by Ruth Harrow
'Hannah, don't be silly, Love. I've been walking up here regularly just fine, thank you very much. Every weekend for two years I've walked up this hill. Their Yorkshire puddings are worth every drop of sweat, I promise.'
Eva giggles and Will shrugs with a look that says, just leave it.
I look doubtfully towards the top of the slope. 'It looks like a dead end.'
Dad shakes his head. 'Only for cars. This is the quickest way when you cut through the trees at the top.'
The four of us pant and sweat our way up the steep gradient. Further up are just a handful of grand Victorian terraced houses with surely more bedrooms than Will and I would know what to do with. Back in York, these properties would fetch a fair bit, coveted by greedy investors and the dream of young couples wanting to start a family.
But here, the whole row of properties looks in danger of being swallowed up by the established trees that claw their way over the roof tiles. In the gentle summer breeze, the eager fingers scratch the few remaining mullioned windows to see the glorious light of day, free of MDF boards.
Each house is in the same state of disrepair. Clearly, nobody lives on this street. The old road is silent, the only sound is of our footsteps and our collective laboured breathing. I was sure I'd been aware of birdsong before stepping onto this road.
Grass forces its way through the original patterned tiles that lead up to each of the vast entrance porches. They are peppered here and there with broken bottles and I spot a faded syringe. I wish Eva would look away.
This street seems to have been cut off from the rest of the pretty, postcard village. Like a diseased limb, it has been cast off and left to decay on its own, left to rot back into nature. A scar kept hidden away from otherwise untainted beauty.
Even the ancient-looking red pillar box at the very top of the road has been boarded up to prevent any respectable village mail ending up inside.
Even though the muscles in my thighs are screaming, I look back over my shoulder down the hill and appreciate that once, these houses would have had a magnificent view. They would have overlooked the tops of the small cottages with a degree of superiority and the inhabitants would surely have fallen in love with the untouched countryside beyond the railway station. Now, however, the trees on the other side of the lane have grown unkempt and wild, blocking out most of what I know to be there with their thick branches laden with luscious evergreen leaves.
As we pass the last house in the row, I notice the board for the sitting room has been ripped away, leaving scraps of rotting wood in the already scruffy front yard. The effect is that of accidentally ripping off a sticking plaster before a wound is properly healed. The dilapidated innards of the house are exposed – the terracotta bricks surrounding the window frame are charred, the only remnant of the window frame is splintered and black.
I'm sure I don't imagine the smell of must and damp that spills out into the otherwise sweet warm air.
Roof tiles have broken rank and fallen in, leaving a way into the house for the elements and birds. But I am sure there are none, as there is no other trace of life other than our group walking past.
'What happened here, Granddad? What is this place? It looks like it's been set on fire.'
Dad is no longer the exuberant tour-guide all of a sudden. He seems hesitant.
In the overgrown grass beside the end of the terrace, I spot a rusting sign lying nestled in a bed of faded rubbish. The vintage lettering is so badly browned that I can hardly make out the words. But then I do and I feel as though I have swallowed a heavy block of ice.
Prospect Terrace
Realisation hits me and I glance over to Will who now walks beside Eva, looking vacantly at the ground beneath his boots as though he hasn't noticed.
The Wakefields lived here. They went about their business in the village just like anyone else. They bought food from the same shops, sent their children to the same schools as Will, April and I each attended. Paige Wakefield was even in my year.
But then she disappeared. Then her father was arrested.
It was just a short while later that someone set fire to the house. Whether by flame or by smoke, everyone inside was killed.
9
Dad finds his voice. Like Will, he seems unwilling to look at the property. 'Eh? This is just an old house, fallen into disrepair. The delinquents from the bad estates in the towns come over with all their friends to get up to all sorts. Police turn a blind eye. No one lives here any more.'
'Why not?'
Dad shrugs. 'Some developer from the city bought it a few years back, thinking of turning it into flats they were, but it never happened. Probably a problem with planning permission or some other red tape.'
Dad struggles for breath. 'Eva, Love, there's an extra roast potato waiting for you when we get to the pub if you can tell me what is unusual about this pillar box.'
He gestures with a weathered hand and we stop, all breathless, at the very crest of the road where the tarmac simply ends, rippled and crumbling into the dense green foliage.
'Um ... it's all boarded up?'
Dad swings his arms haughtily, his cheeks are blotchier than ever. 'That's not it.'
Eva continues to make guesses, and I feel an urge to speed her along with an answer but I'm not sure what Dad is getting at.
'Come on, you two,' I say. 'I'm starving. Let's get to lunch, shall we?'
'Oh, Hannah, give her a second. What's your hurry?'
I'm keen to get moving to the restaurant, but I have no appetite. I'm hyper-aware of the Wakefields' house and I keep my back to it, not daring to look.
I feel as though the property now takes on a presence of its own. Its breathing is steady, exhaling mouldy air silently into the sunshine. With the board torn away, it's as though the house has awoken, opened a sleepy eye with which to watch me intently. I feel self-conscious as I shift my weight from one foot to another, focussing on my nude canvas shoes.
Will drifts through the wooden pedestrian gate and wanders slowly into the trees waiting for us to catch up.
Eva shrugs, looking bewildered. 'I don't know, Granddad. People don't really use postboxes any more. I've never looked this close at one before.'
'You're not telling me you've never so much as sent a letter before, have you? Goodness gracious, Hannah. Haven't you taught this girl anything?'
I shrug. 'Most things are done online these days. We send occasion cards though.'
'Mum always handles that sort of thing,' Eva explains.
Dad shakes his head. 'Well, we will have to rectify that later. It's your Grandmother's birthday coming up soon. You'll have to send off a card before you leave. There's a more modern box near the railway station that us old people use.'
He explains that this particular pillar box is so old that it is inscribed with the initials G.R and not E.R as most other boxes are these days. Eva's eyes look vacant and glassy as she discovers that the revelation is a lot less interesting than she must have imagined.
Now that Dad explains it, I remember him telling me the same thing when I was little. I wonder if it was the same old red box? Was I standing just feet away from the Wakefields' house then? Did they even live here at that time? Perhaps they saw out the window a man stooping over to talk to his young daughter.
Goosebumps erupt on my forearms and I wrap them around myself, wishing my husband was still holding my hand.
As we enter the thicket of trees, we catch up with Will who falls back to let his father-in-law once again lead the way. His expression is inscrutable.
Our trudge over the muddy forest floor leads us through the furthest end of Little Bishopsford's wood and onto the edge of a modern housing estate.
Skirting around the outside of the smart detached houses and bungalows, we eventually reach the Kings Arms; a modern building styled with character Tudor frontage to give it the look of a traditional pub and restaurant.
Dad orders us all a Sunday Roast. And when our food arrives, he insists o
n giving Eva an extra potato, even though she didn't answer his question correctly.
I fork my way through my lunch, acutely aware of how large and fatty it is and how I should really be cutting down. My weight has finally slipped into the next dress size up, after threatening to do so ever since Eva was born. Clothes sit in my wardrobe at home, bought with Will in mind that I haven't been able to wear yet. I just need to get back into shape first so I can get his attention when I wear them.
We sit at a table in front of large glass windows, through which, the beer garden is visible. There is a neatly cut square of green grass and in the corner sits a small children's play area. Dotted here and there are picnic benches which are heaving with families like us – multiple generations. In-laws with grandchildren on their lap. A family eating outside has a baby, and I watch with a slight wrench as the grandmother feeds it some carrot dipped in gravy. They all look so happy together.
For a long while now I have wanted another child – a sibling for Eva. But Will has always made it clear that our daughter is more than enough. I would be devastated if she ever found out, but Eva wasn't planned.
At that time it had felt too soon in my career to break it up with maternity leave, Will and I hadn't bought a place together yet and we were completely unprepared. But somehow we did it and now we have Eva, and I would do it all again to get her. I just wish we had a further addition to our family. Now approaching my late-thirties, I feel like time is running out.
Eva is the first to finish her meal and she moves outside to one of the unoccupied benches to accept a video-call from one of her school friends.
There had been an argument when I had told her that we would be staying away for part of the summer holidays. We had already decided to skip a holiday abroad this year to save the funds towards a bigger house. But one of Eva's friends had managed to arrange her parents' house to herself for a weekend and my daughter had plans to attend the party.
When we announced that we were coming to Little Bishopsford, Eva sulked in her room for the rest of the day. But the next morning, she was uncharacteristically placid so soon after such a flare-up. I suspect Will had intervened and I am grateful.
Dad asks Will how his work is going as I finish eating. It's nice to hear my husband talking to my father as though they are good friends. If I ignore Will's tense body language and the tapping of his foot beneath the table, I could even pretend he is happy to be here.
I sense my husband glance at me and realise that I am chewing the inside of my cheek – something I do when I'm nervous. I run my tongue around my mouth and feel broken inflamed skin; I must have been nibbling away all morning and not noticed.
As Will explains his computer virus removal service, I take a deep slow breath, being as subtle as I can.
It was my husband that taught me the technique years ago when we first got together. A certain number of breaths in a minute will calm the body, slow a pounding heart. He had learned how to calm himself whilst alone in his bedroom as a child, listening to his parents rowing downstairs.
In my early twenties, I suffered terribly with anxiety, in my teens too. But Will wasn't there to see it until after I left Uni. He simply appeared in my life when I needed him the most.
I had just started working in my first job in York as a teaching assistant when I met him again. I had been on a night out in Leeds with my new colleagues. I couldn't believe that Will and I had simply run into each other by chance after so many years.
When I saw him again, the fire in me was relit and I knew I couldn't hope to put it out. All my old feelings rushed back, and then some.
His mother had moved to France and he had left Manchester to set up his own computer repair business, coincidentally, in York.
I didn't intend for it to happen, but that night, we clicked. We sent endless messages to each other over the next few weeks and eventually, we moved in together. It didn't take much thought, it had just felt right.
Will had been April's childhood boyfriend. A bit of experimental mucking about that amounted to nothing more than a few months. It was never serious.
I try not to think of my sister's reaction, however, when she found out about us.
Will's phone rings now with a work call and he goes outside to take it, moving beyond Eva and the busy picnic tables of the garden until he is out of sight.
Dad waves at someone over my shoulder and I look around and see Penny, Dad's cleaner appear at our table with a surly looking man in a navy polo shirt that matches hers.
'Hiya,' she says brightly. The deep lines around her eyes crease.
'Hello again,' I say.
She turns to my father. 'Are we still on for that dinner on Thursday, Tony?'
'Eh?' It's clear Dad has forgotten. 'Oh, of course, Penny. Wouldn't miss it for the world. We'll have a few more around the table than usual though. Will you be joining us too, David?'
The stringy man beside Penny shakes his head, unsmiling. 'Can't. Penny is sending me out on a job that night.'
'Oh, can't you do it another time?'
David shrugs. 'No. It's an office, has to be done out of hours.'
'Another time, perhaps.'
I accidentally catch David's eye before he drifts over to a table around the other side of the bar. Penny says her goodbyes with a large toothy smile and follows.
'I didn't realise you and Penny knew each other so well,' I say, taking a sip of my drink. I don't know what is bothering me. Mum and Dad have been divorced for years. My father could have been well-and-truly remarried by now if he had wanted to. I suppose I always thought he was holding out for Mum to go back to him. But she never has.
Dad shrugs, turning his pint around on the coaster unnecessarily. 'Penny's good company. She's smart too, Hannah. She runs her own cleaning business. You would like her if you got to know her a bit, and you'll get a chance on Thursday.'
'Does David usually join you?'
'Eh? No, not really. Penny dragged him along once, but he looked like he couldn't get away quick enough, poor lad. He isn't very sociable. I guess Penny inherited all the chatty genes.'
'Inherited? Are they related?'
'David is Penny's brother.'
'Oh.' I think of David's wild dark hair and Penny's dry, blonde bob. 'They don't look much alike.'
Dad shrugs and looks out the window. 'Looks like Eva has made a friend.'
I look out the window too and see Eva's bench now occupies two other girls who look about her age. From this distance, I can make out awkward introductory chatting.
I imagine through the glass the three girls are feigning a dislike of school and slagging off their parents with an accompaniment of hair flicking and casual shrugs. I know Eva isn't really like that. She struggles to fit in. Will says I don't give her enough freedom.
I've only ever tried to keep her safe.
'Maybe it's time we left, Dad. 'I don't want Eva to get too attached and wander off somewhere with those girls, whoever they are.'
Now that I look at them again, I see they are probably at least a year or two older than my daughter. Possibly even in the next year up in school. That can mean a whole different league at that sort of age.
'Eh? I haven't even finished my drink, yet. And where has Will got to? What's the rush?'
'I just don't like Eva talking to strangers, that's all.'
'Oh, don't worry, Hannah. Those are the Hart twins. They are all right. It's their parents that live in the converted village hall I showed you earlier.'
'Hmm.' Now it is my turn to fiddle with my coaster, flattening the peeling edge with my fingernail.
'Hannah, you worry too much. You always have done. I play a good game of golf with Rodger Hart now and then. They are a good family.'
My father has always been very well respected by the other villagers, so I know what it means to come from a good family here. Dad seems to think it means something like you are surrounded by some sort of invisible cocoon. It seems to come with the expectation th
at your children will always be safe in the community, looked after by the others.
I suppose I absorbed that mentality when I was little. For a while, I even believed it.
That is why it came as such a shock when I learned it wasn't true.
Harm was able to reach out and snatch me anyway.
10
Saturday 17th July 1993
I've kept the promise to myself and not played with anything remotely childish since Will handed me a little kids toy as a present. I haven't thrown it in the back of my closet with my other things though. I keep it in the drawer of my bedside cabinet and look at it when I need cheering up.
There is something about the fact that Will thought of me enough to buy me a gift that causes an unfamiliar something to stir in my stomach; it isn't an unpleasant feeling either.
My stomach twists again and I get another jolt when I think that I will be seeing Will later.
He and April invited me to the cinema to see Jurassic Park. It actually seemed to be Will's idea that I should accompany the pair. April didn't seem so keen on the thought.
'She'll be too scared,' she said with a dismissive scoff. 'I think we'll be OK if we went on our own, though. Don't you think, Will?'
Somehow though Will managed to talk her into it. I just hope it isn't as scary as April made out. I don't want to look like a chicken in front of either of them.
I'm lying on my bed staring at the ceiling and letting my thoughts of Will wander, pondering sitting beside him in the dark when my bedroom door is pushed wide open.
It makes me jump and I sit bolt upright, as though my treacherous thoughts have given me away.
April sweeps over the threshold and drops herself down on the bed next to me. I get a hit of Mum's best perfume as she places a cluster of pearlescent fabric on my lap.
'What's this?'
April laughs and looks at me as though I'm mad. 'Pick it up and have a look. We designed it together, remember? Have you forgotten your own drawing?'
Puzzled and clueless, I pick up the fabric, shiny and sheer beneath my fingers. It is a miniature dress, just large enough to fit snugly upon a Barbie doll.