The Body at Auercliff

by Amy Cross

  And one day I, too, shall take my place in the mausoleum.

  As shall Father and Mother, and Aunt Harriet and Uncle Reginald.

  And eventually I shall have a wife and children, and they too shall join their ancestors in this terrible stone place. All of us, one by one over the years, shall be slid onto shelves and sealed in the dark and -

  “Martin?”

  Suddenly a hand touches my shoulder again.

  Startled, I spin around so fast that I trip and fall, landing hard on the ground. Looking up, I see Father staring down at me.

  “We should return to the house now,” he says calmly. “There is much to be done, and your aunt needs to retire to her bed for a while. Will you be able to greet anyone who comes to the door, and show them into the reception room? I wasn't planning to give you a job today, but you're a man of the house and I need you to play your role.”

  I hesitate for a moment, before getting to my feet and dusting myself down.

  “Can you manage it?” he asks. “You'll have to be well-behaved and a little more grown-up.”

  “Of course,” I stammer, and in some strange way it makes me feel bother calmer and stronger, to know that I must perform a job today. “I would be glad to.”

  As we make our way back through the forest, between the trees and toward Auercliff, I can't help glancing over my shoulder and looking back toward the mausoleum. I haven't given up all hope that Verity might some day contact me from beyond the grave, but at the same time I feel as if the interior of the mausoleum has shown me the finality of death. The idea of ghosts is all well and good, and a decent way to conjure up a few scares, but there was absolutely no life left in any of those bodies, and the very air itself seemed utterly undisturbed.

  There is no such thing as ghosts. Verity's body is now rotting in the dark coffin, and her soul is lost to the eternal void of death. She's gone forever.

  Resolving to not look back at the mausoleum again, I follow the adults through the forest and out onto the sun-drenched lawn, heading toward the house. After a moment I hurry to catch up. By the time we all reach the front door together, I feel as if I am one of them.

  Part Seven

  Barbara - 1989

  Chapter Forty-Four

  “Christ on a bike,” I mutter as I cut the engine and peer out at the house. “This is going to be a barrel of fun.”

  “You're doing the right thing,” Pete replies over the phone. “How long has it been since you last visited Emily?”

  “Three months,” I tell him, watching the windows of the house, searching for some sign of life. “I thought I should give her a little space after Martin's funeral. I mean, that's what I'd want. Space to grieve.”

  “Are you sure it wasn't -”

  “Got to go,” I add, ending the call and tossing my phone onto the passenger seat, before turning to see little Rebecca gurgling contentedly in her blanket. For once, she's not bawling her head off, although I'm quite sure she's simply conserving energy for a real scream in a minute or two. The little retard is always -

  I stop myself just in time.

  I shouldn't think things like that.

  I should try to be nicer.

  Still, for a moment, I actually consider turning around and fucking off back home.

  Finally, however, I climb out of the car and make my way around to unload Rebecca. Once she's in my arms, I turn and make my way toward the house, although I can't help feeling a sense of concern as I get closer to the front door. The windows of the place seem so still, and the air is almost undisturbed. It honestly feels as though Auercliff has been abandoned.

  Suddenly Rebecca starts screaming, and I immediately flinch. I hate her.

  ***

  “No, I'm quite alright,” Emily says, forcing a smile as she steps back from the door. “I was just... I was taking a nap, that's all. You know how it is.”

  “Some of us don't have time for naps,” I mutter, carrying my bawling daughter inside and immediately noting that the house seems both cold and a little dusty. “Do you really not have the money to hire a cleaner?” I ask, turning to her as she shuts the door. “It can't cost that much to get a little old lady in from the village.”

  “I manage,” she replies, although the confusion in her eyes is evident.

  “You do, do you?” I ask, looking down at the sleeves of her cardigan and seeing that there are several holes in the wool. “You look like a fucking mess. I knew it'd be bad when I got here, Em, but I thought you'd be trundling on a little better than this. Or are you deliberately trying to look pathetic, so people will take pity on you?”

  “I beg your pardon?” she asks, her eyes wide with doubt. “What do you -”

  “How's the delightful Esmerelda?”

  “She's fine, but -”

  “It's a good job I'm here for the entire weekend,” I add, heading to the doorway and looking through at the reception room, which of course is covered in dust. “There's a difference between keeping a house tidy and keeping it clean,” I point out. “You're clearly keeping the place tidy, Em, but as for cleanliness...” I turn to her, as Rebecca raises her cries even higher. “What the bloody hell do you do with your days, now that Martin's gone?”

  “There's Esmerelda to look after,” she replies uncertainly.

  “And are you managing that?”

  “She's my life,” she continues, sounding a little defensive. “She's my little darling, I'm absolutely devoted to her.”

  “And you keep her nappies clean, do you?” I ask. “Clean the poo out, that sort of thing?”

  “Of course!”

  “Well, at least that's something,” I mutter, heading through the reception room and peering into the dining room, which is in no better state. “I really think -”

  Suddenly Rebecca starts bawling even louder, as if she's been startled by something. I wince, and I honestly feel as if I just want to strangle the girl.

  “Can't I put her in a room at the far end of the west wing?” I ask, turning to Emily. “She'd be quite safe, and she could scream all she likes without bothering me.”

  “Let me take a look,” she replies, hurrying over and taking Rebecca in her arms. Almost as soon as she does so, my daughter stops crying and instead looks up at her aunt with a faint, amused grin. “There,” Emily continues, “there's nothing to worry about. She's absolutely fine. You have had her checked out, haven't you? Just in case there's some underlying problem that's causing the crying.”

  “There's something wrong with her,” I reply. “I told you last time we were here, and I'm right. The doctor's going to run some tests.”

  “She's sick?” Emily asks, looking utterly horrified by the idea.

  “Worse,” I mutter, lighting a cigarette. “She's... Well, I know we're not supposed to call them retarded, but she's developmentally challenged. Very developmentally challenged.” I can't help sighing. “I was already not looking forward to raising a kid, but to have to raise one that's disabled...” I take a drag on the cigarette. “I hate absolute respect for women who have the patience to do that sort of thing, but I'm sure as hell not one of them. Rebecca's going to be a right handful. A mother always knows, Em, and I knew right from the start. Rebecca's stupid.”

  “Don't say that!” Emily replies, rocking the girl in her arms. “Whatever life might throw at you, just remember -”

  “At least she likes you,” I add, interrupting her. “She bloody hates me!”

  “Of course she doesn't,” Emily simpers.

  “I'll prove it,” I continue, holding the cigarette between my lips as I take Rebecca back into my arms. Almost immediately, the little bugger starts crying again. “See?” I mutter, filled with a fresh wave of despair. “My own daughter, not even a year old yet, and she bloody despises me. My own flesh and blood.”

  “Perhaps it would help if you didn't talk like that around her,” she mutters, taking Rebecca back into my arms. Of course, the little darling immediately settles again. “You're pro
moting negative energy.”

  “Negative energy?” I reply, rolling my eyes. “Oh for fuck's sake, Em, she's a baby! She doesn't know anything about negative fucking energy, and she doesn't understand a word I'm saying, either.”

  “She understands your tone,” she continues, turning and carrying Rebecca past the piano and over to the window, and rocking her gently in her arms. “And she understands how awful that cigarette smoke feels in her throat.”

  “Wanna swap, then?” I ask with a smile, before turning and looking back through the doorway. Sure enough, little Esmerelda isn't making a peep. “It's alright for you, bumbling around in this big old place, just you and your spoiled brat to keep one another company. Some of us have to live in the real world.”

  Turning back to Emily, however, I can't help noting that she seems to have a genuinely calming effect on Rebecca, who's now giggling in her blanket like a normal baby. Well, almost like a normal baby. Every time I look at her face, I can see the disability, and I know it's only going to become more apparent as she gets older. I'm going to be the parent of a disabled child, and my entire life is going to get sucked up by the little brat's needs.

  Then again, I have an entire weekend to make Emily see things my way. And something tells me, she might be rather open to suggestion right now.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  “You're so lucky with Esmerelda,” I mutter a few hours later, as I take my niece from the changing table and carry her over to her crib. “She's calm and happy, constantly smiling...”

  I pause as I look at the child's grinning face. In all honesty, she seems genuinely fond of me, which is far more than I can say of my own daughter.

  “Did you hear that?” Emily asks suddenly.

  Turning and looking across the nursery, I see that she's staring at the open doorway. She has Rebecca in her arms, and for once the little brat is quiet and happy.

  “Imagining spooky bumps again?” I ask with a faint smile, before glancing at the window. Darkness has fallen outside, and I have to admit that Auercliff can seem a little creepy from time to time.

  “I'm not imagining anything,” Emily says firmly. “I heard a...” She sighs. “Oh, never mind. I'm sick of being looked at like I'm some kind of feeble-minded idiot.”

  “You miss him, don't you?” I reply, before realizing that I've asked a rather stupid question. “I mean, obviously you miss him, you loved him, but...” I pause for a moment, seeing the loneliness in my sister's expression. “I'm married to a moron,” I continue finally, “whereas you were married to your best friend. I still remember that day at the village fete, when you got an ice cream smashed against your chest. You said you'd met the man you were going to marry. I thought you were nuts, but maybe you'd sensed something that day after all.”

  “It was fate,” she replies, turning to me.

  “Do you really believe that?”

  She nods. “The forces of the universe wanted me to marry Martin. How else do you explain the fact that we happened to bump into one another twice, several years apart? It can't possibly be a coincidence.”

  “Fate at the fete,” I mutter, unable to stifle a faint smile. “I admire you, Em. Really, I do. I know sometimes I nit-pick at things, but I think you're quite remarkable. In fact, sometimes...” I pause, waiting for the right moment to slip the next line into the conversation. This is the suggestion I've been planning for so long now, and I need to ensure I don't screw it up. “Sometimes,” I continues cautiously, watching her face so I can see how she reacts, “I think we'd be better off with one another's children. You'd be a much better mother to a difficult child like Rebecca, and I'd be happier and more capable with an easy child such as Esmerelda.”

  “You mustn't think such things,” she replies with a naive, innocent smile as she looks down at Rebecca in her arms. “Your daughter's lovely.”

  “I'm glad you think so,” I tell her. “Sometimes I think... You'll think I'm being foolish, but sometimes I think that if we swapped our daughters around, everyone would be happier.”

  She laughs. “Nonsense, Barbara.”

  “Is it?”

  I wait for her to reply, but she seems to have dismissed the idea out of hand. Instead, she's too busy tickling Rebecca's belly.

  “I know you could make Rebecca's life so much better if you had her here at Auercliff,” I continue, “and I could certainly look after Esmerelda. I mean, babies all look alike, don't they, so -”

  “Of course they don't,” she replies, interrupting me. “A mother could never mistake her child for someone else's.”

  “A mother couldn't,” I mutter, “but...”

  My voice trails off. This isn't going as well as I'd hoped, but I'm not ready to give up just yet.

  “Think about it, Em,” I continue, stepping over to her with Esmerelda still in my arms. “You could give Rebecca a much better life here at Auercliff. You have all the time in the world to nurture her and care for her, and to give her the attention that's required by someone with her... disability.” I wait, again, for the penny to drop in my sister's mind. “Meanwhile I could take Esmerelda home and raise her perfectly. I know I can be a great mother, but I need a normal child. I don't have what it takes to raise a retard.”

  “Barbara!” she hisses, turning to me with a shocked expression. “You mustn't say such things!”

  “It's true!”

  “No!”

  “It is! I don't have what it takes!”

  “But you mustn't use that word!” she continues, before looking back down at Rebecca's face. “The poor girl,” she adds, “being talked about like that.”

  “Exactly,” I reply, feeling the first swell of tears. “I'm simply not equipped to care for Rebecca properly.” I pause, mostly for effect, and to give her time to digest the idea. “You are, though. You're sweet and kind and patient, Em. You're exactly what Rebecca needs.”

  “Hush,” Emily replies, glancing at me again. “Any more of this talk, and I shall start to think that you're serious about swapping them.”

  I pause again, and suddenly I realize that I can't avoid being blunt any longer. Filled with a sense of panic, I take a step closer.

  “I am serious, Em,” I tell her. “I don't think I've ever been so serious about anything in my entire life. I've been thinking about it for months, ever since the last time Daniel and I came to visit, back when poor Martin keeled over.”

  She glances at me, but from the look in her eyes it's clear that she can't tell whether I'm serious.

  Taking a step closer, I realize that my carefully-planned approach is starting to unravel. I had a timetable worked out for the whole weekend, a way to slowly introduce the idea into my sister's mind, but now I've started blabbing at the first available opportunity. I sit next to her, my thoughts racing, and now pure desperation has gotten the better of me.

  “I can't handle Rebecca,” I stammer, sniffing back tears. “I'm afraid, Em. I'm afraid I'll do something. I get so frantic when she won't stop crying, and then when I look into the future and see myself raising a disabled child, I feel like I want to...” I look down at my wrists for a moment. “I'm not warm and selfless,” I continue. “I'm not patient. I'm not nurturing. I'm not selfless. I'm a bitch. I know that, and I've accepted it, and it means I'm not fit to raise a difficult daughter. But I'd be fine with an easy child! I could raise a normal girl like Esmerelda, and I'd do a wonderful job!”

  “Barbara...”

  “Hear me out!” I say firmly, panicking at the idea that she might turn me down. “No-one else would even have to know! They're both still babies, and trust me, Daniel will meekly accept anything I tell him, even in the unlikely event that he does have suspicions. Rebecca doesn't have any distinguishing physical characteristics yet, apart from the ugliness I see in her, and Esmerelda is just so beautiful. We could do this, we could swap them, and no-one would have to know! And then I'd raise Esmerelda in a loving environment. She'd get to have a father, and a full life away from this moldy old ho
use. And Rebecca would get you, Em. She'd get a mother who can truly love her. I mean, seriously... Who loses in this arrangement?”

  I wait for an answer, but for a moment Emily simply tickles Rebecca's chin.

  “You're funny, Barbara,” she says finally, but with a little more caution now. “You almost sound like you mean all of this.”

  Feeling a rush of despair, I realize my muddy-headed sister still can't quite get the idea into her thoughts.

  “It'd make sense,” I tell her. “It'd be best for both of them, and we'd be the only ones who'd have to know.”

  “Take her,” Emily says suddenly, holding Rebecca out toward me.

  I shake my head.

  “Take your daughter,” she continues. “I mean it. Take her, Barbara.”

  Realizing that she won't give up, I reluctantly take Rebecca in my arms. Her wriggling body sickens me, and after a moment she starts gurgling, as if she hates being held by me. I don't blame her, really; after all, I've spent so many hours shouting at her, screaming, ordering her to stop crying. I've even shaken her a little from time to time. I've tried everything, and now we hate each other. Sure enough, after just a few seconds, she starts crying once again.

  “This isn't working,” I stammer, with tears streaming down my face.

  “Just give it time,” Emily says calmly.

  “Your hippy bullshit won't help,” I reply through gritted teeth, as Rebecca continues to cry. “She hates me!”

  “You just need to spend a little more time with her,” she continues, getting to her feet. “I'll go downstairs and put some pancakes on for supper, and you two should just -”