Secrets in the Shadows

by Hannah Emery

  Elsie shakes her head.

  ‘You hate this house, Grace,’ she says eventually. Her voice is calm.

  ‘I hate staying here, because it reminds me too much of Mum!’

  ‘Oh, so I have to live here on your behalf? Has it ever occurred to you that I might hate staying here too? That I might not like the thought of being near anything that our mother touched?’ Elsie says, bending down to retrieve her keys.

  Grace is silent. She pulls her cardigan around her. She came here before work because she realised she didn’t have a coat with her, and she was early, and she decided that borrowing a coat from Elsie and driving to the shop with her would be sisterly and pleasant. But then, of course, Grace had pulled up in front of a house that had a huge FOR SALE sign attached to it, and had immediately forgotten how cold she was. Now, she’s suddenly freezing again, the winter wind snaking through the gaps in her loosely knitted sleeves and nipping her arms.

  She turns from Elsie, shivering with cold and anger, and gets in her car. She ignores Elsie’s face as she speeds away, and focuses on the narrow road so that she can’t see whether her sister is upset or angry or, as usual, Grace thinks bitterly, indifferent.

  When Grace arrives at the shop, she paces around, the door open half an hour early but no customers to take advantage of the extra shopping time. She kicks the counter, then wonders if her mother might have seen her from whichever ethereal world she is gazing down from, and feels instantly guilty.

  When Mags arrives just after opening time, her brown curls that have lately been more and more grey flying behind her, Grace’s body stiffens with apprehension. She hasn’t spoken to Mags since their disagreement about Grace wanting to follow her premonitions.

  Why do I keep falling out with everyone? she thinks as she watches Mags rush in from the cold and slam the door shut noisily behind her. Mags holds up her hand as Grace begins to smile tentatively.

  ‘Before you say anything, I’m sorry,’ Mags says briskly.

  ‘Oh, Mags I’m sorry too. I suppose I gave you a bit of a scare saying things that made me sound like my mother.’

  Mags gestures to the back of the shop. ‘Is the kettle on?’

  ‘No. But I can soon sort that out.’

  They walk to the back of the shop together and Mags sighs.

  ‘Your mother was in a bad way before she disappeared. We both know that, Grace. But even years before that, she was always obsessing over what she should be doing, and how she should be stopping things that she thought were going to happen.’

  Grace flicks on the kettle and thinks of the car crash. A dried red blood stain, the crunch of metal, the vanishing of Elsie’s spirit and fun and noise.

  ‘I know, and I really try to be different. I don’t want to make mistakes or hurt people like Mum did. But she’s in my blood, Mags. I’m the same as her. I try not to make the wrong choices the way she did, but having her gift is really difficult to ignore. It’s so powerful,’ Grace yanks two teabags from the packet, ‘that I feel like I have to follow the visions. And I know that even if I didn’t, they would probably still come true anyway. I can’t forget them. It’s too hard.’

  ‘That’s what Lou used to say. And it didn’t do her any good.’ Grace sighs and Mags holds her hands up in defeat. ‘I’ll drop it, for now. I don’t want to fall out with you, especially over this. Don’t forget my sugar.’

  ‘Rose House is up for sale,’ Grace says as she stirs some sweetener into Mags’s drink.

  Mags sits down suddenly on one of the chairs. ‘Rose House? For sale? Since when?’

  ‘Since I went to pick Elsie up this morning and saw the sale board. She didn’t even tell me.’

  Mags stands up and starts clearing away the tea things. ‘I can’t believe you’re selling it.’

  ‘I’m not. Elsie is.’

  ‘Have you told her how you feel?’

  ‘Yes. I’m furious with her.’

  ‘You’re always furious with Elsie,’ Mags says. ‘I wish you two could get on a bit better. You know, that was one of the things that always made Louisa anxious. She always knew you and Elsie would end up falling out over something.’

  Grace stares into her scalding tea. How much had her mother known about the future, the present that they were all living in right now? Had she known about Eliot?

  ‘She must have known everything about us,’ Grace decides. ‘She must have known that Eliot would cause problems between Elsie and me.’ She pushes her hands through her hair. She washed it this morning and it is cool and satiny, too smooth to do anything with. ‘I really wish she had stayed with us.’

  Mags stops clearing up and stares into space. ‘Me too.’

  ‘She could have helped me make the right choices, if she was here,’ Grace continues, and Mags shakes her head.

  ‘That’s the thing, Grace. You need to be the one to make the choice. Louisa didn’t manage it.’ She stands up and downs her drink. ‘So it’s up to you, now.’

  Grace thinks of the postcard she found the other night, sealed in an envelope for over fifty years.

  ‘Mags, do you think Mum would have taken advice if she’d been given it?’

  Mags shrugs. ‘She didn’t take advice from me as much as I would have liked. Or your father. But maybe, if the right person had come along, with the advice she wanted, she would have taken it.’

  Grace thinks of the scrawled, knotted letters, the clear warning, the message that echoes in her mind.

  Our daughter will have my gift. She will see what should be and will be. She must use it wisely.

  Why was the postcard never given to her mother? If it had been, would it have helped her to make better choices?

  ‘Maybe.’

  Mags stays with Grace for a while. A few minutes after she has gone, leaving the shop quiet and still once again, the door jangles open.

  It’s Elsie.

  Grace stares at her sister accusingly; she can’t help it, it’s as though her features arrange themselves with no direction from Grace herself.

  ‘Look,’ Elsie begins quietly. She makes no move to unwrap her purple scarf, or take off her gloves or coat, or do any of the things that would suggest she might be staying. ‘Eliot’s friend is an estate agent. When he came round the other night, he gave us a valuation. We were chatting about selling Rose House and Eliot’s flat and perhaps buying somewhere to live together after the wedding. I said I’d have to think about it, and that selling the house would be a big deal because of how much I think about Mum. I told him that I couldn’t imagine cutting our final connection to her.

  ‘I called into the estate agent’s yesterday to ask for some more advice so that I could discuss it properly with you. I got these leaflets,’ she pulls some crumpled papers from her bag and waves them around feebly, ‘which I was going to show you today. But the agents must have made a mistake, and come and put the sale sign up before I’d properly confirmed it. I told them I’d need to get your go-ahead, so they shouldn’t have done anything yet.’ She stuffs the papers back into her bag, and then stares across at Grace. She’s wearing more make-up than usual, Grace notices, or perhaps a different colour of eyeshadow. Her violet eyes glint in the weak winter light.

  ‘You think about Mum?’ Grace asks, unable to digest anything else Elsie has said other than the part about their mother.

  Elsie shrugs. ‘Of course I do.’

  ‘But you never want to talk about her.’

  ‘I talk about her sometimes now. With Eliot.’

  Grace nods. ‘I’m pleased that you talk about her,’ she says, wiping her face with her hands. She can see her ghostly reflection in the glass of the shop’s door, and realises that she has been crying, sees that her mascara has run in black scores down her face. She shifts her gaze to watch as Elsie takes her coat off and gives her a small smile.

  The day inches by. The twins don’t discuss Rose House, or Louisa. Grace keeps the secret of the postcards she found tucked away with the other things that she does
n’t tell Elsie about. The shop is silent except for the squeaking of glossy pages as Elsie leafs through a bridal magazine.

  The half term holidays are over. All the children are back in school, and adults are back at work. The only people wandering through the square are pensioners and their dogs.

  ‘It’s going to be a long winter,’ Grace says as she stands and stares out of the big bay window at the front. The grey drizzle has chased the few stragglers of the day away, and the wide expanse of street is vacant and grim. Yellow lights have begun to filter through from the shops opposite. It’s only 4.30 p.m. and already the sky is black.

  ‘Well, it’s not the end of the world if we don’t make a huge profit in our first year.’

  ‘I suppose not,’ Grace agrees reluctantly. But it’s not the money that bothers her. She has enough for rent and clothes that catch her eye and bottles of wine that are on offer. She saved some money after university, working at the bookshop chain in the town centre for over four years. After the monotony of working towards somebody else’s targets, Grace thought that opening a business would be exciting. She thought that it would make her fulfilled, and happy to stay in Blackpool. But it doesn’t. She is quite fond of Ash Books, and she wouldn’t like to think that she would desert her twin in their new venture. But the frustration of an empty shop and nothing to do in it rattles something deep inside her. She thought that having her own business would be exciting, but in fact it’s nothing like she imagined it would be.

  ‘Do you not need money for buying your next place with Eliot? Were you not hoping to make more?’

  ‘We’ve been open a week, Grace. Give it some more time.’

  Grace shrugs and wanders over to Elsie and her magazine, pulling it towards her and looking at the page filled with soft white dresses. She wonders how she will feel when Rose House is gone, and Elsie and Eliot are married. What will be here for her then, aside from the deathly quiet bookshop?

  ‘When are you thinking of having the wedding?’ she asks Elsie, whose face lights up at the question.

  ‘We said perhaps in the summer. A lot of places might be booked up, but I’m sure we’ll find somewhere.’

  Grace’s insides tighten. ‘I’m sure you will.’

  ‘And once the wedding’s over, and the house is sold, we can focus on the future and Ash Books.’

  Grace nods and looks around. The shelves are immaculate, the displays newly arranged. The till is empty. Even the twins’ mugs are washed and neatly stacked in the room at the back. ‘Yes,’ she says, feeling her heart sag.

  ‘Come on!’ Elsie says brightly, leaping over to the door and twirling the ‘OPEN’ sign round to ‘CLOSED’. ‘Let’s finish a bit earlier today. Eliot is taking me to the cinema, and you have your new drama group, don’t you!’

  Grace picks up her bag from the side of the counter, where she dropped it that morning.

  ‘Yes, I do!’

  As they walk through the sodden streets to her car, she thinks of stages and curtains and rehearsals and feels a buzz of excitement lift her spirits.

  That night, after a quick shower and a change from her jeans to a casual tea dress and tights, Grace adds a layer of mascara to her already thick, black lashes and slicks some berry lip gloss onto her lips. She reaches for her phone in her pocket and types out a quick message to Noel.

  Doing what you said. You’ll be pleased with me. Chat later.

  Grace clicks ‘send’, picks up her handbag and heads for her front door. A shot of nerves blasts through her as she starts up her car and drives to the centre where the drama group is held. She winds through the colourless streets and turns her radio up loud, enjoying the anticipation of something new and unknown. She pulls up in the car park a few minutes before the group begins.

  When Grace pulls open the glass-panelled door, she sees the members of the group turn to see who has arrived. She smiles as she enters, and a few people smile back as she sits down on a free chair.

  The woman next to her has huge hair and a wide, toothy grin. ‘You’re new, aren’t you? I only started last week,’ she confides, and touches Grace’s arm conspiratorially. ‘We’ll be newbies together. I’m Shelley.’

  Grace introduces herself, then quietens as she hears the organiser of the group ask for everyone’s attention.

  ‘Hi everyone. Lovely to see you all, and welcome if you haven’t been before. I’m Kate. I run the group and direct most of the performances, although we encourage you all to be involved in as many aspects of performances as possible. Tonight we will be holding auditions for the next play. As most of you know, we’ll be performing Macbeth in a couple of months’ time. So, once the roles are decided, it’ll be pretty full-on rehearsals until the opening night. I’ll give out the scripts, and then let’s see what you’ve all got. It’s up to you which part you read. Do whichever scene you feel most comfortable with, and we’ll cast according to who we see fit for each part.’

  Kate wanders over to Grace and Shelley after the group has started to break into smaller, hushed clusters.

  ‘Don’t feel any pressure tonight, Grace,’ Kate says after Shelley has introduced Grace on her behalf. ‘You can sit this one out, if you like. We’ll be auditioning for our next play in a couple of months, so you can just do some observing and crowd stuff before then if you’d prefer.’

  ‘Thanks so much, but I’d like to audition,’ Grace replies quickly. ‘I like a challenge.’

  She looks down at the script in her hands and thinks back to the last time she played this part. The once-foreign words had meant a lot to Grace even then, but she feels like she can do an even better job of saying them now.

  But when she steps onto the small stage to read her lines, she feels tiny pricks of sweat erupt on her forehead. What on earth is she doing? What made her think she could take the lead in a play?

  She never used to feel this nervous. She always loved pretending to be somebody else. She takes a deep breath, and pretends that it is years ago, and that she is on the stage that she used to know so well, with Eliot watching her, and Elsie supporting her.

  ‘I fear thy nature;

  It is too full o' the milk of human kindness

  To catch the nearest way: thou wouldst be great;

  Art not without ambition, but without

  The illness should attend it: what thou wouldst highly,

  That wouldst thou holily; wouldst not play false,

  And yet wouldst wrongly win … ’

  As Grace finishes speaking in the audition, she realises that although her limbs are trembling slightly, and her face is still a little clammy from the nervous sweat that has broken out, she feels more exhilarated than she has done in years.

  ‘You were so right,’ Grace says to Noel on her mobile a few days later. She’s walking to Ash Books, and he is walking to the tube station. Their movements make the line hiss, and she has to strain to hear Noel’s voice. She stands on the promenade for a moment, staring out to the grey expanse of sea, as she listens carefully for his words. She can’t wait to tell him her news.

  ‘Really? About what?’

  ‘When you said that I needed to do something a bit different, to focus my energy on something other than Eliot and Elsie. I am so glad I joined that drama group, Noel. It was such a good idea.’

  ‘So you’re going to go again?’

  ‘More than that! I’m making my debut in December!’ Grace says, her excitement propelling her forward again in a brisk walk.

  ‘You’ve got a part in a play?’

  ‘Yes! Macbeth. And I know it really well, because I was in it years ago.’

  ‘I remember that. You were Lady Macbeth.’

  Grace smiles, the cold wind biting into her teeth. ‘I was. And that’s the part I wanted this time, but I didn’t get it.’

  ‘So what’s your part this time?’ Noel replies, his voice far away and almost lost in a chaotic buzz from behind him. Grace imagines him, suit on, laptop case swinging in his hand, moving under the
London skyline with the other thousands of commuters. She gazes up at Blackpool Tower, which stands forlornly in the distance, and then drops her eyes to the ground.

  ‘I’m just a witch,’ she says, watching her feet move along the concrete, feeling suddenly as though the news isn’t enough to make him proud of her. ‘It’s one of the smallest parts.’

  ‘At least you got a part! That’s something.’

  ‘I know. And getting a part wasn’t a bad result for my first meeting, was it?’

  ‘I bet you’ll love it. And you’ll do so well that next time, you’ll get a main role.’

  ‘I hope so,’ Grace says, but doesn’t know if Noel has heard her, for the buzz behind him is louder now and the line crackles. ‘I’ll speak to you later, then,’ she shouts.

  She doesn’t hear Noel’s reply before the call cuts off, but she hears Bea’s name, lost in the background noise.

  Chapter Twenty Four

  Rose, 1948

  For a time, Rose enjoyed sitting in her comfortable armchair, jiggling her little baby about on her knee. She enjoyed taking little outings with her husband and her huge, bouncing pram that contained her perfect little girl. They walked to the park, the duck pond, the high street. Rose saved her clothing coupons so that now and again she could buy something she liked from Traver’s Fashions. On those days, her husband would carry her parcel for her as they meandered home. They listened to Mrs Dale’s Diary on the radio every afternoon and ate the sweet bread that they had talked about so very much during those ravenous, desperate years of the war.

  Rose knew, when she walked hand in hand with her husband through the park, that she was the envy of so many women: so many of her neighbours who had lost their own husbands and fathers in the bloodshed that had ravaged the world. On account of his age and his profession, her husband had been allowed to stay home, stay alive.

  But as time marched on, and the war finally started to feel as though it might become part of the past, Rose wondered how she would feel if her husband had disappeared mid-war, or had his face blown off, or returned with only one foot. Would she feel grateful to have him back in any form? Would she feel determined to make up for lost time? She had a frightening sense that had he been enlisted and shot to smithereens, or returned safely to her after five years apart, she would feel something better than the prickly frustration that gnawed away at her each day. For as comfortable as her life was, and as much as Rose’s little girl brought joy to the pretty house that stood grandly on a hill, there just wasn’t quite enough comfort and enough joy for Rose. There wasn’t enough to cover the tedious silences between the two plates of eggs every morning, the lack of contact between a husband and his wife, the gigantic parcel of guilt and sorrow that sat between them every second of every day like a fat black cat licking its paws. There wasn’t enough to stop Rose from lying awake next to the awkward bulk of her husband each night, thinking of the boy with the purple eyes and the feelings he had excited in her all those years ago.