All around, the floor was littered with small white bundles. The sky had grown dark outside as another thundery shower approached and Martha strained her eyes to ascertain exactly what she was seeing. It was nappies. The lid was off her kitchen bin and strewn around the floor were five or six nappies which had been in the kitchen bin because the nappy bin upstairs was full.
Martha stared at the floor in disbelief. “That little shit!” she said out loud, making Ruby jump. “I can’t believe him! Leaves his own tools neat as you like upstairs and then turns my kitchen into a bloody landfill!” She stepped over two of the bundles and slid Ruby into her high chair, strapping her in.
Martha made her way around the room picking up the nappies, rolled up and taped tightly as she always did with them. Had Sam lost something in the bin? Knocked it over and then didn’t bother to pick up the nappies? Why not? And how had he scattered them so far around the room? Had he played football with them?
The nappies all firmly back in place in the bin, Martha stormed out to the hallway to get her mobile phone from the pocket in the buggy. She was seething – who did Sam think he was, making a mess like that and not cleaning it up? What had he even been doing in the kitchen? Surely if he’d made a cup of tea then there would be signs of that? Or had he cleaned away the sugar and milk, wiped up any telltale cup rings, washed and dried a mug and spoon and yet still managed to leave five or six dirty nappies all over the kitchen floor?
Deep in thought, she didn’t notice the pushchair. The darkened hall made it difficult to see it in the gloom and before she could stop herself she had walked straight into it and was falling, taking it with her.
She landed awkwardly. Her arms, head and upper body were flat on the floor and the buggy had fallen over underneath her legs which meant that her lower body was elevated by the stroller underneath her, her legs in the air. Martha groaned as various handles and pulleys dug into her body. She crawled forward on her arms, her legs following, and she eventually cleared the buggy. She rolled onto her side and looked back. It suddenly struck her that she hadn’t left it there in the first place. It had been moved.
She was certain she had left it beside the door. It made no sense to move it further down the passageway because that meant she couldn’t get past. Near the door, the hallway was wider. What’s more, she had left it parallel with the stairs – what she had just fallen over had to be across the hallway, at right angles to the stairs in order for her to walk into it. Still lying on her side, she peered above her head at the front door. It was ajar. Sam, she thought. It could only have been Sam. Had he been here after all when she came home? In the living room, maybe? How could she have missed him when she came in? He must have heard her calling him names when she saw the mess in the kitchen, and scarpered. But why ambush her with the buggy? She could have killed herself. What if she had Ruby in her arms? Not that Sam would probably even have noticed that there was a baby in the house. What kind of stupid, immature person would actually try to block someone’s way in order to get out of their house unchallenged? Why had he been hiding in the first place? Was he having a nose around and didn’t want to get caught?
Martha’s mind was a jumble as she lay on the floor, becoming more and more aware by the minute of pains in her body where she knew she would be bruised. Ruby began to cry and Martha managed to struggle to her feet. She closed and locked the front door, righted the stroller and pushed it into the living room out of the way. She retrieved her mobile phone from the pocket and with a slight limp made her way back to her grizzling baby.
What the hell had just happened there, she wondered? Who was this Sam guy? None of it made any sense. In her earlier rage about the nappies, she had intended to ring Rob Mountford to find out exactly what the deal was with this Sam and let him know in no uncertain terms that she was not happy. After her fall, however, she felt vulnerable and a little scared. She rang Sue instead, desperate to hear a friendly voice.
“Well, Ms Clampett!” asked Sue as she answered the phone.
Martha felt immediately cheered at the corny old Beverly Hillbillies reference, and sank down onto a kitchen chair beside Ruby, stroking her foot as she chatted.
“I hate the bloody country,” she said. She realised how despondent she sounded and that she was close to tears. “I’ve just nearly killed myself on the bloody buggy, having had to clean up a landfill of baby crap in my kitchen. Oh – and to top it all off my septic tank is busted!”
Sue laughed. Then Martha heard the click of her lighter as she lit herself a cigarette. “Tell Auntie Sue,” she said then, and exhaled loudly.
“Are you in a hotel again?” asked Martha.
“Traveller’s Inn, Edinburgh,” came the reply. “Outside!”
Martha told her about her afternoon, starting with her fall and working backward. “Then earlier on I had to go into the pub . . .”
“Had to?” laughed Sue.
“It was bucketing down outside – and I had a coffee!” Martha giggled back. “But the old lady I told you about was in there again . . .”
“Li’l Kim?” asked Sue, a grin in her voice.
“Lil Flynn,” retorted Martha with a laugh. “Though it transpires she thinks her name’s Mountford.”
“Like Man Mountain Mountford?”
“Are you on the sub-editor’s desk this week or something with all of these catchy titles?” asked Martha, enjoying the relief of the banter.
“Nah,” replied Sue, inhaling and blowing smoke out again. “A feature on unusual courses at universities. Anyway, what happened with the old lady?”
“Nothing much,” said Martha. “Except she tried to convince me that there’s a boy been chucked in a fire and bricked up in my house somewhere – ‘Im-yoooooored’!” she wailed, imitating the old lady’s voice from earlier. “I mean, come off it, the only thing that’s in these walls is a rat – or a nest of the damn things, scratching at all hours of the night and keeping me awake!”
Sue was silent.
“Sue?”
“Are you sure it’s a rat?” Sue said, her voice uneasy.
“No,” replied Martha, somewhat taken aback. “Could be a bird, could be a mouse – could be a Superhero for all I know. Man Mountain is supposed to be sorting it out but he’s too busy now having to clear up the shit that’s slowly seeping up through my garden.”
“That’s not really what I meant,” said Sue, all traces of humour gone from her voice. “How has the temperature been?”
“The temperature? Fine,” said Martha, puzzled. “Heat wave pretty much. What’s up with you? You’re not going to start asking me if I’m alright all the time or telling me that if I need anything to shine the Sue-beam into the sky, or that there’s a cow trapped under my attic insulation?”
“No,” said Sue. “But . . .”
“But what?” exclaimed Martha, annoyance creeping into her voice. “My God, you’re as bad as everyone here in Summertown!”
There was a silence before Sue broke it with a giggle. “Summerisle,” she corrected. It was an old joke, referring to places that they found strange. Martha had hated The Wicker Man with a passion and could never get the reference correct.
“Whatever. And now Ruby-Doo is in on the weirdness as well by the way – chucking her soothers all over the place . . .” Martha was about to tell Sue about the strange sound of footsteps from Ruby’s room when there was a commotion at the other end.
“Sorry, chuck, I have to go,” came Sue’s voice. “I was waiting for a cab and now it’s arrived but he’s got my name wrong and – look – I’ll ring you tomorrow. In the meantime just take care of yourselves, okay? Love to Little Blondie – byeeee!”
Sue had rung off before Martha had even had time to say goodbye. She sighed and then realised it was past Ruby’s dinnertime and jumped to her feet to heat her bottle and her food. She felt calmer after the chat with her friend. Best maybe to confront Rob Mountford about his choice of employee face to face.
/>
Chapter 16
Eyrie Farm,
Shipton Abbey,
Norfolk,
England
August 4th, 1953
Dear Caroline,
I write to you with a broken heart, Caroline, for three days ago Mammy passed to her eternal reward – I can scarcely write for the tears!
Mr Mountford came and told us himself. He said Daddy had telephoned him and asked him to pass word on to us girls. She took bad the other night at home and Daddy telephoned the doctor but it was too late – she took to her bed and lay down and died. Daddy thinks it was her heart.
My sorrow is the greatest I have ever felt – my beloved mother with her kindly smile and warm embrace. What am I to do without her, Caroline? I will not ever see her face again nor hear her voice, nor read her letters full of wisdom on how to deal with my plight here on my own in England. To make matters worse, we are not even to go home to bury her – Daddy says that we are to stay where we are and pray together for the repose of her soul. I long to speak to him myself but we have no telephone here at the cottage and I could not dream of asking Mr Mountford if we could use his. I am sure that he will come in good time and let us know more.
Marion has been shattered by the news and has taken to her room and won’t let me in sometimes and other times bangs on the floor so hard that I run to her thinking that the shock has brought the baby on early. Then she shouts and rants and cries and blames me for breaking my mother’s heart by not looking after her properly. God forgive me, Caroline, but I think in my soul that it is she who broke my mother’s heart by bringing such shame on our family and worrying my mother so.
Oh, Caroline, I am lost. Surely Daddy will have to bring us home now because he is alone and has no one to care for him? I can scarcely think of Marion and the baby now, even though her time is soon. I don’t care, cannot care, about anything other than the fact that my mother is never to speak to me again.
Pray for us, alone here without a mother, and for my father alone at home. Pray that our reunion is swift and that we bear this grief like Our Lord bore His suffering.
God save us all,
Lily
Chapter 17
July 2nd
Martha was watching for Rob’s Land Rover from the living-room window first thing the following morning. She stood there, hoping that he’d arrive before she left to take Ruby to crèche so that she could just get what she had to say out of the way.
He arrived at eight, alone, which Martha felt was ideal. She had no idea how he was going to take being challenged about who he brought to her house – Martha didn’t even know who Sam was – he could be a relative for all she knew. She was wary of offending Rob, partly because of his unpredictable temper and partly because she felt it was important to keep him sweet for the remainder of her tenure. And to get her septic tank fixed as soon as possible.
She met him at the front door before he even had the chance to take out his key.
“Rob, hi, how are you?” she said, in her best businesslike voice. “I’d like a word.”
He looked bemused as he squeezed in the doorway past her and into the living room where she indicated he should take a seat. So far, so good, she thought. She was in control of the situation.
Martha cleared her throat. “First off, Rob, I’d like to ask that when you do arrive to work, you ring the doorbell first and then wait for an answer, rather than just letting yourself in. If I’m here then obviously I’ll be able to let you in straight away. If not, then feel free to use the front door if necessary.”
Rob’s eyes widened. “It’s my house –” he began, indignantly.
Shit, thought Martha, here we go . . .
“That’s true,” she said calmly. “But basic tenant rights indicate that you can’t enter without my permission.”
The big man looked chastened, and more than a little bewildered. Martha suspected that the idea that he might not be able to treat the house entirely as his own had not entered his mind, much less that there were laws governing it.
“Right then,” she continued, “the second thing I want to address is Sam –”
He cut her short. “Yeah, you’ve heard then. Sorry about that.”
It was Martha’s turn to be bewildered. Heard what?
“Little bugger, sorry-for-swearing, met a buddy of his in town yesterday when we were getting a new spade and he disappeared off to the pub on me and never came back. Fellah drank his weight in ale and can’t be roused for love nor money this morning.”
Normally, Martha would take mental notes of how Rob spoke to tell Sue. Instead, she tried to figure out what he had just said. “You mean Sam was with you yesterday afternoon?” she asked.
“Well, up until four o’clock when he parked himself on a bar stool,” replied Rob. “Brought him to help with the lifting but he’s useless. Kid’s the son of Pa’s accountant, on his school holidays . . .”
Rob’s words disappeared into the background as the colour drained from Martha’s face. She had been alone in the house after Rob had left. Sam hadn’t been here after all. So who the hell had been tramping round upstairs, turning the radio up and down? Who came in the front door and spread nappies all over the kitchen floor? Who had moved her pushchair so that she fell over it and nearly broke her neck? Martha’s stomach sank.
Logic, Martha, she thought. Someone must have let themselves into her house while she had been gone, and had still been there when she got home. Doing what? Entry must have been through the front door after Rob and Sam left – maybe the door had swung open? Had it been open when she left to get Ruby and called to say goodbye to Sam? No wonder he hadn’t answered . . . A chill ran down her spine as she thought about it. Someone upstairs for all that time, with the radio on?
Then what? They went upstairs, easy as that, and walked around in stockinged feet listening to classic hits? Then hadn’t touched a thing all day until they decided to come downstairs and fling nappies around? And when she returned, they had hidden until it was safe to leave but not before setting up an ambush in the hallway. Why? What had they done all day long and what was the purpose of it? None of this made the slightest sense.
“You’re absolutely sure that neither you nor Sam came back here at any stage of the day?” asked Martha. “Neither of you forgot anything upstairs for example?”
“Sure as eggs,” replied Rob. “We left here yesterday morning, called back to the yard for a while, had a bite of lunch and then headed to Bickford for some bits. We were back in Shipton about half three and I was trying to teach the lad about tools when he did his vanishing act. Trouble is, I can’t do the tank alone, nor the chimney – and all my other lads are up to their necks over at the Meadows.”
Martha knew he was referring to the new Mountford Construction-built estate on the Bickford Road.
“Can’t spare ’em,” continued Rob. “So that’s why I’m here, to tell you that I can’t do any work till that blighter sleeps off the ale. He’s lucky to still have a job, truth be told.”
Martha didn’t respond. She wondered if she should tell Rob that she’d had an intruder but decided quickly against it. If he knew, then he might insist she had a guard dog, or want to hang about day and night to make sure she was safe. And his property, of course. No. No need to get Rob Mountford involved just yet. She’d just have to make sure she was more vigilant about keeping things locked. After all, the intruder hadn’t done any harm other than make a mess and the buggy ambush, which was a far cry from what could potentially happen if they were really dangerous. It still puzzled her as to who would do such a thing, however, or why.
“Sorry there’s another delay on the work,” mumbled Rob.
Martha looked at him and almost felt sorry for him. “Well, don’t let it happen again,” she said sternly, thinking it no harm to stay in control.
Sue rang just after Rob left, her tone upbeat, with no indication in her voice of the previous day’s anxieties. Martha let her
talk, trying in her head to put into words what had happened the previous day but not knowing where to begin. It was wonderful to hear Sue’s voice but Martha was glad when she said she had an appointment and had to cut the call short. It gave her more time to get her head around what exactly had taken place.
Martha made full sure to check all of the locks and to put on the alarm when she left to take Ruby to Lullabies. Being inside the house was making her skittish and nervous, particularly since it had occurred to her that the ‘prankster’ might actually have been a potential burglar casing the joint. She decided to walk down to the village, even though the talk with Rob had made her late. She felt better the instant she stepped outside the cottage and took a breath of air. It struck her that her life currently seemed to revolve around every creak and groan of the old cottage and little else.
It was nice to see the warm smile of Mary Stockwell at the crèche door. Aneta, her Polish assistant, hadn’t arrived yet, it seemed. Martha thought to herself that she was actually missing other people, much as she usually enjoyed her own company.
“Any sign of that ring and vicar yet?” joked Mary, leaning over the childproof gate to bend down to Ruby in her pushchair.
“Oh, very funny,” said Martha.
Mary laughed at her own joke. “Here, what’s with this global warming?” she said, pointing to a huge black cloud over the abbey while they were bathed in sunshine at Lullabies.
“Monsoon season alright,” replied Martha. “But I’m prepared!” She took her rain-jacket from the tray under the buggy, then folded the buggy to leave it into the Lullabies cloakroom until collection time.
“Hey – what happened here?” Mary exclaimed. She held the buggy out for examination, having noticed that one side of the frame was bent out of shape.
Martha laughed. “Same thing that happened here,” she replied, showing Mary the huge purple bruise on her elbow.
The Dead Summer Page 10