The Perfect House

by R. P. Bolton

  ‘I can walk you home if you like?’ Tom said, raising his voice on the last syllable.

  ‘Are you sure you don’t mind?’

  ‘Why would he mind?’ Mia kissed the side of Ellie’s head.

  Ellie laughed. ‘You are going to feel so rough tomorrow.’

  ‘I’ll be fine.’ Mia tucked her long black hair into the collar of her coat. Sudden panic crossed her face. ‘Damn, I hadn’t thought. What time are you going out in the morning?’

  ‘I don’t know yet. Why?’

  ‘I don’t think I’ve got my keys.’

  She patted her pockets then rummaged hastily through her bag.

  ‘Nope, definitely no keys.’

  ‘Again? You are hopeless.’ Fishing in her pocket, Ellie’s fingers located the silver E. ‘I’ve got mine. Give me a shout when you’re outside. I’ll let you in.’

  18. Now

  The wind had disappeared by morning. As had Tom.

  Picking up where the storm left off, Trinity wailed at a volume that belied the size of her lungs.

  ‘Mummy’s coming,’ Ellie said.

  Trinity clamped on with terrier-like ferocity, bringing tears to Ellie’s eyes. Usually, feeding soothed the baby, but not today. Coaxing those wriggling limbs into fresh clothes was like wrestling a bad-tempered octopus. Sweat trickled between Ellie’s shoulder blades as she fastened the final popper but sneaking off for a shower seemed as unlikely as getting a decent night’s sleep.

  In the kitchen, the noisy protest showed no signs of abating. Yesterday, the bouncer was a safe space. Today, it was a torture chamber. A painful knot twisted in Ellie’s guts. Was the baby ill?

  The thermometer gave a normal reading. Ellie ran her finger along the hard pink gums: no bony bumps to indicate emerging teeth. And still, while the kettle boiled and she made some toast, the baby raged on.

  ‘I’ve fed you, changed your nappy and rocked you till my arms ache. I’ve got nothing left. Let’s see what Netmums has to offer.’ Ellie took out her phone, hesitated. Sniffed. What was that—?

  Smoke snaked up from the toaster.

  ‘Oh for God’s sake.’

  She pinched at the blackened slices of bread with her fingertips and lifted them carefully out of the slots. Grey wisps curled off their charred sides. Surely they’d only been in a few seconds?

  Trinity arched her back and cranked the howling up a notch.

  ‘Please shhh,’ Ellie said, flipping the bin open. ‘One minute.’

  The burnt toast landed on top of the dead roses and the torn plastic bag she’d stuffed in there yesterday which, in the morning light, looked nothing like a woman’s face.

  She tipped cornflakes (stale because Tom had neglected to close the box) into a bowl. Chewing spoonful after spoonful without tasting, she scrolled through pages of Google advice on her phone and rocked the bouncer with her foot.

  When Trinity’s howls finally faded to weary bleats, the phone pinged a calendar reminder – Playgroup, 11 a.m.

  ‘We’re going out today, baby girl. That’ll be fun, won’t it?’ Ellie whispered as she gingerly lifted her foot. ‘But first …’

  Quietly, she dragged a heavy white tangle from the washing machine and hung the peg bag from the crook of her arm. After last night’s storm, stray twigs and broken branches littered the garden. She shook off the fat raindrops that trembled on the washing line, wishing she could shake last night’s events off so easily. The pale face among the roses; the voice that had seemed so real.

  Back in the kitchen, there was a missed FaceTime from Mum. The phone rang out two or three times before she answered and clicked the speaker icon.

  ‘Hi, darling,’ Carol said cheerily. ‘Look, they took the cage off. I can walk again.’

  She waved the phone down her body to the grey plastic boot on her left leg.

  ‘Fantastic. How does it feel?’

  ‘Achy and I can’t stand on it without crutches, but it’s just so good to be up and about. Weeks of bedrest is more than I can bear.’

  Ellie wet a cloth and wiped mud off the back door. Honestly, Tom could be such a slob. Fair enough, she sent him out in the middle of the night, but he could have washed his mucky hands. She chucked the cloth in the sink. Through the window, last night’s bassinet sheets hung clean and motionless alongside Tom’s work shirts, Trinity’s vests, and assorted muslin cloths.

  ‘Weeks of bedrest sounds good to me,’ Ellie said. ‘Why don’t you come over here for it?’

  ‘Oh, love,’ Carol sighed. ‘I wish I could, but I need to be near the hospital and you’d end up looking after me as well as the baby. How is my little girl?’

  Ellie propped the phone against the fruit bowl, angling it towards Trinity.

  ‘This is the first time she’s stopped crying for hours. I’ve tried rocking her, feeding her, winding her … everything.’

  ‘Probably a touch of colic,’ Carol replied. ‘It won’t last long. Have you tried lying her across your legs and rubbing her back?’

  Pale lines of light criss-crossed the kitchen, but there was no warmth in them. Boiler on the blink again? Ellie touched the radiator then snatched her hand away. Nothing wrong with the heating. Maybe Howard could check for draughts when—

  ‘Are you still there?’

  ‘Yes. Sorry. Go on.’

  She shivered and put the back of her hand against Trinity’s forehead. Warm as toast.

  ‘I said the weather looks good there. What are your plans for the day?’

  She picked a hoodie from the clean washing pile and threw it over her head, muffling the reply.

  ‘There’s a mum and baby group at the church hall in the village. But I don’t know if I’m up to it today.’

  ‘Sounds like a great idea. You won’t remember, but I used to go to one with you when you were tiny in the same room you went for Brownies. You got to play and I got to have a bit of a break.’

  Ellie leaned over the sink. Weird how after the chaos of last night’s storm, the garden stood as still as a painting, apart from a single magpie swooping between two trees.

  Mum carried on, ‘It was the only time I ever got to drink an entire cup of tea while it was still hot. And to speak to adults. Of course, your dad was at work and I was desperate for a conversation. We all were.’

  A dewy glitter sparkled on the lawn and Ellie shivered. How could sunshine make a room colder?

  ‘I don’t know. I mean, I’m not sure I’m up to a twenty-minute walk yet and we sold my car, remember?’

  Carol put her serious voice on. ‘Staying in the house all day is going to drive you mad. I’m sure Tom’ll take you.’

  A spider had spun a web of crystal lace in the corner of the window. Ellie traced the intricate outline with her finger. ‘Except he’s at work. As always.’

  There was a very short pause.

  Then Carol said, ‘Ellie. If Tom’s at work, who is that standing behind you?’

  19. Now

  Ellie whirled around.

  Empty chairs. Table. Clothes and assorted junk. Fridge freezer. Dizzy with panic, she scanned the ceiling and the walls, glanced between the locked back door and the hall.

  No one.

  She fumbled with the straps on the bouncer and clutched Trinity tight, her forearm flat against the baby’s spine, her palm cradling the delicate skull.

  ‘Not funny, Mum. Not funny at all,’ she shouted in the direction of the phone.

  The reply was tinny and distant. ‘Please pick the phone up.’

  With her back to the wall, Ellie shuffled around the perimeter of the kitchen until she reached the table, barely registering the hot radiator against the back of her thighs.

  Carol’s voice continued, ‘Just let me put my glasses on. It’s very bright, isn’t it? And it’s hard to see properly on a little screen.’

  Ellie felt the sting of tears. ‘Why did even you say that? That’s so mean.’

  ‘I didn’t mean to scare you,’ Carol said, distraught. She hesitate
d, then laughed. ‘Oh. I’m such an idiot!’

  ‘What?’

  ‘It’s just a shadow. Look, can you see it?’

  Ellie turned to see a figure appear and dissolve: a shirt on the line, magnified by some optical illusion, topped by the rounded canopy of a distant tree.

  Jesus.

  The sun rose above the trees, flooding the kitchen with light. Instead of shivering, sweat prickled across her upper lip and exhaustion and relief turned her legs to rubber. She closed her eyes and drew in a deep, controlled breath. ‘As if I’m not freaked out enough already, Mum. You nearly gave me a heart attack.’

  ‘Oh, love, I’m so sorry. I wasn’t thinking about the poor woman who died. I just want to put my arms round you, both of you.’

  ‘I know.’ Ellie shifted her bum along the radiator.

  ‘Listen,’ Carol said. ‘Do you remember the floorboards upstairs at the old house? How they used to groan when the heating came on?’

  ‘Yeah, Dad said it was the wood expanding with the heat.’

  ‘That’s right. But you always pulled the covers over your head, thinking someone was coming up the stairs. You were so jumpy when you were little. And the extractor fan in the bathroom that used to click round and round when it was windy.’

  She nodded, remembering. ‘I thought a witch was tapping on the window.’

  ‘Exactly,’ Carol said. ‘Even here, Roger bought the villa off-plan but when the wind funnels down the chimney, it’s like someone moaning. Scared me to death the first time I heard it.’ There was a brief pause. ‘What I’m saying is houses have their own funny ways and on top of finding out about the previous owner, what’s-her-name?’

  ‘Mary Brennan.’

  ‘Poor old Mary Brennan. What you’ve been through in the last few weeks is enough to send anyone round the twist. Love, go to the playgroup. It’ll do you the world of good to get out. Have a chat with the other mums and you’ll soon realise everyone’s in the same boat.’

  Linear shadows of slender-trunked trees fell like bars across the kitchen wall. She said goodbye to her mum as the magpie swooped on to the apple tree, staring with one shark-blank eye while confrontationally flicking its tail. Cocky bastard.

  Ellie slapped her palm against the glass. ‘Shit on my clean washing and you die.’

  Round the twist.

  Maybe Mum had a point. She needed to get out of the house.

  Her mental health craved normality right now. A quick Google Maps search confirmed the route to the church hall would be straightforward. Fresh air, exercise, other humans. And the truth was, apart from the meeting-new-people nerves fluttering in her belly, she didn’t have a reason not to go.

  She unfolded a cute pair of dungarees for Trinity. Red, embroidered with little monkeys, they fit snugly around her chubby ankles. Stripy socks and a vest added to the cuteness overload.

  ‘You look so gorgeous,’ Ellie said, tickling the baby’s tummy. ‘Yes, you do.’

  Choosing for herself proved more of a challenge. Considering the narrow criteria of a) will fasten and b) not pyjamas, this should have been simple. Instead, she was stuck with the maternity jeans with the fraying high waist. Again.

  She brushed bronzer on the apples of her cheeks to liven the zombie mum skin and tied her hair up in its usual lazy ponytail, noting how desperately her roots needed doing.

  With Trinity in the pram in the hall, mittened fingers flexing and clenching to an inaudible beat, they were ready to set off. Ellie fastened her coat buttons. Purse. Check. Phone. Check. Keys.

  Keys?

  They had been in the back door. One hundred per cent. She remembered hearing the chink when she took the washing out. Except they weren’t there. She scanned the lino in case they’d fallen out. No. And they weren’t on the sill or under Trinity’s pram. Or on the kitchen worktop, in the empty fruit bowl, on the coffee table, in the bathroom, her coat pocket or on her bed.

  Maybe she hadn’t seen them today after all. She tapped her phone with her fingernail.

  Had Tom moved them before he left for work?

  ‘Hiya love,’ he said over the office soundtrack of ringing phones and babble of conversation. ‘I tried to ring before, but it was engaged.’

  ‘Yeah, I was talking to my mum. Look, have you seen my keys?’

  ‘In the wicker basket?’

  She peered down the back of the bedside table. ‘I’ve checked. I thought I’d left them in the door, but they’re not there and I’m about to go to the playgroup. Remember? I told you last night.’

  ‘Listen,’ he said. ‘About last night. I’m sorry I was such an arse about being woken up. I know you’re having these bad dreams and it was so noisy with the storm.’

  ‘It’s OK,’ she said, only half-listening. She pulled back the curtain to view the corner of the windowsill. ‘I actually think the sleep deprivation is sending me a bit doolally and—’

  There was a clinking sound from downstairs. She hurried down to the hall. Stopped. Stared.

  The silver letter E swayed in the lock.

  20. Now

  She stepped back hastily and knocked against the pram, shocking the baby into a yelp.

  ‘Ssssh, it’s OK.’

  The yelp upgraded to a high-octane wail of confusion and Ellie had to fight the urge to join in.

  ‘Ellie?’ came Tom’s worried voice. ‘What’s happening?’

  ‘Nothing. I tripped over the pram. I’ll call you later.’

  She didn’t hear his goodbye as she slowly curled her fingers around the key ring. The prongs of the E bit into her skin. She thought she’d checked the front door, but she couldn’t have done. Her eyes felt full of grit and she rubbed the corners. Too forgetful, too tired.

  ‘Oh, dear what can the matter be?’ she sang under her breath. ‘Mummy is losing her mind.’

  With the house locked and the keys securely zipped in her pocket, she pushed the pram up the driveway, ignoring the magpie’s chattering commentary.

  Clouds had drifted over the sun and the low grey sky stretched on forever, broken here and there by black circling birds. Although the road to the village seemed flat in a car, on foot the slight incline was steep enough to leave her breathless.

  She set her jaw and pushed past trees that grew further apart and houses that crept closer and closer until they touched the pavement and turned into shops.

  Uppermoss clung to its identity as a village, but over the years, the bustling high street had evolved into something closer to a small town. Workers on a break hurried by. The road widened and cars bunched up to let an ambulance pass. A black dog sniffed the buggy’s wheels while his owner talked loudly into the phone.

  ‘You don’t deserve her. Not after what you did.’

  Ellie halted in the middle of the pavement. Cold dread stole her breath. The dog walker eyed her with undisguised curiosity, stepped into the gutter and tugged at the lead until the dog reluctantly trotted off.

  A random comment from a random stranger. That’s all. Her knuckles gleamed on the buggy handle. She tucked her chin to her chest and ignored the rising buzz in her ears.

  Get a grip.

  The pavement swarmed with laughing, shouting, staring faces. So many faces. And so much noise. After the peace of Moss Lane, it felt like the volume had been turned up on everything: sound, colour, movement raced around her like a film on fast forward. Conscious of a damp prickling under her arms, she willed herself to the pedestrian crossing. Her raised finger shook.

  Push the button. Wait. Cross.

  She breathed a sigh of relief as she reached the sturdy modern building. Wooden half barrels bloomed with flowers under banners that advertised a tea dance, a choir, an artisan market. A no-nonsense space next to the fancy Victorian twiddles of the church, inviting her to sit in peace with a cup of tea. Pre-baby, Ellie would not have given a church hall a second glance, but right now, with sweat on her forehead and the weight of lost keys on her mind, the relief was like getting into bed after a har
d day.

  The metallic jab in her front pocket reassured that, yes, the keys were still safe, as she opened the door into a beige-carpeted vestibule that smelled of furniture polish and custard creams. Conversations punctuated by the occasional wail emanated from behind a wooden door. A woman emerged carrying a toddler. Ellie attempted to push the buggy through.

  ‘Oh sorry.’ The woman smiled. ‘You have to leave that in the pram park under the stairs. First time?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Everyone’s super friendly. When you go in, ask for Asha – she runs the group.’ She shifted the toddler to the other hip. ‘The loos are just down the corridor on the left if you need them.’

  The woman’s friendliness brought tears to her eyes, and she murmured her thanks.

  The baby changing room gleamed. A box next to the spotless mat, printed with rows of happy ducks, contained lotion and a free supply of wipes. Thoughtful. She quickly rubbed one over her face and under her arms.

  ‘You’re OK,’ she reassured her reflection. ‘You got this.’

  A noticeboard headed What’s on in Uppermoss? hung from a nail. Someone clearly made an effort to keep it cheerful and updated. Was this Diane’s daughter-in-law’s handiwork? She scanned through the yoga classes, allotments and nearly new sales and her eye was caught by a poster. Join I love Uppermoss on Facebook. A friendly group to discuss issues concerning our beautiful village.

  With a couple of clicks, she’d sent a join request. The village community. Playgroups. Mothers and babies. This was her new tribe.

  But one glance around the hall snuffed out any hope of finding fellow zombie mums. With their uniform of striped tops over skinny jeans, these women had a collective aura of success in all areas. Expert motherhood just another tick on life’s to-do list.

  She ought to have put on some lipstick and blow-dried her hair, or at least tamed the frizz that sprang from her temples. But she’d been too tired and, frankly, hadn’t expected to find herself gate-crashing a Boden photoshoot.

  A huge soft area, dotted with play gyms and various well-behaved and beautifully turned-out children, dominated the centre of the room. Chairs lined the walls and by the stage, a trestle table held glasses and vintage cups and saucers alongside an Italian coffee maker. There was a fruit basket. Home-made cupcakes and biscuits adorned a three-tier cake stand. Porcelain, not plastic.