I let a thought come into my mind that I
had managed to exclude until that moment. In my flat. Troy had killed himself in
my flat. I wondered if even thinking this was an obscenity, but I couldn't stop
myself. He had hanged himself where I might find him. His dead body hung there,
rotating slowly until it came to rest, in the space where I slept and ate and
lived my life. How could he do that? I wanted to think to myself that Troy
could never have done that. I loved Troy. And surely, even when his fog of
misery was at its thickest, he loved me. Would he have done that to me?
Something I could never forget. I tried to tell myself that when you kill
yourself you are beyond thinking of other people in any way except that they
will be better off without you. Or was it worse? I made myself consider the
possibility that Troy's suicide, and the manner of it, and the place of it, was
a statement to me: There, Miranda, there. You thought you understood me. You
thought you could help me. Well, here you are. Here is what I've come to. Do
something to help me now.
I expected my mother to start crying when
she saw me, but her mind seemed somewhere else. Even when she opened the door,
she was looking over my shoulder as if she expected someone to be with me.
'I'm glad you came, Miranda,' she said,
but it sounded as if she were speaking lines someone else had written for her.
'Your father's out.'
'Where?' I said. Where did he have to go
at a time like this?
'Where?' my mother said, foggily, as if
she were on something.
'What about Kerry and Brendan?'
'They've gone out. Would you like some
tea?'
'Love some. I'll just pop upstairs.'
That's the good thing about your parents'
house. It's still sort of your home, even if it's not the one you grew up in.
You can go anywhere in it, open cupboards. I was going to do something
terrible. I hardly knew why. It was as if I had an abscess in a tooth and I was
getting a penknife and jabbing it into the abscess, flooding myself with more
and more pain so that it would just overwhelm me and be gone, or I would be
gone. My mother had gone to the kitchen and I ran up the stairs and into the
bedroom where Kerry and Brendan were staying. I felt a tension like electricity
in me. My ears were humming with it. I could hear my pulse, hear the blood
rushing through my veins.
The arrangement in the bedroom was
obviously temporary. They had barely unpacked. Kerry's dressing gown and
nightie were tossed over the bed. A suitcase was half open, leaning against the
wall, her clothes neatly folded. On the corner table there were a number of
bottles, shampoo, conditioner, creams, scent, all of it Kerry's. I looked
around. That was a funny thing. Kerry could have been staying here alone. I
couldn't see a single object or item of clothing that belonged to Brendan. Next
to the bed was another, closed, suitcase. I laid it flat on the floor, flicked
the catches and opened it, revealing Brendan's clothes. It wouldn't take a
minute. One by one I lifted shirts, trousers, underpants and turned them over
so that I could replace them in the right order. The case was almost empty when
I felt as much as heard steps running up the stairs. I didn't even have time to
move from my knees when the door opened and Brendan appeared. For about a tenth
of a second I had thought, well, what does it matter? But by the look on his
face, I thought, Oh fuck. At first he just looked surprised, and no wonder,
with me rooting around in his case, his clothes arranged around me.
'Miranda?' he said. 'What the...?'
I tried to think of something, but my
brain had turned to thick soup.
'I'd forgotten something,' I said
randomly. 'I mean I thought you'd taken something by mistake.'
Now his face turned angry.
'What the fuck?!'
And then Kerry appeared behind him.
'Brendan?' she said. 'What...?' And then
she too caught sight of me.
'The rope,' I said. 'I thought you'd taken
my rope by mistake.'
CHAPTER 24
'What?' said Kerry wildly. 'What rope?'
'Jesus Christ,' said Brendan. 'Look at
you!'
'What rope?' repeated Kerry.
She took a step forward so that she was
glaring down at me. She had her hands on her hips and her face was scarlet. It
was as if all her natural reserve, her anxiety and timidity, had been burned
away by grief and rage. I could almost feel the emotion steaming off her. I got
up from the floor and stood there, surrounded by Brendan's clothes.
'I don't know,' I said. 'I just
thought...' I trailed off.
'You were going through Brendan's stuff,
for God's sake. What did you think?'
'I was sorting out my flat,' I said.
'And?
And?'
'Let me get this straight,' said Brendan.
'You're going through my things' — here he kicked at his clothes with a foot,
so they spread out across the floor — 'to find some rope. Yes?'
'I was just confused,' I said in a mumble.
'Confused?' said Kerry. 'Do you realize
that our little brother was buried yesterday? And now you come over here, you
make a special journey, to poke around in Brendan's case...'
'It'd be better if I went now,' I said.
Brendan took a step forward so that he was
barring my way.
'I don't think so, Mirrie.'
'Let me through.'
'You're not going anywhere until we've got
to the bottom of this.'
'We're all overwrought.'
'Overwrought?' yelled Kerry. For such a
slight person she can make a very loud noise. 'Over-fucking-wrought?!'
'What's going on?'
My father had appeared in the doorway.
'Nothing,' I said, hopelessly.
'I'll tell you what's going on,' said
Kerry. 'She,' and she pointed a finger at me, 'she was going through Brendan's
case.'
'Miranda?' said my father.
'Looking for rope,' added Brendan.
'Rope?'
'That's what she said.'
Brendan squatted down and started folding
up his scattered clothes and putting them neatly back in the case.
'I think I should go,' I said.
'I think you should explain yourself said
my father in a voice tinged with disgust. He rubbed his face with his hand and
looked around for somewhere to sit down.
'I was simply trying to get things in
order,' I began, then stopped.
'The rope,' prompted Brendan. 'Mmm?
Secretly going through my belongings looking for some rope?'
I didn't have anything to say.
What rope?' asked my mother, entering the
room.
I sat down on the unmade bed and put my
face in my hands, like a small child trying to keep the world out of my head.
Kerry started telling my mother what she'd found me doing, stoking up her
outrage all over again, and I stared through the crack in my fingers at a patch
of carpet and the legs of the chest of drawers, trying to block out the words.
'I don't know you any more,' my mother
said in a flat voice once Kerry was done.
'Please,' I said. 'I'm upset. We're all
upset.'
'What I want to know,' said Brendan, 'is
what rope it was. I mean — when you say "rope", well, the word only
means one thing to all of us now. Mmm? Only one thing/
There was a horrible silence in the room,
then he went on: 'Is that what you mean by the rope — you mean, the
rest
of
the rope? Mmm?'
'I don't mean anything.'
'And yet you went to the trouble of coming
over here to look for it.'
'Shut up,' I said, lifting my head from my
hands. 'Shut up, shut up, shut up. I feel as if I'm in court or something, and
everything I say's being turned against me. Don't all look at me like that!'
'Why did you think it would be here? Mmm?
Among my things? Is there something you want to tell us?'
'No,' I said in a whisper.
'It's obvious,' said Kerry sharply. 'She's
obsessed with Brendan. She's always been obsessed with him. I tried not to see
it. I tried telling myself it didn't matter. I was generous about it, wasn't I?
I thought she'd get over it. Even when she went on and on about their
relationship and wouldn't let go of it. When she wouldn't behave in an ordinary
friendly way in front of him, but had to be all angry and bitter, or else too
friendly. Even when she took her clothes off in the bathroom when he was in
there, for God's sake, and I was in the bloody room next door trying to behave
nicely to her.'
'Say "you",' I said, hysteria
rising up in me. 'Don't say "she" when I'm right in front of you.'
Kerry talked over me. Everything she'd
stored up was cascading out now. Her voice was high and hoarse.
'Even when she started going all peculiar
and flooding the bathroom and then accusing Brendan of doing it. Or tracking
down old friends, like a spy, a bloody spy. I still thought it would be all
right. Stupid of me, I see that now. Stupid, stupid, stupid. And don't think we
don't all understand what it's about. It's not just about Brendan, it's about
me. Her elder sister. She's always been jealous of me. She always wanted to
destroy everything. Like she did with Mike. And now look at her. Look!' She
pointed again. 'Troy died. He killed himself. Our darling brother killed
himself in her flat. Yesterday was his funeral. Does it stop her? No. No, it
bloody does not. Because the morning after, the very next morning, she comes
over here and starts snooping around. Even Troy dying doesn't stop her.'
She started sobbing till her thin
shoulders shook. Brendan went across to her and wrapped his arm around her
waist.
'It's not about you, Kerry,' he said
softly. 'Don't you see? When you say she's obsessed, that's probably exactly
the right word. I've thought this for some time now. I blame myself for not
doing anything about it. She's like a stalker. If she weren't family, I'd be
calling the police by now, asking for protection. I've read about things like
this; I think there's even a name for it, though I can't remember what. She
probably can't even help herself.'
'No,' I said. 'Don't say things like
that.'
'Miranda,' said my mother in her new, dull
voice. 'There are things that have to be said now. Things we've all been
avoiding. I don't think I've even said them to myself, but now that Troy's
dead, I can say anything. Perhaps you need professional help.'
'You don't understand,' I said. 'No one
understands.' I turned to my father. 'You don't think I'm obsessed, do you?'
'I don't know what I think any more,' he
said. 'But I know one thing.'
'What?'
'You'll start off by apologizing to
Brendan for the way you've behaved. Just because there's been a tragedy in this
family doesn't mean that we're going to stop behaving like decent human
beings.'
'But I...'
'Whatever it is you're about to say, I
don't want to hear,' he said. 'You apologize to Brendan. Do you hear me? That's
the least we expect.'
I looked at his caved-in face. I looked at
my mother's empty eyes. Then I stood up and faced Brendan. He stared at me,
waiting. I clenched my fists together and dug my nails into my palms.
'I'm sorry,' I said.
He bowed his head slightly, in
recognition. 'Mirrie, I'm sorry too. I'm sorry for you. I pity you.'
I turned away.
'Can I go now?' I asked.
We all trooped downstairs together in
silence. Kerry was still half-sobbing. At the front door, I stopped.
'I left my bag upstairs,' I said. 'I'll
get it and then I'll be out of your way.'
I took the stairs two at a time, in spite
of the pain banging round inside my skull, and pushed open the door to Brendan
and Kerry's room. I knelt down in front of the chest of drawers and pushed my
hand under it, into the narrow space I'd been staring at from my position on
the bed. And I pulled out the coil of green rope.
CHAPTER 25
Detective Inspector Rob Pryor was nice,
like a normal person that you might meet in the real world. He had curly blond
hair and a relaxed, almost lazy manner. He brought me coffee from a machine
just outside his office. He introduced me to colleagues. Vicky Reeder, the WPC
who had looked after me, came over and said hello. Then Rob — he asked me to
call him Rob, and I asked him to call me Miranda — took me into his office and
shut the door. He showed me the view from his window. It was really just trees
on the other side of the high wall that surrounded the police car park, but he
knew what kinds of trees they were. He seemed proud of his view, or maybe he
was just being reassuring, because then he turned to me and asked how I was.
I said I was devastated, that we all were,
and he nodded and said he understood.
'It's difficult to deal with,' he said.
'It's funny,' I said. 'I thought you'd be
puzzled to see me and that you'd just tell me to go away. But you're acting as
if you were expecting me.'