Red Ribbons (21 page)

ON HER WAY BACK TO THE APARTMENT, KATE’S MIND was preoccupied with both the investigation and all the other things she needed to organise so that she could devote her time to it. Rescheduling work commitments at Ocean House wouldn’t be a problem – her next court appearance wasn’t for another two weeks – but until she knew how much time this investigation was going to take, she would have to ask Sophie to do after-school care for Charlie. He wouldn’t be happy about it, but there wasn’t any other way.

She parked the car on the street outside the house and gave herself a few seconds before stepping out and clicking open the small wrought-iron gate. She made her way up the stone steps to face Declan and a little boy who would have spent the day wondering where she had gone. She gave herself another few seconds at the front door before sliding her key into the lock and turning it. She found them in the living room.

‘Hi, you two. Sorry, Declan, things took longer than I thought.’

‘Banned the use of phones, have they?’

‘Mom, look what I did.’ Charlie held up an A3 sheet covered in black paint.

‘Let me see, sweetheart.’

‘Dad said I could draw any superhero I wanted, so I picked Batman.’

‘He looks amazing.’

‘Batman
is
amazing, Mom. He fights baddies and he has a special car that can fly.’

‘I wouldn’t mind one of those.’ She attempted a laugh, looking over at Declan. His face remained set in a hard stare.

‘Charlie and I are heading out to the park,’ he said, more like a statement than a request for her to join them.

‘But I’ve only just got back.’ Kate was dismayed by his coldness. All she wanted was to be near Charlie for a while.

‘Maybe next time you’ll phone and we’ll know when to expect you. Charlie, off you go, wash your face and hands.’

‘Your painting is brilliant, Charlie. You go clean up like Dad says, and I’ll put your paints away.’

‘Mom?’

‘Yes, honey.’

‘Do you know what else is special about Batman?’

‘Go on, tell me.’

‘No one knows who he is because he wears a mask and a cloak when he’s helping people.’

‘He sounds really great.’

‘Charlie, hurry up, you do want to go to the park, don’t you?’

‘Dad, can Mom come, too? Please, please.’

‘That’s up to her.’

Kate looked at Declan and for a brief second she felt a surge of hate that took her by surprise. He was challenging her – challenging her to be a good mother. She knew he’d probably enjoy the moment when she failed. ‘Next time, Charlie. Mom has some work she needs to get out of the way. Here, come on. I’ll race you to the bathroom.’

She purposely avoided looking at Declan as she bounced Charlie down to the floor and the two of them ran out of the room. She couldn’t cope with Declan’s righteousness.

In the bathroom, she stood Charlie on a low stool and they watched the white sink become a black mess within seconds.

‘Are you like Batman, Mom, helping good people?’ His hands flapped in the blackened sink.

‘Who told you that?’

‘Dad told me.’ At least Declan was seeing her in a positive light, she thought, even if she couldn’t remember the last time he had given her a direct compliment.

‘Well, yeah, I suppose I do in a way. But I don’t get to wear a cool costume like he does.’ She flicked some water into Charlie’s face.

‘Ah, Mom, stop it. You’re not like Batman, he needs his disguise. When he’s not dressed up, he’s just ordinary, like everybody else.’

Leaning down, Kate kissed him on the forehead. ‘You’re my superhero, Charlie.’

‘Cool. What superhero do you think I am?’

‘Oh I don’t know. Mr Super.’

‘Mr Super?’ He gave her a doubtful look.

‘Yeah, sort of a mix between Superman and Batman, but you’re extra special.’

‘Why am I extra special?’ he asked, his eyes widening.

‘Well, at first people think you’re just a regular superhero, but you’re not, because even though you’re a very young superhero, you have lots of different powers.’

‘Like what?’ He jumped down from the stool, as Kate handed him a towel.

‘Like the way you think about others, making sure they are okay.’

‘So what do I have to do? What’s my mission?’

‘It’s simple. You just have to be yourself.’

‘That doesn’t sound like much of a mission.’ Wrapping the towel around his shoulders like a superhero cape, he puffed his lips out.

‘Oh, but it is. Like the other week when we were in the park, and you ran and caught the ball for the little boy who fell over.’

‘Yeah.’

‘Well you were his superhero then.’

‘I was?’ She watched the beginning of a smile on his face.

‘Yes, of course you were. Do you not remember how he stopped crying when you gave him back the ball?’

‘Yeah, but I didn’t do anything
special
.’

‘To him, you did.’

‘Mom?’

‘Hmmm?’

‘I missed you today.’

Kate wanted to scream inside. ‘I missed you, too.’

‘Mom?’

‘Yeah?’

‘Will you be here tomorrow?’

Maybe Declan was right. Maybe she was an awful mother. Not that he used those words exactly, but she knew he thought them, and the irksome bit was that the more she thought about it, the more convinced she was that he was right.

‘I’ll have to see, honey. Hopefully, I’ll get through my work in a jiffy and we can do lots together really soon.’

‘Mrs Evans says a jiffy is a hundredth of a second.’

‘Your teacher is very clever. Now come on, Dad will be wondering if I ate you.’ Kate made a face like a scary monster, then scooped him up before chasing him back out to the living room, where Declan was waiting, holding Charlie’s coat and hat.

‘Enjoy yourselves. Bash some leaves for me, Charlie,’ she said, giving him a final hug.

‘I will, Mom.’

Declan pulled Charlie’s woollen hat down as Charlie struggled into his coat. He looked up at Kate and his face looked softer. She tried to smile at him.

‘I could get a takeaway, Kate, open a bottle of wine when we get back?’

In one way, Kate wanted to say ‘yes, let’s do that, let’s spend time
together the way we used to,’ but something held her back, and she wasn’t altogether sure it was just her looming report.

’No drink for me, I’m afraid, I’ve a report to do.’

‘Suit yourself.’ She winced at the harshness of his tone.

‘Declan, I’m just—’

‘Busy. Yeah, I know.’

Turning his back to her, Declan took Charlie by the hand, pulling the apartment door shut behind him with a firm bang. Kate cursed under her breath. She knew she’d just missed an opportunity she would most probably regret, but there wasn’t anything she could do about it now. Heading down the hallway towards the door of her study, the primary task ahead of her was focusing her mind on the report for O’Connor.

AS I TAKE MY SEAT IN HIS OFFICE, DR EBBS IS HIS USUAL cheery self. The fact that I have brought the copybook hasn’t gone unnoticed. He tries to disguise his interest by looking the other way, but I’m as good at picking up small details as he is. I notice the slight rise in the right side of his forehead, replaced quickly by a blank expression. He might be worried I didn’t write anything down, or perhaps he’s concerned that what I’ve written in the copybook is something for which he is ill-prepared. Either way, he has chosen to look again at something in my file, apologising, asking me if I could bear with him for a few more moments. I decide to distract myself.

I imagine the two of us swapping chairs: him sitting on the patient’s chair and being just that, patient. I would think the good doctor would be very good at this. If I were sitting in his chair, would I be trying to look intelligent like him? Perhaps if I were looking at him across the desk as my patient, I would be trying to figure out the emotions on his face. Maybe I could work it out from how he sits, how he holds himself, figure out what truth is hidden behind his calm exterior. Perhaps he is able to do all of this with me. He looks up, closes my file. It didn’t take the good doctor long.

‘Well, Ellie, sorry for keeping you there. I just wanted to check a couple of things, hope you didn’t mind.’

I say nothing. I suppose I could smile, but then that might give him the wrong impression.

‘I see you have a copybook with you.’

I could be smart and say, ‘Very observant of you’, but I choose not to.

‘Yes.’

‘And how did you get on? Did you find the process difficult?’

‘Surprising.’

‘Surprising? In what way?’

‘That I wrote anything at all.’

‘And what did you write about?’

‘An ending.’

‘An ending? Not a beginning?’

‘No, not a beginning. You asked me to write about the wrong thing.’

‘Did I?’

‘Yes, you asked me to write about the beginning, but the only things that matter are the endings.’

‘Endings?’

‘Yes, there were two. The first when I killed my daughter, the second when I stopped wanting to kill myself.’ His facial expression is one of discomfort, but he retrieves himself well.

‘So what did you write?’

‘Three words.’

‘Three words?’

‘Yes.’

I hand him the copybook. In truth, I don’t want to take responsibility for it anymore. I can see him look over the words, taking plenty of time to allow their impact sink in. I don’t know what I feel now, but it’s a bit like I’m forming a distance between the words in that copybook and the person who sits in this chair.

‘Your words here – “Wexford, Amy, Dead”—’

‘Important three words, don’t you think?’

‘Yes, Ellie, very important. Can you tell me why you chose those three specifically?’

‘Isn’t it obvious?’

‘Well all three are, as you say, extremely important. But Wexford – even though it is the place your daughter, sorry, Amy, died – is still simply a place. I would not imagine it holds the same weight as the other two.’

‘You underestimate its importance.’

‘Do I?’

‘Yes, because if we hadn’t gone there, she might still be alive.’

I can tell he is mulling over this, trying to work out his next question. Perhaps my response was not what he expected. I could help the good doctor here, say something else, but I’m curious which way he is going to turn next.

‘Ellie, I’m confused.’

‘Confused?’

‘Yes. Perhaps I had expected some kind of remorse.’

‘I do feel remorse. If I feel anything, it is remorse. I feel it every living, breathing second of this thing called my life. Remorse and loss are the two things that haunt me most.’

‘But your words, “Wexford, Amy, Dead”, they are so factual, no emotion.’

‘Well she is dead, isn’t she?’ I snap at him.

‘Yes, of course.’

‘So what’s the point in writing anything else down? Other than those three words, nothing else is important.’

‘But what about the fire?’

‘What about it?’ I lessen the anger in my voice, tired of the same old questions.

‘Well it would seem to me to be extremely important.’

‘The fire meant nothing.’

‘Nothing?’

‘Nothing.’

‘It says here,’ he flicks through the pages, ‘that when they took you
in for questioning, you displayed no outward signs of either upset or regret. An unusual response from a mother who says she has always felt remorse.’

‘I told you the fire meant nothing.’

‘But your daughter died in the fire.’

I want to explode. ‘She was dead before the fire. Listen, I’ve said all of this before. You don’t believe me, the others didn’t believe me, so why don’t we just drop it. I’m sure you have more pressing things to do.’

‘You’re talking about the mystery man you saw with Amy?’

‘Yes.’ I want to leave, I’m sick of playing this game. My thoughts drift inwards. He interrupts again.

‘The man no one else remembers?’

I’ve spent so long inside my own head, if I try hard enough I can shut his words out completely. I’m not bothered by any of them. What I remember is that summer: the light winds scattering grains of sand, families chattering, children running in swimming suits, towels across their shoulders, wet hair mangled, queuing up for ice-cream cones. I can still hear the music from the carousel, over and over, above the noise of slot machines, and in the middle of it all I remember
him
. He looked out of place, as if somewhere deep inside, some warning stirred.

‘Ellie, are you listening to me? We were talking about the man.’

‘Do I need to go over it all again? It didn’t matter then, it’s hardly going to matter now.’

‘But you’ve just admitted, by your own words, that you killed your daughter, not to mention the statement in your file.’

‘Oh, yes, the file – everything is in the file.’

‘It’s not that I want to labour the point, Ellie, but part of moving forward is accepting the truth. What you say doesn’t add up.’

‘Not neat enough, you mean.’

‘Things are seldom neat. That much I certainly do understand.’

‘Well if you understand so much, Dr Ebbs, why do you waste your time with me? I am what I am, and for the most part, that does me just fine.’

‘You say you killed your daughter, you’ve signed a statement saying the same thing, yet you still talk about this mystery man.’

‘I’m not talking about him,
you are
.’

‘The report in the file says the fire killed Amy.’

‘The report in the file?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well that’s just dandy so.’

‘Ellie, you’re not helping.’

‘I thought that was your job.’

‘Okay, let’s start over. If Amy was dead before the fire, how come you said – and in fact still say now – that you killed her?’

‘I did kill her.’

I can tell he’s agitated, not angry agitated, more confused. I don’t blame him.

‘How?’

‘How what?’

‘How did you kill her, if not by the fire?’

‘I killed my daughter, Dr Ebbs, when I stopped being her mother.’