In Her Wake

by Amanda Jennings

  I see the cat sitting at the window and go to the back door to let her in.

  ‘Not sure Dawn would want the cat in at this time of day.’

  ‘Why has she got it if she doesn’t want it?’

  ‘She didn’t get it, it—’

  ‘I know,’ I say. ‘It just showed up. But she feeds it. If she doesn’t want it, why does she feed it?’

  Craig shrugs and busies himself with the screwdriver and the drawer.

  ‘Craig,’ I say, pulling out a chair and sitting down. ‘Can I ask how you met Dawn?’

  ‘For the article? No, I don’t think I want to talk about anything like that without Dawn here.’

  ‘No, off the record. I’m interested. You’re the only person she sees, aren’t you? I’m intrigued. I know how much you look after her, I’d just love to know a bit more.’

  His mouth sets into place as he concentrates on tightening the screw. ‘We were at school together.’

  ‘So you’ve known her for ages.’

  He sits back on his haunches and sighs. ‘It was my mum who made me talk to her. She was worried about her, you know, after … well, you know.’

  He pulls the drawer out, then pushes it back in. It runs smoothly and he drops the screwdriver back into his bag. ‘It was a few years after. We were so young. She was so quiet, didn’t help herself really. Nobody gave a shit about what she was going though, not even the teachers, and she sort of separated herself off from everyone. But my mum said she could tell she was lonely and coping with stuff at home, and so she asked her round for tea. I’m not sure she wanted to come at first, but her grandparents made her, I think.’ He laughs fondly but then stops himself. His face falls. ‘I shouldn’t be speaking to you like this.’

  ‘I won’t tell her we’ve talked.’

  He doesn’t look convinced.

  ‘Honestly. I won’t.’

  He hesitates, but then sighs and takes a seat opposite me.

  ‘When she came round we got on really well. She just needed someone to be with, bless her. She was dead shy, but once we got talking she warmed up. She used to joke that I was her head doctor. I was happy with that. I loved her from that first day.’

  ‘So you are together, then?’

  Craig suddenly looks guilty, like a naughty child about to be found out.

  ‘It’s just…’ I hesitate. ‘Well, I saw you … with that other girl? The blonde one. I saw her … with you.’

  I watch his guilt develop like a Polaroid. His eyes open wide and his mouth twitches as his mind whirrs, no doubt trying to work out where he’s been seen and what excuses he should give.

  ‘Look, it’s none of my business,’ I say. ‘I shouldn’t have mentioned it.’

  ‘It’s not what you think. Me and that girl. We’re just friends. And Dawn and I, you know, we’re not even together. Don’t get me wrong, I’d marry her tomorrow if she’d have me but, well, she won’t.’ He looks up at me. ‘I’m not … doing anything with that other girl. I’d never … I’d never do anything to hurt Dawn.’

  He looks down at his hands, which are resting, palms down, on the table. ‘Did you tell her? Dawn, I mean? About seeing me with the girl?’

  ‘No. I wanted to, but it didn’t seem fair.’ I pause. ‘I hate the thought of her being hurt.’

  ‘I wouldn’t—’

  Then we hear Dawn’s key in the lock. Craig stops speaking and jumps up from the table; flustered, he goes back to fiddling with the drawer. As she comes into the kitchen he makes an obvious show of opening and closing it.

  ‘All fixed and running smooth,’ he says.

  Dawn is pale and chewing on her fingernail. She walks straight over to the cat without saying anything to either of us and puts her out. Then she mumbles something about not feeling well and walks into her room.

  Craig and I exchange looks.

  ‘I think I should go and see what’s up with her,’ he says rather awkwardly.

  ‘Yes, of course. I’ve got to get going anyway. Tell her I hope she’s OK.’

  As I walk back into the hostel, Fi waves an envelope at me. ‘Post for you.’

  I walk over to the desk and she hands me the letter.

  I don’t open it until I’m safely in my room. There’s a blank compliments slip from the solicitor and a second envelope inside. I recognise the handwriting immediately.

  It’s David’s.

  Seeing his writing – untidy, scrawled in black biro, spidery – knocks the air from my lungs. I rub my face and sit on the edge of the bed to read what he’s written.

  FIFTY-ONE

  Dear Bella,

  I cannot believe you have done this to me. How is this any way to behave? To walk out on your husband and not be in contact? I’ve run out of excuses with Jeffrey and have told him to find a replacement for you. You have embarrassed me enormously. Jeffrey is an old friend and he did me a huge favour employing you. I cannot look him in the eye now. Hopefully our friendship will recover from this, but I wouldn’t be surprised if it doesn’t. Not only this, but I see from the bank account that you have stolen my money. I trusted you when I allowed you access to this account and now I regret my decision. Hindsight is a wonderful thing, isn’t it? I have closed the account. I hope that without access to further funds you will have to come home. Bella, I cannot fathom any of this. What has got into you? I believe you need to see a doctor as I worry you have inherited your parents’ ‘instabilities’.

  I understand from the solicitor you said I should bury your father without you. How heartless can you be? This isn’t you. You’ve always been so kind and gentle. You certainly kept this selfish side of you well hidden from me, didn’t you? Where is the sweet Bella I love? I want her back.

  The solicitor is refusing to tell me your whereabouts but the last time I spoke to her she seemed to waver and appears sympathetic to my position. I know she will tell me – I can be very persuasive – but it would be so much easier if you just came home. As you can probably tell from the tone of this letter, I am angry. I don’t want to be, as I know you’re upset and your grief is making you irrational, but you have made it impossible for me to be anything else. Of course I miss you, after all I love you, but like a parent with an errant child there is huge disappointment.

  Please reconsider your silence. I can help you, but not like this. You cannot deal with this alone. We both know you aren’t capable. We both know you don’t have the strength. You need me.

  Come home, my love.

  David

  FIFTY-TWO

  The letter throws my head into confusion as my old world invades the new. I sit on the edge of my bed and clench my fists, fighting the urge to pack my bags and head back to him. I think of Jeffrey, his face wrought with barely concealed disappointment, as he wearily nods when David tells him to find a new librarian. David’s face, his shame, bite into me.

  And then I recall how he pushed himself into me the night of Elaine’s funeral. The sting of him entering me, my body unready for him. The way he rolled off me with a sated grunt. I see a ribbon of blood trickling from my hand that held the shard of glass from the Campbells’ photo. David’s hand enclosing mine, as he squeezed and told me to stay calm.

  I pick up the letter again and read every word with fresh eyes. In each of them I see a need to control me. His frustration at my unpredictable behaviour screams out at me. He says he loves me, but he doesn’t really care. That’s obvious, and admitting it leaves me feeling deflated and let down. In the letter he says how disappointed he is in me, but I’m disappointed in him too. Where does he express his concern for my wellbeing? Where is his understanding about what I must be going through to make me run from him? And then the money, closing the account, hoping he can drive me home to him like a starving dog. He wants Bella home but I am not Bella. I am not his Bella.

  Not any more.

  I clench my fists tighter. No. I won’t go back to him. I won’t crumble and let him take control of me again. I grab at the letter and screw
it tightly into a ball, which I throw into the corner of the room. Its rests there, still, discarded, but still I feel the pull.

  No.

  I won’t go back.

  Then without pausing to think any more, I stand and walk over to the door. I don’t stop to consider what I’m doing. I open the door and I walk. One step in front of the other.

  One, two, three, four.

  Step by step I walk down the corridor to Greg’s room. I stand outside. Then I bang on the wood with the flat of my hand. I bang so hard it stings, but I don’t care, the sting feels good. The sting makes me sure that I am here. That I exist. That I am not her.

  I am not Bella.

  I bang again and again and again.

  ‘Alright! Alright!’ comes the call from inside. ‘I’m coming!’ He opens the door and furrows his brow. ‘You OK?’

  I don’t say anything.

  He has a towel wrapped around his waist and his tanned skin glistens wetly. ‘I was in the shower. What’s up?’

  I catch a glimpse of the tiger creeping its paw around his side where his arm rests upright against the doorframe, its claws are sharp and they seem to glint. I can hear him growling softly.

  ‘I want you to fuck me.’

  He laughs. ‘What?! I don’t see anything of you and then you walk in and demand sex?’

  ‘Well?’ I need to lose myself. I need to be present. I need Greg to fuck me. ‘Are you going to or not?’

  And then the smile falls from his face and he steps aside to let me in.

  FIFTY-THREE

  Dawn is pacing the kitchen. It’s a small room, certainly not fit for pacing, but she’s pacing anyway. Her hand is grabbing at the cuff of one sleeve, pulling at it, turning her fingers into it so the fabric twists tightly around her wrist.

  I’ve asked her a couple of times what’s wrong, but each time she answers with a distracted I’m fine. I can’t watch her anymore. I block her way and take hold of her hands. They’re clammy, and now I’m close to her I see there’s sweat gathered on her pale brow.

  ‘Dawn, Jesus, just tell me what’s wrong. I’m not stupid. I can see you’re anything but fine.’

  She looks at me with tightly pursed lips. She is blinking faster than usual and then her face suddenly crumples. She pulls her hands from mine and covers her face. ‘It’s money.’

  ‘Money?’

  ‘Oh God, I don’t know what to do.’ She leans back against the kitchen worktop and pushes the heels of her hands against her eyes. ‘It’s stopped. The money has stopped.’

  ‘Benefits? Why. Why have they stopped them?’

  ‘Not benefits,’ she says, spitting the word out as if it’s poisonous. ‘I don’t want to take anything from them, but even if did, I can’t get job seeker’s allowance because I’m not seeking work. And I don’t need any of their help caring for Mum because I don’t want those doctors coming to assess her, then taking her away from me. Those social workers that kept coming round with their poking noses and empty words. In the end, I didn’t even open the door to them and they soon stopped bothering me. Craig is always bloody on at me to at least get housing but I haven’t needed to, he’s always just paid the money into my building society each month. But then last month’s didn’t go in, and, well, now another one hasn’t and there’s no sign of it, and without it…’

  ‘Who pays the money in? Craig?’

  She bites at her nails and looks at me. Then shakes her head.

  ‘Who then?’

  ‘Dad.’

  I draw back in shock. ‘Dad? But … but I thought you haven’t been in touch since he walked out?’

  ‘I haven’t. Just the payments. On the first of every month he pays six hundred pounds into my account. He’s done it since he went. And, oh God…’ She begins to chew at the side of her nail fiercely. ‘What am I going to do? I can’t pay the rent without his money, and that keeps going up and bloody up. And I can’t work because full-time care for Mum will cost more than I can even earn. And I’m not leaving her anyway…’

  I think of Mark Tremayne, unwashed, bitter, his darkness needling into me. Six hundred pounds a month? Henry paid him eight hundred and he gave nearly all of it to Dawn and Alice? I try to clear my mind, think calmly, work out is if this changes how I feel about him. I don’t understand. Why didn’t he tell me any of this when I met him?

  I feel lightheaded. He was supporting Dawn and Alice? From the start? I think back to him telling me what happened the night he showed up at The Old Vicarage. How he told me he was no good. That he was doing what’s best.

  ‘He was being paid by Henry Campbell.’

  She looks at me as if I’m talking in tongues.

  ‘Every month. When he left you he moved into a house that was owned by the Campbells. They let him live there and paid him money.’

  ‘They … paid him? I … don’t…’

  ‘I saw him, Dawn.’ I sit heavily down at the table, clasp my hands.

  She shakes her head. ‘How could you have? You don’t know where he is. Nobody does.’

  ‘He lives in Bristol. I went there and I saw him.’

  ‘What? I don’t understand. When?’

  ‘A while back. The day I didn’t visit here. I went to Bristol, to an address my solicitor gave me.’

  ‘Your solicitor?’

  ‘She’s dealing with the Campbells’ will. There was – is – a second house. She told me to go and look at it to see if I want to keep it or sell it, and when I got there I found him living in it. Though I’m not sure you can call it living. Existing, more like.’

  I can see by her face that she still doesn’t get it.

  ‘Dawn, Mark Tremayne knew the Campbells had taken me.’

  ‘No, no that’s not right,’ she says quietly. ‘You’re telling me that he was involved with you being abducted?’

  ‘No. He said there was a note. Henry went to the funeral and left it with some flowers. It had their address on. He drove up there. Confronted them. Then they offered to pay him to keep quiet and he accepted.’

  Her face twists into horror as the impact and implications of what I’m saying sink in. ‘And you’re sure it’s definitely him?’

  ‘I’m sure.’

  She grimaces. ‘Why didn’t you tell me before?’

  ‘I wanted to, but it wasn’t the right time. I know you hate talking about him and it was hard knowing when to bring it up without upsetting you.’

  ‘But this changes everything. I mean … he … knew?’

  I nod.

  For a while neither of us speak, lost in our thoughts, battling to make sense of a nonsensical situation.

  ‘What was he like?’ she whispers then.

  ‘He was awful. The whole thing was awful. The house was foul, full of rubbish and filth, and it stank. It’s like he’s rotting away in there. I couldn’t get away quick enough.’

  ‘Did you go to the police?’

  I lean forward and rest my chin on the table. ‘No,’ I say with a sigh. ‘I should have. Just like I should have told you. But I don’t want to face the world with this yet.’

  ‘We have to. We have—’

  ‘Please, Dawn,’ I say. The words in David’s letter are ringing in my ears and making my stomach tumble with unease. I don’t want him to find me. I don’t want to go back to that. ‘Not yet. We need more time just the three of us. The last thing we need is a load of attention. Please not yet.’

  She doesn’t look convinced but grudgingly nods.

  ‘It explains why there’s no money,’ I say. ‘The solicitor said Henry stopped payments into the account Mark used when he died.’

  ‘God, what am I going to do?’

  ‘You mustn’t worry.’

  ‘How can I do anything else? I need money, Morveren.’

  ‘We have money. Those bastards left everything they had to me. We have more than enough money.’

  ‘It’s your money. I can’t use it.’

  ‘It’s not my money. It’s our money. I
t’s blood money, no different to what you’ve been living off all these years.’ I stand and go over to her, put my arms around her. ‘They ruined our lives, Dawn. We can use their money.’

  ‘I don’t want to see him, Morveren.’ Her voice is quiet. ‘Do you think he’ll come after us?’

  I want to tell her he won’t. I want to reassure her.

  But I can’t.

  FIFTY-FOUR

  Henry Campbell – 15th August 1989

  The door to the hotel room opened and Elaine walked in.

  She was carrying a child. A sleeping child. She was about two or three. She wore a pink nightie and clutched a teddy bear.

  ‘Elaine? Where have you been?’ Henry asked, as he walked over to her. His stomach knotted. There was an air about her that cut through him like razor-sharp knives. Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong.

  ‘I went for a walk. I felt Him calling me. He drew me to her.’

  ‘Elaine,’ he said, making every effort to keep his voice level. ‘Who is this child?’

  ‘This child is our miracle, Henry.’ Her eyes shined bright. Her voice was light and joyful in a way he hadn’t heard in years, and each syllable was like a silver bullet. ‘We prayed for a miracle and we were given one.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’ He was desperately trying to think, but the rising panic inside him was making it impossible to see anything clearly.

  ‘Don’t you? It’s not hard to understand. He takes my babies, so many of them, and now He is giving me one. This one He will never take from me. This one is mine to keep safe and care for.’

  Elaine gazed down at the little girl and smiled. Then she leant her head forward and softly kissed her forehead. The girl stirred but didn’t wake.

  ‘Elaine,’ he said, still keeping his voice as level as he was able. ‘Where are her parents?’

  Elaine started softly singing and rocking the child like a newborn. Then she walked past Henry, and gently, as if handling the finest bone china, she lowered her onto the bed.