by Emma Rous
“And if they want nothing to do with you?” Alex asks, his tone surprisingly gentle.
Laura’s gaze drops. “I wouldn’t blame them. I’ve never looked for anything different.”
A silence falls, and I realize Kiara is watching Danny. I squeeze his hand. But he’s frowning at Laura, looking at her directly for the first time.
“So what happened after that?” Danny says. “After Alex left with Kiara? What happened when Dad got home?”
Edwin steadies Laura’s arm as she sinks back into her chair.
Joel settles next to me. “You all right?” he asks quietly. I’m not. But I nod anyway.
Alex hesitates, but Kiara holds her hand out to him, and in the end he sits back down.
“Martin thinks Gran killed them,” Danny says. “Mum.” He acknowledges the wrongness of the word with a tightening of his lips. “And Dad.”
Edwin holds up a hand. “Danny. Don’t. We don’t know anything yet. Martin may well be wrong about all of it . . .”
“Oh, for God’s sake, Edwin, face facts.” Danny’s tone is harsh. “She was here, with Dad, the morning he died. She was with Mum on the cliffs. She admitted she pushed the stone . . .”
“No!” Edwin says. He takes a moment to compose himself. He’s always had a much closer bond to Vera than I ever did, and his loyalty to her now is almost more than I can bear.
Danny makes a visible effort to calm himself. He stretches his fingers over his knees and frowns at them, and eventually, he looks up at Laura.
“What happened when Dad got home?” he says. The protest in his voice is gone, replaced with a coldness that makes it clear he resents having to ask her anything. “What happened when he got back from the station and found . . . ?”
For a long, still moment, the rest of us try to straighten the facts in our minds. Did they find anything amiss, Dominic and Vera, when they returned to Summerbourne from the station?
“Dad didn’t know about Kiara,” I say quietly. “He took Edwin and Danny to the station, and he left me here, and I was still here when he got back. Wasn’t I?”
We all look at Laura, and she takes a deep breath.
32
Laura
July 1992
I SAT AT the kitchen table after Alex and the midwife and the baby had gone. I ate a bowl of cornflakes with milk, and then a second one, wiping tears from my cheeks between mouthfuls. No figure appeared from the back of the garden, but I had neither the physical nor mental strength to go out and look for Ruth and Seraphine.
I guess I’d been sitting at that table for around fifteen minutes when Dominic’s car pulled up on the drive. Vera appeared in the kitchen first, carrying Danny in the infant car seat, and Dominic and Edwin clattered in behind her. Dominic didn’t make eye contact with me, but muttered something about Ruth and headed off upstairs.
Vera cooed at Danny as she lifted him from the car seat. “Where’s your mummy, little baby boy? Are you hungry? We need to fatten you up, don’t we?”
The chair scraped the tiles as I stood. My baby son. When he whimpered, my hand reached toward him involuntarily. Vera frowned at me.
“Laura, you look dreadful. Were you up all night? You should go back to bed.”
“Where’s Mummy?” Edwin asked, peering out at the garden.
Dominic strode into the kitchen. “Where are they, Laura? Where’s Ruth?”
My knees gave way, and I dropped back onto my chair. I pointed through the open doors. “She went out.”
“What?” Dominic said. He and Vera exchanged glances. “Why?”
The baby boy whimpered again. I shook my head, watching the tiny mouth open and close.
“How long ago?” Vera asked.
Dominic said, “Did she take Seraphine with her? Laura?” When I didn’t respond, he turned to Vera. “I’ll go and find her.”
“Do you have bottles?” Vera asked him. “Formula?”
Dominic shook his head.
“I’ll come with you,” Vera said. I thought she was about to hand the baby to me, but Dominic intercepted, scooping him out of her arms and carrying him to the day nursery. A creaky cry trailed behind him as he returned, and he shut the door firmly.
“Sit tight. We’ll be back in a few minutes.” He rested his hand on my arm for a moment, his wide eyes searching mine, and then the two of them hurried off down the garden.
“Danny’s hungry,” Edwin said, watching the retreating figures.
“Yes.”
“I hope Mummy comes back soon.” He helped himself to cornflakes, and I poured milk onto them for him.
Dominic ran back across the lawn within a few minutes, with Seraphine in his arms. He went straight to the phone in the hall.
“Ambulance, please. My wife’s unwell. She’s just given birth, she’s very confused. I’m afraid she’s going to hurt herself.”
I held my breath, watching Edwin’s face. He stirred his cornflakes, frowning.
“On the cliffs,” Dominic said. “No, she won’t listen. I need someone here right now.”
He marched back into the kitchen and dragged me to my feet, the baby held firmly against his chest with his other hand. I had no choice but to stagger along behind him as he plowed on into the day nursery. He lay Seraphine down at the opposite end of the bassinet to Danny, their feet alongside each other’s. Both babies—the robust little girl and the fragile little boy—made moaning noises and turned their heads from side to side.
“What happened?” Dominic hissed at me. He glanced at Edwin, who hovered in the middle of the room, and managed to gain some control over his voice. “Go back to the kitchen, Edwin, and finish your cereal. Now.”
I swayed on my feet, and Dominic caught me by the elbow, supporting me. He marched me back to the kitchen, out to the patio, propelling me onward each time I stumbled. Edwin sat at the kitchen table and watched us pass, his eyes wide.
“Did you tell her about Danny?” Dominic said. “She’s not making any sense. You’ve got to come and get Vera away so I can talk to Ruth properly.”
He tried to hurry, but I couldn’t keep up with him, and my legs buckled under me at the edge of the lawn. He crouched in front of me, gripping my hands.
“Please, Laura. We need to hurry. Vera’s bound to be going on about the twins, and Ruth won’t know . . . I need to talk to her alone.”
“I can’t.”
“You have to. Something’s wrong with her. With Ruth. I think she’s hallucinating.”
Bright greenery whirled through my field of vision, and I closed my eyes against a surge of nausea.
“Please.” He half lifted me from the grass. “You’ve got to come. She keeps saying—I don’t know what’s wrong with her—she keeps saying someone’s coming to take her baby.”
I sank my nails into his arm, and he flinched. “He’s already taken her,” I croaked.
He let me drop back onto the lawn and stared at me, and then his gaze flitted to the day nursery windows. “You’re . . . What’s wrong with you? No one’s taken her. You’re not making sense.”
A siren sounded in the distance.
He gestured at the house. “Both our babies are in there. Seraphine and Danny. I just need to tell her about Danny. Make her understand.” He gave me an agonized look. “Please, Laura. Help me.”
I nodded, and struggled to my feet, but before we made it halfway across the lawn, I fell again. The spinning in my head was worse than ever. Dominic hesitated.
“Go,” I said. “I can’t. I’m sorry.”
A siren sounded louder in the lane, and then another.
“Where’s Edwin?” Dominic said suddenly. I followed his gaze through the open back doors. Edwin’s chair at the kitchen table stood empty. Something small and white on the patio caught my attention: a cereal bowl, just outside the kitchen doors, broken neat
ly into two halves which tilted away from each other, spreading milk and cornflakes onto the stone slabs.
“Edwin?” Dominic called. “Edwin!” He turned a full circle, his eyes searching the windows, the hedge, the trees at the back of the garden. “Edwin!”
I staggered to my feet. “Is the back gate open?”
Dominic stared at me, wild-eyed.
Another burst of siren noise reached us, accompanied by pounding at the front door and raised voices. A man in a green uniform appeared from the direction of the stable block as Dominic turned and ran toward the gate and the cliffs. The medic jogged over to me, and I pointed after Dominic.
“A little boy,” I said. “Edwin. He’s four.”
“We were called about a woman, miss.”
“Yes, but—I think he’s gone to the cliffs as well.”
A police officer appeared behind him, and then another. “Can you give us the keys to the front door, please, Miss . . . ?”
“Laura,” I said. “Laura Silveira.” I took a couple of steps but was seized by a violent shaking. “They’re in the hall table. In the drawer.”
Someone caught me as I stumbled, and helped me as far as the patio, where I sank onto a chair. Harsh voices stuttered from a radio indoors. More sirens wailed in the lane, doors slammed, sharp questions shot back and forth. Men and women in uniform jogged out of the house and away across the lawn. None of them so much as glanced at me.
I didn’t realize my eyes were closed until a woman in green shook my shoulder and made me jump.
“Is there any formula in the house, do you know? For the babies. They’re mighty hungry.”
I shook my head. “Is Edwin okay? Have you found him?”
She looked at me blankly.
Figures emerged from the trees at the back of the garden, and I sat up straighter. Two police officers hurried straight into the house, and the woman in green jogged over to meet her colleagues in the middle of the lawn where they held a murmured conversation. Louder voices rose inside the house. I closed my eyes again and concentrated on fragments of sentences.
“. . . fire engine along the cliffs from the boatyard . . .”
“. . . could be anywhere . . .”
“Is there any chance . . . ?”
“. . . too late.”
Above all of this floated a high-pitched, hungry wail that made me grunt as my insides contracted.
A young police officer came to sit with me, introducing himself as PC Martin Larch. He rested a large hand on my arm for a moment.
“Are you feeling all right, Miss Silveira? You look terrible,” he said.
“Have you found him?”
“Edwin? Not yet, but we will. We’re checking the house and the garden—he’s probably hiding somewhere.”
I struggled to sit forward. “He went to the cliffs. I’m sure of it. He went to find his mum.”
“I need to ask you about Mrs. Mayes, Miss Silveira. About Ruth. When did you last see her?”
I stared at him. I held on to the arm of my chair more tightly. “Why? What’s happened?”
He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m very sorry to have to tell you that Mrs. Mayes fell from the cliff top a short while ago.”
I shook my head. Fell from the cliff top. Fell from the cliff top. “What did you say?”
He nodded, and he scrunched his face so tight for a second that his eyes closed almost completely.
Tears splashed onto my lap, and onto the cream Summerbourne patio cushions. Tears that I’d been holding back for hours. Tears that I’d been holding back since the night with Dominic, since the boat ride with Alex, since my first glimpse of the Summerbourne au pair advert which offered a new beginning I knew I didn’t deserve. The young police officer, with the battle between his professional feelings and his personal feelings raging on his face, held my hand while the tears fell.
“Not Edwin?” I asked eventually.
“No, no,” he said. “Vera—Mrs. Blackwood—saw it happen. Edwin wasn’t with them. We’ll find him. Did you see Mrs. Mayes before she went to the cliffs? You were here with her this morning when she delivered the babies?”
I swallowed. “Yes.”
“What frame of mind was she in? Did something happen to upset her?”
My field of vision swayed again, and his face seemed to part into two pale disks, and my eyes weren’t sure which of them to focus on.
“I don’t know,” I said.
He let out a puff of air.
“You really don’t look well. Can I get you a glass of water?”
“Please,” I whispered. “Find Edwin. They lost Theo. They can’t lose . . .”
Martin Larch nodded. “I know,” he said. “Stay here.” He left me then, and I closed my eyes again, unable to separate individual words from the background murmur of voices and the crackle of radios in the house behind me, unable to think coherently at all.
A while later, the woman in green tapped my shoulder. “Are you okay there?”
I stared at her. “Edwin?” I asked. “Have they found him?”
“I don’t know. Not yet.”
Uniformed strangers continued to bustle out of the house periodically and trot away down the lawn, while other people spilled out onto the patio—neighbors, acquaintances from the village, their bright eyes drinking in the scene. Several cast sideways looks at me, but none ventured near enough to speak to me.
Voices rose inside the house, and then a figure came jogging out of the trees. It was Martin Larch. He slowed as he approached the house, and his eyes sought mine.
“They’ve found him. Both boys, actually—little Joel Harris was up there too. He ran off from his grandad and hid with Edwin.” He passed a broad hand over his forehead, and I realized suddenly that he knew them all: Ruth, Vera, Dominic, Michael. Martin Larch had probably known them all since he was a small child himself. “The boys had locked themselves in the tower,” he said. “Michael just got the door open, got them out.”
I brought my hands to my cheeks. “And they’re okay, the boys?”
He straightened his shoulders. “They’re fine. More than can be said for you, I think. Did someone get you a glass of water?”
“I just want to go home,” I said.
Michael appeared from the back of the garden then, leading Edwin and Joel by their hands. A brief surge of strength flooded into my limbs, and I struggled to my feet as they approached, holding my arms out toward Edwin. But Dominic ran from the trees behind them and caught up with them before they reached me. His face was white, but his eyes flashed as he scooped Edwin into his arms. The little boy buried his face into his father’s shoulder. Dominic swept past me as if he didn’t see me, disappearing into the house with his son. I sank down again.
Martin nodded. “I saw your suitcase, and your letter. We’ll get you home as soon as we can. London, isn’t it?” He placed one large hand on my shoulder as I tried to bring my breathing under control. “It’s the shock, miss. I think you’ll feel better when you’re home. I’m sorry about Mrs. Mayes, I really am. They’ll send someone to your home in London tomorrow to take a statement.”
And then Vera emerged from the trees, like an apparition from a nightmare. A police officer supported her on one side and a paramedic on the other. Her mascara ran in streaks down her face, and her mouth was skewed to one side. Her faltering steps brought her steadily closer. A tremor seized my neck muscles, and the more I tried to hold my head still, the more unsteady it became. I had to tell her. I had to claw into Vera’s pain at this awful moment and tell her the truth about the new Summerbourne twins. I wasn’t strong enough to carry the secret away with me unshared.
She stepped up onto the patio.
“Vera,” I said.
She stumbled sideways, the police officer dipping a shoulder to steady her. Her
head swung in my direction, her gaze somewhere near my feet.
“The babies,” I said. “I need to tell you something.”
Her expression didn’t alter; I wasn’t sure she could hear me.
“I’m sorry,” I said, a little louder. The words scraped in my throat. “About everything. But the babies—”
Vera raised bloodshot eyes to mine, and for a second her brow lifted as if she was forming a question. Whose? Whose babies are they? I opened my mouth, searching for the right words. Then the paramedic cleared her throat, and suddenly, Vera’s expression tightened.
“No,” she said. It was like ice sliding over my skin.
I swallowed. “They’re not—”
She lurched toward me, her face contorted, and I gripped the chair, pressing myself back into the cushion.
“I said no,” she hissed. Her face loomed over mine. “You have nothing to say to me.”
I stared at her, my chest tight. Her gaze bored into mine; I was unable to look away.
“You don’t belong here,” she said, and her voice dropped further as she leaned even closer. “You have nothing to say that I want to hear. Get out of my house.”
The police officer supporting her frowned at me as she and the paramedic helped Vera straighten and shuffle away into the house. A gaggle of neighbors stood transfixed on the lawn, their lips parted, their eyes wide. Martin paused by my chair and lowered his voice so he wouldn’t be overheard.
“Don’t take it personally,” he said. “She’s lashing out. She’ll talk to you in good time, I’m sure.”
I shook my head. I knew now that Vera would never talk to me about this, would never agree to listen. She must have suspected that something was amiss, but that expression on her face told me everything I needed to know. Vera wanted these babies—she needed these babies—and she would do everything in her power to keep them. The truth was unnecessary, irrelevant, when weighed against Vera and her Summerbourne twins.
A while later, Martin told me a taxi had arrived for me, and he carried my suitcase out to the lane where it waited. Two ambulances purred on the driveway with their back doors open, a baby being examined in each. Martin placed his broad hand on the top of my head as I ducked into the taxi’s back seat. The driver was the same man who’d delivered me from King’s Lynn station eleven months earlier, but neither he nor I acknowledged it.