by Brigid Coady
"Hello," Beattie air kissed her cheek noisily. "I didn't know you were coming home. Your mother never said when I saw her this morning."
"I'm surprising her," Edie started to move off and round the building as she spoke, heading towards the taxi rank and trying to shake off Beattie's determined friendliness.
"Well let me give you a lift. The car's just in the car park." Beattie pointed to the multi-storey car park behind the station.
Edie stopped dead and barely felt the person bumping into her from behind and the soft swear words under their breath. What could she do? It wasn't as if it was out of Beattie's way, she lived next door after all. And if she refused, her mother would never let here hear the end of it. And then there would be that awkward parade of the taxi and Beattie's car all going in the same direction, stopping behind each other at traffic lights. Edie could almost see the hurt look in Beattie's eyes if she caught a cab and turned and looked back to see her.
There were some weeks when you just couldn't catch a break.
"That would be lovely, Beattie." she said.
“Thank you”, she said twenty minutes later and through gritted teeth as she got out of the car.
The twenty minute journey had been filled with Beattie’s tales of the minutiae of her life plus all the comings and goings of pretty much the whole population of Little Hanningfield. People Edie had forgotten about or had wanted to forget about or had never known in the first place.
She was getting soft.
She should’ve withered Beattie with a single comment. Taken her down with a well-placed barb. But at home, it wasn't just that people saw you differently. It peeled layers of you back to an earlier incarnation. A better Edie? She wasn’t sure but she knew she couldn’t hurt this woman.
"Have a lovely time," Beattie said eventually letting her go having chatted for another five minutes after they’d got out of the car.
So much for trying to surprise Mum.
Their voices had made her peer out the window; Edie had noticed her.
And now she looked over at the house, where her mum was standing on the doorstep with a fixed grin Edie knew well. It was the one that was used in front of neighbours when she didn’t want them to know anything was wrong.
Edie watched as her mum waved to Beattie as she waited for Edie to walk through the little wooden gate.
"Edie, this is a surprise."
It was said loudly, so Beattie could hear. Edie knew the drill; her mum was making sure that Beattie knew she’d been surprised.
Edie leant down to kiss her cheek but her mum hardly reached up for it. Instead Edie ended up kissing the air by her ear.
Her skin crawled as she walked through the front door. Any happiness she had, which wasn’t much, felt as if it was being leeched out of her. A mantle of misery seemed to fall on her shoulders.
What had happened to the happy family home that she’d seen with the Ghost? It was the same bricks and mortar. The same walls, admittedly the décor had changed, but this had once been a home. Now it was merely a house.
Edie looked at the photos on the walls, the ones she’d seen on Friday night.
None of them had her dad in them. He’d been airbrushed out of her life. He wasn’t even in photos from when she was a child and this had been a home.
Their home; they’d lived here together as a family.
But he left us the house.
Slowly Edie’s lawyer brain started to turn.
If he left the house to them, her Mum’s story that he didn't care about them didn’t add up. And how had her mum kept the house going all that time? Her part time job wouldn’t have been enough. Had he cared?
Or did Mum have a better lawyer?
But of course she had. She’d had Hilary Satis as her lawyer. And Edie had been tutored on the way she worked. Take no prisoners, just take the money.
Damn it, why didn’t she remember more? She'd been a teenager so she should have some memories but when she looked for them they weren’t there. One minute Dad had been there and then he hadn’t, but none of the financial issues that she knew should happen in a divorce had been obvious. Just the sudden entrance of Ms Satis in their lives.
Why didn’t she remember?
Edie followed her mum to the kitchen.
“I hope you said thank you to Beattie for giving you a lift,” her mum said as she tied an apron round her waist. “And I wished you told me you were coming. You’ll just have to do with an omelette as that is what I was going to have.”
Edie watched her mum pull the eggs from a very well stocked fridge.
She knew even if she had called they would be eating the same thing. Her mum believed in routine.
“You’ll never believe who I saw in the village yesterday? That Justin Douglas. He’s lost most of his hair and he’s gone to fat. I’m glad you never got involved with him. Something not nice about that family.”
Edie grabbed the onions and started chopping. The sound of the knife on the wooden board a comforting counterpoint to her mother’s words.
Her mum rehashed all the gossip Edie had just heard from Beattie.
Edie watched her mum’s hands dance as she talked. Why hadn't she moved away? Why had she stayed here in this house, a constant reminder of her failed marriage?
Why hadn’t Edie asked any of these questions before? Why had she believed her mother's story without checking any of it?
Because she hadn’t wanted to know the answers.
She watched as her mum put the dishes on the table and then Edie poured some wine. She found herself mirroring her mum as they both straightened the place mats so they were lined up with the cutlery and condiments.
Edie sat down quickly.
She moved the fork to the left so it wasn’t completely aligned.
They sat in silence for a moment before they both picked up their cutlery. For a few minutes the only sound was scrape of knives on the plates.
It was loud in Edie’s ears, and getting louder.
It was now or never. She had to do it.
"Mum…" Edie took a deep breath, suddenly scared. It felt as if this were the line between before and after. Nothing would be the same once she asked this question.
But what would change, really? It wasn’t as if they were close. And what did she have to be scared about? Her father had already abandoned her; it wasn't as if there could be anything worse.
"Yes?" her mum said without raising her eyes from her plate. Edie watched her put the exact proportions of omelette and vegetable on the fork so that it constituted a perfect mouthful.
"What exactly happened between you and Dad?" Edie rushed it out.
Her mother's fork halted in mid air between the plate and mouth. She looked up and met Edie’s eyes briefly before dropping them again.
Edie held her breath, her knife and fork left forgotten on the plate.
"I don't want to talk about him. He left us. That is all you need to know." Her mum said it as if that was it. There was nothing else to be said. Edie could see her mum's hand shaking slightly as she put the fork down on her plate and reached for her glass of wine.
"No, I need to know. Why did he never want to see me?" Edie had inherited the same tone of voice from her mother. She asked her question in the same implacable tone.
Edie saw the wine shimmering in her mum’s glass as she took a big slug of it and swallowed.
“Mum. Why?” Edie wasn’t letting it go.
She needed to know.
The glass wobbled. The wine sloshed up the sides and over the top of the glass and her mum crumpled.
It was strange; one minute her mum had been the straight, no-nonsense woman Edie had always known. The next she was like a balloon with the air let out. Edie was shocked. It was as if she had no foundations. Nothing had been holding her up, but hot air.
"Please, Edie. I don't want to talk about it," she looked scared and shrunken.
Edie's stomach swooped. What was happening? She still needed to know.<
br />
"Mum, did Dad ever send me stuff after he left?" She tried not to look at the drawer in the dresser, where she knew the letters and parcels were locked.
But she could feel the anger flooding into her again. She needed to keep calm otherwise her mum wouldn’t tell her. But this was her life, a part that had been hidden from her.
"How did you know?" Her mum's voice was quavering.
Edie saw her glance at the dresser drawer.
Chapter 15
Edie felt like she'd been slapped. She felt herself stiffen. It was true. What the ghost had shown her was true. Which meant she couldn't ignore any of it. It meant people really did think she was the Ice Queen…But it also meant that her dad hadn't left her.
The whole of her world shifted.
"Why?" She could feel the cracks that the Ghosts were making in her heart stretch wider. She wanted to know. “Why did you hide them?”
Her mother didn't say anything. She stared down at the table and then, with a big breath, pushed herself up out of her chair. She suddenly looked like an old woman, she staggered a bit as she went to a pot on the sideboard and got out a small key from inside it.
Her hands were shaking as she opened the drawer.
Edie could see that it was full, so packed with packages and envelopes that it stuck slightly and had to be wiggled to get it free.
Edie put her hand over her mouth.
"But…" she whispered. She stared at the proof that she hadn’t been left. That she had never been forgotten.
"Take them and then go." Her mother was starting to get her solidity back, refilling with air and, much like Edie when she felt scared, she went on the offensive.
Edie looked up at her mum, struggling to stop staring at the treasure displayed to her.
“Why?” she asked again.
"Your father left us. We didn't need someone like that in our lives. We did OK." It sounded more like a question to Edie, than a statement. “Why do you need him now? You never needed him before.”
“He’s my dad.” Edie said. Why couldn’t her mum understand?
Her mum pursed her lips together, then spat out.
“Just take them.”
Edie couldn't stay. She was struggling to at look her mum. She might love her, but she didn't like her very much at that moment.
She grabbed a spare canvas bag she had in her briefcase and started stuffing the envelopes and packages into it. The handwriting looked so familiar even though she hadn't seen it for years. She wanted to linger over them.
No, she wouldn't cry. Not yet.
The bag was full before the drawer was empty. Silently her mum got her another canvas bag. Edie took it without a word.
When the bags were full, Edie called a cab.
Her mum sat back down at the table and carried on drinking her wine but not touching her food. She refused to make eye contact. They sat in silence waiting for the taxi to arrive.
The canvas bags propped against Edie’s chair were like an elephant in the room. Edie touched them with a finger to check they were still there.
There was a beep on a car horn; thank God the taxi had arrived. Edie stood up, grabbed the canvas bags and her briefcase and stalked to the front door. She didn’t care if her mum followed or not.
She heard the scraping of the chair and she paused at the front door and looked back at her mum following her.
"Goodbye," Edie said.
She was about to turn around and walk out but there was something on her mum’s cheek.
Her mum came closer and caught in the hall light was the glint of pink glitter.
How had it got there? Maybe it had fallen from one of the cards onto an envelope and blown up to settle on her face. It winked at her. She could feel the weight of its expectations.
Edie really didn’t want to be the bigger person, but she had to be.
Reluctantly she bent forward and pressed her cheek to her mother's. It felt soft and fragile like tissue paper. She closed her eyes against the tears that brimmed up.
She would not cry. She wouldn’t.
She walked out the door and got in the cab and stared straight ahead without looking back. The canvas bag handles were wrapped round her fingers.
The train ride back to London was as full of ghosts as the earlier one.
As she read the work files she’d brought with her, Edie could see from the corner of her eye a happy little girl pirouetting up the aisle. Reflected in the window was a scared teenager just starting to build her wall against the world.
Edie cuddle the canvas bags to her side.
Edie climbed the stairs to her flat, the canvas bags banging against her legs.
Maybe she would just open one, she thought as she opened her front door. But how could she stop at one? Because what if that wasn’t the one that explained it all? She walked into the living room and leant the stuffed bags against the sofa. They were bulging with her past. Out of place in her ordered world.
“I won't look at them”, she said. “Not yet.”
They scared her, but also fascinated her.
She stared at them again and then turned her back and went to bed.
Edie didn't brush her teeth for quite as long as she usually did.
Or brush her hair as many times.
In bed she lay on her back and stared at the ceiling.
Ten minutes later, she sat up with a huff and punched her pillow into shape, turned it over to find the cool spot and then lay back down again.
Five minutes more and she put her right foot out from under the duvet.
Maybe I’m too warm, she thought. That’s why I can't sleep.
But five minutes after that, she was still wide awake but now with a cold foot.
Edie found herself wriggling on the sheet looking for a comfortable place.
This was playing havoc with her sleep pattern. She expected it on Ghost visiting nights but not now.
Except that there was a ghost in the living room. Her ghost. And she wasn't going to be able to sleep until she’d dealt with it.
She sat up and pushed back the duvet.
She pulled on her robe and slippers. It was eleven o'clock, and she had work tomorrow. This wouldn't be a quick job. But she could either lie there and mither or she could go and deal with it. Either way she wasn't getting any sleep.
Edie strode into the living room. Her steps faltered as she saw the canvas bags full of her past, bags which could open up her future.
She definitely needed some help before she started on it.
She boiled the kettle and made herself a herbal tea and found her emergency chocolate supply, hidden at the back of the cupboard. Sod the newly cleaned teeth.
Armed and ready, she sat on the sofa and carefully started taking out all the envelopes and packages from the bags.
There were so many that she began by organising them into piles; letters and cards in one and packages in the other. She picked one up at random, the handwriting looked so familiar.
“Miss Edie Dickens” it said in precise block capitals. Her dad’s writing.
She traced the down stroke on the D with her finger. But then she noticed the postmark.
They would all be postmarked. And if that was the case she could open them chronologically.
Her mother hadn't even bothered to take the brown wrapping off the parcels or the presents out of the jiffy bags. Their postmarks were there for Edie to see how they spanned back over the years. Here was the proof that she’d been looking for, the evidence that she had always been loved. That she hadn’t been forgotten.
Tears welled up in her eyes, blurring her vision. She blinked them away and found the envelope with the earliest mark. It was dated a few days before her fourteenth birthday. Just after he’d stopped seeing her.
Her hands shook as she made a tear in the paper, and as she uncovered the card inside she saw it was covered in pink glitter.
Her hand dropped the half opened envelope and she turned and buried her face i
n the pillow, howling. Her heart felt as if it was tearing too.
Edie sat, surrounded by torn envelopes and wrapping paper with a pile of glitter covered cards carefully stacked beside her as the sun rose the next morning. There was a pile of gifts at her feet.
She'd started out calmly after her crying fit but as it went on she wanted to unwrap everything as fast as possible.
Now everything was open and she was left clutching a small jewellery box. It was what he'd wrapped for her twenty-first birthday. It was the last gift he’d sent.
Edie stared at it. This was her last link to him.
Slowly, she opened the box to see a fine gold chain with a locket nestled there. It was simple and classic.
Twenty-one year old Edie would’ve hated it.
But now, this Edie… it was perfect.
Her hands shook as she lifted it out. She turned the locket over to find words engraved on the back.
Happy 21st, Edie. With all my love, Dad x
The locket had a hinge and a small lock. Edie’s fingers brushed the mechanism.
What would she find inside? A photo? Somehow opening it didn’t feel right.
I’ll open it when I find him, she thought as she put it on. It fell so that it nestled in the hollow of her throat; she stroked it with a finger.
The sun was streaming through the windows and she could hear the birds singing. It was early and she'd done none of the work she needed to, nor had she slept but strangely she felt better rested than she had in years.
Now the question was; could she find him?
A few minutes later as she stood in the shower and she shampooed her hair, she realised she couldn’t wait any longer.
I’ll phone Mum she thought. If I’m going to be haunted by Ghosts, then she can be haunted by me.
Edie started to wonder what her mother would think if she knew that her daughter was being haunted. She'd say it wasn't appropriate behaviour and what would the neighbours think.
But then an icy thought trickled down her spine. Maybe her mum had been haunted. And if she had and hadn't believed… hadn’t changed, because it was obvious she hadn't learnt anything. Edie shivered as if the shower was icy.