by R. P. Bolton
‘I guess you’d be happy if social services took her off us. Considering you never wanted her in the first place.’
Bullseye.
He flinched. ‘That’s not fair. Just because she was a surprise doesn’t mean I didn’t want her.’
Back in the Northern Quarter, with the glare of car headlights and neon shop signs, there was no such thing as true night. But here on Moss Lane, the dark square of window framed their separate anguish in a twisted parody of a family photo.
His phone pierced the silence. He hesitated, checked the caller ID, then walked out.
Which was a good thing because right at that moment, she hated him.
43. Then
Headlines boasted that Manchester was hotter than the Sahara Desert, but Mia and Ellie’s flat was, in fact, hotter than the sun. Even with every window open, the air hung motionless, thick as steam and smelling of hot tarmac and diesel fumes. Mia fanned herself with a copy of Cosmopolitan, dirty bare feet dangling off the arm of the leather sofa. She was watching the Wimbledon Women’s Final and every time the camera panned the crowd, she leaned eagerly forward, searching for her parents.
‘There,’ she said, pointing excitedly at a pair of oversized sunglasses and a straw hat.
Ellie pulled a half-empty packet of fish fingers from the freezer, letting the cold air fan against her skin.
‘Do you want these for tea? They’ll be out of date by September.’
‘Bin them. We should treat ourselves on our last night. What time are you meeting Tom?’
‘Around nine, when he’s finished work.’
Mia shifted on the warm leather. ‘OK, if we eat before then I’ll stay with Danny. Tom stays here and we all meet up at the train station in the morning.’
‘Sounds like a plan,’ Ellie said brightly. Half-empty jars of jam and curry paste clinked as she walked to the door, picking her keys up on the way.
In the heart of London, the thwack thwock across the net was accompanied by a rising murmur from the crowd. Mia, glued to the screen, wordlessly stuck her thumbs up.
Walking into the hall was like entering a different climate. The tiled walls cooled the air and as she descended, her sticky flip-flops slapped on stone stairs. Someone had propped the front door open with a pile of out-of-date Yellow Pages and the slight draught stirred the dusty cobwebs.
Tomorrow morning she and Mia would lug their cases and bags down these steps and not come back until the autumn.
But she didn’t mind leaving the flat for the summer. She didn’t mind leaving Manchester. She didn’t mind going home. She didn’t even mind spending the holidays serving all-day breakfasts in Debenhams.
What she minded was that when Mia left for Surrey tomorrow, Tom would be going with her.
The plan stemmed from a conversation they’d had at the Union in May when Tom had been bemoaning his lack of a work placement.
‘I have sent my CV literally everywhere,’ he said. ‘And the one offer I had has fallen through.’
‘Why didn’t you say something before?’ Mia said, putting her pint down to reach for her phone. ‘You must know my mum’s a psychologist, right?’
And that was why from this Monday, Tom would spend three weeks booking clients, straightening magazines, watering plants, and observing the practical application of psychological theory at The Goldsworthy Partnership.
Which would have been perfect.
Except.
For those three weeks, Anita and David had invited him to stay at their beautiful farmhouse. With them. And Mia.
A lot could happen in three weeks.
Flies buzzed around the wheelie bins and the hot vomit stink made her cough. She wiped her hands down her shorts, batted away a bluebottle intent on exploring her ear. Gross.
God, it was so hot. Even the tarmac was melting.
Back in the flat, Mia hadn’t moved from the sofa. Her legs were a deep glossy brown from weeks of lying in the park and, without meaning to, Ellie’s traitorous imagination pictured them wrapped around Tom. A night at the pub. Too many drinks. Would they tell her?
A low rumble of anticipation rippled through the Wimbledon crowd. The ball flew faster and faster.
Back and forth. Back and forth.
The breathless air thickened. Sweat ran to the backs of Ellie’s knees.
‘The tension is incredible,’ the commentator murmured.
‘You OK?’ Mia said without taking her eyes off the screen.
‘I’m fine,’ Ellie said, turning away.
Her boyfriend and her best friend. She could trust them, right?
Thwock thwack went the ball and the TV voice followed to her bedroom.
‘At this point, it’s anyone’s game.’
44. Now
Maybe the baby sensed the earlier tension or maybe she was plain cranky. Whatever the reason, Trinity cried with clockwork regularity. At 12.37, 1.37, 2.37 Ellie stumbled from bed as the fractious syllables rose to mingle with Tom’s snores and the creaks and groans of the house.
In the end, it was pointless going back to bed. She put Trinity down in the cot and curled up, exhausted, on the nursing chair. But when sleep finally arrived, it was fragmented and disrupted by dreams.
Mosswood was a painted backdrop to the motionless garden, and kneeling by the broken trellis and branches Tom had piled for burning, was a figure.
The sweet decay of dead roses cloyed the air. And yet Ellie didn’t feel scared. ‘Who are you?’ she said, her breath clouding against the cold glass.
The figure stood. With her head dipped, two long black hanks of hair hid her face.
‘What do you want?’ Ellie said.
The dream woman lifted her arms and extended her palms in the pearlescent moonlight. Blackened patches of dirt clung to the skin and nails.
The next thing Ellie knew, she was in the kitchen with Tom beside her, stroking her shoulder.
‘Wake up,’ he said in soothing tones. ‘You’re sleepwalking again.’
Sweat dried on her chest. She pulled her dressing gown tight against the sudden chill.
Night slunk in through the open back door. The lino was glacial under her feet. The kind of cold that filtered through your pores to turn your bones to ice.
‘Why’d you open the door?’ she said.
‘I didn’t. You did.’ He turned the key and screeched the bolts across. ‘It was open when I came downstairs. Let’s go to bed. We can talk about it in the morning.’
Light spilled from the bathroom and she heard Tom yawning uncontrollably as he peed. Ellie got back into bed. And did a double take.
Her bare feet were filthy.
Drying mud caked the soles and the faded red polish on her big toenail had a crusting of black. She rubbed her heel, brought fingertips sticky with mud to her nose, inhaling the ghosts of old leaves, wet earth. At the sound of the toilet flush, she quickly hid her legs under the duvet.
‘Try to get some sleep, love,’ Tom said, joining her. He switched off the bedside light and almost immediately fell asleep.
Meanwhile, the house groaned then stilled as Ellie watched shadows move around the walls as she searched her memory. Curling up on the nursing chair, yes. But after that? Nothing. No going downstairs. No unlocking the back door. No walking through the garden.
The dream began to fade, but the fear remained.
45. Then
From the day she returned to Manchester in September, the dynamic had changed. Thanks to their part-time jobs and Tom’s summer placement, the two of them only managed to snatch a few days together here and there over the summer. And this was the final year, so the pressure of portfolios and exams loomed on the horizon. But on top of that, things felt, well, different in a way Ellie couldn’t put her finger on. Tom continued to be – what had Mia called him? Predictable. Steady. Reliable. While Mia and Danny, were, as ever, the volatile opposite.
They’d only been back one day before Mia stormed home from the boys’ flat and shut herself in her r
oom. But these spikes and dips characterised their entire relationship. So while this dip wasn’t good, it was hardly unprecedented. And yet … from the moment Ellie walked through the flat door, something simmered.
It wasn’t her imagination.
Something had changed.
46. Now
‘Morning,’ Tom said, setting a cup of tea on the bedside table.
She wriggled upright. ‘Aren’t you going to be late for work?’
‘I’ve taken the day off,’ he said and patted her leg. ‘I thought we could have a mooch round the shops. That retail park off the bypass has got an IKEA and a B&Q. We could have a look at wallpaper, get some bits and bobs. Maybe go for some lunch?’
As he pulled his socks on, the shifting weight tugged the duvet higher up the mattress. Ellie drew her feet up in renewed shock at the dried mud streaking the bottom sheet. She snuggled deeper under the duvet, trapping it between her feet and kicking it flat to hide the sheet.
‘I didn’t think you were off till the weekend,’ she said.
He shook his jeans legs straight where they’d ridden up.
‘I thought we should spend a bit of time together. Tanya said she’d cover me.’
Tanya. A clawed fist squeezed Ellie’s stomach.
She tipped her chin upwards, faux casual. ‘Yeah, sounds great.’
‘What time is the playgroup thing this morning?’
Balls. She’d totally forgotten.
‘At ten.’
He leaned down and kissed her lips. And although he set his voice to ‘nonchalant’, his eyes remained on ‘concerned’.
‘I can give you a lift to the village. Even come in if you like.’
‘I’m perfectly capable of walking to the village on my own, thanks,’ she snapped.
Tom looked worn out. ‘I know, love. I’m just trying to help.’
Silence stretched. She swallowed her pills and swished tea around the mug, conscious of the tightness of dried mud between her toes. Go, she willed him. Go, and let me shower.
‘Right,’ he said eventually, picking his hairbrush up off the chest of drawers. ‘I thought I’d get the supermarket shop out of the way now, save you doing an online one. I can take Trinity with me. She’ll enjoy it; they’ve got those trolleys with the baby seats in that make it like a pram. It’ll give you a break. Why don’t you have a lazy morning, get some more sleep?’
Oh God.
It was that too-broad smile that gave him away.
He hadn’t taken time off because he wanted to spend time with them. Or because he wanted to go shopping or to let her get some sleep. He certainly hadn’t done it because he was worried about her.
He’d done it because he was afraid of what she might do.
Ellie dropped on the pillow and pressed the heels of her hands against her eyelids until Tom and Trinity left.
She had never felt so tired.
Flying to Sydney on the first leg of their trip of a lifetime, she’d expected it when, after twenty-four hours cramped in economy, they instantly crashed out in the hostel and despite the other backpackers, the heat and the clunk-clunking fan, she fell into the deepest sleep of her life.
Motherhood was like permanent jet lag. Worse even, because every day, you landed in a new country with zero knowledge of the language or local customs. The maps were wrong, the guidebooks skimmed the surface and there was no sipping margaritas round the pool when you woke up.
Focus on the present, that’s what the therapist at Willow Lodge said. Make your mind your friend, not your enemy.
The shower offered more of a trickle than a cascade. Watching the dirt from her feet swirl down the drain, she tried not to think about last night’s sleepwalking. Tried.
She picked a small wet leaf from the plughole then scraped her damp hair into a low bun. The mirrored cabinet revealed bags under her eyes roomy enough for a fortnight in the sun.
God, what she wouldn’t give for two weeks in the sun. A week. A day.
Failing that, caffeine would have to do. But there were splotches of mud across the kitchen floor. Some undefined smudges and smears, but others clearly made by feet.
Untying and retying her trainers took more energy than she had available, so treading the backs down with each step, she went outside. Howard and Tom had trampled a makeshift path between the house and the rose beds and Ellie yawned her way down it now. Steam from the coffee mug rose into the air blurred by the remnants of early morning fog.
One of the stepping stones tipped slightly with her weight. She put a foot on either side and rocked gently, as if wiggling a loose tooth. Scattered clods of soil and foot-sized holes confirmed what she already knew: she had sleepwalked out here last night. Her heart sank. The dream must have been her brain’s way of trying to make sense of it.
Except none of it made sense.
Even at Willow Lodge, the sleepwalking had been just that – walking. She’d just nodded off in one place and woken up in another. Not unlocked doors and emptied cupboards.
A crow flapped low and close, startling her so the mug almost slipped from her grasp. Her pulse skittered.
‘I’m fine. Everything is fine,’ she announced to the garden. ‘Perfectly, perfectly fine.’
But it wasn’t. A low hum, like the air around a pylon, plucked at the hairs on her arms, and her scalp felt strange, prickling with static as though she’d rubbed against a balloon. Phrases swarmed up from the darkest corners of her mind. PTSD. Postpartum psychosis. Depression.
Mothers can reject or even harm their babies.
47. Now
The pram wheel caught on a stone and jolted forward.
‘Sorry, sweetheart.’
The baby’s lips made a popping sound and her eyelashes fluttered, but she didn’t wake.
‘You’re going to have fun at playgroup today, playing with the other boys and girls,’ Ellie continued. ‘And Daddy will still be at home when we get back, won’t he?’
Unless Tanya clicked her fingers, obviously.
When Tom returned with the baby from the supermarket, the beds had been stripped, the washing machine churned and not a trace of mud remained on the lino. In fact, the only task Ellie still had left was erasing the unease that crackled like static through her. A storm waiting to break.
She had half-expected him to insist on accompanying her to the village. But she was alone, pushing the pram down the road that was still so cold the ground glittered. Sparkling droplets strung like fairy lights on bare branches and the smoke from unseen wood burners hung in the air.
A woman in dazzling white jeans herded three small children towards the doors just as Ellie entered the church grounds. Whoa. She ducked behind a banner advertising the Christmas fete, but not quick enough to avoid Norah catching sight of her.
‘Hi,’ Norah said loudly. ‘Great, I was hoping we’d catch up.’
‘Nice to see you again. Had a good week?’ Ellie said, then mentally kicked herself as the other woman launched into the next instalment of ‘why my life is so much harder than yours’.
‘Three kids under three,’ she concluded. ‘Don’t do it.’
‘I know,’ Ellie said, folding the pram. ‘One’s nothing, right?’
The sarcasm slid straight over Norah’s Teflon-coated narcissism. She flashed her vampire’s grin and said, ‘Let’s grab a coffee. You can tell me all about life on Moss Lane.’
Norah’s children ran onto the play area as soon as they were through the door. Sensible creatures. Their mother put her handbag on a seat and coat on the adjacent one.
White jeans and a white jumper with three kids? Ellie picked at something crusty on her T-shirt and performed emergency CPR on her self-esteem. Remember what Dr Monk said: forget about perfect.
‘I’ll save you a chair while you sort out … remind me.’
‘Trinity,’ she offered, unzipping the pram-suit and peeling off the mittens and hat.
‘Interesting,’ Norah said. ‘Any special significance?’
<
br /> Ellie shrugged. ‘I guess there are three of us now. But we just liked it.’
Norah’s attention shifted to the trestle table in the corner. ‘Do you take milk?’
‘Yes please. No sugar.’
Friendly, but in her experience, people like Norah were only interested in people like her if there was something in it for them.
There was only one free play gym, and as she made a beeline for it, a scurrying toddler wearing a skeleton costume collided with her legs.
‘Freddie, watch out!’ Asha waved from behind a tea urn. ‘Sorry, Ellie.’
‘No problem,’ she called back with an answering wave.
‘Here you go.’ Norah reappeared with a mug and a paper bag. ‘Coffee and cake.’
While a host of off-duty Kate Middletons milled around the hall, they made small talk – plans for Christmas, the recent windy weather – until Norah shuffled a little straighter and a getting-down-to-business briskness settled on her.
‘So, how are you getting on with the house? You’re next door to Asha’s mother-in-law, I believe.’
Ellie had taken the cupcake from the paper bag and was licking frosting off her fingers. ‘That’s right.’
The corners of Norah’s lips twitched. ‘And how do you find her?’
‘Really nice,’ Ellie said, cautiously.
‘Freddie’s at the same nursery as the twins and our paths cross occasionally.’ She peered over the wide rim of the cup and said faux-casually, ‘Did Diane mention Mary Brennan?’
Ah. Here it was. Norah’s hidden agenda.
‘Not really.’
‘What about her father, Bill Brennan?’
‘No. Why?’
‘I got very invested in Mary’s story when I covered it for the Stockfield Express.’ She uncrossed her legs. ‘And I couldn’t get over the fact a nurse lived next door to that house for over forty years and never suspected a thing. I mean, if I had a vulnerable neighbour, I’d forever be checking on them.’
Ellie almost snorted coffee down her nose. Sure you would.