Tell Me Where You Are

by Moira Forsyth

  This time it was Kenny. ‘I’m home,’ he said. ‘You’ll have great satisfaction in hearing I couldn’t stand the traffic and the prices they’re asking for poky wee flats are a disgrace.’

  ‘You should have stayed here,’ Frances told him. ‘You missed all the excitement. I’m a great aunt.’

  ‘You never are. Well, well. So what is it – great nephew or great niece?’

  ‘Niece.’

  ‘Beautiful?’

  ‘Naturally we think so. A red-faced wee mite with a lot of dark hair.’ On an impulse she said, ‘Come over, come and eat with us.’

  ‘I might do that. Nothing in this place but tins of dog food and a mouldy carrot.’

  Putting the phone down, she felt guilty she had not told him Alec was here, but all the old barriers seemed broken now, and if he came, she would feel protected. For the first time, she wanted that protection.

  In hospital, waiting for the evening visiting hour, Kate idly picked over names. Michelle’s Mum was bringing her in tonight, and Michelle had suggested a whole selection, but Kate wasn’t sure any of them suited her daughter. Daughter. She tried the word out, applied it to the smooth sleeping face of the infant in the cot beside her. Her eyelashes, she thought, her heart lurching, her wee hands. Already the baby had lost the squashed indignant look of the hurriedly newborn. ‘You’re so sweet,’ Kate whispered, ‘when you’re not crying. Carly. Juliet. Natalie.’

  Alec got there before Michelle and her mother. As soon as he appeared, she said, ‘What’s Granny’s name? Granny Douglas.’

  ‘Grace,’ he said, bending to kiss her.

  She ignored the kiss. ‘You’re supposed to look at the baby first.’

  ‘Sorry – hey – you’ve got a baby here! Where did she come from?’

  ‘Don’t be silly.’ She leaned over and pulled the wheeled cot closer, edging back the blanket a little. ‘She’s lovely, isn’t she? She was quite ugly to start with.’

  ‘Beautiful,’ he said and turned away so that Kate would not see how near he was to breaking down. ‘I’ll just see if I can get a vase for these flowers.’ He had bought the most expensive bunch in the hospital shop, and a large box of chocolates.

  ‘It’s like a birthday,’ Kate said, pleased, as he dealt with the flowers.

  ‘It is a birthday, just not yours,’ he pointed out.

  ‘She’s a bit young for the chocolates,’ Kate said, opening the box. ‘Never mind, my friends will eat them.’

  Ten minutes later, Michelle and her mother arrived with Roxanne. More flowers, scented shower gel, chocolate biscuits, and a large teddy bear. The girls bent over the cot, cooing. ‘Isn’t she sweet – aww!’ The baby opened her eyes and gazed at them.

  ‘This is great,’ Kate said, ‘getting all these presents.’

  Alec withdrew after a few exchanged remarks with Michelle’s mother.

  ‘See you later. Frances sends love and we’ll both be in tomorrow to take you and this birthday girl home, I’m told.’

  Kate waved him a cheerful goodbye. The baby was awake and they were all taking turns to hold and pet her.

  Outside, he lit a cigarette and walked slowly back to his car. He wondered if Frances’s boyfriend would still be there when he reached her house. She’d kept quiet about him for long enough. They had shaken hands with great politeness, but warily. What does he know about me, Alec wondered, glad he was able to escape after the meal on the excuse of visiting hour. A pleasant enough bloke, he supposed, this Kenny. Only a year ago, he would even have liked him and been glad to know he was around.

  The house was silent. Everyone was in bed, and probably asleep. Frances was still awake. She was going over again the nightmarish scene with Alec. A few yards away, he was lying in the boxroom. We slept together for years, she thought, but could not imagine that now, could not any longer conjure how it had been. Something was in the way of memory, something obscured her connection with him. Until today, there had always been a connection, however tenuous and unwanted.

  What he had told her did not make sense. In her warm bed, she was trembling with cold. There was a gap. There was something he didn’t tell me. In darkness, it was too easy to imagine terrible things. It’s the stuff of those crime dramas on television, she told herself, it doesn’t really happen to people like us. She could see the knife gleaming with blood, but she could not see Susan, she could not see what happened in those next minutes. She did not know whose blood it was. He said he went out and when he came back, she had gone.

  I don’t believe that.

  I could make him tell me the truth, she thought, I could get him on his own and make him tell me. Then, with a flood of relief, she changed her mind completely. I could leave it, I could just leave it. Why would I want to know more? I don’t owe Susan a thing and I don’t have to have him in my life any more. But I do have to have Kate and she’s the one I must protect. Better for both of us if we just don’t know.

  ‘I’m sorry, Susan,’ she said aloud. ‘If you tell me where you are, I promise I’ll do something, I’ll find out more. But you have to do that first, you have to tell me where you are.’

  In the silent summer night Frances lay waiting for a signal which did not come.

  Gillian travelled north in Paul’s sleek car. The A9, which had always seemed a long and dreary road (beautiful scenery of course, but you hardly noticed it after all these years), telescoped alarmingly. Blair Atholl already, then they were past Aviemore. She drew her breath in sharply once or twice when he was overtaking.

  He did drive very slowly up the unmade road to Frances’s house. ‘Off the beaten track, this,’ he said, negotiating ruts and large stones. He drew up behind three other cars. ‘Is there a party going on?’

  ‘That’s Mum and Dad’s,’ Gillian said as they got out. ‘And Alec’s. Don’t know who owns the one in front.’

  ‘Maybe it’s broken down,’ Paul suggested. ‘It’s seen better days.’

  When they went in they house seemed full of people. Andrew met them in the hall.

  ‘Hi, there. You want a beer?’

  ‘This is Andrew,’ Gillian said. ‘Andy, this is Paul. Where’s your mother?’

  ‘Upstairs, I think.’

  Hearing them, Frances was coming down. She and Gillian embraced, Gillian smelling of fresh air and French scent, Frances of the cake she had baked and of baby, milky and sweet.

  Frances and Paul shook hands. He looks too smart, thought Gillian. We both do, for the country.

  ‘Come through,’ Frances said. ‘Everybody’s in the living-room.’

  The beaten up old car must be Kenny’s, Gillian decided as they went in. She had met him only once, but now he seemed to be part of the family. The whole bloody family’s here, she realised, except one.

  The baby was a week old. Kate was sitting on the arm of her grandmother’s chair. Grace held the baby and Jim was taking photographs.

  ‘She’s got a name at last,’ Frances murmured to Gillian.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Grace.’

  ‘You’re kidding? Heavens, Mum must be thrilled.’

  ‘Well, it’s turning into Gracie, which she’s not quite so thrilled about, but it could have been a lot worse, believe me.’

  Behind the sisters Paul hovered, holding the can of beer Andrew had given him. Gillian bent to kiss her mother and Kate and to admire the baby.

  ‘Come in Paul, and meet everyone,’ Frances said. Gillian, turning as her mother did, and her father, thought, oh why did I bring him? Look at his city shoes and his signet ring. Do I even like him? She turned back to the baby, taking her in this time, with a jolt of anxiety and longing so strong she had to grip the back of the chair for support. Then she looked at Paul again and he was smiling at her, so that she could only smile back and get up and go to him. As she did, all the awkwardness of bringing him into this circle vanished and she had an impulse of feeling for him so strong she knew it must be love. What else? It was as if she were closer to him than a
ny of her family. Did Frances feel this, looking across at Kenny, or had she once felt it with Alec?

  Gillian saw no-one now but Paul, the baby, her own rising hope. She put her arm through his. ‘Mum, this is Paul.’

  Like him, she willed, defying them to do anything else. Just like him. As she watched Paul deal with this far better than she could herself, she saw it was all right, and she willed him to like them too.

  ‘Look at this place,’ Jack said to Kenny, who happened to be next to him on the sofa. ‘It’s entirely covered in baby tackle. And look at the size of her – how can she take up so much space?’ He indicated the baby being held up by Grace for Paul to admire. ‘I tell you, I’m glad I’m going back to uni next week. I bet the minute I’ve gone there’s nappies and baby stuff in my room as well.’

  ‘That’s the way of it,’ Kenny agreed, finishing his beer and holding out the can. ‘What about another?’

  ‘Mum told me to put the kettle on – I’ll bring you one back.’

  In the kitchen he and Andrew speculated on Paul.

  ‘Mint car,’ Andrew said, since he had seen them arrive.

  ‘Naff shoes,’ Jack commented.

  Frances came in with Kenny. ‘We’ll make tea,’ she said. ‘Grandpa wants you to take some photos for him.’

  He and Andrew went out and Frances caught the sidelong glance they gave Kenny, then the look between them, as they went out. She began to cut cake.

  ‘The baby’s coping really well with this crowd,’ she said.

  ‘Just you wait. When they’ve all gone, that’s when she’ll start waking three times in the night and wanting attention all the time.’

  ‘You would know, would you?’

  ‘Two bairns and two grandchildren to my credit,’ he reminded her. ‘I’m an expert on babies.’

  Together they prepared the tray and he carried it through for her. On the threshold, as she pushed the door open for him, she said,

  ‘Poor wee soul. No father, no grandparents, and a mother who’s hardly out of childhood herself. No wonder I feel protective.’

  Kenny shook his head at her. ‘Oh come on now. Look at this – ’

  This, was the crowded room, the baby peacefully nestling in Grace’s arms, the cat on the window sill pretending to look out at birds, but swishing her tail in annoyance. She knew everything was changed, that nothing would be the way it was, in a house once quiet and undisturbed.

  Frances rubbed her cheek against his shoulder. ‘What?’

  ‘Do you not think this child has more than enough family to be going on with?’

  When the phone rang, Frances was pouring tea and Gillian was nearest the door. ‘I’ll get it.’

  ‘Hello?’ she said, loud and cheerful against the noise from the living-room. But no-one spoke, no-one said, is that you, Frances? There was only the silence which is not silence.

  Gillian pulled towards her the door between her and her family, to shut out the noise and hear better. ‘Hello?’ she said again, and could have sworn, in the fading of conversation and rattling cups, the holding of the receiver up to her ear again, she heard someone speak. She was sure, she said afterwards, always said, that a voice faint and faraway, as if from another world, said ‘It’s me.’

  Gillian took a deep breath, steadying herself with one hand against the wall.

  ‘Susan,’ she said. ‘Susan, please – tell us where you are.’

  She waited, not knowing whether she wanted an answer or not.

  End