by Lizzy Barber
‘You were running away?’ I feel the older woman, Johanna, appraising me, taking in my clean appearance. I don’t necessarily pass for a runaway.
‘I had an argument with my parents,’ I say quickly. ‘I haven’t been gone for very long. But being here, you know, in the house of the Lord, I see now I was wrong. I should go back to them now. They’ll be so worried.’ I flutter my eyelids piously at Johanna.
She sighs. ‘OK then. But you need to get out of here now. This is sacred ground; not just anyone is allowed in.’
With Johanna and Verity by my sides, I retrace my steps back into the blinding whiteness of the main church. Johanna, I can tell, still isn’t one hundred per cent convinced: her hand clutches my shoulder a little tighter than is necessary as she guides me to the door, and so I turn to her, pressing the palms of my hands together, and give her a weak little smile. ‘Honour thy mother and father.’
With the door sealed shut behind me, I gulp in a lungful of cool, fresh air, feeling the dizzying weight of what I’ve uncovered.
And then I run, feet smacking the tarmac as I motor down residential streets. Just before I reach the station, a stitch twists at my side, stopping me, forcing me to double over. I allow a primal moan to rip through me, gasping for breath, my face wet with tears.
I pull the photograph from my pocket, reading once again the cryptic note. It’s all going to be OK, I tell myself, allowing my breath to slow as the pain in my side eases. We’re all going to be OK. I put it back in my pocket and walk into the train station, ready to reclaim my family.
Emily, I whisper silently, I’m coming for you.
ANNA
27
The light from the attic window is starting to thin. It must be around mid-afternoon, early evening. The pale light bathes the room in a creamy white glow, softening Mamma’s features, the wrinkles at the corners of her mouth, the dark half-moons under each eye. I know every inch of this face so well: how could it have hidden all this from me, for so long?
She seems drained of energy. Her fingers twist, coiling endlessly over and under one another. But, conversely, my body is starting to reclaim itself. Mamma has been so focused on her tale that the medicine has gone untended, so although a thin film coats the back of my throat, and although my limbs are weak, my wrists cut, I am beginning to feel more like myself.
‘I just wanted to see the children,’ she says now, squeezing her eyes shut as tears roll out of them. ‘That was all it was: I just wanted to see. I don’t even know how it happened.’ A guttural sob wells from the pit of her stomach, and she clasps her fists against her mouth as she forces it down.
‘Go on,’ I tell her. ‘Please.’ The more I feel like myself, the more I am starting to see how my own story fits into this mess. And the more I don’t like it. What Father Paul did to Mamma was cruel, unbearable. But why is that burden now being passed on to me?
She carries on: ‘The truck driver dropped me right by the state line. I think he was starting to get nervous, having me with him. Perhaps he thought some crazed husband would be coming after me and didn’t want to get caught in the crossfire.’ Her mouth lolls open in a crazed ‘Ha!’, flashing me the wet, pink wall of her throat. ‘If only he knew. He dropped me at a diner in a small town just off the interstate, told me I should get myself something to eat. Ask for Jenny, he said – “she’ll keep you safe. She knows a thing or two about no-good scumbags.” I couldn’t think of eating, so I wandered through the town, trying to make sense of it all, trying to find some sign or some direction, to tell me what to do next. I passed a second-hand car dealership, and somehow found myself the owner of a car. They didn’t ask too many questions: a woman comes in alone, pays for a car in cash? You don’t want to get involved.
‘And then I got into the car, and I drove,’ she says. ‘I’d only been going for about twenty minutes when I started to see the signs, those bright characters smiling, telling me Astroland was only a short distance away. Anna …’ At her name – my name – she looks up at me. Our identities wrap themselves around her, reminding her, in her foggy brain, of the truth that is being uncovered. ‘She used to love those films. I’d put one on in the mornings when I was giving her her breakfast and she’d bounce up and down in her high chair as soon as she heard the opening theme music. Mason wouldn’t allow the TV on when he was in the house, so I would have to wait until he was out. It was our little secret. So when I saw those signs, for the park, it was like someone, somewhere, was trying to tell me something.
‘As soon as I stepped through the gates, I could feel it: all that love and warmth and happiness. The children in their costumes, dancing about; their sheer joy when they spied a character coming their way; the shrieks of pleasure from the rides and the smell of candy in the air. Somehow it filled me with hope.’
I can feel it. Because didn’t I, too, feel that same joy only a few weeks ago? If things were different, I’d want to cry out, to reach for her. If only there was a way, in some alternate universe that the two of us could have enjoyed it there together. But there is no alternate universe. And at the thought of reaching out for her, the twine that cuts into my wrist reminds me where I am. Who has brought me here. Because wasn’t it Mamma herself who tied these arms, physically preventing me from going to her? Good, bad, right or wrong – my faith in Mamma flips like squares on a chequerboard.
‘I don’t quite know how I ended up on the carousel,’ she continues, leading us to the brink. ‘Those whirling horses, the neon lights … they seemed to draw me to them. It was full to bursting when I stepped on it. I stood on the platform, as I saw some of the other adults doing, and felt the breeze on my face and the horses cantering up and down around me. That’s when I saw you.’
Her eyes fix on me, and the truth finally hits me. Like a wave crashing, like a light bulb turning on, like every other cliché and more. I can’t hide from it. I can’t deny it. Mamma took me. And she’s going to tell me why.
‘You looked so like her.’ The words cling to the back of her throat as the tears fall steadily now, wetting her cheeks and splashing in droplets onto her chest, her clasped hands. ‘You had those same blonde curls, and the chubby cheeks, and you had the funniest, most intense expression on your face, just like hers, kicking your little legs and jerking your body forward, as if you were hoping that both you and the horse would take flight. And I looked to the heavens and I thought: this is my sign. I looked for whoever you belonged to, and I saw her, that woman, giving you a wave from the crowd on the ground and then turning her back – turning her back on you – as she disappeared into the distance. And then I saw him.’ Her words are gaining momentum; louder, faster. ‘He wasn’t watching you,’ she shouts so violently that my body jerks in reaction. Her face morphs into a snarl, and I turn my head away. ‘He wasn’t watching you,’ she repeats, smacking the palms of her hands against the arms of the chair. ‘I saw him look at the phone in his pocket and then wander off with barely a backward glance. ‘I edged closer, and he didn’t come back. And neither did she. And then I felt the carousel slow down, and the other riders were being helped down by their parents, and led off the ride, but where was he? Nowhere. And where was she? Nowhere. Neither of them cared.’
She rises from the chair, and begins to pace the room, calling out like one of her beloved televangelists. In the world of the attic, this is a different Mamma. But to me it’s starkly familiar. For the first time, a bud of anger begins to swell inside me. Because whatever happened to destroy her life, what gave her the right to destroy mine?
‘Neither of them thought it important to check on their precious baby girl. They were both more concerned with themselves, and their needs, than the needs of the daughter the Lord had blessed them with, the daughter who they should have been protecting with their lives.’ Her voice crescendos to a shriek. ‘To ensure that she was safe. I helped you down.’ She jabs a finger into her chest. ‘I saw you safely off the ride, and told you that everything would be all right, and why didn�
��t we go home now and wouldn’t you like an ice cream, your favourite flavour. The closer we got to the park exit, the more I realised you were the sign the Lord had sent me. Because those people didn’t need you. They had another one – I saw her – they didn’t need two. It wasn’t fair. Because I had one child, then two, and then none, and then, like a miracle from heaven, I had one again!’
She stalks over to me now, her face looming over the bed. Her eyes are wild in her face, roving this way and that, and her hair, usually so pristine, has come loose from its band and shakes ferociously about her shoulders. I see the trails of spittle on her chin. Mamma is coming undone.
‘I loved you from the moment I saw you. My golden girl. My second chance. And we were happy, weren’t we? You and me. And you loved me too, you know you did! Don’t you remember, that trip to Alachua County Fair?’
I shake my head. I won’t remember. I won’t think back. Whatever version of love I have or had for her, it was built on lies.
‘We drove around, that first year. I saved the money I’d taken as best I could, sleeping in the car, or occasionally staying in motels where no one knew or cared who we were. I didn’t have a plan, or a place to go, but something compelled me to stay nearby, almost as if I were enjoying tempting fate, skirting the danger every time. We went past the fair, and you saw the horses, the Ferris wheel, and begged me to stop. I thought perhaps your confused child mind was getting it mixed up with Astroland, that you were hoping you’d be taken back to your parents, but then you looked up at me with those big, brown eyes and you said … you said, “Please, Mamma?”’ Her voice quivers. ‘It was the first time you called me Mamma. It seemed like a sign, that we were finally home. I found the house, used the last of the money as a down payment, and got a job doing mending for a local lady. When she retired, I took over the business, turned it mail order. And everything seemed to just … settle.
‘I knew Father Paul realised what I’d done. He had no way of contacting me, before the house, but all the same I knew. I’d get a sense, sometimes, of being watched. The same car following us just a little too close. When the first card arrived, I wasn’t even surprised. But I wrote to him, promised I would never reveal what he’d done, if he’d only let me have you. And I’ve been true to my word, haven’t I? I’ve been good. I’ve stayed quiet. I haven’t talked. I’ve been a good mother. I’ve prayed. I’ve lived a life of purity and grace and asked for forgiveness every day for my sins. So why, Anna? Why now? What does he want from me? Why won’t he let me be?’ Mamma leans over the bed, grasping my shoulders, begging me to understand, to legitimise her narrative.
But something within me begins to break. Because I am starting to remember now, too, albeit faintly, those first few months. When we slept in the car and kept moving and driving, day after day. And I remember my infant frustration, telling her I was Emily, not Anna, and that I wanted to go back to my mummy and daddy. And her telling me to shush now, and giving me something that made me sleep, laced in milkshakes that were sweeter than anything I’d ever tasted, and sent a cold shock up my nose and eyes when I drank too much at once.
Then all at once, as if I’ve finally found the missing piece of the puzzle, I can see the face I have been longing to see but couldn’t: the face that has been haunting my dreams, begging me to remember it. Her rich brown hair; the coarse feel of it brushing my cheeks as she bent down to kiss me. Her wide brown eyes, which always seemed to have a wink in them, as she pulled me into a hug and called me her sweet girl. The shape of her chin. Her nose. Her ears. My mother. I remember my mother.
A fury inside me grows like a fireball, burning from the pit of my stomach and sending flashes to the tips of my fingers and toes. I thrash my legs against the covers and pull at my bonds: ‘Liar! They did love me,’ I spit. ‘You stole me from them!’
I watch the full horror of my words play on her face. And then something in her seems to shift. Her body slackens, like the full weight of it is finally sinking into her, and she looks at me with a mixture of pain, and fear, and anger, and something else. Something that is undeniably love.
‘I did.’ She hangs her head, smears a sweaty hand across her nose and mouth. ‘I took you, Anna. The Lord has judged me, and Father Paul is my punishment. He wants to take you from me, to punish me for what I did. All these years, he’s been waiting to strike, to find a way to hurt me the most. I can never escape him, Anna. And I can’t lose you.’ There’s something different in her voice – a resolve that comes over her. She steps away from the bed, out of the edge of my vision.
‘You won’t lose me, Mamma.’ My words flail in the air, desperate to draw her back to me. I can taste the remnants of medicine in the corners of my gums. The bitterness fortifies me, strengthens my desire to be free from this. ‘Let me go, and we’ll escape him together.’
‘I can’t.’
‘Come on, Mamma.’ She has crossed to the other side of the room, and I crane my neck to see her. ‘You have to let me go. He’s going to come again – we have to get away from here.’
‘It doesn’t matter, Anna.’ As she speaks, I hear a distant popping sound. ‘Wherever we go, whatever we do, he’ll find us.’ She steps into view, and I see she’s holding some sort of packet in her hand. Pop, pop, pop.
‘Mamma, what are you doing?’ I try to swallow down the panic in my voice. I recognise the packet now: the sleeping pills she’s always so quick to dispense.
‘Pray, Anna, and the Lord will show us the way.’ Her fingers push methodically into the back of the packet. ‘Pure in mind, in word, thought and deed, I ask You, Lord, to pay me heed.’
I see a pile of round, white pills growing in her hand. I feel sick. ‘Mamma, what are you going to do with those? Put them down. We have to get out of here before he comes again.’
‘Pure in mind, in word, thought and deed, I ask You, Lord, to pay me heed.’ She empties the packet, tosses it to the ground. ‘It won’t hurt, Anna. It’ll be just like going to sleep. Like turning off a light bulb. I’ll be right there with you, and then no one can ever harm us again. We don’t have to run any more. We can be together, you and me. No Father Paul, no Lilies. Together, for ever. And free.’
‘Mamma, no, you’re crazy. You can’t do this.’ I twist violently against the bed sheets as Mamma walks back to the bed, the pills in her outstretched hand.
Her prayers start up again, over and over, blindingly fast. ‘Pure in mind, in word, thought and deed, I ask You, Lord, to pay me heed.’
‘I said no!’ I wrench my wrists against the twine, and whether it really is a miracle or simply blind luck, I feel a sudden whoosh of release as the twine snaps free from the bed.
We both stare at my freed wrists, incredulous.
But there is little time for me to enjoy my release, because a sound intrudes inside the attic walls – the thudding at the front door. Louder, this time, methodical. And his voice, angry, insistent. Father Paul is back.
Mamma’s body goes rigid, her mouth gaping open on a silent scream. The pills drop from her hand and skitter against the floorboards. ‘No,’ she whispers, backing against the wall and cowering there. ‘No, no, no, no, no. Not yet. It’s not time. Not yet.’
‘Mary!’ This time his words are clear, his shouts echoing through the house. He crashes against the door so hard I’m sure it’ll break. ‘I know you’re in there. Open up.’
My limbs tense. Now I am free, every instinct is telling me to flee, to get away from here, from her. Run, as far away and as fast as I can. But then I look at her. Really look at her. Every muscle in her is twitching with fear. Her body sways, up, down, up, down, as every shout from Father Paul makes her shrink even further into herself. I can’t leave her to him.
‘Mamma,’ I say quietly, ‘we have to get out of here. We have to go.’
She shakes her head, tears pooling once again in her eyes. ‘There’s nowhere to go.’
I look beyond her, to the padlocked door that leads directly to Father Paul. ‘Mamma, we hav
e to.’ My eyes probe the corners of the room, searching desperately for an answer.
The crashing increases. It won’t be long until he breaks through the front door.
‘The window.’ I look over to the skylight. It’s high, but if we stand on the chair, we should be able to haul ourselves up onto the attic roof. From there, we can lower ourselves onto the roof below, use the drainpipe to help ourselves down and sneak into the bushes to get to the road.
My hands tremble. In my weakened state, I’m not sure I’ll have the energy to hold myself up, but I have to try. We have to try. I’m already up, out of the bed, limping across the room to drag the chair up to the window.
‘Mamma, come quickly. We don’t have much time.’ I stand on the chair, poised to force open the skylight. Mamma is still backed up against the wall, watching me in horror. ‘Mamma?’
She looks from the window to the padlocked door, and then to me. Her eyes pierce through me, a look of realisation and utter clarity on her face. ‘No, Anna.’ She speaks slowly, evenly. ‘I see now. The Lord is testing me. I could have saved her once, but I didn’t. This is my second chance.’ She backs away from the door and comes over to me. ‘You have to go.’
Tears spring to my eyes as I understand what she is saying. ‘No, Mamma, I can’t leave you to him. I—’ I can hear the sounds of the door yielding to Father Paul, the splintering of wood as it bends to his will. It won’t be long before he’s in.
‘Anna. Now.’ Mamma addresses me with the force that once upon a time would have struck fear in my heart. But not now. Now I know she’s doing it for me.
Slowly, I nod. Force open the window. When I turn around, Mamma is moving across the room, to the chest of drawers in the corner. She opens the top drawer, and I hear the same metallic clunk I heard before. Nausea runs through me. ‘Mamma?’
She doesn’t turn around.
Tears blur my vision as I pull myself up through the open window. The roof is slanted, fairly steep, but I take advantage of my bare feet to grip the tiles as I move in a crouch to the second level. I hear Father Paul fully now, his threats rendered surround-sound by the open air. I know if he sees me it’s game over, but he’s hidden from me by the porch, and once I lower myself into the backyard, I can pick my way through the bushes to get to the road.