by R. P. Bolton
The painted banister and landing light resembled theirs. As did the carpet, patterned like mould in a petri dish. When the camera reached the top of the stairs, it zoomed in on a door identical in every way to the nursery, except for the handle with a key sticking out of the lock. And the thick black bolts, top and bottom.
She stared, alert now, as the hairy fingers turned the key and drew the bolts. Through the crack in the door, the camera filmed a sliver of yellow-papered chimney breast illuminated by the bare ceiling bulb and a single bed. Huddled under a woollen blanket, someone was crying.
Then a phone started ringing.
Not a phone, her phone.
Her eyes opened and she felt the pillowcase under her cheek. On the TV, five women sat around a table, laughing raucously at a joke she’d missed.
Groggy with sleep and confusion, she rubbed the corners of her eyes and scrabbled for her mobile.
‘Hello?’
‘Is everything OK?’
‘I …’ Ellie struggled to marshal her thoughts. She swung her feet to the floor, rolled her stiff shoulders. ‘I must have fallen asleep.’
‘Look at her! She hasn’t got a clue,’ the dark-haired presenter said in a broad Yorkshire accent and the studio audience roared with laughter.
‘You need to check on Trinity. Now. Please.’ There was controlled panic in Tom’s voice.
That’s when she realised Trinity was crying. Yelling, in fact.
How had she not woken up?
She put Tom on loudspeaker and hurried to lift the squirming baby, cheeks puce with outrage, from the cot.
‘She’s not hurt, is she?’ Tom said.
Trinity’s legs battered the changing table. Ellie wrinkled her nose at the reek of dirty nappy.
‘I don’t think so. No. She just needs changing.’
One of the Velcro tabs had come undone and greeny-black sludge caked the baby’s thighs and back. With a grimace, Ellie pulled it free and tugged the vest up to Trinity’s armpits. A glob caught in the press studs and smeared across the baby’s pudgy belly.
‘Sorry,’ Ellie murmured, reaching for the wipes while addressing the phone. ‘How did you even know she was crying?’
‘The app,’ Tom replied. ‘Look at the camera.’
Steadying the baby with one splayed hand, she glanced up. Sure enough, the green pinhead of light shone steadily. Her panic changed to annoyance.
‘Were you spying on me?’
‘Not you, the baby. But the point is I’m in Manchester and I could hear her, love. She’s been screaming for at least ten minutes. I don’t understand how you could be in our room and sleep through that.’
Even to her ears, Ellie’s reply sounded defensive. ‘I was up nearly all night.’
‘I know,’ he said, more gently. ‘I’m not having a go. I was just worried.’
Squirming against the touch of the wipe on her mottled skin, the baby’s foot hooked the nappy, spraying the contents over the mat before it landed, wrong side down, on the new carpet.
‘Balls,’ Ellie muttered. She glared at the camera. ‘Switch it off, Tom, it’s creepy.’
‘I’m coming home,’ he said.
Standing on tiptoe, Ellie draped a muslin cloth over the camera’s prying eye.
‘Ellie, don’t be—’
She cut the call.
‘Backseat bloody fathers,’ she said loudly in the direction of the camera. The green light winked out with a click and, seconds later, her phone beeped with an apology from Tom.
Not spying. Home soon. Sorry. X
The theme tune to a game show blared from the TV. Loud presenter, louder contestants.
A warm bath failed to dissolve Trinity’s tantrum. Ellie patted her dry and gently rubbed cream in the reddened creases at the tops of her thighs.
‘I’m sorry. Mummy was just really tired,’ she said. ‘I promise I won’t fall asleep again.’
Beyond placating now, Trinity’s mouth persisted with a long wail of misery, only stopping a minute before Tom pulled into the driveway. When he walked through the door, Trinity squealed.
And when he held out the bag from the takeaway, Ellie almost did the same.
‘I thought we’d both be too knackered to cook,’ he explained. ‘So I picked up a curry. Got you a garlic naan too.’
The evening passed pleasantly enough, with Tom extra solicitous and tactfully avoiding mentioning the baby monitor. Instead, between mouthfuls of rogan josh, he talked about the progress the team were making.
‘The new intelligence has meant we’re closing in on the bastards, finally. One last push next week and we’ll have them. Then I promise, no more overtime and no more weekend shifts.’
After he’d washed up, they slumped in front of the TV. Tom placed a cushion behind his head and put his arm around Ellie, pulling her close.
‘How was playgroup?’ He slurped the foam off a glass of beer, flicking his tongue to catch the drips.
‘Good,’ she said. ‘I met next door’s daughter-in-law, Asha. And I got talking to a journalist who covered the story about Mary Brennan dying in the house. How strange is that? She told me the paper used it to start a campaign about looking out for vulnerable people. Apparently, her boss …’
But she had lost her audience. Tom sat upright, fingers flying over his phone screen in response to a message alert.
‘Sorry,’ he said, taking his beer and getting up. ‘Tanya’s emailed me about tomorrow and I need to answer it if I’m not going to be …’
His voice trailed off as he left the room. Ellie rested her head briefly against the back of the sofa then lifted the laundry basket onto the coffee table and began to pair up socks.
Much later, while Trinity drifted off in her arms following the 3 a.m. feed, Ellie tiptoed out of the nursery and back to their room. And stopped. Bathroom, bedrooms, airing cupboard … she looked at each door in turn. Their worn and tarnished handles had to be the originals. Not the nursery, though. That was the origin of the weird dream, then. Subconsciously, she must have noticed its shiny brass handle was the odd one out.
Light glinted on the still-visible outline of the previous handle. And there were indentations on the door, top and bottom. Gouges in the wood with barely visible screw holes. Bolts? Possibly. But why would you put bolts on the outside of a door?
She rubbed her thumb over the thick layers of paint that almost obscured the shallow dents.
Almost.
23. Then
‘I don’t know,’ Ellie said, unlocking the kitchen door. ‘My mum likes me home in the holidays.’
Wrinkling her nose, Mia squashed last night’s curry cartons into the already overflowing bin bag. ‘It’s only for a few days. You’ll still have ages with your mum. Anyway, isn’t she off on a romantic Easter break with Roy?’
‘Roger, and yes, but only to Palma for a week. And I thought Danny would be staying at yours.’
A look of resignation passed over her friend’s face. ‘He’s having one of his too-much-commitment freak-outs again. I’m sick of it. You’re so lucky with Tom, you know. He’s so reliable. Predictable. Loyal.’
‘You make him sound like a Labrador.’
Mia put the bin bag outside and leaned against the wall, flicking her lighter on and off. ‘I mean, he doesn’t let ex-girlfriend guilt get in the way. He’s straightforward, whereas Danny … One minute we’re hunky dory, the next he’s got the Josie angst again. But if he wants to get back with her, that’s fine by me. Plenty more poissons dans la mer.’ Click. The little orange flame danced. ‘Ignore me. Please come and stay. I’m going to be bored out of my tiny mind.’
‘I don’t want to put your mum and dad out.’
‘They’ll be thrilled to see you. Anyway, they’ll be working at the clinic most days so I’ll be on my own.’
Mia’s parents had made the long journey north from Surrey twice since the start of the year. The first time, they’d taken Mia and Danny out, but the last they’d invited Ellie for a pub lu
nch and although shyness had tied her tongue at first, their warmth soon melted her nerves.
She scrubbed at a clump of rice stubbornly clinging to the plate.
Mum and Roger wouldn’t want her hanging around for four weeks, would they?
‘Go on, then,’ she said. ‘I’d love to.’
A farmhouse kitchen, all quarry tiles and ancient pets milling around, was the beating heart of Mia’s family home. Bunches of dried herbs hung from the rafters and scented the air with sage and lavender. A battered Aga dominated the space, heating the water that clanged through the pipes. It was like stepping into the pages of a Famous Five book.
Every wall told the photographic history of the four Goldsworthy siblings from cute to gawky to gorgeous. Anita and David were the most welcoming of people, although Ellie felt slightly awed by the combination of Anita’s whip-quick brain and David’s Hollywood looks.
The view from Mia’s bedroom contained fields, trees and about a thousand miles of blue sky. Hardback books lined the windowsill and more were precariously stacked on the bedside table. A faded patchwork quilt covered the bed, clashing with the daisy-print curtains. The whole effect was girly and slightly old-fashioned. In other words, completely unlike the Mia Ellie knew. In fact, the only classic Mia-like touch was the string of fairy lights wrapped around the wooden beams. Nothing contrived or planned, but in the context of this family, this ideal home, it was perfect.
On the first night, David offered to drive them into the village to go to the pub.
Mia rumpled her dad’s hair. ‘No, it’s fine – we can walk, Dad.’
The tender gesture sent a shock wave of loss and envy through Ellie and she had to turn away so they wouldn’t see.
Only a few tables were taken at The Hare and Hound, but the landlady broke into smiles when Mia walked up to the bar and the sound of their friendly chatter followed Ellie to a nook at the back of the pub. Horse brasses lined a fireplace piled with logs, but unlit on this mild evening. She adjusted the worn red cushions and when an enormous dog with curly grey fur ambled over to sniff her leg, Ellie scratched behind his ears.
‘Hello, boy,’ Mia said, putting two pint glasses down, the old-fashioned sort, with panelled glass and thick handles. The dog wagged his tail before wandering over to another table.
Mia took a swig of beer. ‘Danny’s asked if I want to share a house with him when we move out of halls.’
So this was why Mia had invited her to stay. Ellie’s heart sank. She’d kind of taken it for granted that they’d find somewhere together, a flat or maybe a house and now Mia was about to shatter those plans.
‘What do you think?’ Mia said, twirling a beer mat between her fingers.
‘I think …’ Ellie said, hiding her disappointment as well as she could, ‘that if that’s what you want, it’s a great idea.’
Mia tapped the mat on the table. ‘Yeah, I told him I’d think about it, but I already know I’m going to say no. I mean, we’ve only been together for nine months and we’re not exactly rock solid while he’s feeling guilty about his ex. I was surprised he suggested it, actually.’
‘They had been together since Year 7,’ Ellie said mildly.
‘I know and I do feel bad,’ she said, pulling the corners of her mouth down. ‘But it was Danny’s decision to end it with her, not mine. Have you and Tom talked about getting somewhere?’
‘No.’ She picked up her pint. ‘Same as you, it would feel a bit rushed.’
The truth was it hadn’t even entered her head. While Mia and Danny’s relationship had been characterised by intense ups and downs from the start, Tom and Ellie were on a much slower burn.
‘Really? If Danny were anything like Tom I’d definitely be considering it,’ Mia said. ‘But if you don’t have any plans in that direction, shall we look for somewhere together?’
‘Yeah,’ Ellie said, happiness radiating through her. ‘That sounds great.’
On their way back to Mia’s, the hedges rustled with nocturnal creatures and when an owl hooted, Ellie jumped and clutched Mia, sending them both into breathless bursts of laughter that echoed in the still night air. Giggling and with her arm linked through Mia’s, she felt herself emerge a little more from the sadness that had plagued her for so long.
‘I’m free,’ she said. She flung her arms in the air and twirled, slightly unsteadily, down the pitted lane. ‘I’m a butterfly.’
‘You’re a tit,’ Mia replied affectionately, sending them both into renewed drunken hysteria as they approached the sleeping farmhouse.
When they reached the gate, Mia patted her pockets. ‘Balls. I’ve lost my keys. We’ll have to go back and find them.’
She ran in the direction of the road, peering into the darkness. Ellie caught up and grabbed her arm, whispering, ‘They could be anywhere, maybe you dropped them in the pub. Let’s look tomorrow.’
Mia grimaced, glancing up at the dark windows. ‘I don’t want to wake Mum and Dad up.’
Ellie shrugged. What else could they do? She tried the door handle but it didn’t budge.
There was a scratching sound against the wood, followed by a whine.
‘Easy, Smudge,’ Mia murmured to the dog. ‘It’s only us.’
She hitched her skirt up and turned to face Ellie.
‘Right, I’m going to climb up to my room, then I’ll come down and let you in, OK?’
‘What? No way.’
‘Nah. I used to do it all the time when I was younger.’
‘After two pints and three Jack Daniel’s?’
Mia grinned broadly. ‘Often after substantially more than that and still without a scratch.’
Ellie followed her around to the side of the house and a heavy black drainpipe. Through the French doors, she could see the dog’s nose pressed against the glass and she put her palm against it.
Twinkling lights glowed through a part-open window.
‘Up the drainpipe, onto the conservatory roof and through my window. See you in a minute.’
Before Ellie could protest any further, Mia swung her foot onto the bracket holding the pipe to the wall and put her hand onto the low roof. The pipe creaked in protest.
‘Get down!’ she hissed. ‘Mia, don’t be stupid.’
Without replying, Mia heaved herself up to standing and carefully balanced on the ridge. The buckles on her boots glinted as she hugged the ivy-covered wall, shuffling slowly towards the windowsill.
‘For God’s sake, be careful.’
Ellie watched, half in terror, half in admiration as Mia grabbed the stone windowsill and reached through the crack to pull the window fully open. With a thud and a mumbled ‘oof’, she dragged herself over the sill and disappeared inside. A second later, a figure appeared, silhouetted in the window.
‘Go to the back door,’ Mia said hoarsely, tugging the hem of her skirt down to straighten it.
When they had crept silently up the stairs, past the sleeping parents and into Mia’s room, the pair of them collapsed into giggles while the dog ran round, licking their faces and bashing them with his tail. And the hysteria only increased after Mia stood stock-still, staring at her bedside table with a stunned, ‘What the hell?’
Ellie followed her gaze, putting her hand over her mouth as realisation dawned through the alcohol haze.
‘You are joking.’
The keys dangled from her black-painted fingertips. ‘I didn’t take them.’
‘Sssh,’ Ellie giggled, putting a finger to her lips.
Of course, the burden of losing her dad and the gradual loss of her friends could never disappear completely, but at that moment, lying in Mia’s bedroom in the grip of a major giggling fit, the familiar weight felt lighter than it ever had.
‘I don’t want to go all health and safety,’ Ellie gasped when she could speak again, ‘but climbing up the wall like that is so dangerous. You could actually kill yourself.’
Mia peeled a strand of long, dark hair from where tears had glued it to her cheek an
d stood by the window, looking down at the flat porch roof.
‘Relax. I’ve done it a million times and I’m still here, aren’t I?’
24. Now
‘Have you seen the car keys?’ Tom popped his head round the bathroom door.
‘On the kitchen table.’ Ellie cast a critical eye over lank hair, skin lifeless as cold porridge. Her spirits sagged. ‘I just need five minutes,’ she said and opened the cabinet.
The shelves contained a guilt-inducing arsenal of products for the new mum in search of her old self – oils, creams, vitamins – none of which made much difference to the exhausted face in the mirror. She tapped the bronzer brush against the side of the pot and swirled the bristles over her forehead and cheeks. Applied tinted lip balm.
After weeks of little to no sleep, she had to cut herself some slack. Things would improve once Trinity started sleeping through the night.
When he returned, she noticed Tom was equally leached of life, his eyebags the colour of builder’s tea.
‘Where’s the changing bag?’ he said.
‘In the hall.’
The rapid thud of feet was followed by a shout, ‘No, it’s not.’
Scraping her hair into a functional ponytail, she went into the nursery. The changing bag was by the cot.
‘Sorry. Could’ve sworn I’d brought it down.’
It took him three attempts to manoeuvre the buggy into the car and squash the changing bag on top.
‘We need to be back by twelve to let Dad in.’
‘Uppermoss Park is only twenty minutes,’ she said. ‘We’ll be back in plenty of time.’
He slammed the boot. ‘Sounds good. Can you lock up?’
Did Mary Brennan have a trick for locking this door? Ellie coaxed the worn shaft of the mortise to engage with the mechanism and an image appeared of cold fingers turning this same key for the final time, unaware she would never leave the house again. Alive, anyway.