‘You?’ said Paul. ‘You were strong enough to…’
‘With a little help from a chemical friend.’
‘But how did you hang him?’ said Ramsay. ‘That’s the mechanical puzzle. Choking a drugged man is fairly straightforward, but lifting him up to hang from a light-fitting?’
‘We did this place up on a shoestring,’ my mum said. ‘Did all the work. We painted these high-ceilinged rooms, didn’t we, Donna?’
‘That’s right,’ I said. ‘We’ve got a painter’s platform. It’s in a shed out the back. Bought it secondhand. You crank it like a jack and it goes up and down.’
‘Well, I didn’t need it to get him down. If any of this had happened, I’d just have cut the rope with the long-handled loppers and let him drop.’
‘You don’t sound the least bit sorry,’ Peach said.
‘Neither do you,’ said my mum. ‘I might have done it. But none of you stopped it. You could have. If you weren’t so worried about your own grubby secrets you could have stopped it long before this weekend. If you’d been even the slightest bit curious about other people, you’d have worked it out. If you cared about anything besides yourselves and your golden futures. If you’d cared what was going on here in this house, while you were sitting blubbing about … What was it, Rosalie? Did you break a nail? If you’d got up off your back and taken a little girl home instead of having a nice ciggy and looking at the stars, Ramsay. If you were a normal, close, loving family who spoke to each other – instead of sleeping with your cousins, Buck – you’d have spoken about “the girl who drowned” instead of putting her out of your spoiled, bratty, entitled minds and you’d have worked it out.’
‘We were kids,’ said Paul. ‘We were pissed. And Rosalie wasn’t “blubbing” about a “broken nail”. God, you’re bitter, aren’t you? Doesn’t it bother you that your beautiful daughter is sitting here hearing this?’
‘Doesn’t it bother you that my mother came back the next morning and cleaned up all your mess?’ Mum said. ‘I put that fucking disgusting birthday tea into black bags and heaved it all into the bins while my mum was wiping up vomit and stripping beds.’
‘But, Mum,’ I said, ‘that’s part of the deal if you work in hospitality. That’s what you sign on for. And it’s one of the biggest challenges. How to handle embarrassing messes without making the guest feel bad. I kind of love it. It gets you a great tip if you do it well.’
My mum stared at me.
But Buck laughed again. ‘Well, Donna, if you’re right,’ he said, ‘if the size of the tip goes with the size of the embarrassing mess…’ Ramsay gave a short, grudged guffaw too.
‘Shut up, Buck,’ said Peach. ‘Carmen, what did you mean we could “work it out”? Work what out?’
‘It’s the names,’ I said. ‘Ezli and Thalassa and all the rest.’
‘We thought Thalassa was Peach slurring her words,’ said Rosalie.
Ramsay had his phone in his hands. His thumbs were flying.
‘Ezli and Thalassa,’ he said.
‘Li Ban,’ said Paul. ‘And Acionna.’
‘And mine’s Samundra,’ said Buck.
Ramsay was shaking his head and laughing. ‘Ezli,’ he said, ‘goddess of sweet water. Thalassa, goddess of the seas. Li Ban, god of the ocean. Samundra, goddess of the ocean, Acionna, goddess of wild water.’
‘And Sedna,’ my mum said, ‘Jennifer’s goddess of the deep from the support group. Jennifer has needed such a lot of support over the years. Endless reassurance that she’s a good person deep down, no need to feel guilty.’
‘But what about Tia?’ said Kim. ‘And Sasha’s friend Matt?’
‘Donna?’ said my mum.
‘Tiamat is a Mesopotamian sea goddess,’ I said. ‘It’s my middle name. Madonna Tiamat Weaver. Were you playing this horrible game even away back then, Mum? Were you so angry about having me?’ I could feel my throat tightening. ‘I don’t care about the painting platforms and fake book groups. I want to know why. You never made me feel as if you didn’t want me. So … why?’
‘Donna,’ said Rosalie, ‘we’ve been trying to tell you all weekend.’
‘She never told you?’ said Kim. ‘Oh, Donna. She never told you you had an auntie that drowned when she was twelve?’
‘Auntie Lynsey?’ I said. ‘She lives in Australia. She’s married and got two sons. She’s happy. She didn’t die.’
Chapter 21
1991
That last day, the day I fall asleep again instead of following her, I’m dreaming about her the whole time. My sleeping brain is trying so hard to wake me. But I sleep on and on, exhausted, my body outwitting my mind and running the show. I don’t even hear her come creeping back into our bedroom, blue and pruny and frothing over with excitement. She doesn’t say a word about me staying in bed.
‘Carmen,’ she hisses. It’s a Saturday and Mum and Dad are still sleeping. ‘It worked! It’s worked! I’m clean right through. I’m rinsed right through! Look!’
I open one eye. She’s holding up a finger with a dark smear on it.
‘What’s that?’
‘Blood!’ she whispers, and I pull away from the finger, hovering about ten centimetres from my nose. ‘It came out of me. It came right out of me. It hurts a bit but it’s worth it. I’ve rinsed right through!’
I sit up and push the covers down. ‘Lynsey, you do know what that blood is, right? You do know?’
‘It worked,’ she says, and sets her mouth shut as if she’ll never open it again.
Maybe she believes it. Doesn’t matter.
Maybe she really believes she’s howked up every bit of pain and handed it over to me too. That doesn’t matter either. I wish I didn’t believe I was filled with cold lumps of Lynsey’s suffering. I wish I thought it was a game I played to help my wee sister.
Because this autumn morning when I feel too shit to move, I’m scared of all the black poison inside me. I try to move it round my body so it doesn’t rot me. And in the winter as I start to drag through my days, when it’s more than Lynsey’s pain weighing me down and turning my walk into the slow sway of a buffalo, I’m scared that there’s not enough room inside me to keep it out of the way.
I’ve got something else in there now, see, that isn’t a cold black stone. It’s tiny and pink and warm and it’s growing. It’s all mine and I love it and to hell with what anyone says about being too young or where I got it. And when it comes out I will be its best friend and it will always be able to tell me anything. And if it’s a boy he’ll be kind and gentle and never hurt anyone and if it’s a girl she’ll be strong and brave and never let anyone hurt her. And she won’t need to have someone looking after her, gulping and swallowing, treading water, always pretending in magic and miracles. She’ll be able to look after herself.
And that means, when the time comes, I can look after me. And the time will come. I’ve put the black stone far away from her, warm and safe in my belly. I keep it in my head now and it’s helping me think.
One day, I think, I’ll get even with them. I’ll show Jennifer how to trick someone good and proper. I’ll show Sasha how to hurt someone good and hard. I’ll show all of them how hilarious it can be.
Chapter 22
‘So you named your daughter for your revenge fantasy,’ said Rosalie. ‘And it doesn’t bother you at all that she’s sitting here – your beautiful, sweet, kind, funny girl – she’s sitting here listening to you spewing poison about how much you resent her existing? You don’t know how lucky you are, Carmen. If I could get a baby the way you got one, I’d feel touched by angels.’ Her voice broke and I saw Paul take her hand.
‘What?’ said my mum. ‘What are you talking about? I’m not bitter about what happened between Sasha and me. I’ve loved Donna since I felt the first flicker. I’m talking about Lynsey. She didn’t die but Sasha poisoned her life that night. Like Peach said. It was two little girls.’
‘Oh, Jesus,’ Peach said. ‘In that case, it was three.’ She
gave an unhappy laugh. ‘At least, I think so. I always thought something had happened when I woke up again. I tried not to think about it because I didn’t know who it was. But as well as all the horrible things that happened that night, you turned me over on my side, Carmen, didn’t you? When I was lying choking in that little room up there? Thank you for that. There might really have been a death if you’d left me on my back.’
My mum nodded. Remembering, I think.
Ramsay took in a breath so deep that his thin nostrils turned white. ‘It was supposed to be me, Peach, but I said I wouldn’t do it.’
‘Because I was wearing a white neck-to-ankle nightie and was face down in my own sick?’
‘Because you were my cousin,’ Ramsay said. ‘That was the point.’
‘Oh,’ said Peach. ‘Okay.’
‘Can I ask a question?’ said Kim. ‘What do you mean it was “supposed” to be you?’
The men all looked at one another and seemed to be deciding who would speak.
‘That was the deal,’ said Buck. ‘Four of us and four girls.’
‘Until I brought my little sister,’ my mum said. ‘And threw off the numbers.’
‘I slept with Jennifer,’ said Buck. ‘I had it off with Jennifer in Anna and Oliver’s bed. I did my bit to keep the pact. But I was seventeen and she was eighteen.’
‘I went and found Sasha to tell him to call it all off,’ said Ramsay. ‘Get the party back into one group again because the little one was crying. She was only twelve and she wanted her mum.’ He bent over and put his head in his hands. ‘It was a really shitty night. I do remember at one point I was lying on my back out on the grass, hanging onto the ground in case it spun me off and Sasha said he’d take the kid home. I had no reason not to believe him, Carmen. And so I let him take her down the beach path. And the next thing we knew we were all being hustled away because she had drowned herself.’
‘Well, he didn’t take her home,’ Mum said. ‘He chased her down the path to the beach, hoping for seconds. She walked into the tide to get away from him and she kept walking. But she didn’t drown herself. Because I stopped her. I got her out of the sea and took her home. I got her out of the sea and took her home every day for weeks. What Sasha did, with Jennifer helping, what your parents agreed to, was cook up a way to shut your mouths about it all.’
‘Twelve,’ said Kim. ‘She was twelve? And he—’
‘Mum,’ I said. ‘Can I ask you a question? Where did what happened to you happen?’
‘In the downstairs bog that’s the staff shower room now,’ she said. ‘Why?’
‘And you said Sasha chased Auntie Lynsey to the beach for seconds. Where were the firsts?’
‘No,’ said Kim. ‘Don’t say it like that, Donna. Sasha raped Peach in the snug. He raped Carmen in the bathroom. And he raped Lynsey—’
‘In the breakfast room,’ I said. ‘Right, Mum? And that’s why you painted it black? Because that never made any sense to me.’
‘She was twelve?’ Kim said again. ‘I’ve been married for ten years to a man who did that?’
‘And I’ve been drinking for twenty-five,’ said Peach. ‘Trying not to remember.’
‘And we’ve kept our selfish mouths shut and been very careful not to put it together,’ said Ramsay. ‘All of us.’
‘That’s not fai—’ said Paul.
‘Yes, it is,’ said Rosalie. ‘All of us. It wouldn’t have taken many questions, would it? But we just swallowed them and let them eat away.’
My mum made a barking noise that might have been laughter. ‘No,’ she said. ‘That was me. Jennifer taught my little sister to cough it all up in cold lumps and give to me. I swallowed and swallowed. I remember being scared that all the black pain would hurt the baby. But it didn’t, Donna. I didn’t let it touch you. And it did no harm to me.’
‘No harm?’ said Peach. ‘Oh, Carmen.’
‘What?’ my mum said.
‘Oh, Carmen,’ Peach said again.
‘So…’ said Kim. ‘Hypothetically, Carmen. You’ve made it look as if Sasha and Jennifer have run away. Hypothetically, if you’ve managed to fake AA and Operation Smile and a book group and all the rest of it, would your technological wizardry stretch to making it look as if he’s using his credit cards for a while? Until I got a divorce for desertion, say?’
‘What about Auntie Verve?’ said Rosalie. ‘Jennifer looks after her.’
‘If there’s a nursing home in the country that wouldn’t do a better job than Jellifer of looking after an old lady,’ Paul said, ‘it should lose its licence.’
‘Hypothetically,’ Mum said, ‘the sensible thing to do would be to lay a trail for both of them and then let it fade. Take them to India or Nepal and leave them there.’
‘So I’d lose a brother,’ said Rosalie, ‘and gain a niece? If…’
‘We’d all gain a friend,’ said Ramsay, smiling at me. ‘If…’
‘If,’ said my mum, ‘you all agree.’
What would they do? They thought they’d been keeping one secret for twenty-five years. Would they keep another? Would they close ranks against me or would they close ranks around me? Would they, as they had once before, just end the party early and drive away?
‘And, hypothetically,’ said Paul, ‘in the Nepal scenario, Carmen, where would the two of them actually be?’
‘They’re in the same place in both scenarios,’ Mum said. ‘They’re on their way across the water. They’re on a journey starting at our coast, out of the bay into the deep ocean, floating away and away and away.’
We were all silent then, listening to the sound of the waves in the endless, unstoppable sea.
Acknowledgements
I would like to thank: April Osborn, Sarah Grill, Sarah Schoof, Allison Ziegler and all at Minotaur; Krystyna Green, Martin Fletcher, Beth Wright, Rebecca Sheppard, Aimee Kitson, Amanda Keats, Hazel Orme and all at Little, Brown; Lisa Moylett, Zoe Apostolides and all at CMM Literary Agency; my friends and family (as ever); and especially, this time, Catherine and Olivier, whose silver wedding anniversary weekend sparked the idea for a book about a reunion. That said, none of the characters here owes anything to Catherine, Olivier, Sarah, Alastair, Max, Elaine, Caoilte, Eve, Dougie, Evelyn, David, Ian, Rob, Christopher, Caroline or Byam, and there is no such place as The Breakers in Galloway.
Also by Catriona McPherson for Thomas Dunne Books
Dandy Gilver and the Proper Treatment of Bloodstains
Dandy Gilver and an Unsuitable Day for a Murder
Dandy Gilver and a Bothersome Number of Corpses
A Deadly Measure of Brimstone
The Reek of Red Herrings
About the Author
CATRIONA MCPHERSON was born in Scotland in 1965 and lived there until immigrating to the US in 2010. Her Dandy Gilver historical mysteries have won numerous awards, including two Agathas, and her contemporary novels have won two Anthony awards and been Edgar and Mary Higgins Clark finalists. Catriona is a proud member of MWA and a former national president of Sisters in Crime. She lives in Davis, California, where she writes full-time. You can sign up for email updates here.
Thank you for buying this
St. Martin’s Press ebook.
To receive special offers, bonus content,
and info on new releases and other great reads,
sign up for our newsletters.
Or visit us online at
us.macmillan.com/newslettersignup
For email updates on the author, click here.
Contents
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Acknowledgements
Also by Catriona McPherson for Thomas Dunne Books
About the Author
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
GO TO MY GRAVE. Copyright © 2018 by Catriona McPherson. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
www.minotaurbooks.com
Our e-books may be purchased in bulk for promotional, educational, or business use. Please contact the Macmillan Corporate and Premium Sales Department at (800) 221-7945, extension 5442, or by e-mail at [email protected].
First published in Great Britain by Constable, an imprint of Little, Brown Book Group, an Hachette UK company
First U.S. Edition: October 2018
eISBN 9781466879904
First eBook edition: September 2018
Go to My Grave Page 25