by R. P. Bolton
A gentle gasp came from the Moses basket. Trinity opened and closed her chubby fists, then settled again with a sigh. Calm and safe.
Torn between not wanting to know and the pull of morbid curiosity, she found herself eyeing the laptop. If she knew the truth, then she could move past it, right?
Decision made, she brushed crumbs from her top into the sink and made a mug of decaf.
‘Right, Mary,’ she said to the laptop. ‘Who were you?’
Maybe she’d get lucky and discover Mary had a Yeti-sized social media footprint, although that was unlikely, given the absence of broadband. But the first hurdle was her surname. Ask Diane? No, too weird. Think laterally.
The vendor was Catherine Wilson. Mary Wilson, then.
‘Mary Wilson’ brought up millions of hits. She scrolled through the first few, but it was hopeless. She sat back, defeated, and stared out of the window. A shirt flapped on the line, startling a couple of crows into cawing flight.
Ah. The clothing catalogue. She fished in the bin for the package she’d dumped earlier. And suddenly there it was – M. Brennan printed on the address label. She was immediately back on the laptop. How about Moss Lane + Mary + Brennan?
Jackpot. Several links to newspaper articles appeared. She clicked on the top, from the Stockfield Express: ‘Woman’s Body found in Uppermoss’.
Although she’d been half-expecting it, the picture loading under the headline jolted her. Six Moss Lane, their new home, with blue-and-white tape stretched between the gateposts. White-boiler-suited figures loaded boxes into a police van parked on her drive.
Police tape? Boiler suits?
Nothing sinister, Diane had said.
Police were called to a house in the Mosswood area of Uppermoss today where the body of a woman, believed to be the homeowner and in her late fifties, was removed. Forensic officers remain at the scene. However, a police spokesman has confirmed the death is not being treated as suspicious. It is believed the body may have lain undiscovered for up to two weeks before a postal worker reported seeing a large number of flies.
Ellie blinked. Lifted the laptop off the table and held it closer. She’d misread that, right?
But the black typescript stared back, unchanged.
The body may have lain undiscovered for up to two weeks.
14. Now
‘And the estate agent never mentioned it?’ Carol said.
‘Nothing. Or the auction house.’
Ellie hugged the hoodie tight around her. Above Mosswood, the first stars blinked coldly in the autumn twilight. It got dark so early here, away from the light pollution of the city streets.
‘There must be a law,’ Carol said.
Wedging the phone between her chin and shoulder, she walked to the light switch. Cold lino penetrated through the woollen socks.
‘I googled it. There’s no obligation to tell house buyers if it’s a natural death.’
‘When did it happen?’
‘Last summer.’
‘Well, I don’t think you should dwell on it, love. Most houses have had someone die in them.’
Ellie clicked the loudspeaker icon and put the laundry basket onto the table. She tipped the line-dried clothes out. Daddy bear, mummy bear, little baby bear.
‘I know that, and it’s not the dying bit that bothers me, particularly, it’s the two weeks aspect. Two weeks, Mum, and no one missed her. It’s awful.’
‘What does Tom think?’
‘He doesn’t know yet.’
‘I’m sure he’s seen worse at work,’ Carol said. ‘At least the poor woman is in a better place now.’
Ellie suppressed a sigh. As a kid, she loved stories of ghoulies and ghosties and things that went bump in the night. Even now, give her a vampire box set on Netflix and she’s in her element. But while she knew they were just that – stories – her mum’s beliefs leaned towards a spiritual pick and mix of major religions and New Age sage-burning shit.
A muttered ‘oof’ followed by a clunk came out of the phone and Ellie seized the chance to redirect the conversation away from Mary Brennan.
‘Any news on the leg?’
By the time Carol updated her on the pain (‘awful’) the inconvenience (‘a nightmare’) and the prognosis (‘pins out soon’), any further spiritual chat had been deftly circumvented.
‘And as soon as I’m cleared by the consultant, I’ll book the first flight over.’
‘That’s brilliant.’ Ellie’s voice thickened. ‘I can’t wait to see you.’
‘Oh, love. You don’t know how much I want to be there with you and little Trinity.’
The events of the day – Anita’s card; falling asleep with the baby; the walk in the woods; the shock of Mary Brennan – surged inside her. Everything would be so much easier with her mum here.
A tear rolled down the side of her nose and she sniffed noisily. ‘Sorry, I don’t know what’s got into me. I keep crying over nothing.’
‘Being a first-time parent isn’t “nothing”. I didn’t have anything like the difficulties you had and I was still a wreck for months after you were born. Everyone is. And anyone who tells you different is either very rich or lying. And you were such an easy baby. You slept right through the night from the word go, always smiling.’
When Ellie replied, she spoke to her reflection in the kitchen window. The gloom outside sapped her complexion while her voice sped up, spilling the pent-up emotions of the day.
‘I worry when she cries that I’ve done something wrong. Or that I won’t even realise something’s wrong. And I can’t even go for a walk without messing up. And Tom never said his paid leave ran out so he’d have to work because the money stupid things like paint and curtains cost is ridiculous. And on top of all that, there was a body in the house for two weeks. In summer. Everything feels so weird.’ She caught her breath and blinked hard before adding more steadily, ‘I’m just so up and down. One minute I’m fine, the next I’m crying.’
There was a pause before Carol spoke. ‘Have you mentioned it to your health visitor?’
Despite the deliberately upbeat tone, Ellie could read her mum’s mind like a book. And not a tricky one, either. An early reader with small words and big font.
‘I’m not depressed, Mum.’
‘But it can’t do any harm to speak to someone, can it?’
This was textbook Mum behaviour. Ellie rolled her eyes to the ceiling. ‘Being emotional and being depressed aren’t necessarily the same thing, Mum. Look, I’ll have to ring you back. Trinity’s waking up.’
It wasn’t entirely a lie. Trinity had uttered a low grumble, often the prelude to a full-on wail.
‘Well, take care, love,’ Carol said, reluctantly. ‘I’m going to physio in a bit but you call me anytime – you know that.’
Ellie ended the call. A sudden draught, as though a window had opened somewhere, made her shiver. She bent sideways to touch the radiator. Freezing. The orange light on the boiler shone, but without any accompanying whirring or clanking to suggest action. She flipped the control panel open and examined the ancient workings. Pressed a few buttons. Nothing.
How she had missed the dirty mark on the cupboard earlier, she didn’t know. But there it was, a long smear of mud across the painted surface. She picked up a cloth and ran the hot tap. Icy water gushed out. Great. She scrubbed the stain and rinsed the cloth as best she could.
The kitchen went from cool to cold. She tucked Trinity’s blanket in and switched the kettle on, only remembering as she touched the fridge door that there was no milk. No tea then.
‘I give up,’ she told the ceiling.
Tom’s phone went straight to voicemail. As instructed, she left her message after the beep.
‘Hiya, love. I thought you said you wouldn’t be late. The boiler’s stopped working. Oh, and can you get some milk?’
With a black coffee warming her hands, she checked the hall radiator. Freezing. Lounge?
A cloying odour hit her from the doorway. S
tagnant like the pond in the clearing, it caught in the back of her throat and stopped her in her tracks. Where was it coming from? Please don’t let a bird have fallen down the chimney. She scanned the room.
The flowers.
The pint pot was exactly as she’d left it in the centre of the mantelpiece. But inside, every one of Diane’s roses had withered on the stem, their old-fashioned scent transformed into sickly-sweet decay. She tilted the glass. It was half-full, not of fresh water, but a greenish liquid that clung to the now slimy stems. How could that happen in a couple of hours? Perhaps she had bleached it and forgotten to rinse it. Or the room was too cold. Diane said they were the last ones. Maybe they were already dying or she’d cut the stalks too much.
With a prickle of unease, she scooped up brown petals, crisp and curled at the edges, from the mantelpiece. Bone-dry, they crackled to the touch and a couple drifted to the hearth like drops of dried blood.
Ellie was emptying the petals into the bin as headlights illuminated the hall. Tom, home at last, pulling the door closed with a slam.
‘I have had such a bad day,’ he announced, kicking off his shoes.
An eddy of autumn leaves had rustled into the hall with him. Ellie quickly swept them into the dustpan.
‘I’ve been ringing you all afternoon.’
‘Sorry, I had to turn my phone off in court.’ He nudged his shoes so they roughly lined up with the skirting. ‘Then I had to drive Tanya to the station and then I went to Tesco.’
He held out a shopping bag. She peered in.
‘Milk,’ she said, slightly mollified. ‘You read my mind.’
He kissed the back of her neck with a loud smack. ‘It is so good to be home. Is the baby asleep or can I …?’
‘Course. I’ve just put her down,’ she said, her irritation fading with each of his exhausted footsteps. ‘How did court go?’
He unknotted his tie. ‘Oh, the usual. Their side picks holes in a witness and months of investigation unravel on a technicality.’
Trinity lay curled like a squidgy comma. Tom leaned over to stroke her forehead. When he straightened, he started to unbutton his shirt.
‘Right, I need a quick shower.’
‘I left you a voicemail. There’s no hot water or heating.’
He blew his cheeks out and exhaled a blast of air. ‘Awesome. Replacing the boiler, just what we don’t need.’
But he hadn’t even touched the controls before there was a click and the thing came to life, followed a second later by a gurgle from the kitchen radiator. A few drops of water escaped from an exposed pipe and he dabbed at them with a tea towel.
‘I swear it wasn’t working,’ Ellie said. She put her hand on the radiator, feeling the beginnings of warmth.
‘What can I say?’ He waggled his fingers. ‘Magic touch.’
She sighed in mock irritation. ‘Have you eaten?’
‘Not had time. And I can’t be arsed to cook. Can you be arsed to cook?’
‘I can stick a pizza in.’
While Tom showered, Ellie scraped the frost off a pepperoni box and turned the oven on. The issue of Mary Brennan still loomed large in her mind. How could she break the news? After a rough day at work, the last thing anyone would want was more gloom at home. But as her mum pointed out, years as a police officer meant Tom was used to dealing with the dark side. Then again, this was the first time the dark side had followed him home.
Bad news was easier to digest with food. Best to wait until he had a mouthful of pizza before dropping the ‘and the worst part is no one found her for two weeks’ bomb.
Ten minutes later, he reappeared in joggers and a faded Sonic Youth T-shirt. Although his clothes were fresh, his face was anything but. Bruised shadows ringed his eyes and new wrinkles fanned from their corners.
‘You OK?’ she said, concerned.
He rubbed his cheeks and sighed. ‘I’m just pissed off about court today.’
‘What exactly happened?’ She peered in the oven. Another couple of minutes should do it.
He dragged a chair out and propped his elbows on the table.
‘OK. So, we have the guy nailed. We know he did it. He knows he did it. The young woman he did it to certainly knows. As do her parents. But because he refuses to admit to the sick fuckery he’s committed, she has to endure a cross-examination by some condescending twat who—’ He broke off. ‘You know what? Never mind. Sorry I couldn’t get to the phone. How was your day? Apart from broadband. And temperamental boilers.’
Now or never.
‘Well, something did happen.’
‘Go on.’
‘The neighbour came round, Diane, the one who looks like Mary Berry. And we got chatting about the woman who lived here before – who was called Mary too. Except not Berry.’
She pulled the oven gloves off the cooker rail and slipped them on as she spoke.
‘And neighbour Diane told me that this Mary died in the house. Our house. And so I googled it and … brace yourself.’
‘OK.’
‘Not only did she die here, in this house, but they didn’t find her body for two weeks.’
Tom chewed the skin around his thumb and didn’t reply.
‘Two. Weeks. And only then because the postman saw the flies.’
‘Is that pizza burning?’ he said, sniffing in the direction of the oven. ‘Because I can smell burning.’
She yanked the oven open. A wisp of smoke curled out. Bollocks.
‘Never mind.’ He sprang up and went to the cutlery drawer. ‘It’s only caught the crust. We can scrape it off.’
He took the pizza wheel and carved it into pieces, picking off the charred bits. Ellie went up behind him and gently squeezed his shoulders.
‘I’m really sorry to break such a horrible thing to you like this. Especially when you’ve had a rough day.’
He slowly chewed a slice of pizza and steadily met her gaze.
Ellie stepped back. Her hand shot to cover her mouth.
‘Oh my God. You already knew?’
He shrugged and swallowed.
‘How?’ she said.
‘The estate agent told me a couple of days before the auction when I rang to query something in the property pack.’
Cosmetic Only Shan was in on it too? It got worse.
Her mouth dropped open. ‘He should have told me. You should have told me.’
‘I was going to. Remember? Right before the bidding.’
She flashbacked to the auction house. Tom tapping the card against his thigh.
‘Listen, there’s something I need to tell you. Something the estate agent said.’
He continued, ‘You kept saying it was our dream house and I didn’t want to put you off. Then I was going to tell you afterwards, but everything happened with your blood pressure and the baby and I couldn’t stress you out more. I’ve been waiting for the right moment. Do you think it’s a big deal?’
‘Don’t you?’ Her voice came out high-pitched.
‘Honestly? No.’ He thumbed crumbs away from his lips. ‘Obviously, I feel sorry for the woman, but she died over a year ago so I don’t see how it affects us. I mean, if you’d known the history before the auction, you’d still have bid, right?’
‘Maybe.’ She paused, considering. Would she? Probably. ‘But how could you keep something that big a secret? One, it’s creepy as hell and two, it’s unhygienic. After two weeks in summer, the poor woman must have been a bag of liqu—’
Oh.
She pictured the sepia stain she’d noticed at the viewing. The stain directly below where Trinity’s cot now stood.
‘Tom, tell me she didn’t die in the nursery.’
He didn’t need to answer; his expression said it all.
Oh God.
She could hardly get the words out. ‘The water damage on the lounge ceiling. Was it?’
‘No, no, no …’ he said quickly. ‘There are rules about cleaning up. Empty houses get damp patches and that was definitely water
. Do you honestly think I’d let us move into a biohazard?’
Repelled by the idea of physical contact with the house, she lifted her feet off the lino and curled them round the rung of the chair.
‘Why didn’t you tell me when we came home from hospital?’
He picked up a slice of pizza and bit down, severing the strings of mozzarella with his teeth as he said, ‘Because it was too late and anyway, I knew you’d over-react.’
The unfairness infuriated her. ‘You call this over-reacting? Our daughter is going to have that room. How do you think she’s going to react?’
‘Ellie,’ he said, putting the pizza back on the plate. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but seriously, me and Dad stripped everything out. Replaced the carpet, the underlay, floorboards, ceiling. New window. Redecorated. The lot. There is nothing original left.’
He reverently lifted their sleeping daughter from the basket, holding her against his shoulder.
‘Do you honestly think I would put her in danger?’
His face was tinged grey with exhaustion. Tiny red lines threaded through the whites of his eyes.
‘No. Of course I don’t.’
‘No,’ he said. ‘Let me tell you something. In court today, I watched the victim’s dad sob his heart out while the arrogant prick who attacked his daughter sat there smirking. And all I could think was if anyone laid a finger on Trinity, I would rip their balls off. So, if you ask me whether I think it’s a big deal that the previous owner died here, I’ll say no.’ He kissed the baby’s velvet skull. ‘Because it’s the living we need to protect our daughter from, not the dead.’
15. Now
‘He was only trying to protect you,’ Carol said, over the sound of heavy traffic. ‘Not that way, Roger, left. Left!’
Ellie stood at the bedroom window, listening to Tom singing bath-time songs to Trinity. As the evening sky edged towards night, Mosswood formed a restless darker patch, ruffled by the strengthening breeze. After the perma-lit Manchester streets, the darkness out here took some getting used to.