by R. P. Bolton
‘I’m really sorry to put you out,’ Ellie said. Trinity lay on the feeding cushion. ‘Thanks for helping.’
Asha stayed at the door. ‘I’m popping over to Diane’s to check she’s OK to have Freddie for a bit longer. Then I’ll come straight back.’
‘That’s nice of you, but we’ll be fine now, thanks.’
‘No trouble,’ Asha insisted. ‘I’ll be back in ten, max.’
And she smiled like it was a done deal.
Ellie held it together until she was sure Asha had gone. Then she slumped in the chair, protecting the baby in a cocoon of her own body, and inhaled the blend of organic lavender and chamomile that made up Trinity’s unique smell. Even during her stay at Willow Lodge, she had never lost a whole hour. Tears fell silently, dampening the feathery hair into stringy clumps.
Fate.
That’s what her mum had said about finding 6 Moss Lane.
You made an infinite number of seemingly insignificant decisions every day, and – boom – the consequences floored you months, years down the line.
If the sun had been shining when she left work. If she hadn’t stepped into the entrance of Raja Property Services. If the motorway had been open on the day of the auction. If she and Tom had stuck to their budget …
If, if, if.
Other fateful choices snaked further back through her life. If she hadn’t applied for Henderson Hall. If Tom’s work placement hadn’t fallen through. If Mia had remembered her keys that night.
And now fate had led her to a house that ripped children and mothers apart.
Fate hadn’t given her this house as a gift.
This house was her punishment.
60. Then
The clocks in Willow Lodge didn’t work properly. Sometimes the hands moved so slowly, the world slowed to a halt. And other times, they spun round like wheels, faster and faster until a whole day could race by without anyone noticing. It made her dizzy. Or maybe it wasn’t the clocks. Maybe it was the meds. In the four weeks since Mia died, she’d had a lot of those.
She watched a raindrop slide through the condensation on the window, cutting a clear path through the foggy view of the towering weeping willow tree and the staff car park.
Last night, she had woken to find herself screaming at the window and this morning had been forced to discuss her sleepwalking ‘issues’ in a group counselling session. Waste of time. Everyone wanted her to talk, but no one wanted to listen. If they genuinely wanted to help, they’d put her back on the sleeping tablets they’d given her a week ago, when she was admitted.
Those bitter white pills dissolving on her tongue triggered a sweet forgetfulness that started in her feet and spread upwards through her body before it numbed her face and finally, thankfully, stilled her spiralling thoughts. But the doctor said they were habit-forming and apparently this was a ‘Bad Thing’ and ‘To Be Avoided’.
Her finger squeaked on the windowpane. She’d drawn a love heart, and now she rubbed it out with her sleeve.
The nurse popped his head round the door. ‘Your visitor’s here. Shall I send him in?’
She nodded. Somewhere in the room, a fly rattled dementedly against the plastic casing of the overhead light. At some point there must have been a leak and a sepia patch bloomed across two of the ceiling tiles.
Next to the door was a noticeboard with two printed A4 sheets on it: CCTV is in operation throughout this building. And: If you want to leave Willow Lodge, please just ask a nurse. That was a joke. When she’d asked ultra-politely if they’d call her a cab, they’d said no.
A familiar outline showed through the toughened glass in the door and her traitorous heart leapt.
‘Hi,’ Tom said quietly.
How dare he look so good? His smile faltered as his eyes flicked down to the bandages on her wrists and, without a word, she pulled her sleeves down to cover them.
‘How are you doing?’ he said, pulling out a chair. ‘Are you sleeping at all?’
Shrug.
‘What’s the food like?’ he said.
She picked the ragged skin of her cuticles.
‘I spoke to your mum. She said she’ll be here about ten tomorrow and to ask if you needed anything, like clothes or shampoo or books or … stuff.’
She shook her head and bit the skin round her nail.
From the corridor came a sudden scream. Tom turned in alarm and half stood, hesitated, then sat down. Rapid footsteps ran past.
‘Never a dull moment, eh?’ he said with strained jollity.
There was a pause. Ellie pulled a tissue from her sleeve and began methodically tearing it into strips.
Tom cleared his throat and Ellie could sense the effort that was going into keeping his voice upbeat. ‘I spoke to Danny last night about him coming back to Manchester. So we were talking and we thought you could stay in our flat for good. Or the three of us could find a bigger place. Or if you don’t want that, we can help you find somewhere else.’
She dropped the pieces of torn-up tissue on the windowsill and pinched them into a heap with her fingers.
‘Please talk to me.’ He looked away and she realised he was trying to blink away tears.
Then, very slowly, she turned her back on Tom. She could hear his misery but it didn’t touch her. Nothing touched her now. He was as insignificant as the bluebottle rattling against the glass, unaware that the windows didn’t open at Willow Lodge.
‘Don’t throw away two years of work. Especially when you’re on track for a First. Please, Ellie.’
She put her hand on the glass separating her from the rain-soaked outside world. Through the haze, the car park was like an Impressionist painting, smears of colour and vague shapes that made more sense the further away you got.
‘And it’s only been two months, but they’re helping you here aren’t they? And uni would help you catch up. I bet they’d let you back part-time, you know, if it was too much to handle all at once.’
Even though the air in Willow Lodge was always stifling, the windowpane felt cool against her palm. Cool and smooth. She rested her forehead against it.
‘Please don’t push me away,’ he said and the strained voice didn’t sound like his. ‘I know you’re mad at me for calling the ambulance, but I had to do something. You had a complete meltdown in the canteen. You weren’t making any sense and you hadn’t slept or eaten for days and you saw Mia everywhere and—’
‘Leave me alone, Tom.’
From a distance, she tested her feelings and concluded that letting go felt good. Like unscrewing a valve to relieve the pressure. So she did it again and this time, she added a rhythmic bang of the window to each syllable.
‘Get out, get out, get OUT.’
Two staff members barged through the door. One of them stood by Ellie while the other ushered Tom through the door. The last glimpse Ellie had of him was his beautiful, traitorous face.
He didn’t look concerned anymore, he looked afraid.
61. Now
Howard.
She’d completely forgotten he was coming. And now the sputter of his ancient van on the drive had her leaping off the nursing chair, sending the baby into startled crying. Despite the sudden kick of adrenalin, getting to the front door was like wading through waist-deep mud.
‘Ellie, are you in there, love?’
She opened the door. He stood in the porch wearing work boots, paint-spattered overalls, and a worried expression.
‘Thought I might have missed you,’ he said.
‘We’re here,’ she said, failing to grapple Trinity to stillness.
‘And is Grandad’s little girl OK?’
Howard leaned in and let the baby grab his finger.
‘Of course she is,’ Ellie snapped. ‘Why wouldn’t she be?’
Bewilderment set around his lined eyes. He cleared his throat. ‘No reason, love. Am I all right to come in?’
She ushered him quickly inside and, after scanning the driveway, locked the door.
&nbs
p; Howard put his toolbox down on the kitchen floor. His puzzled expression was now tinged with alarm.
‘Are you sure everything is all right, love? You look a bit …’ he groped for the right term ‘… flustered.’
‘I’m just tired.’ The baby battered her fists on Ellie’s shoulder. ‘We’re fine, thanks.’
‘I’ll get on with the garden then, if you don’t mind.’
‘Hold on,’ she said and thrust Trinity at him before he could object. She took her phone out and flicked to Mary’s class photo.
‘The one circled in red,’ she said. ‘Is that the woman you saw in our garden? The one who didn’t speak to you?’
Clutching the baby awkwardly, he pushed his glass down his nose and peered.
‘She’s a lot younger but it’s her. Dark hair, big glasses?’
There was a silence. Howard frowned in concentration.
‘Is it her?’ Ellie insisted. ‘I thought it must be Rita, but now I’m not sure.’
‘I don’t think I know a Rita,’ he said, handing the baby back. He picked up his toolbox and walked to the back door. ‘Sorry, love, I really can’t tell. Will you be all right for ten minutes while I’m in the garden?’
‘Sure, yes. Go ahead,’ she murmured.
If only she could reach in to tilt the girl’s chin to get a clear look. Ellie flicked her fingers to enlarge the photo, zooming in on Mary Brennan’s downcast face.
She jumped at the bluebottle buzz of the doorbell. Peering into the hall, she saw two figures, their faces rippled in the dimpled glass of the porch.
Shit.
She’d forgotten about Asha. Her pulse launched into a sprint. The letterbox rattled, the brass lid flipped open.
‘Ellie?’ Diane spoke very kindly. ‘Can we come in?’
Trinity squawked in sudden surprise as Ellie’s fingers tightened.
‘Is that Trinity there with you?’ Diane said. ‘Please can you open the door?’
Through the kitchen window, she could see Howard leaning on his spade, a plume of smoke curling into the air above him. If they went to try the back door, they would see him and that would be game over. She smoothed her hair down, straightened her top and turned the key.
Asha stood behind Diane, wiping Freddie’s nose with a tissue.
‘Sorry, it’s not a good time,’ Ellie said.
The two other women exchanged panicky glances.
‘We came round to see how you are,’ Diane said. ‘Asha told me about what happened at Moss Pond. And with the baby. Is Tom coming home from work soon? Would you like us to call him?’
From the back garden came the sound of splintering wood.
‘No. We’re fine,’ she replied. ‘My father-in-law is here now. That’s his van.’
‘Ellie, please can you let us in for a chat?’ Asha pleaded. ‘Two minutes, that’s all.’
‘It’s really not a good time. I’m about to … get in the shower,’ she said brightly. ‘Thanks for coming round, though. We are fine, honestly. And Tom’s dad is here, like I said. He’s looking after us now.’
She shut the door and flattened herself against the wall until they retreated up the driveway.
But what if they hadn’t gone back next door? She clenched her fist and held it to her mouth. What if they went down the passageway to find Howard? They’d tell him she’d left the baby and then he would tell Tom and what would come next didn’t bear thinking about. Get to him first. She boiled the kettle, poured milk in a mug and bashed the teabag with a spoon to hurry it along.
‘Thought you might fancy a brew,’ she called, looking over her shoulder. No sign of Asha or Diane. Good.
The path to the rose bed was well trodden now and the grass lay flat. It was still cold out here but watery rays of sunlight broke through the cloud.
Steam curled from the mug into the cold air. The anaemic tea inside was the colour of mushroom soup.
‘Thanks,’ Howard said, taking it. ‘Look, love. You can tell me to mind my own business, but are you sure you’re all right? You don’t seem yourself.’
She cast a furtive glance at the passageway then peered at the hedge that marked the boundary with Diane’s place. Under her feet, the black earth pulsed and wavered. She felt suddenly dizzy, as though she were standing on the deck of a ship.
‘I’m fine,’ she said faintly. ‘Trinity’s having a sleep. I’ll just go and watch TV for a while.’
‘Do you want me to call Tom?’ He put his foot on the step of the spade.
‘Honestly, no need. I’m fine. I’ll just—’ She jerked her thumb at the kitchen. As she did, a flutter of movement from next door attracted her attention. The blinds in the conservatory swayed, as though someone had been peering between the slats only a second ago. Good. They could see her talking with Howard. Bringing him a cup of tea. Doing normal things.
‘I’ll go back in,’ she finished weakly.
Inside, she leaned against the back door briefly, and rolled her shoulders back to ease the discomfort of too tight straps and a bra stuffed with rocks. The washing machine rose to a noisy spin. Yellow flashed through the glass door as the mud washed from the dress Trinity had worn that morning. You don’t deserve her, the mechanical whirring seemed to say. You don’t deserve her.
It was inevitable that Tom would find out she had left the baby. How could Diane not tell him? Wasn’t even a question of if, but when. Or – dread crackled through her like an electric current – what if Diane bypassed Tom completely? What if, even now, she was on the phone to social services?
Overdue a feed, Trinity squirmed in the bouncer. Each of her grumbles drove the guilt in a little deeper. Anything could have happened in the missing hour.
Upstairs, she plumped the pillows against the headboard. The nursing chair was more comfortable, but she couldn’t do it. Not today. Trinity began to suck and Ellie took the TV remote off the bedside table. Nothing taxing. She needed the mental chewing gum of daytime TV. Something involving a fake living room and faker camaraderie. Something like this.
An older woman in a floral dress sat on a sofa bookended by two presenters wearing matching sympathetic expressions. At the bottom of the screen was a caption: They made me give up my baby.
The woman was in the middle of condensing a lifetime’s heartbreak into three minutes.
Silver-haired man was asking, ‘And how did your parents react when you told them you were pregnant?’
‘I was only a child myself,’ she said in a Birmingham accent, smoothing her hands down her thighs. ‘They were angry. Disappointed. There was no discussion. I wasn’t allowed to keep the baby and that was that.’
Shiny bob nodded slowly. ‘And were you allowed to hold her or care for her at all?’
Tears rolled down the guest’s cheeks. She plucked a tissue from the box on the coffee table. ‘I never even saw her. They took her away as soon as she was born.’
Without warning, the picture darkened, cutting away from the studio to a dimly lit staircase.
Ellie jerked upright, grabbing Trinity just in time before she rolled off the bed.
Their staircase again. Same swirly Seventies carpet, same textured wallpaper. A man’s plump fingers curled around the banister. Their banister. Flick, flick, flick. Every channel showed the same clip. Their landing.
She jabbed the power button, but it wouldn’t turn off. But when she tried to get up to switch it off at the wall, an intense pressure, like tight hospital sheets, pinned her to the bed. Helplessly, she watched the screen as the hand drew back the bolts. The nursery door opened on a few books on a thin plywood shelf. The chimney breast was covered in yellow floral wallpaper. A single bulb cast jaundiced light over the hump under the blanket while beneath the bed, the floor glistened.
The figure in the bed cried out.
Finally, the screen went black.
62. Then
It wasn’t the alarm that woke her but the sound of Mia retching. Ellie looked at her clock: 5.15. So that’s why she hadn’t
answered her texts last night. The toilet flushed twice. The kitchen tap ran and Mia’s bedroom door opened and closed. Must have been quite a bender.
Ellie must have fallen asleep, because the next time she checked, it was after seven. This time, it was voices that woke her. Or, more precisely, one voice. Murmuring interspersed with long pauses told her Mia was on the phone.
‘How can you even say that?’
No whispering there. Quite the opposite, in fact. Followed by a thud that sounded the way a phone would if you threw it across the room. The soft crying started almost immediately and Ellie chewed her lip. Knock on the wall? Go and see? Uncertain of the best course of action, she opted for inaction and lay in bed until the crying stopped and she could creep into the kitchen.
Late-night chips had set hard on the plate. Grease coagulated round a crusted smear of brown sauce. Bits floated in the scummy water in the sink and a fly buzzed. Ellie wrinkled her nose as she opened the window to shoo it out.
How late had Mia got back? She squirted green liquid over the dirty dishes and began to scrub. She hadn’t heard her come in. Assumed she was staying over with Danny.
Wiping the dust from the telly and the coffee table, she decided against vacuuming. Let Mia sleep off the hangover. Instead, she opened the balcony doors and hung the damp tea towel on the line next to a sports bra Mia had forgotten to bring in.
Still no sign. Ellie couldn’t let her miss the first seminar of the new term.
She rapped lightly on the closed bedroom door. ‘Are you up?’
Nearly half ten on a Thursday and Mia hadn’t got dressed. Last night’s eyeliner clumped in the corners of her eyes and her hair needed a good brush. The M pendant Danny had given her last Christmas hung on a black cord around her neck, glinting against her black T-shirt.
‘Sorry,’ she said through a yawn. ‘Long night.’
‘You do look the worse for wear. Did you go anywhere good?’
‘The flat then out for chips.’
‘Do you want me to make you something?’ Ellie said. ‘Remember you’ve got to go in for twelve.’