Day of the Accident

by Nuala Ellwood

  420, 422, 424, 426 …

  428.

  I stop outside the door. There’s a small square pad in the centre of it. I take the fob out of my pocket and hold it against the pad. A green light flashes. I push the door open and step inside.

  A neon strip light splutters into life as I enter, flooding the room in a sickly artificial glow. It’s a small space, about the size of an average garden shed, and it is stacked from floor to ceiling with white cardboard packing boxes. As I step closer I see that each box has been labelled in black marker pen, but I don’t recognize the handwriting. It is definitely not Sean’s.

  The first box is marked Elspeth: Bedroom. I put my hands on the lid. It has been sealed with thick masking tape. I go to pull the tape away then stop. I’m not ready to see what is inside. Not just yet.

  I step further into the room. There must be around a hundred boxes of various sizes all piled up. I see Elspeth: Playroom, Elspeth: Bathroom. My heart hurts when I see a box labelled Elspeth: Miscellaneous as I know exactly what that will contain; all of her oddities and precious things, her latest obsessions. ‘Miscellaneous’ is a good word to describe those things, I think to myself, though it is a word Sean would never have used. He was so respectful of Elspeth’s obsessions, much more than I was. Spending every day with Elspeth meant that I grew impatient quickly. After the sixth day in a row of hearing Native American facts I would get frustrated and shout at her. Yet Sean, because he was out at work all day, would come home and give her his undivided attention. Whatever new thing had piqued her interest that particular week he would give as much reverence and attention to as the previous one. He was a better parent than I could ever be.

  I step across to the other side of the room where more boxes have been piled up. But when I read the labels I go cold. In the same neat handwriting as the ones on Elspeth’s boxes someone has written:

  The Bitch: Bedroom

  The Bitch: Kitchen

  The Bitch: Bathroom

  The Bitch: Office

  The words drip with venom and hatred. This can’t be Sean. He has never called me a bitch in his life. And, besides, this isn’t his handwriting. Who could have written this? Who could hate me so much?

  I slump down on the floor. I have no idea why someone would have so much hatred for me that they would dismiss me as ‘The Bitch’. Surely it can’t be Sean. But then I think of his last entry in the diary: You killed our daughter. And Freya Nielssen. Could it be her handwriting? After all, hers is the only name, apart from mine, that is linked to this place. Is she behind this? Did she make Sean believe I killed Elspeth so that he would hate me and they could be together? My head hurts from trying to make sense of it all.

  I count the boxes. There are forty-three. Eleven years of marriage and one longed-for child and all I have left are forty-three cardboard boxes. How can this be my life?

  I feel my chest tighten and I start to wheeze. I take my inhaler out of my bag and put it to my mouth. I inhale twice but my chest seems to get tighter. It must be the dust. I need to get out of here.

  I stand up and make my way to the door but as I do I see something on the floor, just next to the first row of boxes. It’s an envelope. I pick it up. It has my name written on it in capital letters. I slice it open and pull out a piece of paper. It is Elspeth’s handwriting.

  I rest my hand on the wall and begin to read:

  Dear Mummy,

  I’ve written you a poem. This is it:

  When I think of home I think of you and me.

  A warm cosy place, a place where I feel free.

  I think of all the good times

  That we would have in there.

  A big lovely house, pretty and fair.

  When I think of home, there’s water all around.

  Running down the windows.

  Rising up through the ground.

  The river’s always flowing

  Down towards the sea.

  It’s carrying a secret.

  That belongs to you and me.

  I love you Mummy.

  Xxx

  I clutch the letter to my chest, the words searing into my heart. My beautiful little girl. I imagine her sitting at home, a notepad in front of her, writing a poem that I never got to read. I look at the envelope again. No postmark. She must have written this for me, but when? It looks like her handwriting from a couple of years ago. I think back to all those times I shooed her away when I was working in my study. I can hear her little voice now: ‘Mummy, can I just show you something?’ And I was so absorbed in my imaginary world I wouldn’t even turn round, wouldn’t look at her. ‘Mummy?’ ‘Not now, Elspeth, I’m busy.’ What if she’d tried to show me this poem, a beautiful poem about home and what it meant to her, and I’d sent her away? How did I become so detached? From the moment Elspeth was born I had wanted to shower her with love, create the warmest of homes for her, protect her from the monsters that had plagued me. And then somewhere along the line it all got too much and I retreated; from Elspeth, from Sean, from the world.

  The air is growing thinner inside the room. I really do need to get out now. I take the letter, grab my bag and the key fob and pull the heavy door open.

  As I run down the hideous yellow corridor, tears stream down my face. My lungs are so tight now I can barely breathe. When I get to the lift I stab my fist at the button.

  ‘Come on,’ I cry as I watch the neon numbers slowly rise from one through to three. Finally, after what seems like hours, it strikes four and when the doors open I half fall inside. When the lift doors open on the ground floor I stagger out. Past the reception desk where ‘I’m here to help’ Kelly sits glued to her smartphone, through the automatic doors and out into the deserted car park.

  Crouching on the tarmac by some bins, I look at the vast industrial wilderness around me and I know that this can’t be it. I can’t live in this limbo, this confusion.

  I need to go back. Back to the river.

  35

  Dear Mummy,

  Freya came to see me again today. She was sitting in the kitchen drinking tea with Weasel Face when Zoe and I came home from school. She said that Daddy was so glad I was well and that I just had to be a brave girl and stick it out and then everything would be fine. Then she asked if she could see my bedroom. I took her up there and when she walked in she gasped and said it was very bare and that next time she comes she’ll bring me some cushions and pictures to ‘cheer the place up’. Zoe was lying on her bunk and she made a snorting noise when Freya said that. I don’t think she likes Freya. But then Zoe doesn’t really like anybody.

  When Zoe left the room I asked Freya about you again. She said you and Daddy weren’t together any more but it was for the best. I told her that I’d been writing letters to you. She asked if she could see so I showed her my notebook. She read the letters and said that I was a very good speller. Then she said that you would love to read them and that perhaps she could pass them on to you. I nearly fell off the bed when she said that. I asked if she knew where you were but she said you weren’t very well so you were in a special place where you could rest. Then she picked up my red ink pen and wrote her address on the back page of my notebook and said that I could send the letters to her. She told me to put them all in a big envelope and she’d make sure you got them.

  When she left I sat at my desk and carefully ripped out each of the letters I’ve written so far so I can put them all together. Zoe says I’m deluded and that Freya is ‘shifty’ but I don’t think she is. I think she must be a friend of yours and Daddy’s and she’s helping you.

  Anyway, the next time I write you a letter it will have my address on the front in big letters so that when you receive it you’ll know just where to find me.

  I can’t wait to see you Mummy.

  I hope you’re getting better.

  I love you.

  Your lovely daughter xxx

  36

  A light rain begins to fall as I walk along the bridle path. The air sme
lls of smoke and silt. I hear a dog bark in the distance and a rustle of leaves. Birds? Or something – someone – else? Keep focused, I tell myself, keep walking and don’t look back. But as I walk it is impossible not to look back, not to think about the events that have brought me here.

  I’d walked this same route towards Ketton House Farm with my parents all those years ago. The night of Barbara’s fortieth birthday party.

  ‘Come on, Margaret. We’re going to be late!’

  My mother’s voice returns to me from that golden summer.

  I had spent hours getting ready. Ben was home from university and was going to be at the party. I had to look perfect. In the end I had opted for a black velvet dress that clung to my body like a second skin. My hair was scooped back in a sophisticated chignon and I’d painstakingly lined my eyes with smoky black kohl.

  But Mum didn’t like seeing me dressed up and had wanted me to change.

  ‘Leave her be, Marion,’ my dad had said, shaking his head at my mother. ‘She looks lovely. A proper Audrey Hepburn.’

  I shiver as I think of what followed. Unhinged; that’s what Barbara had yelled as they took me away.

  When I reach the river path the air grows cooler. I zip up my thin jacket and head towards the spot: the small patch of riverbank where the two alder trees meet.

  When I get there I’m overcome with the scent of meadowsweet. It smells just like marzipan, intensified by the dampness in the air. The scent takes me back to the beautiful spring morning when Elspeth and her classmates took part in the annual May procession. She had spent weeks perfecting the flower garland that she would wear on her head. She wanted to have meadowsweet in it because she liked the fuzzy, cloud-like petals; thought they looked like angel hair. Like everything Elspeth made, it had to be just so. I can hear her little voice singing the hymn to the May Queen as I walk.

  ‘Bring flowers of the rarest, bring blossoms the fairest …’

  I was so proud of her that day. She had been chosen to lead the procession. In the past this would have resulted in a meltdown of epic proportions, but something had changed in Elspeth in her final few months, she had become more confident. I’d taken lots of photos on my phone and messaged them to Sean who couldn’t be there, even though it was a Saturday. He hadn’t replied to those messages and at the time I thought nothing of it. Now as I stand here in the shadow of the two alder trees I wonder if he was with Freya Nielssen that day, if he was planning his escape. I see my beautiful girl in her shimmering white dress, her auburn hair threaded with blossoms, and a chill courses through me. Less than two weeks later she was dead.

  I stand for a moment and look at the water. A thick green film of algae coats the surface. I think of Ben, his persuasive voice, urging me on: ‘Come on, Maggie, don’t be such a bore.’ Why hadn’t I just walked away? How different my life could have been.

  But then, after all the hurt, I got a second chance at happiness; a chance to prove that I was a good person. And it came in the form of Elspeth, a child with piercing green eyes and an old, knowing soul.

  I can’t live like this, I think to myself, as I step towards the river’s edge, clutching Elspeth’s letter in my hands.

  I look down into the water. Its brown murky depths seem to be taunting me. I will go on after you’re gone, it whispers. I am all that matters. Do it. Jump. Jump.

  Raindrops bounce on the glassy surface, sending little droplets of water spluttering into the air. I can feel the rain on my head, my hair, my body, but I don’t move. Instead I stand, transfixed by the river.

  It would be easy. Just a little struggle, then thick, black oblivion. I have nothing left. This is the only way.

  And then I see her; a little face rising above the surface. She’s about three metres away, in the centre of the river. Her arms are flailing as she battles the current.

  ‘Elspeth!’ I cry. ‘Elspeth! It’s okay. Mummy’s coming.’

  The rain is falling more heavily now, obscuring her from my view.

  ‘Elspeth!’

  I take a step forward, feel the thick, slippy mud under my feet, but as I go to enter the river I hear a voice.

  ‘This rain looks like it’s setting in.’

  I turn my head then take a few steps back on to the bank to steady myself. There’s a man standing there. As he comes towards me I recognize him. It’s the man from the bus station. There’s a dog with him, a slender greyhound with a brindle coat.

  ‘Lenny can’t stand the rain,’ he says, gesturing to the dog. ‘Makes him shiver. I was just making my way back to the village. You want to get yourself back, too. It’s forecast storms.’

  ‘I’m fine here for now, thank you,’ I say. I turn back towards the river and hope that he will go.

  ‘You’re the lady who was looking for Rodmell,’ he says. ‘The Virginia Woolf admirer. Listen, you don’t want to stand that close to the edge or you’ll end up like her.’

  ‘I was just clearing my head,’ I say. ‘I know this spot. I used to live here.’

  ‘I see,’ he says. ‘I’m Tom by the way. What’s your name?’

  I don’t answer. Maybe if I ignore him long enough he will just go away.

  ‘Listen, why don’t you step away from the edge a bit?’ he says. ‘It’s not safe. I wouldn’t forgive myself if I left you here and you slipped. Come on, dear.’

  The wind lashes my face and my eyes start to stream, a mix of rain and tears. I wipe them with the back of my hand then look out across the river. There is no sign of Elspeth. It must have been my mind playing tricks on me again.

  ‘So are you going to tell me your name?’

  I turn round and stand facing him, my arms hanging limply by my side.

  ‘It’s Maggie.’

  ‘Maggie,’ he says brightly. ‘That was the name of my elder sister. It’s a good name.’

  ‘I don’t know about that,’ I say, shivering with the cold. ‘There’s nothing good about me.’

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  I shrug my shoulders.

  ‘Come on, Maggie, there must be something good about you. Everyone has good in them.’

  ‘My daughter was good,’ I say. ‘She was perfect and beautiful and eccentric. But most of all she was good.’

  He nods his head and smiles.

  ‘And you were her mum,’ he says. ‘So you contributed to her goodness.’

  ‘I snuffed it out,’ I say. ‘I didn’t protect her.’

  ‘What happened to your daughter, dear?’

  ‘She drowned,’ I say. ‘And I don’t know why.’

  ‘That’s terrible,’ he says, putting his hand to his mouth. ‘Just terrible. Oh, I am sorry.’

  ‘Do you know how many times I have heard those words these last few weeks?’ I cry. ‘And do you know how futile they are? Why are you sorry? You don’t know me. You didn’t know my daughter.’

  He looks at me sadly for a moment. ‘It’s just natural, isn’t it? People are always sorry to hear of someone’s death,’ he says. ‘Particularly a child. But I’m also sorry for you, for the pain you must be feeling.’

  ‘I was driving the car,’ I say. ‘It went into the river, and I have no memory of it. Nothing. I would say that it was my fault but I don’t even know what I was doing out that night.’

  ‘Did it happen here?’

  I shake my head.

  ‘It happened up by the Plough Inn,’ I tell him. ‘I came here because … God, I don’t know why I came here. I –’ My voice breaks. ‘I just don’t think I can get through this. I’m not strong enough.’

  There’s a crack of thunder. The dog pulls at its lead.

  ‘Look, you go,’ I say to Tom, raising my voice above the pounding rain. ‘You’re going to get soaked. I’m fine here, honestly.’

  ‘Not unless you come too,’ he says, grimacing as the rain beats down. ‘I’m not leaving a young lass like you out here in this weather. And you don’t want to be responsible for me getting hypothermia, do you?’

&nb
sp; ‘I just wanted to be able to remember,’ I say, putting my hands to my head. ‘That’s all.’

  ‘And you will,’ he says, raising his voice to be heard above the rain. ‘But sometimes memories come back when you least expect them.’

  I turn and look at the water. Maybe he’s right.

  ‘Is there someone I can call?’ says Tom. ‘Someone who can come and fetch you?’

  ‘There’s Sonia,’ I say.

  ‘Who’s Sonia?’

  ‘She’s my … my friend.’

  ‘All right,’ says Tom. ‘Why don’t we go and get to the main road and then we’ll call Sonia? Come on, love.’

  He holds his hand out and I stumble towards him.

  ‘That’s a good lass,’ he says, guiding me away from the river. ‘We’ll call Sonia and it’ll all be fine.’

  I nod my head and walk next to him in a daze. As we make our way back to the path I look down and notice that I’m still holding Elspeth’s poem in my hands. It is sodden from the rain but I hold it to my face and kiss it, one, two, three times.

  37

  Dear Mummy,

  Here it is, the first ‘official’ letter that you will actually receive in the post. (Though I’m going to put all the ones I’ve written so far in the envelope too so you’ll have loads to read!)

  Anyway, because this is your first proper letter I wanted it to be a good one. The others that I’ve already written are all a bit sad and I’m crying in most of them but this one is going to be happy because yesterday I had a really happy day. Let me tell you about it.

  Well, we went on a school trip to a museum in London, but it wasn’t an ordinary museum full of stuffy old furniture and oil paintings, no, this museum was filled with blood and bodies.

  I’ve found that if I concentrate on things that really interest me then it doesn’t hurt as much – by ‘it’ I mean not being with you and Daddy – and the thing that interests me at the moment is blood. Not like gruesome, horror-film blood, but real blood. I bet you’re wondering why I’m so interested in it, well I’ll tell you. A couple of weeks ago I had the worst nosebleed ever. I woke up in the night and my pillow was all wet so I jumped out of bed, turned the light on and looked in the mirror. At first I was scared because it looked like I’d been in an accident or something but then I ran the water in the sink and started to wash my face and as the blood mixed with the water it made the most beautiful pattern. It made me think about the colours inside our bodies and how they are much more interesting than our boring skin colours. Anyway, ever since that night I have wanted to find out more about blood, and in this amazing museum it was everywhere.