by Nicole Trope
I look through the peephole but the man standing there has his head down. It’s probably a delivery, I reason, squaring my shoulders and pulling open the door.
The young gardener from the Green Gate is standing on my front step.
I just stare at him for a moment and then he smiles at me. ‘Hello, Alice,’ he says.
‘Hello,’ I reply. I wait for him to say something else. I have no idea what he’s doing here. I start to say something but then realise I don’t know what to say. He must be here to pay his respects. I wonder why he didn’t come to the funeral.
‘I’m sorry about your mother,’ he says slowly.
‘Thank you.’ I nod.
‘Can I come in?’ he asks. It’s a simple enough request but when he smiles again, my instinct prickles. There is something about the way he is looking at me. I find myself angry at Anika or whoever has provided him with my address. Surely that’s not allowed?
‘I’m actually quite busy at the moment,’ I reply. ‘But thanks for coming. I know my mother liked you.’
‘Yeah,’ he says. He looks behind him. ‘She’s here,’ he calls. Then he looks back at me.
‘Thank you again, but…’ I begin but he turns and walks away, almost running down the front path to get to the gate and the street, and then, from the side of the door, someone else fills my vision.
It’s the older man, the other gardener. He is wearing his cap but as I look at him, he pulls it off his head and I see his drawn, wrinkled face. Large brown liver spots cover his hands and cheeks. His grey beard is bedraggled and his hair is sparse on top. His eyes are sunken into his skull. I have no idea why Ed ran off but as I look into the man’s eyes something inside me shudders and my skin prickles all over. I am suddenly afraid, very afraid. I need to slam the door. I start to push against it with everything I have but he sticks his foot in the gap. I hear him shout, ‘Ouch, you bitch!’ Then he pushes the door open, forcing me backwards.
He smiles at me and it is only then that I recognise the vastly changed man before me. The monster who physically and sexually and emotionally abused me for years. His yellow teeth, his stench, are imprinted on my brain. As he steps closer, I inhale the thick smell of a committed cigarette smoker as well as the dark, sweaty scent of beer.
Vernon.
‘Look a bit different, don’t I? Liver cancer. I didn’t deserve it after all I’ve been through but there you go. We don’t always get what we deserve, but today, today you’re going to be one of the lucky ones because you… you, Alice, are getting exactly what you deserve.’
Thirty-Nine
Molly
* * *
Molly programs the address into her GPS with shaking hands.
‘She may not be your sister,’ she says to herself. ‘This may all just be a coincidence of timing and your own imagination.’
The afternoon sun glares through her windscreen, making her squint as she drives. She slips her sunglasses onto her face but they do little to help. Her GPS tells her she will be at the house in ten minutes. The school traffic has yet to begin and the afternoon rush hour hasn’t started yet, giving Molly a clear run.
She glances at the houses she passes. Greenwich is a more established and expensive suburb than where she lives. Liquidambar trees standing naked in the winter wind line the wide streets.
Molly parks outside the house on the nearly empty road. All of the homes have double or even triple garages so Molly assumes that everyone is either at work or parked snugly inside.
She has never been envious of those with more money, of people with large mansions and fancy cars, because she has never thought those things would make her happy. She knows that when Peter becomes a partner at his firm, they will be well off, more well off than she’s ever experienced, but she has never really cared whether that does or doesn’t happen.
Now, looking at the gabled two- and three-storey houses in the well-kept street, she feels a touch of longing for a home that’s so beautiful, so large and inviting. She imagines that the back gardens hold sparkling pools and tennis courts, wonders what life is like for the people who live in these homes.
‘So, what now, baby?’ she says, stroking her stomach. She feels a fluttering inside her and smiles. It’s too early for her to feel any kicking, she knows, and what she feels are nerves and anxiety, but the fluttering makes her feel as though the baby understands where they are and what she’s about to do.
She climbs out of the car, her heart rate accelerating. Meredith, or Alice, she corrects herself, could be out or she could have recently moved. If she’s home, she could have a sophisticated security system and refuse to answer the door, or she could answer and when Molly explains, she could slam the door in her face and call the police.
Or she could not be her sister at all. She could feel sorry for Molly and her ridiculous quest to find the family who never wanted her, and she could prove to Molly that her little sister is dead and send her away with no more answers. Molly would have to admit then that she will never find the truth about her past. The road comes back to her, the road she travelled alone. Even though she is surrounded by people who love her, she knows that there will always be that well of loneliness inside her if she cannot find out who she is and where she came from.
‘Go to sleep, little one,’ Molly hears as she stands on the pavement, taking deep breaths. The words her sister said. Are these the words of a memory or the words of her imagination?
Molly stands at the arched front gate for a moment before giving it a push. It’s not locked, sliding open. The house has a steeply angled roof and small windows at the top. Molly imagines an attic room where she could sit and drink tea and stare out into the street, watching the seasons change.
A neatly tended garden path made from large stepping stones leads to the front door and Molly smiles, despite her nerves. Large evergreen trees block most of the house from the street, protecting those inside from being seen.
It’s a lovely home, old but charming, and she feels a moment of happiness for Meredith or Alice, that after the terrible childhood she endured she has found herself in a happy marriage, perhaps with children, and a home straight out of a fairy tale. She hopes that Alice is happy now, that she has managed to leave behind the horrors of her past, and then she feels momentarily guilty at what she is about to do. Perhaps this will be too much. If she is her sister, what terrible memories will she be bringing with her? What will she force this woman to relive, and how can she do that to someone when she has been asked not to?
But it is too late to turn back. She takes slow steps up the stone path, admiring the rich red of begonias clashing with bright purple sage.
At the door she stares at the large round iron ring for a moment. It could be a door knocker or it could simply be for decoration. She searches the walls either side of the door but finds nothing.
Taking a deep breath, she lifts the iron ring, liking its solid weight. She lets it fall once before repeating the action. Then she stands and waits.
Forty
Alice
* * *
I step back, further away from him. He is unrecognisable as the man who hurt me. A third of his size, his body eaten away by the cancer that looks only days away from killing him. He looks ancient but I know he can only be in his late sixties.
‘You’re… you’re…’ I stutter, ‘you’re in prison.’
‘Was.’ He smiles. ‘But they let you out when you’re dying. Ed was good enough to say I could come and stay with him. His mother, my bitch sister, hated me, told all sorts of lies about me, but Ed and I get along all right and she’s dead now – went nuts just like Maggie. Ed was the only one who wrote to me in prison. He told me he’d found Maggie at the same home his mother was at – imagine that? I never thought I’d get to do anything about that but then… along came cancer. I’ve waited for this a long time, Alice. A really long time.’
I step back further, terror clawing at my skin. My phone is in the kitchen. I need to
get to the kitchen. How quickly could I get there? I take another small step backwards and he takes one towards me.
‘There’s only one thing I need to get right with before I die; well, there was more than one but Maggie’s gone now, isn’t she. Didn’t take much.’
I hear what he is saying but cannot quite comprehend it. What did he do to my mother?
‘They were so excited that Ed – lovely Ed – brought his uncle in to help with the garden. They don’t ask volunteers about their history. Free is free, right?’
My stomach turns and my knees sag a little. I feel so stupid for not recognising him. How could I have missed him? He has stalked my nightmares for years. But back then he was a big man, a giant scary man with a belly that hung grotesquely over his belt, with a pink shiny face from all the alcohol abuse. I could never have imagined he would turn into this.
‘You look more like your mother now, skinny and dry, but that’s fine. I don’t want to touch you. You’re not my type. I prefer a fresher face, a smoother body. You liked it when I touched you, didn’t you, Alice? Oh, you pretended you didn’t, but I know you did. You wanted it. Had a bit of fight in you too. I like a woman with fight.’ His dull blue eyes are bright for a moment and he licks his dry lips.
‘I wasn’t a woman,’ I croak.
‘You were woman enough.’ He smiles and I feel sick to my stomach.
‘You need to leave,’ I say, my trembling voice suddenly high and squeaky. I move slowly backwards again, heading for my kitchen. He doesn’t look very strong, this Vernon, but I am still beyond terrified of him. I know what he is capable of. Images of him above me, of his hands all over me, of his fists battering at me, his feet kicking out at me assault me, flashing rapidly through my brain. I’m going to be sick. I gasp desperately, unable to get enough air into my lungs.
‘I have this here, see,’ says Vernon, and he pulls a large knife out of the back of his trousers.
‘You… you… you have to go,’ I try desperately as I shiver at the sight of the knife. He wants to hurt me, to really hurt me, to even kill me.
‘Nice place,’ he says, looking around the living room as I continue taking small steps backwards, and he follows, stepping forward.
‘What do you want? Why are you here?’
‘I want you to say sorry for what you did, to be sorry for what you did. You took my Lilly away from me. She was beautiful, my Lilly. Her skin was so soft, and her face was so pretty, and she’s gone because of you.’
I am nearly in the kitchen and I risk a quick look behind me, spotting my phone in its dark red case on the kitchen table. Would I even have time to get the words out to the police before he catches me? How fast can I move?
I think the door from the kitchen that leads to the terrace is unlocked after I went out there to refill the bird feeder. Did I lock it? I don’t think I locked it. If I can grab my phone and get out the door, I can run across the garden and jump over the back fence. Mrs Chan is always home. How fast can I run? How fast can he run?
‘What happened to Lilly wasn’t my fault,’ I say, knowing that I need to keep him talking as I mentally plan the moves I need to make.
‘Course it was your fault. You were supposed to be taking care of her. You knew your useless mother wasn’t doing it. I just want to know how you did it. Where did she go? Where did you take her? You said she was dead. How did you know she was dead? What did you do to my Lilly?’
‘I never meant… I never meant,’ I stutter.
‘Yes, you did!’ he roars, waving the knife, and spit lands on my cheek. I cannot help the shudder of revulsion that runs through my body.
‘You were jealous of her because she was so soft and so sweet. You were jealous. Tell me! Tell me now how she died.’
‘It was an accident… a car… a car accident.’
For a moment he looks like he’s going to cry. ‘A car accident? But why was she in a car? Why was she near a road? You were supposed to be watching her.’
‘I…’ but I can’t say anything. What am I going to tell him? That I was the reason she was in the car? That she wasn’t just on the road but in a stranger’s car? I shake my head.
‘It’s your fault. You didn’t keep her safe. You basically killed her. And now I’m going to kill you. I’ll slice you up nice and neat, Alice, and then…’ He looks at the photos on the wall in the living room, photos of my boys from the time they were babies that cover one whole wall. ‘And then,’ he says slowly, ‘then I’m going to wait for your little boys and I’m going to kill each one of them, just like that.’ He snaps his fingers. He starts laughing. Seconds later his laughter turns into a hacking cough and he doubles over, gasping and wheezing. I see my chance.
I dart into the kitchen and grab my phone. My hand is on the door handle when I feel him behind me. He grabs my hair, yanking me back hard, forcing me to lose my balance. I land on the floor with a thud and he holds the knife up to my neck.
‘Don’t try that again.’ He spits right into my face and I feel bile rise up in my throat. ‘Don’t fucking try that again.’
‘Please,’ I whimper. I hate myself for how weak I sound. I’m not ten years old anymore. Logically I know that. He is old and he is debilitated by illness, I know that. But my body, my heart, the small child inside me who was sent flying across the room by his giant, nicotine-stained hand, cannot understand that.
‘I was a good dad. I was good but your mother was a rotten mother and you were a shit sister. You should have kept her safe. But you didn’t and now I have nothing and no one to leave behind. She could have grown up and gotten married, had kids… anything could have happened. I would have been a good grandfather. I know I would have. But I have nothing because of you. No one’s going to care when I’m gone, Alice, and that’s your fault. All I had left of her was that stupid stuffed frog and her blanket – can you imagine how that made me feel? You did that. I bet that was what you wanted all along.’
He wipes at his face with the hand not holding the knife and I realise he is shedding a few tears of self-pity. He is clearly absolutely mad, moving from laughter to tears in a moment, and I am certain that he does mean to kill me and then attack my family. He is dying and he is sorry for himself and cannot take any responsibility for what he did and the life he created. He is actually sorry for himself.
I think about my boys, about the minutes that are ticking away until pickup time. I won’t be there for them. For the first time in their lives I won’t be there. And then they will come home and find me. I cannot stop the tears from falling.
‘Tell me you’re sorry, Alice,’ he says menacingly, tears disappearing into his disgusting beard. ‘Tell me you made a mistake and you’re sorry.’ He waves the knife in front of me. ‘Go on, just say the words and maybe I’ll go. Maybe I’ll forgive you and I’ll just walk out of here and not see you again.’ He moves back a little and he laughs, yellow teeth on display. I know that he is not going to walk away from me. He’s dying. He has nothing left to lose. He’s not going to leave me alive.
‘Killing me won’t bring her back,’ I say softly, hoping a change in tone will help, hoping to appeal to the tiny shred of humanity he must possess.
He steps right up to me and touches the knife to the tip of my nose. ‘Tell me you’re sorry, Alice.’
Alice is afraid. Alice is terrified. Alice is going to die.
I know that when I utter the words, it will be over. I know that if I don’t utter the words, it will be over. I could refuse to speak but something inside me, some part of me that has carried the guilt of her death for all these years, needs to apologise out loud to him, to my mother, to the world, to my long-gone sister. I’m going to die but, unlike my mother, I need to apologise for what I did before I do.
Alice is sorry. Alice is so, so sorry.
I close my eyes and take a deep, shuddering breath. There is nothing I can do now. Time has slowed down. I watch him move the knife back and forth in front of me, watch it catch the light and glint
in the weak sun. And in that moment, I regret that I never told the boys I loved them this morning. I do it at night, before they go to bed, but I wish I had said it this morning as well.
‘I’m—’ I begin.
The sound of the door knocker fills the house, shocking both of us.
The words I was about to say disappear and my mind is suddenly racing.
This does not have to be over. This does not have to be it. If I can scream loud enough, whoever is at the door will hear me. If I can make a run for it and just scream and scream, I may have a chance. But I need him to step back, away from me. I need him to back off, just a little.
Adrenalin courses through my body, focusing me right on this moment. ‘It’s my friend Natalia,’ I say quickly. ‘If I don’t answer, she’ll know something’s wrong. We’re supposed to have coffee.’
‘Fucking liar,’ mutters Vernon.
My body is screaming at me to run, to simply bolt for the front door, yelling my lungs out as I do, but he’s too close to me, the knife is too close to my throat.
I lock eyes with him. Mercifully the person on the doorstep does not simply leave. Instead the knocker sounds again.
‘She’ll know something’s wrong,’ I say again. Even though my whole body is shaking, my voice is firm and strong. I am trying to save my life, to save my boys from heartbreak.
‘Fine,’ snarls Vernon. He grabs my arm and shoves me roughly in front of him. I feel the point of the knife against the back of my neck. A sharp pain tells me he has pushed it into the skin. I feel a dribble of warm blood and I bite down on my lip. I need to get closer to the door before I scream. If I startle him, I may be able to wrench it open. I take a deep breath and prepare myself to scream my lungs out.
‘Tell her to fuck off or you both get hurt.’ He shoves me towards the door.
‘Coming,’ I call.