Girl in the Attic

by Valerie Mendes

  “It’s hardly surprising she wants to go, Weed. Having him for a dad … How’s your head?”

  Sore. I suppose it’s a good thing he didn’t give me a black eye. That would have taken some explaining.

  “Yeah. Be grateful for small mercies. … So now what’ll you do?”

  You tell me.

  “I’m going to have an early night,” Mum said over supper. “I’m exhausted by that house-hunting. Tell Grandpa I’m sorry about the carols. I promise to come next year.”

  Nathan went back to his room, pulled on his boots and coat. He walked down the corridor to the lobby and pushed wearily at the main door.

  A voice called, “Excuse me … Are you Nathan Fielding?”

  He turned. “Yes.”

  The girl at the desk gave him a professional smile. “I rang your room but there was no reply and I couldn’t find you in the dining-room. Somebody left this for you twenty minutes ago.”

  A quiver of foreboding gnawed his stomach. “Do you know who it was?”

  “She didn’t leave her name. Pretty girl. Blonde.”

  “Thanks.” He grabbed the small envelope and ripped it open. The handwriting streaked black and slanting.

  Dear Nathan

  I’m sorry about Dad. I’m so ashamed of him. I don’t want to give up on him but it seems to me I haven’t got a choice. He doesn’t want me. He’ll probably be glad when I’ve gone.

  You can’t want to know any more about me. I’m packed and ready to go, the minute Dad leaves for the pub. He’ll be so drunk when he gets back, he won’t notice I’m gone until the morning, which gives me plenty of time to get away.

  I hope you and your mum find a place to live. Thanks for your help today, boy in the garden. For finding Mum’s sketches and the painting. I won’t forget you.

  Love Rosalie

  Nathan stuffed the letter into his pocket. He pushed out of the hotel, gasping at the cold. The first flakes of snow danced into his eyes.

  She’s dumped me, Banksie.

  “At least she took the trouble to write, to deliver the letter. Maybe she wants an answer.”

  Nope. This is a straight goodbye. I don’t really matter to her. I haven’t made a blind bit of difference to her life. In fact, finding those sketches of Charlie might just have made everything worse.

  “How do you figure that out? Her dad was a drunk and a bully long before you came on the scene.”

  Yes, but you didn’t see his face when he looked at that painting. It was like someone had winded him, bruised him in the cruellest possible way.

  “Sure. His wife, Moira, and Charlie. They must have gone back a long way. There must have been something between them. Charlie must have spent more time naked with her than her husband did!”

  But now I’m never going to know, am I? We’ve lost the cottage and now I’ve lost Rosalie. … Do you know what, Banksie?

  “What?”

  I’ve never felt so useless in my life.

  The church smelled of snow-dampened coats, sherry and candle wax. Grandpa wove his way through the crowd to sit with the choir. Nathan sat numbly at the end of a pew, listening to the organ, the low murmur of voices. Small candles, built into white paper plates, passed from hand to hand, flickering into life as they were lit. Reflections of the flames danced in people’s eyes and huge shadows leaped across the walls.

  Nathan remembered the candlelit attic.

  If only I were in it now with Rosalie.

  The service began. Rustling, clearing their throats, the congregation stood for ‘Once in Royal David’s City’. Nathan sang, hearing his own voice interweaving. The choir trilled ‘Mary Had a Baby’. A chorister read the first lesson.

  Nathan stopped listening. He stood automatically to sing.

  The holly and the ivy, when they are both full grown

  He thought about Dad in Edinburgh, about Tom, about tonight’s party in London.

  For of all the trees that are in the wood, the holly bears the crown

  Everything there seemed so remote, as if it were part of a separate universe.

  The rising of the sun and the running of the deer

  He thought about Rosalie. His fingers tightened on the letter in his pocket.

  The playing of the merry organ, sweet singing in the choir

  And he knew what he had to do.

  The carol ended. Rustling, everyone sat. Nathan remained standing. He caught sight of Grandpa’s tanned face, his white tuft of hair. Then he clenched his fists, stepped hurriedly into the aisle and began to walk towards the back of the church. Eyes fastened on him, curious, full of song.

  An arm reached out. “Nathan.” Charlie’s deep burr. “Is anything wrong?”

  Nathan stopped. “No. I’m fine, Charlie, thanks. But could you tell Grandpa.” His voice cut into the hush. “I’m going back to Tregenna. He’s not to worry.”

  He ran towards the church door, reached for the iron handle, twisted it and pulled. Reluctantly, the door opened. Gusts of frosty air swirled into his face. He looked back. The candles dipped, flickered wildly, almost blew out. Vast shadows somersaulted across the walls. Faces turned to look at him, impatient, startled from their rituals.

  He slipped through the door, hauled it shut and heard it clang into the night.

  The snow fell silently and methodically, lying in contented drifts on the streets. Nathan pulled up his hood. His boots crunched. The flakes spattered then melted on his shoulders.

  He’d had an idea which just might stop Rosalie leaving.

  He slithered down the hill past Kathy’s Bar and rounded the corner to the waterfront. He found the fish and chip shop and the door to the flat. He stood back from it, looking up at the bay window, then at the square of pale light from the second storey window. A bedraggled curtain looped across it. He longed for Rosalie to open it, to look out – to see him. The snow fell relentlessly into his eyes.

  He heard footsteps clumping down the stairs. He ducked quickly into a doorway. Jake Croft shot out on to the street. “I’m going to the pub,” he shouted. “Don’t you go back to the cottage. Do you hear me, girl? You stay right where I can find you.”

  He slammed the door.

  Nathan shrank further into the shadows. Jake Croft walked heavily past him, lighting a cigarette. He moved down the waterfront and turned sharp right.

  Nathan looked up at the bay window.

  I must see her.

  He crashed against the door.

  Footsteps flapped on the stairs, the door creaked open.

  “Nathan! What are you doing here?”

  She’s got her coat on. She’s all ready to leave.

  She pulled him into the narrow hall. “Are you mad? He’ll kill you if he finds you here again. He’s still livid. Didn’t say a word to me all evening … He’s just left—”

  “I know. I saw him. Listen to me for a moment. Please don’t run away.”

  “Didn’t you get my letter? I trailed all the way up to Tregenna with it.”

  “Yes, I’ve got it here.”

  “That said it all.”

  He looked into her eyes. “Did it?”

  She hesitated. Then she said, “I told you. I’ve made up my mind.”

  He took a deep breath. “Look. I’ve had an idea. Your dad doesn’t care who he sells the cottage to. Right?”

  “I suppose. As long as he gets the money—”

  “Exactly!” Nathan clenched his fists. “So what if he sells it to us. To Mum and me. And you come to live with us?”

  “What?”

  “It’d solve everything. Mum and me would get the cottage. You could stay in your own home. Your dad would get his money. Brilliant or what?”

  Rosalie shook her head. “Your mum would never agree. Why would she want me to live with you?”

  “Because I do.” Nathan choked over the words. “That attic. It’s your room. Your space. I want you to go on living there.” He flushed. “And there’s something else.”

  “What?
”

  “I didn’t want to move down here. When Mum first told me, I was so angry I wanted to hit her.”

  “Because of leaving London?”

  “Yes, and not being with Dad and Tom.” He swallowed. “But I wouldn’t mind it so much if we can live in your cottage. Mum knows that. I reckon if I ask her about you, she’ll agree. She wants to make things better for me.”

  Rosalie looked at him. “You’re living in cloud-cuckoo land. You can’t blackmail your mum like that. And Dad would never give me to someone else’s family. He’s got his pride, even if he is a drunk. … Anyway, you know the cottage is sold.”

  “Couldn’t we stop the sale?” He brushed back his hood and ran a hand through his hair. “Surely there’s still time? If we talk to your dad and then to Mum, we—”

  Rosalie shook her head. “No. Nice try, Nathan, but I must go. My bag’s packed. If I don’t leave now—”

  “Will you think about what I’ve said? Please?”

  “Yeah. On the motorway.”

  “Why won’t you tell me where you’re going?”

  “Because you’ll come looking for me, that’s why!”

  He stared at her standing there, clenched, shivering. He noticed a leaflet sticking out of her coat pocket, a bus timetable or something. “So where are you going?”

  “I’m not telling you, so don’t ask. You’re wasting your breath.”

  “Rosalie.” Nathan gripped her arm. “What about school and your exams – and art college. How will you do all that if you—”

  “Couldn’t care less about it—”

  Nathan knew that wasn’t true. He persevered. “Your dad will be furious if you leave. He’ll get the police on to you. If they find you and bring you back, things here will be worse for you. Much worse.”

  “He won’t bother to track me down. He’ll never find me.”

  “Then you’ll spend the rest of your life on the run. On the streets, sleeping rough. Is that what you want?”

  Rosalie slid away from him. “I know you’re trying to help. But I can look after myself. Please. Leave me alone.”

  “Then will you ring me?” He grabbed her hand, scrabbled in his pocket for a biro. “Look, here’s my number.” He scrawled it on to her wrist. “There … Promise you’ll ring. We’ll be home on Boxing Day. If there’s anything I can do—”

  She hesitated. “There is something—”

  “What?”

  She bent her head and raised her arms. She unclasped the silver necklace with the oval jade-green stones.

  “Look after this for me.” She put it into his hands. The stones, warm from her skin, glowed in the half-light.

  “Mum gave it to me the Christmas before she died. It’s the most precious thing I have. Keep it safe for me, boy in the garden.”

  She pushed him towards the door.

  “Now go.”

  Nathan looked out over the waterfront. Snowflakes danced into the murky water, frazzled the surface and vanished. His legs ached, his head throbbed. Hot tears of disappointment dribbled down his face.

  I’ll never see her again. She’ll never ring me, I know she won’t. All I’ve got of her is a letter and a necklace.

  His fingers tightened on the precious stones in his pocket. He stabbed at the tears with his sleeve, hunched into his coat and once again pulled up the hood.

  It’s over. I give up.

  He glanced round at her bay window. The light flicked out. He cursed under his breath, then turned and started to march away, across the waterfront, up the street Jake Croft had taken.

  He dipped his face against the snow, dragged himself up the narrow hill. He heard the babble of voices, laughter, jazz, someone singing at a piano: the sound floated towards him on the soft, icy flakes. They made him feel sick.

  He looked up to the top of the street. A pub stood on the corner. The lamps at its windows glittered gold and orange on the snow. A group of men flung themselves out of the door, one after another, elbows pushing, legs kicking, their faces gold and orange under the light.

  “Your word!” A voice from the group came coarse and furious. “Don’t give me that bullshit, Croft! How can we take your word for anything?”

  “Thinks we were born yesterday.”

  “Came down in the last shower.”

  “Trying to talk his way out of it again.”

  “Yeah. We’ve heard it all before, haven’t we?”

  “Every stupid excuse under the sun.”

  More pushing.

  “A promise is a promise.”

  A green hat bobbed pathetically in the centre of the circle. “Please, I want to tell you.” Jake Croft shouted to be heard, his voice slurring. “You’ll get it all back and with interest. I just need a bit more time. After Christmas, fellas, I give you my—”

  “We’re sick to death of waiting.”

  “Don’t say we didn’t warn you—”

  For a split second the group froze. Then all the arms seemed to be raised. Legs kicked. Voices howled. The chink of metal rang into the street, a fierce glint of light flashed from a single fist.

  The green hat disappeared.

  The group huddled together, looked down at the pavement, at the body sprawled at their feet.

  “That was a knife.”

  “Who had a knife?”

  “What the hell have you done?”

  “Is he dead?”

  Silence again, a whole frozen moment of terror.

  Then the group broke up, pushing, shoving, leaping right and left. Legs ran, every which way.

  The street emptied.

  The lamps from the pub shone steadily over the body.

  Twelve

  Nathan stood paralysed in the snow. He seemed to be the only person on the hill, in the whole of St Ives, in the entire universe.

  A piano tinkled from a nearby window and a child’s voice started to sing:

  Oh little town of Bethlehem

  How still we see thee lie …

  A sob broke from Nathan’s throat. He dragged himself towards the body. The green hat lay crumpled beside it. Nathan knelt down and closed his eyes. He smelled blood on the snow, sweat on the man’s skin. He forced himself to look.

  Jake Croft lay slumped on his side. A bright red river trailed from his neck, melting the snow, dribbling away. His mouth gaped open as if in surprise. His eyes, half-closed, squinted up at Nathan.

  “Lad. Help me, lad.” The mouth seemed to struggle with an enormous tongue. “Did you see what happened? Don’t leave me, lad. Please.”

  But I want to run. That’s all I want. To run away from this as fast as I can. Except my legs won’t move and I can’t. I can’t leave him. This is Rosalie’s dad. He might be dying. How can I leave him lying on the ground like this?

  He wrenched off his coat and draped it over the man’s body. Then he remembered. Carefully, he pulled Rosalie’s letter and necklace from the coat, tucked them separately into the pockets of his jeans.

  He bent towards Jake’s face. “It’s all right. You’re going to be all right.”

  He took one of Jake’s hands. It was burning hot, wet with sweat, huge and heavy, urgent in its clasp. “I’ll get help. You’re going to be OK.”

  Snow soaked through his sweater on to his back. Blood seeped from the pavement into his jeans. He heard voices beside him, a young couple. He looked up at them.

  “Are you all right? Is he badly injured? What happened?”

  “I don’t know.” Nathan’s voice shook. “I found him lying here.”

  “Is he dead?”

  “No, but I don’t know how badly hurt he is. He must have been in a fight. He needs help. Quickly. Could you ring for an ambulance? Please? From the pub?”

  “Sure. Hold on there. We’ll be right with you.”

  The couple vanished inside.

  Nathan bent over Jake Croft. “They’ve gone to get help. An ambulance will take you to hospital. You’ll be OK.” The grip on his hand slackened. “Can you hear me? I
’m leaving to find Rosalie, before she … to tell her what’s happened.”

  He picked up the green hat.

  Jake’s heavy lids, like thick cheese, drooped over his eyes.

  How do I find Rosalie before it’s too late? Should I go back to the flat?

  “No. She said her bag was packed, she was ready to go.”

  So what should I do? Where should I go?

  “Think it out, Weed. You need to get to the bus station. Start looking for her there.”

  What if the bus has already left? What if Jake dies?

  “What if, what if. Just get a move on. Take it step by step.”

  The bus station. I don’t even know where it is.

  “Yes, you do. Don’t panic. Get on to the road to Tregenna. It’s on the left-hand side, where the road bends. You’ve passed it a hundred times.”

  Right.

  “Keep going, Weed. Carefully does it. Don’t slip in the snow.”

  He saw me, Banksie. Jake Croft saw me. He spoke to me. I held his hand. There’s blood all over my jeans. His blood.

  “I know.”

  Nathan lumbered round the corner, past Collins Estate Agents, a greengrocer, a newsagent, an antiques dealer: the row of shops was never-ending. His legs felt heavy, as if he were trapped in a dream, unable to move. Panting, he reached the top of the road to Tregenna. He saw the small coach park on his left.

  It seemed to be empty.

  Perhaps all the buses had left for the night.

  He looked again. A single bus turned on its lights and revved its engine. It hiccupped and died. The driver tried again, raised an arm, adjusted the mirror, checked the controls.

  Nathan raced towards it. The bus began to move. It passed him, swung slowly out on to the road. A group of passengers clustered near the front. The rest of the bus was empty. His heart sank. Then he saw a girl with fair curly hair sitting at the back.