Shadow of a Doubt

by Michelle Davies

  Karen chews her bottom lip anxiously as she burrows her chin into the collar of her coat to stave off the evening chill. If Cara is keeping all the lights on again, should she intervene? It might be a way to get her to leave Heldean after all. Yet Tishk’s comment about giving Cara a second chances needles her and she hasn’t forgotten either that it was at her urging that Anita called a doctor out to examine Cara in the days after Matty’s death. The doctor took one look at her and suggested an immediate psychiatric referral, which the police agreed to as they were getting nowhere with their questioning. How would it look if she were the one who has Cara carted off again?

  Karen stares up at the house, contemplating whether to seek help again for her niece and knowing it probably wouldn’t be welcomed if she did. What would Anita want her to do in this circumstance? On that thought, she exhales a long, tremulous sigh. The truth is, she has no idea how her sister would want her to react. Cara’s hospitalisation was a topic Anita would not discuss with anyone, not even Karen, no matter how hard she tried to get her to open up. It was almost as though Anita did not want to acknowledge it was a psychological illness that had caused Cara to hurt Matty.

  Yet, in the immediate aftermath of Cara’s admittance to the Peachick, Anita and Paul would catch the train to London every other day to visit her. The doctors treating Cara told them that, with the right treatment and support, she should make a good enough recovery to lead a normal life into adulthood, albeit one underpinned by necessary medication. Paul, although distraught by Matty’s death, had been fully committed to welcoming Cara home when she was deemed fit for release – he told Karen he couldn’t bear the thought of losing her as well and he accepted it was her illness that had made her commit such a terrible act of violence.

  A couple of weeks in, however, Anita stopped going and then announced she was done with her daughter. Cara would never be returning home to them. Not even Paul’s suggestion of a move away from Heldean, a fresh start, could persuade her to rethink her devastating proclamation. Where they lived wasn’t the problem, Anita told him, it was Cara. She could not be her mother any more, not now, nor in the future. If he insisted on Cara coming home, she would leave him.

  A desperate Paul had relayed this to Karen, thinking that if anyone could change Anita’s mind it would be her. But she actually agreed it might be better for Anita to grieve for Matty without Cara’s presence being a continual reminder of her loss; it was obvious Anita was never going to be able to forgive her daughter.

  Karen shivers into the depths of her collar again as she remembers the conversation she and her sister had about it, when she said she would support her decision to have Cara fostered. It wasn’t an easy thing for her to say, but she truly felt that it was in everyone’s best interests – Cara’s included. Living with a parent who hated her guts was surely worse than being fostered by people who could properly care for her? That Anne who came with Cara to the will reading did seem nice, Karen thinks.

  It left Paul facing a dilemma of monstrous proportions: keep his child or lose his wife. In the end, he chose Anita, for reasons he never articulated to Karen, their relationship strained from that moment. But it was obvious the guilt of giving up Cara needled him like a rash, never giving him a moment’s peace, and when the accident investigators ruled there was no mechanical reason for his car to have veered across the motorway into the side of an articulated lorry one March evening six years later, Karen knew in her heart he had crashed it deliberately. As much as he loved Anita, he could no longer live with himself for agreeing to banish their daughter.

  Karen wipes a tear away. Her and Paul’s relationship was never the same after she sided with Anita – he was staggered she had so little empathy for Cara and would rather see her cast out of the family than support her recovery. Now, on reflection, with Tishk’s comment about how Cara must have suffered being parted from her parents ringing in her ears, Karen realises she was wrong not to care. She should’ve thought more about her niece’s experience: instead, her personal anger at Matty’s death meant her focus was always on Anita and how she was coping and feeling.

  She stares up at the illuminated house again. The lights all being on does feel like an ominous warning sign that more trouble is approaching. Should she give Cara another chance, as Tishk suggested, and try to help her this time before it’s too late again?

  Wiping another tear, Karen pulls her phone out of her pocket, her intention being to call Gary and ask him to come straight to Parsons Close instead of going home. He knows all about Cara’s obsession with the lights and might have an idea what they should do now about it. But before she can make the call, a car suddenly roars into the close and screeches to a halt outside number 16. A suited man with lightly greying hair climbs out of the driver’s seat and in his hand he is holding a large, white foolscap envelope. Karen frowns as the man heads towards the house.

  Pocketing her phone again, Karen retreats a few doors down to a house with a lofty hedge growing along its perimeter that can shield her from view. The man is in the porch now, ringing the doorbell. He appears agitated and twice checks his watch before ringing the bell again. A few moments later, the door opens a fraction and Cara peers nervously through the gap, her eyes darting from side to side. Karen is shocked by how dishevelled she is, her hair a tufted, unwashed mess and dark circles underlining her eyes.

  Karen steps into full view of the front door, all thoughts of hiding herself evaporated. Cara sees her and frowns.

  ‘Are you spying on me?’ she hollers over her visitor’s shoulder.

  The man turns round and his eyes narrow as he stares at Karen, as though he is trying to place her.

  ‘Of course I’m not. I was just passing,’ she says, stepping forward to the foot of the driveway.

  ‘I don’t believe you,’ Cara snarls.

  She pulls the front door wide open and comes out into the porch. The man, who looks perturbed, shuffles to one side to make room for her.

  ‘I know what you’re doing,’ Cara continues, her voice still raised. ‘It’s you, isn’t it? You’re the one coming into my house and trying to scare me.’

  Karen shakes her head. ‘I haven’t set foot inside since the day you wanted to take my key off me.’

  ‘I don’t believe you. I know what you’re trying to do. It’s because I haven’t left like you told me to.’

  The man clears his throat. ‘I think it might be better if you went,’ he says to Karen. ‘Ms Marshall is obviously upset about something and you being here seems to be making it worse.’

  ‘Who are you?’ Karen asks him, annoyed.

  ‘Not that it’s any of your business, but he’s the estate agent,’ says Cara. ‘And he’s right – I want you to leave me alone.’

  Karen ignores her. ‘Are you from Leonards? This was my sister’s house and I arranged the valuation with your office a few months ago. My husband Gary showed you around.’

  The man comes down the driveway after saying ‘Leave this to me’ in an aside to Cara.

  ‘Yes, I’m Ian Leonard,’ he tells Karen, shaking her hand. He glances back at Cara, who is watching them, arms folded, face as thunderous as storm clouds. ‘Your niece really would like you to leave,’ he says apologetically.

  Karen nods. ‘Can I ask you a favour before I go? I’m worried about Cara. If I call you tomorrow, will you let me know if she’s okay? It’s because of all the lights being on––’

  The estate agent interrupts her worriedly. ‘The lights?’

  ‘It’s hard to explain, but the lights being on is significant.’

  ‘Ms Marshall is my client and while there is no professional law that requires me not to discuss my dealings with her, I am not comfortable telling tales on her,’ says Leonard awkwardly.

  Cara chooses that moment to remind them both that she’s still there. ‘What is she saying?’ she shouts, her tone brittle with anger.

  ‘I should go. I’m sorry,’ says Leonard, and he scurries back up the driveway
. Cara marches into the house and he follows her, pulling the door closed behind them.

  Fighting back fresh tears, Karen crosses the road to go home. She has a knot in her stomach that’s left no room for appetite, so Gary will have to get the fish and chips himself if he wants them.

  Suddenly, behind her, she hears someone call out her name. Turning round, she sees Heather, the woman who lives in the house opposite Anita’s, bearing down on her.

  ‘I’m glad I caught you,’ says Heather breathlessly as she chugs down the path towards her. ‘Have you got a minute?’

  ‘Um, I guess.’ Karen doesn’t know her that well and is surprised she wants to talk to her.

  The neighbour pulls her cardigan tightly around her middle. She’s wearing it over legging-style pyjamas and her feet are burrowed inside booted slippers. ‘Blimey, it’s nippy out here,’ she says with a shiver.

  Karen doesn’t want to get drawn into a chat about the weather. ‘Is everything okay?’ she asks.

  ‘No, it’s not. It’s your niece. I know it’s not your problem now as the house is hers, but she’s driving us mad. The lights are left on all night and the brightness keeps us awake, then she keeps yelling in the middle of the night and that sets that bloody dog of hers off. Between the lights, her and the barking, we’re not getting a wink of sleep.’

  Karen is alarmed. ‘Yelling what?’

  ‘Dunno. We’re too far away to make out what she’s saying and it’s so late we don’t like to go over. But it’s loud and it’s getting out of hand and I was hoping you could have a word with her.’

  ‘I’m sorry you’re being disturbed, but as you said, it’s her house now. There’s nothing I can do.’

  ‘Why not?’ Heather huffs. ‘We’re not the only ones getting fed up. I think the only person not bothered out of the entire street is Tishk, because he’s friendly with her. She’s your niece, why won’t you speak to her about it?’

  ‘We’re not close. She won’t listen to me.’

  Heather’s lips pucker with obvious annoyance. ‘Look, I’m trying to be nice about this, because I always got on with your sister. She was a nice woman. But letting her daughter return was a terrible mistake. We’re all scared of what she might do. We all know what she’s capable of.’

  Heather’s words hang in the cold air between them, the unpalatable truth out there for all to hear.

  ‘That was a long time ago. Cara spent a long time in hospital being treated,’ says Karen falteringly. ‘The doctors said she was better––’

  ‘Your sister didn’t think so,’ Heather scoffs. ‘Why wait until she was dead and out of the way to invite her back otherwise?’

  The woman has a point, Karen thinks uneasily. Anita did make a song and dance about wanting Cara to return to Heldean – but only after her death. Had she suspected it might be problematic and that’s why she didn’t want to be around to witness it? What had she hoped to achieve by Cara coming back anyway? Anita swore it was because she wanted to make amends, but what if, it suddenly occurs to Karen, her sister was lying and she’s now an unwitting part of making Cara suffer for what she did all those years ago? Being back in the house might be triggering a repeat of her behaviour – the lights suggest so – yet this time there would be no leniency. Cara is an adult now, not a child below the age of criminality. If anything were to happen, she wouldn’t escape punishment so easily – she’d either be recommitted to hospital or imprisoned, and as much as Karen wants Cara out of Heldean, she wouldn’t wish either scenario upon her.

  She begins to back away from Heather, who is still in full flow, complaining about the noise.

  ‘I have to go,’ she says weakly.

  ‘What? No, wait, I haven’t finished––’

  Karen turns and flees, but she can’t outrun the unspeakable thought coursing through her mind – what if Anita’s plan all along was to see Cara locked away again?

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Cara

  Ian Leonard follows me into the kitchen. I do not ask him if he wants a glass of wine, I just pour it anyway. If he doesn’t drink it, I will.

  ‘What did my aunt say to you?’ I ask, thrusting the glass at him. He accepts it, but puts it straight back down on the counter.

  ‘She asked me to let her know how you were. She said she was worried about you. I said no,’ he adds hastily. ‘I don’t want to get in the middle of a family dispute, if that’s what this is.’ He holds up a large white envelope. ‘I only came round because the electronic signature document you emailed back to the office corrupted, so I thought, to be on the safe side, we should do it the old-fashioned way. This is the contract for you to sign in person.’

  ‘I could’ve come into the office.’

  ‘It’s no trouble, it’s on my way home.’

  I take the envelope from him, then waggle my glass of wine at him. ‘Are you sure you won’t join me? It is Friday night, after all.’

  He hesitates and I imagine he’s wondering what my motive is in asking him. I’ll flatter him by not explaining the truth: it’s not that I want to have a drink with him; I just don’t want to drink alone. He could be anybody, frankly.

  His face breaks into a grin. ‘Okay, but just the one, otherwise I won’t be able to drive home.’

  An hour and two large glasses later, he resolves to leave his car and get a taxi back.

  To be fair, as drinking companions go, I could have picked worse. Leonard is easy on the eye and while he does have that annoying way of speaking, he’s entertaining with it. He’s been regaling me with amusing stories about the horrors he’s come across while valuing houses and I splutter a mouthful of wine down my front when he tells me about an elderly woman who was selling up to go into a nursing home, who, an hour before completion, told him she hadn’t packed up her house to move because she thought selling included the entire contents as well.

  ‘What did you do?’ I ask, wiping my mouth.

  ‘I couldn’t get professional movers at such short notice, so I booked the buyers into the best hotel in town for the night, hired a lorry and paid everyone in the office triple time to work through the night to get it packed.’

  We both laugh and, after pouring us both more wine, I thank him.

  ‘What for?’

  ‘This. Being normal. Chatting.’ I pause. ‘For not treating me like I’m the Antichrist.’

  It is thanks to him that I am calmer now. Seeing Karen standing in the street like she owned it made me so angry I couldn’t help but lash out.

  Leonard shifts in his seat, causing his suit jacket to slip on the back of the chair where he’d hung it. He doesn’t notice and the jacket remains coquettishly draped from one shoulder.

  ‘I just want to sell your house,’ he says matter-of-factly. ‘Anything else is irrelevant.’

  I am not disappointed this is purely a business transaction for him. It makes it easier. I’m still in no rush to get the house on the market, though. Not before I get to the bottom of why Mum left it to me, which I’m still drawing a blank on despite turning the house upside down again and even venturing into the loft, where I found nothing but rolls of fibrous insulation laid between the joists.

  I’ve managed to swallow my fear about delving further into Limey Stan too, although, admittedly, that hasn’t progressed much either beyond a trawl of the internet for the latest scientific explanations of paranormal events. I’ve been too exhausted to do more, because despite taking my medication, I have managed only three hours’ sleep in total since Wednesday when I found the table upside down. No matter what I take, I can’t sleep. So, as a consequence, I’m shattered and can barely think straight, let alone try to piece together proof of what killed my brother.

  Mustard trots into the kitchen from the front room, where he’s been asleep himself for the past couple of hours. He goes straight to greet Leonard, tail wagging.

  ‘You should be honoured, he doesn’t like most men,’ I say, smiling.

  ‘I grew up owning dogs,’ Leo
nard answers, ruffling Mustard’s ears with both hands. Then he looks up at me. ‘Can I ask you something?’

  I shrug a yes.

  ‘Your aunt mentioned she was concerned all the lights were on …’

  Panic flutters up inside me and I fight to keep a straight face. I know why my aunt brought it up with him. She remembers.

  ‘Anything that woman says is a lie,’ I say, hoping my voice sounds normal. ‘She never believed me and she wants me gone again. She even asked me how much it would take me to leave.’

  He ignores the last remark. ‘She never believed you about what?’

  ‘That I was being honest.’

  ‘About what?’ he presses.

  I swallow hard, the irony of what I’m about to say to the man selling my house not lost on me. ‘About thinking the house was haunted.’

  Give him his due, he doesn’t react in the slightest. Not even a twitch.

  ‘When I was admitted to hospital after my brother died, I was diagnosed with delusional disorder brought on by stress,’ I plough on, ‘and my psychiatrist said it was the illness which made me think I’d seen and heard a ghost. It didn’t feel like that at the time, though – it felt real.’

  I don’t know why I am telling Leonard this. Possibly because he has the kind of face that invites you to open up and makes you think he will be receptive, but also I think it’s because I really need to talk about it to someone, anyone. Since I wrote my list yesterday, I’ve kept Tishk at arm’s-length, not inviting him in when he pops round and ignoring his texts.

  I take a sip of my drink. ‘How much do you know about the Heldean Haunting?’ Setting my glass down, I make speech marks in the air with my fingers, my pretence at making light of it.