The Dead Summer

by Helen Moorhouse

  Martha realised she was ravenous. Looking at the clock on her dashboard she saw that it was nearly noon. She had plenty of time for a sandwich and a coffee and maybe a glance at one or two of those letters before heading for London. Wiping the tears from her eyes, she started up the car again and drove the short distance to Shipton Abbey. Once she had a rest she could think about getting the car packed up, picking up Ruby and getting on the road.

  She parked in the village car park and made her way to the café on the high street. She was absolutely starving and ordered herself a huge chicken roll with garlic mayonnaise and a takeaway coffee. She planned to sit outside at one of the tables and eat it but, when she emerged with her lunch in her hands, she realised that the little café was beginning to fill up with the lunchtime trade. She needed somewhere quieter, she thought, somewhere that she could fully absorb what Lil’s letters were going to tell her. Martha looked up and down the street and eventually figured out where best to go. She took the small lane that led behind the café and down the hill toward the estuary and the abbey.

  Shipton Abbey itself towered over her, forbidding and grey, as finally a strong sun broke through the clouds. Martha wiped her forehead – each step, even downhill, made her hotter and the sunshine made it brighter but more uncomfortable. She crossed over the road to the abbey entrance and made her way through the foreground where a guided tour was being conducted by a middle-aged woman hoisting an umbrella aloft so that a group of tired and sweating tourists could follow her. She crossed through the small burial ground at the front with the most recent headstones, dating up to the 1800s, and then around the side of the huge ruined building. Once around the back, she made her way through the stones to a corner shaded by trees. There she sat down, placed her lunch on the grass and took out the bundle of letters.

  She took the first from the top of the pile – they had been jumbled in her bag so she would have to sort them by date. She took one out of its envelope and noted that it had been folded in such a way that the date was the first thing she saw on the page. Lil had folded them all this way, so it was easy for Martha to sort them between bites. She noted that the dates started frequently enough – monthly, she thought, but by the end there was only one letter a year.

  The first was dated February 1st, 1953.

  ‘Dear Caroline,’ it read. ‘Happy St Brigid’s Day to you and Happy 17th birthday to me . . .’

  Chapter 33

  Eyrie Farm,

  Shipton Abbey,

  Norfolk,

  England

  March 15th, 1957

  Dear Caroline,

  I know it is only a little over a month since my last letter but I feel I must write to you today if only to keep my hands busy for they cannot stop shaking. I have news both good and bad. The bad first – Albie has found out about Henry and has broken off his engagement to Marion. It is a disaster. For all of the months of goodness that she has shown, she has doubled it with badness since this terrible thing took place on Sunday last.

  For weeks she has been trying to put Albie off coming to Eyrie Cottage to meet me lest her secret be discovered. He put his foot down, however, and insisted that last Sunday was finally the day when he and I should be formally introduced. He was insisting that I be her bridesmaid at their wedding in June. Little did they know that I will be far away by then, but more of that later.

  She had been like a caged animal since he decided this, pacing up and down the house, shouting at Henry to shut up all the time, screaming at him that if he so much as breathed while Albie was here then she would kill him stone dead by ripping off his head with her bare hands. He is nearly four now, and old enough to understand and she frightened him terribly.

  The terrible day dawned sunny and bright and I laid on a spread in the parlour for Albie of ham sandwiches and butterfly cakes and a huge fruit cake that I iced and decorated especially for him. He was due to arrive at three o’clock and that he did, on the button, in his great motor car with a bunch of daffodils for us.

  Marion was like a cat on a hot griddle. I had put Henry into the back bedroom and told him that he should be as quiet as a mouse as he always is when the workmen are here. I served the tea to Albie, gave him sandwiches and cake, and was chatting politely, when all of a sudden there was a terrible crash from upstairs and a scream from Henry. I couldn’t stop myself belting up that stairs. I know when his cries mean that he has hurt himself and sure enough when I got to him he was crying his little heart out and a big cut on his hand where he’d picked up a piece of what had broken. It wasn’t his fault, I keep the picture of the Sacred Heart in there that Mammy sent us – it doesn’t feel right having Him in the kitchen, Caroline, as we have so little faith between us here. The nail was always loose though and it chose that moment to crash down from the wall, as if the Sacred Heart himself were looking down with disapproval on the poor child locked in a room while his mother entertained.

  Henry’s scream was so loud that Albie came up the stairs behind me, and Marion behind him telling him to come down, that there was nothing to see. You can’t imagine Albie’s shock when he saw this poor bleeding child, his mouth wide open with roars, and tears streaming from his face. I thought he’d drop dead on the spot. I started to tell him that Henry was my son. I thought I could get away with that and then I’d be the one with the shame and Marion’s big wedding could go ahead but Albie turned to Marion with a funny look on his face and said to her that he couldn’t believe it was true, that he’d heard the rumours but he’d defended her to the very end, that his fiancée would never have had a child out of wedlock. He demanded his ring back from her and told her that their wedding was off and that he wouldn’t make a fuss but that he didn’t ever want to see her again.

  He looked a broken man, Caroline, as he walked down the stairs with Marion after him telling him over and over that she didn’t know what he meant, that Henry was my son and that I was the one with the shameful past. He didn’t listen to her though and I was holding Henry in my arms when I heard his car drive away with Marion screaming and running after it.

  When she came back in, I tried to lock the door on her but I didn’t make it in time. She beat us, Caroline. She picked up a stick from the driveway and came up that stairs like the devil himself and started to whip us with it, first me, then Henry, then me again. His screams and cries were terrible, telling her to leave him alone, to leave his mammy alone but she’s never listened to him and she didn’t that day. Again, I managed to get him under me so that I got the worst of the beating. My back is just starting to heal a week later and I have a black eye where she caught me unawares. Henry’s injuries are under his clothes and he is used to her beatings so he recovered by Wednesday and was able to walk again but she managed to thrash the soles of his tiny feet where they came out from under me and he could barely take a step.

  She beat us for an hour, I’d say, Caroline, screaming terrible things, wishing us both dead, swearing that she was going to beat us both to death. We were only saved when she got too tired to beat us any more and she threw down the stick and stopped kicking me and stormed off outside.

  I think my mother was watching over us that day, because not ten minutes later I heard another car pull up outside and who should come straight in but Robert. He didn’t care if she was there. He just knew that there was something wrong because he had nearly crashed headfirst into Albie Forbes’ car which was tearing along the road and he guessed that he had been here. He bathed our wounds, kissed Henry better and then rocked him to sleep – the poor little man was exhausted from crying and the pain. Robert wanted to take us away with him there and then but I persuaded him not to, that I knew what to do with Marion and once Henry was safely locked away then she couldn’t harm me.

  Robert was home for the weekend and had come only to tell me the joyous news that he had arranged our wedding – what a bittersweet afternoon that was! He stayed as long as he could but the fear was too great in me that Marion would go
berserk if she returned and found him there and tell his father again and all would be ruined. “We must carry on as normal,” I urged him and he reluctantly agreed. He was terrified of leaving us alone there but I made him go. After all, it is only now a matter of days before we are to be Mr and Mrs Mountford and no amount of cuts and bruises and kicks from my sister can take that away from me.

  It is the one thought that has sustained me throughout this difficult week. I have scarcely seen Marion till today. She appeared in her finest dress this morning and said that she was taking the bike and going to Bickford to plead with Albie to take her back. I said nothing, just kept Henry behind me and watched her go. She has been too calm, and I fear that if Albie does not take her back then I don’t know what she will want to do to us.

  I am dressed and ready to go, however, Caroline. I am wearing the green dress that I wore to that first party when Robert kissed me, for he has said that is how he remembers me at my most beautiful. Our plan is set, only another hour to go and he will come and collect me and Henry and our bags and then we are away from here. Away from Shipton Abbey, away from Marion, away from Mr Mountford, away from the secrets that we keep in this little house.

  We are to go to London, where a friend of Robert’s from university keeps a place. I am to stay there alone, with Henry, and Robert is to stay with Iris but without saying a word. Then on Monday morning – only three nights to sleep before we are husband and wife – we will be married at a place Robert calls a registration office – he has made all the arrangements for us, and straight after that we are going to France, of all places! He has enough saved for us to stay in a hotel until we find somewhere to live and then we will settle there, reinvented as Robert, Lily and Henry Mountford, a proper family at last!

  My bags are packed in the hallway, Caroline, such as we have. Ted, the bear that Henry has treasured – Robert’s own bear from when he was a child in fact! – is sitting on top of Henry’s little knapsack and he is dressed in his ‘big man’ shirt and a pair of short pants because the weather is very fine indeed and Robert has promised to get him new clothes in London, and indeed when we are in France it is so warm there he shall wear short pants every day and go to school with other boys and girls, and learn French and who knows – maybe Robert and I will have a little companion for him, or more maybe. The future is wide open to us, Caroline. My stomach is alive with butterflies and I can scarcely keep still.

  Wish us luck and Godspeed as we leave today for our new life!

  Your friend,

  Lily

  Chapter 34

  It was two o’clock when Martha reached the final letter, written the day that it had all happened, March 15th, 1957. She picked up her coffee cup and swigged back the last, cold mouthful inside.

  So that was who Marion was. And poor little Henry, like a dirty secret up at the cottage, unable to play with other children, deprived of everything that a child should have except for the unconditional love of his aunt and the unfettered embarrassment and shame of his mother. Marion didn’t care about Henry – Lil was right – had never done so from the day he was born and even less so when Albert appeared on the scene. And poor Lil – now she knew why she liked to be called Mountford – herself and Robert had been so close to being husband and wife. Martha sighed, feeling sadness on her shoulders like a burden. Everyone who had ever been to that place had ended up broken-hearted.

  She leaned back against the tree she was sitting against and shut her eyes. They burned from reading through the letters, if she just rested them for a moment then she’d be able to drive up to the cottage – she had nothing to fear there any more – and pack up and finally get on the road.

  She was roused by a distinct wet plop on her nose, followed by another, and another – she was dreaming that she was trying to drive her car from the back seat, unable to reach the pedals and in too high a gear to go around the many corners on the road. In her dream, suddenly the sunroof was open and rain was falling in on her face, making it more difficult to drive . . .

  She opened her eyes – there was, indeed, rain on her face, huge thick drops falling faster and faster. She sat up, unsure for a moment where she was or what she was doing. Then it hit her – the letters! She looked around her to where she had neatly piled them up beside her hip and gathered them quickly into her handbag to keep them dry. They couldn’t be ruined! Lil had entrusted them to her care.

  The rain started to get heavier – a drop stung her as it hit her directly between the eyes. “Ow!” she said out loud and gathered up her empty coffee cup and the wrapping her sandwich had come in. She scrabbled to her feet and looked up at the sky which was slate grey between the raindrops. It was still hot, however, and Martha felt a niggling fear in her stomach that a thunderstorm was on the way. She checked the ground where she had been sitting and seeing that she had gathered up all of her belongings, started a slow run back around the abbey and through the burial ground toward the car park.

  The rain was coming in torrents as she reached her car, pelting the ground and bouncing back up again, causing small white splashes on the road. Martha eased herself into the driver’s seat and slammed the door shut. She turfed her handbag over onto the passenger seat and started the engine before tugging her seatbelt around her. As she did so, the time on the dashboard clock caught her eye: 16.15 it said. She had been asleep for two hours! She couldn’t believe it – she knew she was exhausted but she had never been able to sleep anywhere other than her bed – a couch or a train seat at a push – but under a tree? Dammit, she was going to be later on the road than she expected, later getting to London and it was going to cause havoc with Ruby’s timetable. Oh well, she thought, can’t be helped. Berating herself for having fallen asleep, she drove out of the car park and across the village the short distance to Lullabies. Time to get this show on the road.

  Martha was disappointed in one way that Mary was absent from the crèche when she arrived there. Gone home early, Aneta said. Martha wasn’t surprised, considering the morning they’d had. Aneta was on her own with Ruby and Ella and Ruby screeched with delight on seeing her mother. In another way, however, it meant that there was no long goodbye with Mary, no chance of reprising the conversation from this morning, of having to explain what she had been doing all day, why she was soaking wet with her short hair sitting stringy on her head.

  Martha was in and out of the crèche in five minutes, Ruby in her arms and her belongings in her changing bag. The heavy shower had completely stopped by the time she left Lullabies and she noted that the road out near Eyrie Farm was completely dry as if there had been no rain there at all. She felt vaguely nervous as she reached the turn-off for the cottage but realised that was purely habit – she was just used to being afraid of the house. There was no need to feel scared any more, however. Gabriel had seen to that – and she herself had felt the spirits dissipate and cross over.

  Martha gathered Ruby from the car and headed for the door. Will’s car was gone, no sign of wiring or equipment of any sort left, as if the investigation had never taken place. She knew she should probably say goodbye to Will and Gabriel but she was sure they’d understand that she was keen to get away as quickly as possible. For all she knew at this stage of the day they’d headed for Edinburgh themselves. It was probable that Gabriel’s bus was fixed and ready to go, she thought, and grinned to herself as she popped her key in the lock and let herself in, leaving the door open behind her. She knew this would be a quick stop – she needed to pack up the basics to survive with Sue in London for a few days until the packers came to the cottage and did what they had to do. She knew they needed clothes, the essential baby equipment and nothing more.

  Martha meant to put Ruby on her playmat but then thought better of it when she glanced into the study and saw the nest of cushions from earlier still on the floor. She sat her down with a kiss and an assurance that she would be back in a moment and carried on into the kitchen where she set to packing Ruby’s food, bottle
s, steriliser and playmat into a shopping bag that she took from under the sink. Only the essentials, she thought. What she would do was telephone Rob Mountford in the morning from London and make the necessary arrangements about returning his keys and having her remaining belongings picked up by a removal company. There wasn’t much – Ruby’s cot, nick-nacks like lamps and ornaments, some pictures. Martha could do a mental tour of the house in her head and list out exactly what was hers and what belonged to the cottage itself. A full clearout of her stuff could be done in an afternoon.

  She glanced into the conservatory, picking up a toy and her sheep mug that she had left there that morning – God, that felt like a different person! Funnily, though, she had expected the house to feel different somehow, lighter, but it felt exactly the same as it always did. Not spooky, necessarily, but somehow heavy, occupied. Martha brushed the feeling off. It was just her imagination that the house should have any sort of a feeling at all. And this oppressive weather certainly wasn’t helping. She carried on upstairs, shouting another reassurance at Ruby that she wouldn’t be long. The baby ignored her. She had found a tassel on a cushion that she was using to tickle her own face and was very preoccupied.

  It seemed to take forever for Martha to get her ‘essentials’ into the car. She was a hoarder, a nester who loved all of her stuff around her and much as she tried to be practical there was stuff that she just didn’t want to leave behind. The picture of herself and Ruby that had fallen off the wall the night of the storm when Alison Stockwell had baby-sat, a huge bundle of nappies even though Sue lived just around the corner from a Tesco Express. Wow, Tesco Express, thought Martha with a grin. She knew she shouldn’t feel excited but she couldn’t help it. She longed for city things – being caught in a cloud of exhaust from a bus – she adored that smell, even though she knew that it was filthy and harmful. She longed for the sound of sirens in the distance instead of birds and foxes, for an orange glow of street lights on her ceiling at bedtime, for the distant rattle of the Tube. She would get to Sue’s about eight, she reckoned. Not too late for Ruby’s bedtime, and her own nap at the abbey had probably done her the world of good and would keep her alert to drive on the motorway. She’d stop for a coffee and some petrol at the service station out at the motorway and then she was on her way home.