by R. P. Bolton
Looking back on it now, Ellie understood that losing her dad had changed her on a molecular level. Overnight every cell of her blistered with the knowledge that the flip side of love was loss. And while the sharp corners of grief had rounded with time, Trinity’s arrival had carved a new route to the pain. The pain of knowing that her daughter would never meet the grandad who would have idolised her.
With a stab of sadness, she carefully replaced the lid and set it to one side. She sipped cooling tea and stared at the next box. Innocuous enough, this tatty shoebox with ‘uni stuff’ scrawled over an orange Sale sticker. No need to look. Straight in the loft.
But when she picked it up, the lid slipped off and a grubby tangle of wristbands slithered out. Under them was a collection of cards, all hand-drawn. The top one read ‘Happy 20th Ellie’ above blue anime eyes and a sweep of brown hair.
Her stomach clenched and she turned the pile over. Underneath lurked curling photos printed on the old machines at Boots. Some were in paper wallets and others loose, studded with scraps of dried Blu Tack. Their power surged through her fingertips, but she wouldn’t turn them over. Not now.
Last was an illustrated girl on card, like a fashion drawing of Audrey Hepburn. Smoke twisted from her sketched cigarette, the grey ribbon writhing into a single word: Mia. Its Ellie counterpart was long gone, but these had been their doorplates for the year or so they’d lived in the flat.
Right at the bottom of the box was a picture frame. Ellie laid her palm flat on the card backing and chewed her lip. She didn’t need to turn it over to see it.
The two girls in the photo wore vest tops and artificial daisies in their hair. Mia had round pink sunglasses on and Ellie was squinting happily at the camera. The grubby tail of Mia’s wristband hung over her collarbone as she hugged her friend. Her other hand toasted the camera with a pint of lager in a plastic pot. The lager had been warm, Ellie remembered, and bits of grass floated in the amber liquid. She could taste it in the back of her throat now.
Their tent was pitched too far from the stage and too close to the toilets, but by the second night, she barely noticed the smell. Looking back, she had never felt as free as she had that weekend. Dancing and drinking and laughing in the sunshine. The Mia in the photo smiled like a girl with a long, happy future stretching ahead of her.
A bird cried outside the window, bringing Ellie back to bare floorboards and half-unpacked boxes spewing bubble wrap. Existing in the present might well be the key to recovery. But how could you focus on the present when the past was all around you?
She put the lid on the shoebox. Somehow, half an hour had passed and if anything, the room was more untidy. As she rapidly divided the rest into bin, store or sort piles, she heard the bird again. Louder. Closer.
Bird?
She cocked her head. Trinity lay dozing on the mat, a string of drool hanging from her rosebud lips. The TV was off. Radio same. Phone too.
Not a bird. A baby. The whimpering escalated, unmistakably human.
She looked up at the ceiling and little hairs bristled on the nape of her neck. The house waited. Ellie tiptoed towards the hall.
Somewhere upstairs, a baby coughed out angry staccato cries.
Ellie’s heart pumped the blood so fast it pounded in her ears, almost muffling the sound of the stranger baby. The baby that couldn’t possibly be crying because there couldn’t possibly be a baby upstairs.
With her eyes locked on the landing, she moved towards cries that now blared like emergency sirens. She grabbed the handle, half-expecting the door to stick.
Instead it swept smoothly over the carpet and into the empty nursery.
The cries hung like an auditory after-image in the air, then vanished, replaced by the mocking caw of a bird.
Had she imagined the baby crying? She peered at the cot, the nursing chair, the changing table with the photo of her dad above.
Of course she’d imagined it. The silence pressed in around her, squeezing her until she could hardly breathe.
Trinity dozed on, unperturbed in the lounge. Very quietly, Ellie picked up her phone. More than anything now, she needed to hear her mum’s voice.
She was about to hang up when Carol finally answered.
‘Sorry, love. My phone was right at the bottom of my bag. We’re out for lunch.’
Background chatter and the clink of cutlery came down the phone. Normal sounds.
‘That’s OK,’ Ellie lied. ‘I only rang to say hi.’
She never could fool her mum.
‘What’s wrong?’ her mum said sharply. ‘Is it the baby?’
Ellie went to speak then stopped. How could she explain what had just happened? Instead, she said, ‘No, she’s fine. We’re all fine.’
‘Hang on. I’ll just go somewhere quiet. Let me get my crutches.’ There was a clattering and then the background noise cut abruptly. ‘There’s something wrong. I can hear it in your voice.’
‘Nothing’s wrong.’ Ellie blinked rapidly. ‘Just fancied a chat. Being on my own in the house feels a bit … weird.’
Her mum spoke with reassuring briskness. ‘Well, that’s understandable. Like I said before, new houses have their quirks. You’ve been through a lot and …’ she paused ‘… don’t bite my head off, but I still think a visit to the doctor’s might be a good idea if you’re anxious.’
‘I didn’t say I was anxious.’ Ellie stroked Trinity’s pudgy arm. ‘Anyway, if I say I’ve got anxiety then they’ll think I can’t cope.’
‘Rubbish,’ Carol scoffed. ‘They’ll see a fantastic mum having the same doubts and fears that all parents have, but who is also having to deal with the after-effects of some health issues and a new environment.’ Her tone took on an edge. ‘Unless there’s something you’re not telling me?’
The shiny copper fireplace warped Ellie’s reflection like a fairground mirror.
I emptied the kitchen cupboards and I can’t remember doing it, she could say. I dreamed I saw my house on the TV. I thought I heard a baby crying upstairs. But even Carol, who believed in auras and angels, would baulk at that.
‘No,’ she said, deliberately upbeat. ‘New-house jitters, that’s all. Anyway, I saw the nurse this morning when I took Trinity for her injections.’
‘That’s good,’ Carol replied, still with a hint of doubt. ‘And have you spoken to Tom?’
She nudged a box straight with her toe. ‘He’s stressed enough with work.’
‘But that’s what partners are for. Especially when you’re parents. You need to lean on each other, trust each other.’
‘I guess so.’
‘You know so,’ her mum said firmly. ‘And on that note, I’d better go before Roger thinks I’ve run off with the waiter. I’ve got physio later but call me if you need to.’
When they’d said their goodbyes, Ellie listened intently to the sounds of the house. But no matter how she focused her ears, the stranger baby’s crying had stopped.
Still, she upped the volume on the TV. Vacuous laughter blared. The camera followed the shiny blonde presenter from the fake kitchen back to the couch. ‘Next up, it’s our favourite granny in the garden.’
A smiling woman in wellies appeared next to a stunning flowerbed.
The presenter nodded approvingly. ‘Look at those perfect roses, will you? Now there’s a woman who knows how to look after her babies.’
30. Now
Buzz.
Ellie frowned. What was that? She turned the TV off. There it was again. Buzz. Like the rusty death throes of a bluebottle.
‘Hello!’ a voice called from outside.
Someone stood in the porch, distorted by the dimpled glass, and flipped the letterbox.
‘Hi. Hope I’m not disturbing you. It’s me, Asha. Diane’s daughter-in-law from the playgroup?’
Ellie opened the door. ‘Hi, how are you?’
A V-necked tank top and turquoise leggings matched the thin weatherproof jacket tied around Asha’s shoulders. Her glowing complexion owed
nothing to make-up and tendrils of wavy hair escaping from a topknot followed the curve of her face. Asha was so intensely perfect, she probably sweated Jo Malone.
Ellie tugged self-consciously at her stained T-shirt and wished she had brushed her hair.
Asha grinned. ‘I’m good, thanks. I’ve brought this from Diane.’ She offered a tin printed with cheery cupcakes. ‘Lemon drizzle. But I can leave it and come back another day if you’re busy.’
‘No, come in. But you’ll have to excuse the mess.’
‘You should see my place.’ Asha laughed, a genuine throaty sound. ‘Like a nuclear bomb’s gone off.’
She followed Ellie into the kitchen. ‘We viewed this house, you know, when it came on the market. Adam was very keen.’
There was an expandable folder on the chair stuffed with bills and receipts, which Ellie quickly moved to the worktop.
‘Have a seat,’ she said. ‘You weren’t at the auction, were you?’
Asha shook her head. ‘Don’t get me wrong, I think it’s a great place, but I don’t have the imagination or the energy for a doer-upper.’
‘It is a lot of work, but it’s largely cosmetic. Sort of,’ Ellie said with a rueful smile. ‘Do you want tea or coffee?’
‘Coffee, please. Black. And how are you finding life on Moss Lane?’
‘Quiet. Nice to have more space.’ Ellie plated slices of cake and put them on the table. ‘We were living with Tom’s dad for six months and before that we had a flat in the Northern Quarter.’
‘I’m not surprised it seems quiet here.’
Ellie put two mugs on coasters and poured milk into hers.
‘We wanted the peace, you know once we had the baby. And I grew up near here. I’ve always loved the area.’
‘Thanks.’ Asha wrapped her hands around the mug. ‘Is your family close by then?’
Through mouthfuls of lemon drizzle, Ellie explained about her mum moving to Spain and then Asha countered with how much she missed her own family in Sydney and Mumbai. That led on to trading stories about how they met their respective partners. Ellie ‘met Tom at uni’, Asha ‘met Adam backpacking’.
‘And you never went home?’
Asha shook her head. ‘Got a job in accountancy, had Freddie and stayed. I like it here. Friendly people, green spaces. Miss the beach, though.’
‘I bet you do,’ Ellie said.
‘Mainly miss having my mum around. I love Diane to bits, but it’s not the same, is it? And how are you getting on here?’ Asha said, gazing around the kitchen.
‘Slowly,’ Ellie said, straightening the coaster under her mug. ‘We’re doing as much as we can ourselves. Or rather, Tom and his dad are.’
‘As if having a new baby isn’t enough work. I’m impressed.’
‘Really?’ Ellie crossed her arms over her chest. ‘There was so much we weren’t prepared for with the house. Not just the DIY stuff, either.’
Asha pulled a sympathetic face. ‘Diane felt terrible letting it slip about Mary. I couldn’t believe no one told you before you moved in.’
‘She shouldn’t feel bad. Tom already knew; he just decided not to tell me because he didn’t want me to freak out.’ She flicked her eyes up at Asha. ‘Is that the real reason why you didn’t put an offer in? Because you knew what had happened here?’
‘Crikey, no,’ Asha said with a laugh. ‘Honestly, I’m far too lazy to pick up a paintbrush, never mind start from scratch. Someone dying here wouldn’t have put me off. Does it bother you?’
‘I can’t deny it creeped me out, especially because of the body not being found straightaway. Still does if I’m honest. But I’m getting more used to the idea and it’s made me think …’ Pause. ‘It’s made me think we have more of a responsibility to turn the house into a happy family home. Put the heart back in it to honour Mary.’ She tutted. ‘God, that sounds so pretentious.’
‘Not at all. You want to exorcise the sad vibes, I get it,’ Asha said, licking crumbs from her fingers. ‘And I know Diane’s glad you’re here. She says you’ll be a breath of fresh air after everything that’s happened. New beginnings and all that.’
‘I hope so,’ Ellie said, draining her tea. ‘Did you ever meet Mary?’
‘I saw her now and then when I was round at Diane’s. Sitting at the bottom of the garden where that rose—’
She waved towards the pile of splintered wood and dead rose bushes. A three-legged plastic garden chair sat on top, like the Guy on a bonfire.
‘Oh, the pergola thing has gone. Wow, huge improvement. I never understood why anyone would interrupt that view. Anyway, one time I was jogging on the path in the woods and I said hi, tried to introduce myself, but …’ She passed her hand back and forth in front of her eyes. ‘Nada. Not that she could have said anything, of course.’
‘How come?’
‘She didn’t talk. Couldn’t.’
‘Couldn’t?’
‘A medical condition, that’s what Diane told me but I don’t know what the actual diagnosis was. Just that Mary used to speak and then after her dad died, she stopped. Some kind of PTSD, I guess.’ Asha rubbed her fingertips together, scattering crumbs onto the plate. ‘Which is understandable considering she was the one who found his body.’
Another death? Here? Giddy with déjà vu, Ellie stiffened. Her horror must have been obvious because Asha instantly let out a regretful yelp.
‘Oh God. He didn’t die in here,’ she said hastily. ‘Not in this house. He took his own life out by Moss Pond. It’s a local beauty spot, kind of over there.’
Her ponytail swished as she turned to jab her finger to the left of the window.
‘Oh,’ Ellie said slowly. ‘I think I went there on a walk with Trinity the other day.’
Asha grimaced. ‘What I should have said was he left a note for Mary and she went out and found him. I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to give you a heart attack.’
‘It’s OK,’ Ellie replied, although her heart was threatening exactly that. ‘I think there have been so many now that I’m kind of getting used to the revelations. Has Diane mentioned anything else?’
‘You know, the whole topic is a real sore spot,’ Asha said. ‘People were horrible to her when Mary died. Like she was too stuck up to help or she must have been involved in some way with what happened when she was a kid. But I can tell you, if Diane had known what was going on, there’s no way she would have turned a blind eye.’
Oh God. Was there more?
‘Turned a blind eye to what?’
‘Mary’s dad. He was a bully. A serious tyrant.’ Pressing the lid on the cake tin, she shrugged. ‘Diane knows more than me, obviously – she’s lived here forty-odd years. But from what I gather, Mary got pregnant in high school and that was, you know, a big taboo for her big-shot council leader dad and he basically had the child forcibly adopted. Of course, Diane didn’t know this until afterwards.’
Ellie turned her mug round and round as Asha spoke. It seemed sad secrets permeated every brick of this house. Everyone she spoke to presented different versions of Mary. They fitted into one another like Russian dolls: the lonely recluse. The voiceless woman. The motherless child. The childless mother.
‘And people really had a go at Diane for that when Mary died?’ she asked.
‘None of the papers named her, thank God, but Uppermoss has its fair share of self-professed witch finders.’ Asha whistled slowly. ‘Trial by social media. Community Facebook groups, comments page of the Stockfield Express. And Norah, the reporter you talked to at playgroup, stirred the pot big time with all that where were the neighbours? stuff.’ Asha stretched her arms above her head. ‘And on that note, I’d better pick Freddie up. Are you coming to playgroup tomorrow?’
‘Definitely.’
‘Great. We can talk about happier topics then.’ She put her jacket on at the front door. ‘For what it’s worth, I don’t think it’s pretentious what you said about putting the heart back into this house.’ She looked around the hall
way. ‘Nowhere deserves it more than this place.’
31. Now
Despite the heavy clouds that had gathered outside and the heavy topics they’d discussed, Ellie’s mood had lifted. Asha was down-to-earth, easy company and only lived down the road. Definite friend potential.
The wind moaned around the side of the house and down the chimney, scattering soot onto the hearth as Ellie sank onto the sofa and, with a wary eye on Trinity in the Moses basket, plumped a cushion for her back. Next on the list for today: online shop. She peeled the last banana and picked up her phone.
But while she located the Tesco app, her mind went back to Asha’s comments about Mary. It felt strange to know so much about someone’s death and yet so little about their life. Rude, even.
While Mary Brennan lingered in the pink bathroom, the fake wood candelabras and the petri-dish-effect carpets, she was part of their home. She was part of their life.
Ellie clicked on Google. Hesitated. Folding the banana skin carefully on the coffee table, she stared at the screen. Did she really need to know any more? Once those worms started slithering out of the can, you couldn’t stuff them back in if you didn’t like where they went.
But if strangers were going to keep springing revelations on her, it would be better to discover every skeleton herself, right? Be prepared. Lessen the shocks.
Her finger made the decision by entering Mary Brennan + father + scandal in the search box. Hundreds of results instantly appeared as outside, the rain that had been threatening all morning began to fall.
‘In Plain Sight: lessons to be learned from the Stockfield scandal.’
Ellie skimmed through search results littered with the ‘leafy suburb of Uppermoss’, ‘affluent area’, ‘behind closed doors’ – phrases beloved by the media until a by-line caught her eye. An in-depth exclusive by Norah Aryan. ‘Scandal in Suburbia: dead councillor William Brennan named in historic bullying and abuse inquiry.’
She tapped the screen and, settling deeper into the sofa, began to read.
Who was disgraced former councillor William Brennan?