by R. P. Bolton
It locked with a solid click.
Trinity snoozed for most of the journey, cutely cosy in the tiger-striped hat and mittens Danny and Josie sent, allowing Ellie to watch the landscape blur into a green and brown banner. Watery morning sun warmed her face through the glass and childhood memories paraded through her mind like jerky home videos. Her dad running alongside her bike on the paths. Throwing stale bread crusts for the ducks, her shrieking at the greedy geese. The excitement of queuing for a 99 after paddling in the stream.
‘Here we go,’ Tom said, pulling into the car park.
Parkrun had just finished and the last stragglers, their hi-vis vests spattered with mud, panted along the concrete path. An unfeasibly fit woman pushing a three-wheeled buggy brought up the rear.
‘We could do this,’ Tom said. ‘Would you like that, Trinity?’
Ellie zipped the snuggle blanket around the baby’s legs.
‘Yeah, you could go fast with Daddy or slow with Mummy.’
‘You’ll be back to your PB in no time.’
Ellie hooked her arm through his. ‘I really hope so.’
The air was cold but crisp and the blood pumping round her body released a burst of energy. Mum had been right – she had been cooped up for too long. Being outdoors was working wonders on her mood – and Tom’s. He chatted away to Trinity, pointing out the trees and the bushes. By the lake, an off-lead dog ran up and sniffed the pram, wagging its tail.
‘Trinity. That’s a doggy,’ Tom said. ‘There are some ducks.’
Ellie was transported back to her own childhood and her dad’s hand warm and strong in hers, beard tickling her cheek as he knelt to name the ducks. Despite the exhaustion claiming her body, walking among these happy memories smoothed some of the jagged edges of the last few weeks and she felt her anxiety melt a little in the weak sun.
‘Technically, that’s a mallard,’ she said to Trinity, ‘and a Canada goose. And that show-off over there is a Mandarin.’
Tom pulled an approving face. ‘Impressive duck knowledge, Wight. Any other hidden talents you’d like to share?’
She waggled her eyebrows and he grinned.
They crossed over the stone bridge where she’d played pooh sticks with her dad, rounded the corner and stopped in front of Uppermoss Hall. The textbook Tudor mansion had tiny leaded windows, cockeyed chimneys, and a huge, studded door in front of which stood a man in a Henry VIII costume handing out leaflets for a guided tour. A very un-Tudor length of tinsel hung around his neck like a shiny feather boa.
Tom whistled. ‘This place certainly puts our house maintenance woes in perspective.’
He leaned across the pram to kiss her, but the mosquito-buzz of his work phone interrupted.
‘Sorry, I’ve got to take this,’ he said. ‘You keep going. I’ll catch up.’
Tom’s voice drifted over. ‘Hiya, Tanya. What’s up?’
Ellie chewed the inside of her cheek. Was he not allowed one weekend off?
Trinity sneezed wetly, flinging her whole body into it, and flashed a wide-eyed look of surprise.
‘Oh, sweetheart,’ Ellie said and reached into her pocket. ‘Let Mummy wipe your nose.’ The tab of the tissue packet stuck to the lining and when she tugged, her keys dropped to the ground.
Before she could bend down to retrieve them, Henry VIII materialised by her side and picked them up with a flourish. ‘Allow me.’
Close up, she could see elastic hooked round his ears to anchor the ginger beard in place. She smelled Lynx and felt the brush of his suede gauntlet against her palm.
‘Thank you.’
He smoothed his gloves down his doublet. ‘Would madam like to discover the macabre secrets of Uppermoss Hall in our Christmas Ghost Experience tour?’
‘Not today, thanks,’ she said and pressed a tissue against Trinity’s cherry-red nose. She took the proffered leaflet and, with a smile, stuck it in her back pocket.
‘What’s that?’ Tom said, still holding his phone.
‘Just a leaflet about the ghost tour. What did Tanya want?’
‘Nothing important.’
It was on the tip of her tongue to say why did you take it then? But Trinity interrupted with another ferocious sneeze.
‘Do you think she’s OK?’ Tom sounded concerned. He touched her forehead. ‘She doesn’t feel hot. Maybe being outside is tickling her nose.’
A kid, clutching an ice-cream cone like his life depended on it, narrowly avoided crashing into the buggy. His parents followed holding bacon butties, ketchup oozing through the paper serviettes.
‘Shall we try the café?’ Tom said.
Ellie frowned. ‘It’s a bit expensive here. Why don’t we wait till we get home?’
‘Aw come on.’ He set off with the pram. ‘Let’s go crazy. A piece of cake isn’t going to break the bank.’
Under the awning and sheltered from the breeze, Tom removed Trinity’s hat, smoothing down the static wisps of hair. Ellie basked in the weak sun, spooning foam from the top of her cappuccino, and carving bits off a piece of carrot cake.
‘You know, Danny and Josie gave us that hat and gloves set, and I haven’t sent them a thank-you card yet. I haven’t sent any.’
‘People understand,’ Tom said. ‘Especially if they’ve got kids of their own. They must understand it gets a bit full-on in the first few weeks. Months. Anyway, don’t worry, I said thanks to Danny the other night when he rang.’
‘How are they all?’
‘Fine. We mainly talked about you and Trinity and the house.’ Tom dabbed at the baby’s nose. ‘Dan was saying they went down to Anita and David’s on the anniversary. Put some flowers on Mia’s grave.’
Ellie carefully squashed cream cheese icing onto the back of her fork. They were having a nice time. Why did he have to mention Mia?
‘They went for lunch,’ Tom continued, oblivious. ‘Mia’s brothers were there too, with their kids. Danny said it ended up being quite a party.’
‘We should definitely invite Danny and Josie to stay, once the house is in better shape. What is the next project, anyway?’
She half stood and brushed crumbs from her jeans. Maybe he realised she was changing the subject, maybe he didn’t. Either way, Tom took the bait, describing his plan to get the garden sorted for spring while she nodded, chipped in with suggestions, and pushed away images of nephews and nieces who would only ever know their Auntie Mia through photos and stories.
Five minutes later, they had paid the bill, tucked Trinity in the buggy and set off. They walked past Henry VIII leaning against a tree, smoking a roll-up and checking his phone. A billboard above his cushiony hat depicted a blissful bride and groom. Ask about our beautiful weddings! it read.
Some chance. She and Tom talked about getting married now and then, but there always seemed to be something else to save up for. And now, at the rate the house gobbled their savings, they’d be walking up the aisle on Zimmer frames.
They reached the playground and Tom stopped and knelt next to Trinity. ‘Doesn’t that look like fun? When you’re a bit older you’ll be able to play on the swings and the slide like those big boys and girls.’
It had changed a lot since her childhood visits. Rubberised flooring replaced the lethal concrete and the rusty swings were long gone. A pirate ship complete with slides, climbing wall and tunnels attracted hordes of kids screaming with laughter.
‘We’d better go home for Dad.’ Tom’s knees cracked as he straightened. ‘I wish my mum could have met Trinity.’
Ellie followed his line of sight to an older lady helping a toddler in rainbow wellies splash through a puddle. The older woman mirrored the toddler’s delight and Ellie felt an intense wave of longing for her own mum.
‘She’d have loved being a grandma,’ Tom continued.
Ellie curled her lips in a sad smile. ‘Yeah. My dad would have loved bringing Trinity here. Teaching her about the trees and the wildlife.’
‘That’s the kind of life I want for our da
ughter,’ Tom said, gazing up at the leafy canopy. ‘Roaming about in nature, not hemmed in by concrete, worried about pollution and traffic. Once the house is sorted and the pressure is off at work, we’ll appreciate what a good move this was for us.’
A squirrel skittered across the path and into the bushes.
‘I already appreciate it,’ Ellie said. ‘And I’m really sorry I’ve been such a pain these last few weeks.’
‘Don’t be daft.’ Tom braced his thigh against the pram and reached for her. He smelled of autumn and his arms were solid and warm.
‘I should be doing more around the house, but I’m knackered,’ she said into his chest. ‘And then I feel bad for moaning because you’re working flat out and even more knackered. I feel like I’m lazy and useless.’
He hugged her even tighter. ‘You are definitely neither of those things. You’re a brilliant mum and we’re lucky to have you.’
She hugged him fiercely in return. Why was she even worried? He loved her, she loved him. They both loved Trinity. Nothing else mattered.
He planted a kiss on her forehead. ‘Come on. Let’s go home.’
Home.
Obviously, it was her imagination playing tricks, but as soon as the word left Tom’s lips, she felt the keys burn, cold and metallic, through her jacket pocket, her jumper, her T-shirt to her skin.
25. Now
Howard’s van was already parked on the driveway when they arrived home. The rear doors were open and a set of stepladders rested against the porch.
‘Dad beat us to it then,’ Tom said over the crunch of gravel. ‘He must be round the back. Why don’t you open up and I’ll tell him we’re home?’
She unclicked her seatbelt and took her jacket off the back seat while he lifted Trinity out.
Ellie rummaged in her zippered pockets. Phone, purse, tissues. She sat back.
‘I can’t find my …’ She lifted her hips and patted her jeans pockets. ‘The house keys. I can’t find them.’
‘Have you checked under the seat?’
But her groping hand found nothing there except the ice scraper and an old Yorkie wrapper. They hadn’t slipped under the footwell mat, either, or in the gap between the seatbelt and the door.
‘It’s OK,’ Tom said, jangling the bunch at the open window. ‘I’ve got mine.’
But he didn’t need them. As soon as he touched the handle, the front door swung open.
‘I thought you locked it?’ he said and she heard a tinge of irritation.
The memory of turning the key in the lock lay so close to the surface she didn’t even need to search for it. Hand, fob, thinking of Mary, lock.
‘I did. Your dad must have opened up.’
‘We haven’t given him a key yet,’ Tom pointed out on his way inside.
Howard emerged from the passageway at the side of the house. He was wearing a faded lumberjack shirt over paint-spattered cords and heavy-duty work boots.
‘Did you have a good walk?’ he said, pulling his gloves off.
‘Was the front door unlocked when you got here?’ Ellie said.
‘I didn’t think to try, to be honest.’
‘Hi, Dad,’ Tom said from the porch. He had the basket from the hall in his hand. ‘Look, Els.’
He held her keys up by the silver E.
She stared. ‘Where did you find them?’
‘In here.’ He shook the wicker basket, rattling the jumbled contents.
She felt her forehead crease. ‘But that’s impossible. I locked the door and put the keys in my jacket pocket before we went to the park.’
‘Never mind. At least we’ve found them now,’ he said. ‘Anyway, Dad, I was thinking I can get stuck into the garden while the weather’s good and you could look at the heating. What do you reckon?’
Before Howard could respond, Ellie stepped forward. ‘I’m being serious, Tom. I definitely locked up and I definitely took those keys to the park.’
Trinity gave a melancholy wail and writhed in Tom’s arms.
‘All right, love,’ he murmured into the baby’s head. ‘Look, I’ll change her if you bring the stuff in.’
Her body acting on autopilot, she carried the changing bag into the kitchen while her mind looped back to dropping the key ring in the park. The touch of the man’s suede glove. The cold burn of metal in her pocket.
Yale for the top lock, years of grime embedded in the grooves. Lost in confusion, she shrugged off her coat and hung it on the back of the chair. Slim brass mortise, worn smooth by Mary Brennan’s fingers. The memory was sharp.
‘I said’ – Howard cleared his throat – ‘I saw one of your neighbours just now. She came into the garden.’
She hadn’t even been aware he was speaking. She smiled and adopted a fake-bright tone. ‘Sorry, Howard. I was miles away. Yeah, that’ll be Diane from next door. She’s really nice, isn’t she?’
He made an embarrassed sound, a kind of cough-laugh. ‘I don’t know about that. I said hello, but she completely ignored me. I think she took one look at the overalls and decided I wasn’t worth talking to.’
‘Really? What did she look like?’
‘Dark hair, glasses.’ He shrugged. ‘Miserable. Anyway, Tom told me the electrics are playing up.’
‘Yeah, and the boiler,’ she said absently. ‘I think that woman is another one of the neighbours. Sorry.’
Howard chuckled. ‘I’m not bothered, love. But you can do me a quick sandwich if you want to make up for it.’
‘Of course,’ she said, gathering herself. ‘Ham OK?’
A whiff of sour milk emanated from the fridge. She took out the ham, a shrivelled end of cucumber and a jar of mayo and quickly assembled Howard’s sandwich.
On the other side of the window, Tom waded through the brambles. He had a spade in one hand and a roll of black bags in the other.
She turned to pass Howard his lunch and something fell out of her back pocket: the wadded-up leaflet about ghost tours.
‘Cheers, love. I’ll have this while I’m bleeding the radiators,’ Howard said, taking the plate. ‘It’ll probably just be air in the pipes, if the system’s been shut down for a while.’
As she smoothed the creased paper flat, her memory returned to the clatter of the key ring hitting the tarmac. The suede glove. The cold burn of metal.
But the keys were in the basket. She saw Tom get them.
She realised Howard was probably waiting for her to say something.
‘Thanks for all your help. There’s no way we could have done so much on our own.’
‘Don’t be daft,’ Howard said in a gruffly pleased tone. He selected a metal thing from the toolbox. ‘No point paying cowboys a fortune to do a bad job. Right, I’ll start upstairs.’
Within a few minutes, alarming gurgles raced through the pipes and Ellie, tapping crumbs off the breadboard, half-smiled at Trinity’s open-mouthed astonishment.
Observing the unique human emerging from generic babyness fascinated Ellie. One day, she saw Dad in the line of Trinity’s jaw. The next, Tom’s hairline emerged from the fuzzy scalp and that little fold at the top of her left ear mirrored his and Howard’s. Dad lived on in the rounded curve of the chin and Mum in the perfect bow of the lips. And a shift in light could turn the murky navy of her eyes to deep brown, like Tom’s.
Brown eyes like King Henry’s. The rash of pimples; the elastic hooked around his ears, the cigarette smoke on his breath when he handed the keys over. How could she have imagined such detail?
Outside, Tom karate kicked the wooden structure in the middle of the rose bed and Ellie imagined rather than heard the splintering crack of rotten planks. It lurched and tilted but, anchored by the thick bushes entwined around the bars, didn’t collapse. Instead it hung lopsided while Tom wiped his forehead, stepping back to decide his next move.
A reel of events unfurled in her head. She saw herself lock the door when they left. Put the keys in her pocket. Get in the car. Everything was so vivid. So real. Only two po
ssible explanations presented themselves: either her sleep-deprived memory had short-circuited and imagined the whole scenario.
Or Tom had taken them out of her pocket and hidden them in the basket.
Metal flashed as he sawed through the thick, thorny stems. Even from the kitchen, she could see the line of sweat soaking through the back of his grey T-shirt. Poor Tom. Whether he was at home or at the station, he never stopped working.
And in the unlikely event it was a stupid joke, he would have confessed as soon as he saw she was upset. She must have got it wrong. She gave her head a little shake. No, there was no way he would have taken the keys without telling her.
Because why would he want her to think she was losing her mind?
26. Now
‘Cup of tea?’
The question cut through deep layers of sleep. Thick-headed and with a nasty taste in her mouth, Ellie swam to consciousness. In the days since the incident at the park, she’d had the same surreal dream about vanishing keys and lost babies and dead roses almost every night. She rubbed her gummy eyes.
‘What time is it?’
‘Just gone eight.’
‘Jesus, Tom.’ She kicked the duvet off. ‘Why didn’t you get me up?’
‘Because you were dead to the world,’ he whispered, nodding at the Moses basket. ‘And because Trinity is still sleeping off the expressed milk I gave her at six o’clock.’
A quick glance confirmed Trinity was indeed fast asleep. The blood pressure meds were in the bedside drawer and she chased them down with a swig of tea. The health visitor had suggested taking them in the morning, but so far it hadn’t made any difference to the dreams.
‘Shouldn’t you be at work?’
‘We’re taking the baby for her injections, remember.’
‘Oh God.’ She shuffled up the headboard.
‘Relax. We don’t need to set off till ten.’ His patchy stubble tickled her cheek as he leaned in for a kiss. ‘How are you feeling now?’
She mentally scanned her body, top to toe. ‘OK, I think. Tired.’
‘Look, we need to talk about last night,’ he said. The mattress sank as he sat down. His tone was serious.