The Three Lives of Aila Douglas Book 2

by Lei R. Tasker

  “Leave it, Nick,” the taller boy said. The black-haired boy rolled his eyes and walked off, still clutching his nose.

  “You’re going to get in trouble, doing stuff like that in your first week,” the taller boy said to Aila, leaning against the wall behind her with a wry smile. He was slender, his uniform scuffed and ripped as if he often got into fights. “You’re starting second year, right?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” Aila replied, “But I was home schooled.”

  “Yeah, I know,” he said with a dry laugh, “Everyone here knows who you are. I’m Will, come on, let’s find Mrs. Milford.”

  “I’m Aila,” Aila replied.

  “I told you – I know,” Will said, opening the door and beckoning her through.

  Chapter Six

  November 1984

  DI Hill tried to speak to Aila one more time the day after her mother’s disappearance, but she refused to speak. Matilda was insistent that he had spent enough time grilling her and so she was put to bed.

  She awoke in the night. It was pitch black, but she could hear voices everywhere on the estate, voices she didn’t recognise. She got down from her bed, bringing her knitted blanket with her and walked to the window.

  It had a window seat original to the castle, now decorated with new cushions and throws. She used a cardboard box to climb up onto it and kneel on it so that she could see out of her window.

  The orchard, gardens and fields below her were covered by pure darkness apart from a few pinpricks of light – torches, illuminating small patches of grass or path as their wielders moved through the estate.

  She could hear the bark of dogs, which wasn’t an unusual sound to her, but usually the guard dogs were quiet at this time of night.

  She listened silently, fear gripping her as she watched the strangers walking around her home. Under it all she could hear her father’s voice, gruff and loud as it always was.

  She couldn’t make out what he was saying, but he seemed angry, or impatient.

  She sat, curled up on the window seat, drifting in and out of sleep as she listened to the commotion and tried to make sense of it. At some point in the night, a shout went out that brought her back to full consciousness. She stood up on the seat and looked out.

  All of the torch lights were pointing down the path towards the river and she could hear the roar of the dogs increasing. Men and women’s voices were shouting instructions, a hint of panic in the air.

  Within half an hour the noise had died back down. The torches were turned off, the dogs were quiet.

  She would later piece the events together in her mind as she grew and realised that was the moment that they had found her mother’s body, floating face down in the river.

  None of the household members that seen or heard what Aila had. Being so young, her description of her mother’s movements that day were taken with a pinch of salt. She refused to speak to the detective again and never told him about the man she had seen, tugging her mother backwards by her hair.

  Her mother’s death was ruled a suicide as the coroner found the marks on her to be consistent with jumping from the weir bridge at the far west of the property. The detectives timed the current from there to where they found her and ruled that it was plausible for her body to have taken just under a day to move between the two points due to the reeds that filled the banks.

  “Stay here with Iona and Matilda,” John said to Aila a few weeks later, his face thunderous. He, Edmund, Fenella and Horace were dressed in black, umbrellas by their sides as they headed into their cars in the courtyard of the castle. The old stone inner walls of the castle were decorated with lights and garlands for Christmas, just a few weeks away.

  The group drove off without another word, leaving the two young children in the rain with their nanny. Aila had a feeling that she was being kept from an event, but she didn’t know that it was her mother’s funeral. She didn’t know that her father had decided not to let her go. Not to even tell her about it.

  As the weeks, months and years passed after her mother’s death, she felt a hole forming inside her more and more.

  She had never had a chance to say goodbye.

  Warwick Castle, Scotland at Christmas

  Chapter Seven

  December 1991

  “Come round mine for Christmas,” Aila said to Will as they sat on the bench at the end of the school’s playground.

  “Christmas Day?” Will asked, half talking to her and half reading. He was burning his way through the works of Arthur Conan Doyle and was currently part way into The Hound of the Baskervilles.

  “Yeah,” Aila replied.

  “Won’t your father mind?” Will asked. Aila had told him all about her father and Will was a little nervous to meet him.

  “No, he won’t be there.”

  “Why not?” Will said, closing the book and looking at her in confusion, “On actual Christmas Day?”

  “Yeah,” Aila said sadly, “Mum died at this time of year. He always goes to Italy. My aunt does too sometimes, and my cousin.”

  “So, who do you spend Christmas Day with?” Will asked. His own parents were surgeons and usually spent Christmas Day on call, hence Aila’s offer. Aila wondered how Will imagined other people’s Christmases and thought the picture in his mind probably wasn’t anything like hers.

  “Edmund and Matilda usually,” Aila said.

  “Don’t they have family of their own?”

  “Matilda’s parents passed away so she stays at the castle. Edmund usually goes back to see his father and sister on Boxing Day.”

  “That’s nice of them to stay with you,” Will said, re-opening the book to the page he had kept his thumb in.

  Aila had never thought about it like that. They had just always been there for her.

  “I’ll ask my parents,” Will added, “I’m sure my gran will be glad to get rid of me for the day. She’s always babysitting.”

  “Doesn’t she like seeing you on Christmas Day?”

  “Sure, but she’s getting old now and she normally falls asleep before we have the roast,” Will said, “In a few years, I’m going to learn how to do it and cook for her instead. I think she’d like that.”

  “That’s nice of you,” Aila said, reading a couple of lines of his book over his shoulder.

  “Don’t you have grandparents?” Will asked. They’d grown to be close friends over the past couple of months, but the subject of family had been danced around, Aila not wanting to discuss her mother.

  “My mum’s family died when she was little,” Aila said, “She was in the foster system for a while. My granddad on my dad’s side died a while ago. I’m not sure about his mum, he doesn’t talk about her.”

  “So just you, your dad and your aunt?” Will said.

  “And Edmund, Matilda, my cousin Iona.”

  “That must be nice,” Will said, “A small, close family.”

  Aila wasn’t sure if he was being sarcastic at first, given all that he knew about her father, but she realised he meant Edmund and Matilda. She felt lucky to have them.

  Will came round for Christmas Eve, Christmas Day and Boxing Day, sleeping in one of the guest rooms. Aila and Will filled their days with food, playing party games with Matilda and Edmund and walking along the river.

  “How do you not get lost here?” Will said as they walked along one of the riverside paths, pulling their coats up around their necks against the cold.

  “I grew up here,” Aila said thoughtfully, “I just know where to go.”

  “That’s comforting,” Will replied sarcastically.

  “We won’t get lost, don’t worry,” Aila said, rolling her eyes.

  They walked quietly for a few more minutes, picking their way over icy puddles.

  “I got you something,” Will said.

  “What do you mean?” Aila asked.

  “A Christmas present,” Will said.

  Aila didn’t know how to reply. Her family usually bought her something small �
�� a new coat or toy – but no one else had ever given her a present. Her heart sunk a little as she realised Will was her first friend, and then rose again at the thought that he had picked something out just for her.

  “I didn’t get you anything,” she said guiltily.

  “That’s okay,” Will said, pulling a parcel wrapped in brown paper from his coat, “You can get me two birthday presents. 10th March,” he added with a small smile, extending the parcel towards her.

  “Okay,” Aila said, taking the parcel gently. She tore the paper to reveal a book – Agatha Christie’s Murder on the Orient Express.

  “Do you already have it?” Will said with worry on his face as he tried to decode Aila’s reaction – she was staring at the book silently.

  “No,” she said, “I don’t have any books.”

  “What!?” Will said incredulously, “Not even Winnie the Pooh or something?”

  “Sure, when I was little maybe,” Aila said, “But no proper books. Adult books.”

  “Well, I’m glad to give you your first,” Will said, “And this one is really good.”

  “Thank you,” Aila said with genuine warmth. She could feel that her cheeks had gone bright red – she didn’t know how to show her gratitude.

  “That’s okay,” Will said, “Promise me you’ll read it?”

  “I will,” Aila said, flicking through it, “You really like mysteries, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” Will admitted, “I love finding clues and puzzles. In real life too.”

  “Like what?”

  “Last year, I found a letter from my mother to one of the other doctors at the hospital. It mentioned a surprise party for colleague. I looked in her diary – found the date.”

  “That’s not very impressive,” Aila said. Will looked hurt and she felt bad for mocking him.

  “No, I suppose not…” Will said, “But I did find out an ex-police officer has been having an affair for the past thirty years and has kept it a secret from everyone including his wife and children.”

  “You’re making that up,” Aila said.

  “I’m not!” Will said, “His name is George Hill, he’s friends with my dad. He came round a few weeks ago to have a drink with my dad. They got tipsy and he left his wallet behind. In his wallet was a phone number with the initials ‘W.M’ on it.”

  “And?” Aila said.

  “Who do you know with the initials ‘W.M’?”

  “No one,” Aila said. It was true, but then she didn’t know most of the people in the village.

  “Mrs. Milford,” Will said smugly.

  “Our form teacher?”

  “Yes, her first name is Wendy. I heard one of the other teachers call her that before.”

  “Right, so how do you know she is ‘W.M’?” Aila said, still not believing Will’s story but giving him the benefit of the doubt.

  “George, my dad and I went Christmas shopping,” Will said, “George bought a bottle of perfume. Said it was for his wife. Made me sniff them all to test it. Then he picked this awful one that smelt like roses. A few days later at school, Mrs. Milford walked past me and I smelt the same perfume on her.”

  “Oh, come one,” Aila laughed, “That’s ridiculous.”

  Will was becoming more annoyed with her mocking him.

  “It’s true,” Will said, “Just forget it.”

  They carried on walking until they came to a bridge that lead towards the woodland. They choose branches from the verge and played pooh sticks.

  “This has been a great Christmas,” Will said.

  “Yeah, it has,” Aila replied. Not only had her father, aunt and cousin left her alone, she had a friend now.

  She wondered how her Christmases would have been if her mother had still been alive. Would she spend them in Italy with the rest of her family? Would her mother cook?

  She wished she could remember what Christmas was like before her mother died, but she was too young.

  “Merry Christmas,” Aila whispered, taking Will’s gloved hand in her own.

  Chapter Eight

  March 1992

  “Oh my god,” Will said as he opened the gift box Aila had given him.

  “Do you like it?” She asked.

  He pulled out a large, leather-bound book.

  “What is it?” Will’s dad asked.

  “A Study in Scarlet,” Will said quietly, all colour drained from his face, “A first edition.”

  “A first edition?” Will’s mum repeated, staring in shock at Aila, “That must have been very expensive dear.”

  “That’s okay,” Aila said, smiling. She had taken cash from her father’s study to pay for it. She didn’t think he would notice, and even if he did, she didn’t care. It was for Will.

  “This is too generous,” Will’s dad said, “What do you say, William?”

  “Thank you,” Will said, looking up and smiling at Aila, “I can’t thank you enough, it’s so kind of you.”

  “I’m so glad you like it,” she said, beaming.

  “Very generous, you will have to keep it very safe,” Will’s mum sad as the phone started to ring, “I’ll get it,” she added.

  “Where did you find it?” Will said.

  “In the second-hand bookshop on Dunmell Lane,” Aila said, “The lady there helped me find it in her storeroom. I think it had been there a while, I hope it’s not damaged.”

  “No, it’s perfect,” Will said, turning it over in his hand and smiling from ear to ear.

  “Aila?” Will’s mum said, “I need you to come to the phone sweetie.”

  Aila looked up in confusion. She couldn’t think why anyone would phone her here. She had given Will’s phone number to Edmund in case of an emergency.

  She gingerly walked to the phone and took it from Will’s mum, noticing that her eyes were down in sadness.

  “Aila?” It was Edmund’s voice.

  “Yes?” Aila replied.

  “It’s Matilda,” he said, emotion making his voice hoarse and dry, “She’s passed away.”

  Edmund picked her up from Will’s house and they drove home in silence, his springer spaniel curled up on her lap. They were both in shock, too grief-stricken to cry.

  When she returned to the castle her father gave her a cursory pat on the shoulder as if to say “oh well” before heading to his study.

  An ambulance had collected Matilda – they suspected a heart attack. John had been the only one in the house and had found her on the floor of the utility room surrounded by dirty washing.

  The funeral was attended by the Douglases, Edmund and a handful of people from the village. Matilda had dedicated the latter part of her life to Aila’s education and childhood, not really mixing with the local community.

  Aila chose a photo from Christmas Day – one of her, Matilda, Edmund and Will that one of the maids had taken – and had it framed to place at her grave. A long-distant cousin read an impersonal eulogy and organised her burial, her headstone simply stating her name and dates as the cousin had had to pay by the letter.

  “I want to put something else on there,” Aila said to her father as they stood at the graveside. “Something to remember her by.”

  “That would be inappropriate,” John muttered, hurrying them away from the funeral as soon as possible.

  Chapter Nine

  Spring 1992

  “Detention twice this term for failure to hand in homework. And how could you have dropped to a D?” Edmund said to Aila as he looked over her school report, “You have to tell your father. He’ll be angry, but it’s best to get it out of the way.”

  Aila had found school difficult to concentrate on after Matilda passed. She had helped her with every piece of homework, sewn her uniform, sat with her when she revised. Edmund was a willing helper, but he was not academic and struggled to assist her with any of her school assignments.

  “I will tell him,” Aila said. Edmund’s disappointment was far more painful to her than her father’s anger.

  Sh
e found her father in his study, as always, looking through his half-moon glasses at a stack of papers on his desk. Horace was sat in the armchair opposite, looking over another pile of documents and underlining sections with a pen.

  She silently slipped in without knocking and placed the report in front of him. His face changed from surprise and annoyance at her unannounced entrance to fury as he read it over.

  “Back to home-schooling,” her father said in a tone that showed it was not a matter to be discussed or argued with, “Your attendance at school was dependent on your performance, and this is nowhere near adequate.”

  For once, Aila didn’t talk back. She didn’t fight or debate with him. She was already so defeated that she couldn’t muster the energy to argue with him.

  “Will you find me a tutor?” She asked quietly, the word catching in her throat as it made her think of Matilda.

  “I suppose I will have to place an ad in the paper,” John said, as if Matilda’s death was more of an inconvenience for him than a tragedy.

  “I’d be happy to do it, John,” Horace piped up.

  Aila looked at him in horror, “What?” she said.

  “I tutored many of my peers during my time at Cambridge,” Horace said, “I’m certain I can create a curriculum suited to a young lady such as Aila.”

  Aila curled up her face at the phrase ‘young lady’ sending her father as mortified look in the hope that he wouldn’t go for the idea.

  John’s love of convenience sealed the deal – Horace already lived at the castle, not to mention the fact that they had been close friends for years. He couldn’t have been a better match for the job.

  Aila rang Will that evening. It was the first time she had spoken to him since his birthday. Since the day Matilda had died.

  “Horace?” Will said with a scoff, “That’s not right. How will I cope without you at school?”

  “How did you cope before I started last year?” Aila said playfully.