I had to find Owen’s sister. In the churchyard she had told me to wait for her. Surely, after years of being forced into silence by Sheila, she was about to tell me the truth. This was what the policewoman had meant when she said that, even years after a crime was committed, a witness could step forward from nowhere. But Owen’s sister was not in the kitchen or living room. I looked out into the back garden. John and Dennis scratched the tops of their heads under a windswept cherry tree. They circled a big old lawnmower, gesturing at the grass. There was no one else around.
*
And why is Mete still awake? He needs to sleep to be ready for work in a few hours’ time. He has to drop Elif with Emine and open the shop in time for the first delivery of bread. I stare at the reflection of my hands in the dressing-table mirror. There’s soil under my nails. I washed and washed my hands when I arrived in this house but the dirt is still there, fine black lines curving round my fingertips. Well. I am here now and it is all about Owen and Julia. I don’t know how much I want to return to Istanbul. I am not sure that I believe there is such a place after all. I pick at my nails but the dirt is packed tight.
– iv –
The park was quiet now. There were no children playing or dogs walking. A young couple had passed under the window, each holding a large kite, but had left without flying them. The drug-users may come soon. On occasions she had found a syringe or two in the back garden, thrown over the fence after dark, but not often. Still, she always kept the curtains open, even at night, for she liked to know what was happening outside.
She was trying to think of Isabel but Leila kept seeping into the fabric of the thought, like blood through a bandage. She was always there, always the centre of attention. Look at me. Look at me.
A key in the lock. ‘Sweetheart, it’s me.’ Feet on the stairs.
Now that she had done a day’s work, she was free to pack for her journey, but all she wanted was to touch and be with her husband. She put her arms around him, let her legs tip forward so that she was leaning on him, sinking into his soft chest until her ribs were bumping into his. He held a clump of her hair. ‘What is it, eh? Are you all right, my love?’
‘Yes, I’m glad you’re here.’
‘I’ve told you, I don’t mind coming with you tomorrow, if you’d like the company.’
‘Oh, I’d love the company, but I have to do this on my own. It’ll just be a few days. We’ll both survive them. My old friend needs me.’
‘You’re a good person. Remember to come back again, though. Don’t run away from me.’
‘As if I could. When I was a little girl, I ran away once.’
‘Did you? How far did you get? What were you running away from?’
‘Away from the village and on a bus to a city, I don’t remember which. Leeds, perhaps, or York. I went back of my own accord because I had no idea where to go. My sister screamed the place down. She went to church and told God to bring me home or she’d have a fit and die. But she was the one who made me run away. We were walking home from school the day before and suddenly she was picking out houses for us, one on either side of the church, and we would get married and live in them. I thought it was a joke but she was serious and, for the first time, I realized she planned to spend her whole life there. I thought I had no choice but to run away, even if I knew I would fail.’
‘But in the end, you did. You did escape.’
‘Yes, but it has caused me no end of trouble. I don’t know that I ever got away, really. Well. I’ll find out tomorrow.’
‘Have you sorted out somewhere to stay?’
‘It’s all taken care of.’
‘You’ll be lonely. Won’t you?’
‘But I won’t. I’ll have my old friend. I’ll be sad, I know, because of the past, but I shan’t be lonely. It’s a sad place for me, but still . . .’
‘Poor old Isabel.’
‘Don’t. You’ll make me cry. I feel on the edge of tears every time I think of her name. I don’t miss her any less, you know, even now. I don’t know how many years it’s been. I don’t like to count. Do you remember her well? But I suppose you never spent much time with her.’
‘She was like a mouse when I was around. So sweet, but we hardly spoke. She was too frightened of me and, you know, I hate to frighten anyone. I thought it best if I just sort of stayed in the background being inoffensive and sort of bumbling. I had to work at being bumbling, you know, always losing my spectacles and the like, but I think it made her less scared. She wasn’t much like you, was she? Not much family resemblance there.’
‘Oh, but I think you’re wrong. I think Isabel and I are very similar. I don’t know how it seems to an outsider, but from the moment she was born, I was sure that I had known her all my life. Were you eating oranges this morning?’
‘Oranges? I don’t remember. I may have had a couple last night. Or was it the night before? I’m sure there are still one or two left, if you want one.’
‘Look, it’s gone dark outside. I didn’t notice it turn. Someone just pulled a lever and the day went.’
‘Let me cook for you this evening. Let me cook us a meal that we can enjoy, since you won’t allow me to come with you tomorrow. Pasta, perhaps? Tagliatelle in a cream sauce with a bottle of cold white wine.’
‘I’d prefer meat. Red meat and red wine, if it’s all right with you, sweetie. I have a strong craving for thick, red meat that I can sink my teeth into. I’m not sure why but tonight, it seems, I am bloodthirsty.’
‘I’ll see what I can do.’
He kissed her. She let her hand hold his until he was almost out of the door and she couldn’t reach any longer. She was a homebody, at heart. She liked to be here with her comfortable husband. She didn’t look forward to staying in a strange bed.
But there was packing to do. She would have to climb the ladder to the attic to find an outfit to take. She had forgotten all about this but it was important. She would need to take something black.
– 4 –
Cigarette smoke leaked like steam from the bedroom at the top of the stairs and I peered round the door. It was a boy’s bedroom with a worn, air-force blue carpet, bedclothes and curtains of faded navy. Rough wooden shelves covered two of the walls and were lined with encyclopedias, faded exercise books, and piles of yellowing Shoot magazines. A desk lamp with dinosaur stickers on the shade leaned wonkily over the bed. But there were also touches of the present: an ironing-board and a pile of bedclothes in the window, a laptop on the desk in the corner. The room seemed freshly vacuumed, dusted. The window was open and I could see right down the main street to the reservoir. It was shiny now, a blurred mirror in the winter sunlight.
Owen’s sister crouched on the floor beside the fireplace. She wore a tight lilac top with her purple skirt. Her hair was loose again and had a purple tinge. I could not tell whether this was dye or a mirroring effect of the clothes. She was slender with bones that jutted out and she had the poise of a ballerina. She held a brandy glass containing a puddle of liquid. The bottle stood in the empty hearth, next to a small ashtray. Although she was slight and Owen had grown tall, she was the one in her family who most resembled him. I was excited to see those eyes again, to watch as they flitted around the room, then landed on me with a smile. They reminded me that once I had liked Owen very much.
I wished I could remember her name. Owen must have used it sometimes when we spoke. I saw her around at school and she might even have been at my dance classes too, with the older girls. She seemed to know me well enough. In the churchyard she had called me by my name. She lifted her hand and gave a lazy wave.
‘Come in, won’t you? Join me for a little drink.’ She lifted the bottle, shook it at me. ‘You’re not driving, are you?’
‘No, I’d love a drink.’ I crossed the room and settled beside her on the floor.
‘Good for you. Here we are. You’ll have to have it in my water glass, I’m afraid.’ Owen’s sister poured brandy into a small tumbler. The fumes
reached my nose before she handed it to me and I flinched. ‘Grab a cushion. You know, this was Owen’s bedroom from when he was about five, but it was mine before that. The walls were yellow then but Dad made everything blue for Owen. I wonder if I get it back now.’ She slapped herself lightly on the cheek. I realized that she was slightly drunk. ‘I must stop saying inappropriate things. I can’t help it, though. The worse it gets, the funnier it is. God. I got the giggles in the service when that phone went off. I thought it might be Owen. I really did. Was I the only one?’ She shook her head. ‘Keep me away from my parents, that’s all. They don’t see the funny side and I can’t seem to see anything else.’
‘I’ve never been in here before. It’s a big room. Strange to see it now.’
‘Bloody unfair, though. It was my room until Owen got big enough to leave toys around and then we swapped because, for some reason, boys need bigger rooms than girls. Why is that? Is it the same in every family? Boys get bigger rooms than girls. Fuck it. I can hold my drink better than Owen ever could.’
I lifted my glass. The brandy was too strong to sip straight away so I let it touch and burn my lips first. I inhaled the fumes as if warming myself at a fire.
‘Thanks for coming, Isabel. We do appreciate it. I’m Annie, Owen’s sister, in case you weren’t sure. I don’t think we really knew each other before. Did we?’ She gave me a broad smile and her narrow eyes disappeared, leaving a black curve of eyelashes.
‘Annie, of course. I recognized you as soon as I saw you in the churchyard but I’d forgotten your name. You’re a couple of years older than Owen, aren’t you?’
‘Yeah. I was. Not much of an age gap, I suppose, but it always seemed more. Weird day, today. I mean, obviously it is, but still . . . Have you come far?’
‘From Istanbul.’
‘Blimey. To be honest, I didn’t even know you were still alive until I saw you. It’s amazing you’re here. I’m so pleased to see you.’
Once again, the fact of my existence had caused surprise. I almost felt it myself, as if my time away from the village had not been life at all but a form of death and this morning I had performed my own miracle and resurrected myself.
‘I wasn’t sure how you – your family would feel if I came, but I wanted to.’
Was I not supposed to be the questioner now? Here was a person who knew things and I must make a connection quickly. But I couldn’t remember my questions.
Annie said, ‘Look.’ She poured a slosh of brandy into her glass and drank it, not in one gulp, but continuously, in sips, without pausing for breath. ‘See? I can’t taste it any more. I can’t feel how strong it is. I know it but I can’t feel it. But what shall we talk about? We’re strangers, really. I don’t want this to be awkward. You know, they say that we’re all going to have huge parties this year, for the millennium. We’re supposed to have organized them already. The whole world is going to be booked up and you won’t be able to get through to the next year if you don’t sort something out now. What have you decided to do?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe we’ll invite friends around for dinner.’
‘That sounds all right.’
‘Why? What are you planning to do?’
‘That’s the thing. I’ll probably spend it here with my family. They’ll want me to. It’s much easier for me now that I don’t have to plan anything. I’ve got my answer to give people. We’ll probably have a walk on the moors, watch some fireworks and go to bed. It’ll be nice. It’ll be cosy. I’m looking forward to it. I was dreading the New Year, having to treat it with respect and having to care about it, but now I’m off the hook. Thanks, Owen, for dying this year.’
She took another cigarette from the packet, lit it from the first, still between her lips, handed it to me.
Sometimes the smell of cigarette smoke repels me. Today I breathed in hungrily, let it unfurl inside and arouse me. I put the cigarette to my lips, inhaled and felt certain, immediately, that Annie and I could become good friends.
Annie continued, ‘I’m glad it happened quickly and he didn’t know he was going to die. That’s all.’
‘That’s something,’ I agreed. ‘He never knew what was coming.’
‘The worst thing must be a lingering death where you know what’s happening and you watch yourself disintegrate, start to disappear, where you feel all the pain of dying.’
‘Yes, I suppose that’s—’
‘He set off in his car expecting to come home that night. The police said his death was instant but I don’t know how instant it could have been, or how they really knew. I’m not a physicist so I don’t know about velocity and impact and stuff but, look, he must have seen the other car coming towards him so there would have been at least a few seconds where he knew something, maybe more. But they said, “It all happened very quickly.” Quick must be better than slow or they wouldn’t have said it, but it’s not very helpful to me. It doesn’t seem fair that we know what happened to Owen but he doesn’t, didn’t. He wouldn’t have had time to think that he would never see this room again. His life might have flashed before him but only the past, not the future he wasn’t going to get. He wouldn’t have had time to think, A week from now my sister will be sitting in my bedroom smoking a cigarette and I won’t exist any more.’
‘But he had a flat in the village, didn’t he? He didn’t actually live here.’
‘He moved out a long time ago but this was always his bedroom. My room became the guest room but he kept his. Owen was the younger so that’s probably why it never changed. And he was round here all the time. He was very close to Mum.’ Annie sucked air through her teeth. ‘At least today has given us the chance to tidy things up.’
‘That’s good.’ Was this an opportunity to prod further? It didn’t feel like one but I tried all the same. ‘Were there many things to tidy up?’
‘Oh, you know. The kinds of things that always get left undone.’ She sniffled and used the back of her hand to wipe a dewdrop from the tip of her nose. ‘I only wish I’d known Owen better. When we were teenagers he was just my brother and we didn’t really speak to each other because, I suppose, brothers and sisters don’t. There was some rule about it that we must have learned somewhere. Have you got any brothers?’
‘No, I’m an only child.’
‘You’re lucky. Unlucky. One or the other. I suppose it depends. Anyway, then I left home and never spent much time with him again. Just some Christmases or summer holidays when I came to visit. It’s strange. I could count the times I had a long conversation with him on both my hands, if I tried. The only communication I remember having with Owen is when we were both in front of the telly, talking half to each other and half to the screen, but always looking straight ahead. That must be why I find it hard to picture his face with any expression sketched in. It’s just an outline that won’t keep still when I try to look at it. I probably never really saw it. When he went to prison I was angry with him but so sorry for him too. I was more sorry than angry, I think.
‘It was so painful here,’ Annie pressed her hand against her heart, ‘that I never visited or wrote to him. He must have thought I hated him but I didn’t. I had a calendar with cats on.’ She laughed. ‘And I counted the weeks and months of his sentence. Each night I blanked out the square for that day. I did it with incredible care. I took a pencil and shaded it in from side to side, then top to bottom and diagonally.’ She held her finger and thumb in front of her eyes and made quick, deft movements. ‘It was a way of living through the sentence myself. I think I felt guilty and that it would help, somehow, if I was there too. I never told him that. I didn’t know him well enough, you see. It seems like a contradiction that I could know him so little and care so much, but it’s true. Maybe you knew him better than I did. I was only his sister. You were in his class at school.’
Annie was now staring at me with intense curiosity. When she finished speaking, her head and shoulders lurched drunkenly in my direction for a moment, then retreated. I loo
ked directly into her eyes and saw Owen in his prison cell but not with John or even with Annie. He was with me. Owen was lying on his bed and I was looking down on him from the top bunk. I was holding the grey metal bed-frame and leaning over, not quite on the mattress and not quite off it. I looked down and was able to move my eyes around to take in his body, the folds and wrinkles in his heavy cotton clothes, dark patches of sweat under his arms. His forehead glistened. His eyes stared straight up but, unlike Annie’s, did not seem to see me.
‘Annie,’ I said, ‘it was too long ago. You know, I barely recognized the person they were talking about in church today, and I’m not sure that my memories are particularly reliable. I thought it would be different and I’d be able to share the things I remembered but I’ve realized that I know nothing. Sorry—’
‘No, no. You can’t get away with that. You’ve come all the way from Turkey for this. There’s more to it. I’m drunk but I’m not thick. I know that the two of you were really close for a time. I remember seeing you wandering around together at the weekends. You both walked with your heads bowed like you were in some weird cult or you were acting in a science-fiction film. You must have known each other’s secrets.’
And I understood. Annie believed that I knew something about Julia, that I knew more than she did. We were dancing around each other but we had the same intention. We both wanted information.
‘I don’t think that’s how we walked. I don’t remember it, at least, so I don’t think we can have done it on purpose. You’re reading the weirdness into it with hindsight. We were just a couple of teenagers. That’s what they’re like.’ What Annie had described was the exact picture I had of Owen and Julia together a couple of years earlier. ‘I probably talked to Owen a lot but he never said much back to me. We liked doing things together, not talking. That was the kind of friendship we had. We went rowing or walking, or playing on the fruit machines in the arcade. But we didn’t even pick machines that were side by side. We showed up, made our way to different corners and left together. That was all. I think we were keeping each other company but I don’t believe we knew each other, not to any depth. If he had talked more, perhaps I would have understood him better, but I’m not sure that it would have made a difference.’
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