Authors: Julie Parsons
‘Wow,’ she said, ‘that smells good.’
She was asleep before she had finished it. Her head slumped forward on to the table. Rachel sat and watched her. She didn’t look so perfect now, with her stained trousers, her slack face,
her mouth open, snores pouring loudly from it. She thought of Daniel’s voice, how it had sounded on the phone. She hadn’t heard it since that day in court. When he had denied her and
turned away from her. When he had betrayed her.
‘Hi, babe,’ he said, then when there was no response he spoke again. ‘Is that you, Ursula, how are you, love?’ And then when she didn’t reply he spoke again.
‘How’s things, how’re the kids, how are you getting on with your lame duck lady? Having fun?’
‘Who’s that?’ She spoke in a voice that didn’t belong to her. ‘You’ve a wrong number.’ Then she hung up.
He would have tried again, but he would have got an engaged signal. And then he’d have stopped trying. He’d ring again in the morning. But in the morning his wife would remember
nothing of this night.
Rachel got to her feet. She walked around the table and hauled Ursula to standing. ‘Come on,’ she said. ‘It’s bedtime.’
Ursula’s eyes flopped open, then closed again as her body sagged. Rachel half carried, half dragged her into the sitting room. She laid her down on the long sofa. She undressed her. She
went to the cupboard in the hall and found a blanket. She wrapped her in it. She stood and looked down at her. Sleeping like a baby. Sleeping like her children upstairs. And now, thought Rachel,
the house is mine. She picked up her glass. She turned to the long mirror that covered one wall. She saluted herself. She drank.
It was morning when she woke. It was the cry of a baby that woke her, insistent, getting louder and more demanding all the time, and a tug on the bedclothes, and the
girl’s voice in her ear, calling to her.
‘Wake up, peaches lady, please wake up. The baby’s hungry and he’s soaking wet and I don’t know where Mummy is.’
She lay on her side, the sunshine turning the bright yellow of the curtains to cream. She lifted her head. Laura was standing, balancing her small brother on her knee. His face was scarlet, a
mixture of tears and phlegm running down his fat cheeks. He sobbed and gasped, frantic with hunger. He smelt of ammonia. She pushed back the bedclothes and stood up.
‘Here.’ She reached over and took hold of him. ‘Mummy’s asleep downstairs. Don’t disturb her. Show me where his nappies are kept.’
It was all so simple and natural. So familiar. She laid him down on the bathroom floor on a towel, stripping off his soaking Babygro. She washed him, powdered him, fastened on his clean nappy.
She found him a terry-cloth suit. She wiped his face and kissed him.
‘And now,’ she said to Laura and Jonathan who had joined them, ‘who’d like breakfast?’
The kitchen downstairs was spotless. She had washed up, cleaned up, left everything ready for the morning. She put the baby in his highchair and heated him a bottle. She poured cereal into bowls
and put slices of bread into the toaster. She handed the older children glasses of orange juice and made a pot of coffee. Soon all was peace and harmony. And then they heard a noise coming from the
sitting room.
‘What’s that?’ she asked.
‘That’s Mummy,’ the boy replied. ‘She slept on the sofa last night. I think she’s being sick.’
She left the children eating and walked through. Ursula was sitting up. Her face was ashen. The sour smell of vomit filled the room. Rachel stood and looked at her. Ursula covered her face with
her hands.
‘What happened?’ she asked.
‘You don’t remember?’
There was silence.
‘I think,’ said Rachel, slowly, ‘that you had a mite too much to drink. You passed out here, so I thought it best to leave you.’
‘And this, how did I get like this?’ She looked down at herself, clutching the blanket tightly.
‘Ah, you don’t remember that, no?’
A shake of the head.
‘You wanted to dance. And then you wanted to strip. There was no stopping you.’
Tears began to drip down Ursula’s wretched face. For a moment Rachel almost felt sorry for her.
‘And don’t worry,’ Rachel said. ‘What you said to me last night. That’s between us. All right?’
Ursula’s face reddened. She looked away, then back up at Rachel.
‘The children?’ she said.
‘They’re fine. I’ve changed the baby and fed him and the other two are having breakfast. Don’t worry about them. Look.’ She sat down beside her and took her hand.
‘Look, it was just a bit of fun. I didn’t mind. I’ll tell you what. You go upstairs, have a bath, then go to bed. I’ll stay and mind the kids for the day until you’re
feeling better. How does that sound?’
She brought her a tray upstairs to her bedroom. A cup of tea and some toast.
‘Ugh.’ Ursula made a face as she drank. ‘I don’t take sugar.’
‘Drink it,’ Rachel said. ‘Sweet tea is just what you need for a hangover. My father used to swear by it.’
Tea with sugar and two more sleeping pills. That would keep her quiet for the day. She watched her sink back against the pillows.
‘I’ll take them for a walk, shall I?’
Ursula smiled sleepily. ‘Take the car if you like. You’re so kind, so thoughtful. I really appreciate this. And I am sorry.’
Rachel stood in the doorway of the bedroom and watched as her eyes closed. It was a beautiful room, this room where she had slept last night, with long windows that looked out across the garden
to the clifftop and the sea beyond. It was a room full of secrets. The safe under the carpet in the corner. The jewellery box in the top of the wardrobe. The diary in the top drawer of the little
ornamental desk. They always said it, the girls inside. You’d be amazed the way people write things down. The PIN number for their bank cards. The code for their alarms. The combination lock
for their safe. She knew them all now. As she knew the house, inside out. She had gone up to the room in the bell tower last night. Daniel’s room. She had switched on the lamp and sat at his
desk and looked at the row of photographs on the shelf. She had looked for traces of her own life and found them. The picture of Martin in a silver frame. Taken by Daniel, using her camera, one
summer’s day before they got married, in the back garden of his parents’ house. She turned the frame over and pushed away the little clips that held it in place. She laid the glass and
cardboard backing down on the desk and pulled out the photograph. Half of it had been folded over, hidden from view. It was the half that showed her. Martin was sitting in a deckchair. He had taken
off his shirt. His skin was pale. She was sitting on the grass, looking up at him. She looked so young and pretty. She looked up now and saw her reflection in the dark of the window. She looked
down again and pondered, weighing it up, wondering what she should do. And then with a sigh, she folded it back again, and again reassembled the frame and replaced it on the shelf, exactly where it
had been before.
She had found the attic room too. The children had shown her the little staircase and the small door at the top.
‘It’s locked,’ Jonathan said. ‘We’re not allowed up there. It’s where Santa keeps our Christmas presents.’
But she had taken the bunch of keys that Ursula had left on the kitchen table and found the right one. Opened the door and stepped inside, bending down her head. Felt for the light switch. Seen
that the room was empty, apart from a camp bed in the corner, a sleeping bag, a pile of boxes. Closed the door and locked it.
And now she was driving Ursula’s car. Trying to remember. What should she do with her feet and her hands? How to coordinate them, move them in tandem. Remember to use the rear-view mirror,
remember to indicate, snatching at the wheel as she rounded a bend so the car slewed out over the white line. And the boy in the passenger seat beside her lifted his head from his Game Boy, sighed
and said, ‘We do have power steering, you know. This is a top-of-the-range Saab. Latest model. It was very expensive.’
She smiled at him as she said, ‘Thanks, Jonathan, I’m not very good with cars.’
They effortlessly climbed the hill to the village, and she thought of the times she had panted up the same stretch, always the only person on foot, everyone who passed her by driving cars just
like this one.
They stopped at the top. She parked carefully, conscious of the boy’s knowing glance as her foot slipped from the clutch as she reversed, so the car shuddered to a stop. But there were ice
creams to be bought, then eaten, a distraction for a while as she drove down the other side of the hill to the nearest shopping centre. This time she managed to ease the car into a parking space
without mishap. She took the keys from the ignition and said to Jonathan in the front, Laura and the baby in the back, ‘Now you stay here. I won’t be a minute and when I come back where
would you like to go? To the beach, to the amusements? You decide.’
She walked quickly along the row of shops until she found what she wanted. The key cutters in the little kiosk at the end. She handed over the whole bunch. House keys, car keys, keys to the
garage, keys to the safe. She waited. She took the copies and put them carefully in her pocket. She walked back to the car. Caught sight of herself in the wing mirror. Pushed her hair back from her
face. Smiled. Saw the children’s faces light up as she opened the door and took control once again.
It was mid-afternoon when she drove them back. They were tired. They had worn themselves out on the dodgems, the carousel, the pin-ball machines and computer games. She drove slowly and
carefully. They didn’t seem to notice where they were going. She turned into the quiet cul-de-sac and drove around the green, looking for the house she wanted. She stopped the car.
‘Now,’ she said, ‘Laura, I want you to come with me, just for a little while. Jonathan, you stay here and mind the baby. OK?’ She had expected complaint but he just
nodded his head and reached out to fiddle with the radio. She took Laura’s hand and they walked to the front door. Her heart thumped beneath her ribs. She pressed the bell. She heard
footsteps and saw the shape of a woman through the frosted-glass panel.
‘Can I help you?’ She was barefoot, wearing a loose flowered dress. She must have been in the garden, Rachel thought, looking at the woman’s hands in their heavy rubber
gloves.
‘I’m sorry to bother you, but I was wondering. I used to live in this house a number of years ago. I’ve been away for a long time and I was just curious. Would you mind if I
had a quick look around?’
She was kind, she was polite. She stood back and let them in. Rachel looked down the hall towards the kitchen.
‘Go ahead,’ the woman said. ‘It’s a bit of a mess. Sunday, you know?’
Rachel walked with Laura into the sitting room. She could feel the sweat breaking out on her forehead, on her back. She looked towards the garden, towards the conservatory. She put her hand up
to her mouth.
‘It’s gone,’ she said. ‘It’s all different.’
‘Yes.’ The woman bent down and picked up a pair of runners and a baseball cap from the shiny parquet floor. ‘Yes, I think it’s changed a lot over the years. It had a bit
of a history, this house. Did you know about it? Was it before your time?’
‘A history?’
‘Someone was murdered here. Oh, ages and ages ago. But a lot of work was done to the house afterwards. Not by us, but by the people who bought it next. We got it cheap, in fact, because of
that. We used to get a lot of people coming just to have a gawk. Because of what had happened.’
Rachel walked to the door to the garden. It was all gone. Her careful planting, her pond, her border. Now there was just a lawn with a gang of boys playing football on it. She felt Laura’s
hand clutching her jacket and heard her begin to whimper. She bent down and picked her up.
‘She’s tired,’ she said. ‘She’s had a long day.’
‘She’s lovely. I’ve always wanted a daughter, but it’s boys all the way with me.’ She patted her round stomach. ‘This one too, another little David
Beckham.’
Rachel smiled and stroked Laura’s silky hair.
‘Her older sister was a baby here. Her room was upstairs. Can I show her?’
‘Of course, why not? Just don’t mind the mess.’
She took her time, walking from room to room, explaining it all to the child, who rested now sleepily on her shoulder. The woman was waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs.
‘Thank you,’ Rachel said, ‘you’ve been very kind. I appreciate this. It means a lot to me.’
‘Does it? I’m surprised.’ The woman’s expression was curious. ‘I wouldn’t have thought you would want to come back. After what you did.’
Rachel looked at her. She tried to speak, but no words would come.
‘You’re her, aren’t you? I thought it was you as soon as I saw you. Revisiting the scene of the crime, is that it? I’m amazed. I thought they only did that in the
movies.’
Rachel put her hand on the latch.
‘It’s OK. I don’t mind. I’m just surprised, that’s all. I thought you were in prison.’
‘Please.’ Rachel put out her hand. ‘Please, don’t say anything else.’
The woman smiled. ‘You’d better go. My husband wouldn’t be so keen on you being here. But me, well,’ she shrugged her shoulders, ‘it was a long time ago. Live and
let live, that’s what I say. But the child, she’s hardly yours, is she?’
It wasn’t far from the quiet cul-de-sac to the house on the cliff. Three or four miles, that was all. She drove quickly down the hill from the village. The tyres squeaked on the hot
surface of the road. The baby had fallen asleep, and he rocked from side to side in his chair. Laura was drowsing beside him. Jonathan’s eyes were closed. There was a bend in the road. Beyond
it she could see the bracken and gorse of the cliff and the sea beyond. She put her foot on the accelerator. The car shot forward. Jonathan’s eyes opened. He sat up.
‘Fast,’ he said. ‘It’s too fast. Slow down.’
The house was silent as she carefully carried the sleeping baby to his cot and laid him down. She paused at Ursula’s bedroom door and looked in. She too was fast asleep. She heard the
television go on downstairs and then the phone ring. She could hear Jonathan’s voice as she walked past the sitting-room door.