question is met with a pregnant silence – no not silence, not an absence of sound, but rather an unarticulated cry. It sends shivers down my spine.

  I can’t find the light switch, but I can smell something. It’s the slightly musty scent of stale perfume, and I recognise it. This was what I could smell in Julia’s bedroom.

  I’m propelled to the bottom of the stairs, not by bold curiosity but by fear for my mother, because something is moving on the galleried landing above me. As my eyes adjust to the dark, I can just make out the shape. I would swear on my life that it’s a woman – a woman in a red dress with long dark hair.

  There’s a second switch on the wall next to me, yet somehow I know, if I put the light on, what I believe I can see will disappear, and I can’t allow that to happen, because I have to know what it is.

  Walking up the stairs feels like scaling a mountain with ankle weights attached: I have to drag each foot forwards and upwards; the effort makes me sweat. It’s that and fear for what I might find.

  When I reach the top, I can see at once that the door to my mother’s bedroom is closed but there’s a sliver of light on the floor where it doesn’t quite meet the carpet. The radio is playing in the background, not music but a muffled, monotone conversation.

  The door to Julia’s bedroom on the other hand is wide open and I can feel the draught before I see the curtains blowing.

  The woman in the red dress has vanished.

  This time my hand finds the switch on the wall easily, and the room fills with light.

  The balcony doors are open.

  I walk on unsteady feet towards them, and I don’t close them. I was led to this room for a reason, just as I was led to the garage.

  I step onto the narrow ledge, place my hands on the top of the safety railings, and that’s when I hear it: the sound of metal grating against brickwork. I know what it is: it’s the bolts, which anchor everything into the wall; they grind and release and the whole thing shifts beneath my feet.

  I quickly step back into the room. The balcony is quite literally a death trap.

  Lenora

  Scaffolding is being erected at the back of the house. The workmen arrived here at eight o’clock this morning. I must say Richard is a marvel getting it organised so quickly. He was straight on the phone last night after he discovered that the balcony in Julia’s bedroom isn’t safe to stand on, insisted that the door to the room be kept shut at all times until it’s been secured.

  The workmen told Julia they won’t know if the balcony can be repaired until they take a proper look at it, but it seems likely it will have to be removed completely. I’d quite like a new balcony, but Richard is adamant the doors are going to be replaced by new brickwork and a window.

  I wanted to speak to him about Tyne Lodge before he left, but he was visibly trembling when he told me how very dangerous the balcony had become, and he left with Silvio soon after. I think it really shook him up.

  Julia brought me tea in bed this morning, which was lovely, but then she announced that she was walking to the church to put flowers on her father’s grave. “I’ll wait till Maggie gets here. I don’t want to leave you by yourself,” she said.

  “I’m sure I’ll be fine,” I told her.

  “I’m sure you will. Nevertheless, I’m not going till she gets here.”

  Over the last couple of days, we’ve settled into a routine first thing in the morning now that she’s satisfied that I won’t keel over in the shower or somehow fracture the other hip getting dressed. As soon as I’m ready I shout out, then she stands at the bottom of the stairs and watches my descent with eagle eyes. It’s actually quite off-putting, but I don’t like to tell her.

  This morning she seems particularly anxious and distracted. I don’t really understand this decision to visit George in his final resting place, but if it makes her happy…

  When Maggie arrives, Julia explains that she’s going out and won’t be back for a couple of hours and doesn’t want me to be left alone in the house.

  “That�
��s okay, Mrs Crane,” Maggie says and promptly switches on the vacuum cleaner.

  I have no idea if these two have ever met before, but you could cut the atmosphere with a knife.

  “I’ll see you later, Julia,” I call out to her as she leaves, but she just waves back to me in reply.

  Almost as soon as she closes the door behind her, Maggie switches off the vacuum cleaner and insists on accompanying me back to the kitchen where I was having a leisurely breakfast. “I feel so bad, Mrs Oakley,” she says. “I was going to visit you in hospital, but I just couldn’t get away from work. Did you get the magazines? Jackie dropped them off for me.”

  “Yes, I did,” I say, “although I was a bit confused at the time. I think I told Richard they were from Sarah because the nurses told me several times that Mrs Oakley had phoned and asked after me. I don’t know why I forgot that she isn’t Mrs Oakley anymore.”

  Maggie has a face which reflects her emotions so it’s immediately evident that she’s unhappily surprised at hearing this piece of information. “Someone phoned the hospital?”

  “Yes. It’s a bit odd, isn’t it?” Probably got the wards mixed up. They named them after birds, though I can’t think why. I was on Sparrow Ward but there’s also a Starling and a Swallow, so you can see how it might happen.”

  She smiles and nods, but she doesn’t look convinced. She says, “Perhaps there was another Mrs Oakley on the ward.”

  “I have no idea. Anyway, I’m home now,” I tell her. “Richard said you’ve been looking after the house while I’ve been away and making sure no one’s broken in?” Maggie’s hand flies to her chest – it’s now a familiar gesture though I don’t know why she needs to be concerned. “It’s fine,” I reassure her. “I’m glad to come home to a house that doesn’t need dusting. I know Julia’s glad not to have to do it,” I add. I’ve often spoken to Maggie about Julia and the pampered lifestyle she leads in Singapore, but she still looks anxious.