The Tapestry Bag

by Isabella Muir

  When I closed my eyes that night the pictures in my mind would be Zara, living in squalor. The sense of powerlessness was overwhelming.

  I wasn’t the only one to have been disturbed by all I saw and smelt. Bean was clearly disenchanted with my visit and decided to give us all a fright, which meant I didn’t return to the squat for several days.

  The morning after my visit to Zara I woke with sharp tummy pains. I didn’t say anything to Greg and let him go off to work unperturbed. He’d started his new job at Mowbray’s and was keen to make the right impression, so the last thing I wanted was to worry or distract him. But once he left I managed to dress and get myself round to dad’s.

  ‘Oh, princess, you should never had gone,’ dad said, as soon as I explained. ‘I did tell you. Goodness knows what bugs you might have picked up.’

  After a sit down and a couple of glasses of water I felt a little better, but the tummy cramps were still fairly regular.

  ‘I’m sure it’s nothing. I probably shouldn’t have had that curry last night,’ I joked, hoping to allay dad’s fears, although I hadn’t gone anywhere near the curry and had settled for a ham salad. ‘I’ll just lay out on the sofa for a while, close my eyes. Is that okay? Have you got clients this morning?

  ‘I want you to phone the doctor, get him to call in on his afternoon round,’ dad said.

  After a particularly strong cramp that almost took my breath away, I decided to take dad’s advice. Dr Filbert called in early afternoon, examined me and told me that bed rest for a few days should do the trick.

  Phyllis Frobisher would cover for me, now she was fully recovered from her heart attack, so the library was in good hands. But the library was the least of my concerns.

  ‘What am I going to tell Greg?’ I asked my dad. I didn’t want Greg to worry and start to treat me with kid gloves.

  ‘He’s your husband, so what goes on between you is nothing to do with me. But I would like to think you will tell him the truth?’

  Dad was right, but there are different levels of truth. I would apply the ‘need to know’ approach and tell Greg I was a bit under the weather and needed to rest up for a few days.

  It was frustrating not being able to go straight back to see Zara. I was worried she would believe I had given up on her. Dad tried to convince me to tell the police I’d found Zara, but I couldn’t risk her being evicted and thrown out on the streets. There was little to be positive about when I thought about the bleak place that Zara had found to hide herself away in, but at least she wasn’t sheltering in a doorway, or sleeping on a park bench. She had chosen to hide herself away and I needed to find out why. I used my days of rest and relaxation to plan my next steps.

  Chapter 26

  A vague suspicion of every one and everything filled my mind. Just for a moment I had a premonition of approaching evil.

  The Mysterious Affair at Styles - Agatha Christie

  Following my few days of rest I was longing to return to the squat. I was determined to persuade Zara to come home with me, but knew I’d need some kind of lever.

  A few days earlier I’d spotted a poster in the town advertising a clairvoyant, aptly called Crystal, who offered to unravel all the mysteries of the future. I’ve never believed in all that mystical nonsense, but these were desperate times, requiring desperate measures. I added ‘Contact Crystal’ to my jobs list.

  Apart from enlisting the support of the spirit world, Gabrielle was the only person I could approach who might be able to help. It was a risk telling her anything about Zara. Their mutual antipathy meant she would be just as likely to tell the police about the squat to spite her sister.

  I decided to visit Gabrielle and hope to get her talking, but would tell her nothing about the squat, or about seeing Zara. Although Gabrielle’s nonchalant attitude irritated me, she was my best link to Zara’s past. I was still convinced it was her past that would provide the trigger I needed to get her to leave the squat and return to a safer place.

  There was a chance Gabrielle’s reaction would be more favourable if I didn’t arrive on her doorstep unannounced. The best way to advise her in advance was to write a letter, but it felt too formal. In the end, I sent a postcard. I chose a neutral scene of Tidehaven Pier, carefully avoiding the humorous cartoons of seaside antics. I kept the message simple, writing that I’d appreciate another quick chat with her and I’d call round on Saturday morning about 11am and hope to catch her in. I realised this pre-warning would give her the perfect excuse to be out, but it was worth the risk.

  As I dressed that morning I found myself worrying about what I was going to wear. I was limited to one of two dresses, as none of my trousers or skirts would fit. I chose the most flowery of my Indian cotton smocks that I could wear over a warm tee-shirt, imagining the look of disdain on Gabrielle’s face at my lack of style. The butterflies in my stomach had nothing to do with Bean. I’d told Greg I planned to do some clothes shopping, as everything in my wardrobe refused to fit around my ever-expanding bump. It wasn’t a lie, as I intended to have a quick peek in a couple of shops on the way back from Gabrielle’s. Greg was happy to have a few hours to himself and kissed me as I left, which made me feel even more guilty.

  The walk to Gabrielle’s flat was mostly uphill and by the time I arrived I was out of breath and sweaty, despite it being a cloudy day. I kept reminding myself this was not an interview, it was just meant to be a friendly chat, although ‘friendly’ may have been pushing the possibilities a little too far.

  I rang the bell and wondered how long I should wait before abandoning the whole idea. Instead, two seconds later, the door opened and there she stood.

  ‘Come in Janie, can I take your wrap?’

  I’d grabbed an old cardigan before leaving home to add another layer of warmth, which had proved unnecessary. Gabrielle was either being kind, or she was making a point. Either way it didn’t help to put me at ease.

  ‘Thanks,’ I said, handing her my cardigan. I followed her along the hallway into the sitting room.

  It was difficult to see Gabrielle looking poised and stylish, when just a few days ago I had seen her twin sister dishevelled and alone. The contrast was stark between Zara’s dark, dirty living quarters and this glamorous sitting room, which oozed wealth and taste.

  ‘I received your postcard,’ she said, looking at me expectantly. It was then I realised I hadn’t prepared my opening lines. My focus had been on getting through the door, now I was here I wasn’t quite sure how to start.

  ‘I appreciate you seeing me,’ I started, pausing when I realised how formal I sounded. What I needed was to relax the atmosphere between us. She looked at me and waited and I found myself praying for a clue about how to break the ice, which was threatening to freeze me into silence.

  ‘I love your choice of paintings,’ I said. ‘It’s not just the prints themselves, but the way you’ve arranged them. You certainly have an artistic flair. Have you done any painting yourself?’

  She smiled and shook her head. This was not going to be easy.

  ‘Have you lived in this flat for long? It’s so homely, it must have taken you ages to get it looking the way it does.’

  ‘Let’s concentrate on why you’re here, shall we?’ she said, fixing her gaze on me.

  ‘Of course. It’s just you were so helpful when I came to see you last time and I was wondering if there was anything else about Zara you could share with me. About her past?’

  ‘You don’t need to butter me up. I wasn’t helpful then and I probably won’t be now.’

  ‘Have the police been in touch with you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Nothing since the information from Mr Peters?’

  ‘Mr Peters?’

  My mouth had run away with me. There was no way I wanted her to know I’d spoken to Mr Peters. Perhaps it wasn’t too late to backtrack.

  ‘I have a feeling that was the name they mentioned on the news?’ I said. ‘There was a man who came forward with a new lead
. I’m probably wrong about his name, it could have been Powell or Purcell. You say the police haven’t updated you?’

  ‘Why would they? I made it clear I’m not interested in whether Zara is alive or dead. It makes no difference to me.’

  ‘How can you say that?’ My heart started thumping and any minute now I expected my hiccups to start with a vengeance. I was grateful she hadn’t offered me tea, although her lack of hospitality hadn’t gone unnoticed.

  ‘Easily,’ she said, her voice steady and objective. ‘Any connections that might have existed between us were destroyed a long time ago. She lives her life and I live mine. She has never forgiven me you see.’

  ‘Forgiven you? For what? What did you do?’

  ‘I saved her life.’

  I couldn’t find any words, so I remained silent.

  ‘When Zara was fourteen she tried to kill herself,’ she paused either for effect, or because she was remembering how distressing it was. I liked to think it was the latter.

  ‘I should have seen it coming, I suppose,’ she continued. ‘But at that age I was more worried about hair and makeup.’

  ‘What can have made her so unhappy at just fourteen? Did you really not notice? Isn’t there supposed to be a special connection between identical twins?’

  ‘It’s a fallacy, at least for us, we were just like any other sisters, some things we shared and others we didn’t.’

  Knowing Zara had been brought so low before, made me even more anxious about her current state of mind. I had a terrible image of arriving at the squat to find Zara laying unconscious. For a moment I felt like leaving there and then and going straight over to Brightport to make sure she was alright.

  ‘What happened?’ I said, taking short breaths to steady a rising sense of panic.

  ‘His name was Samuel. He was Jamaican. His parents came to England after the war. His dad had fought with the British and loved the idea of bringing his family to the Mother Country. What they didn’t know was how much hatred there would be. He was Zara’s first boyfriend. They met in a coffee bar or some place like that. I don’t know much of the detail, to be honest.’

  ‘Did he end it, was that what happened?’

  ‘No, quite the opposite. Our parents found out and forbade her to see him. They said it would only bring misery to them both.’

  ‘They were just fourteen for goodness sake. Surely it was just a friendship, it wasn’t as though they were about to run off and get married. Anyway, your mum’s French, she should know all about the importance of acceptance.’

  ‘All I know is my parents’ minds were fixed and for a while there were endless screaming arguments. I spent most evenings up in my bedroom with my transistor radio turned up as loud as possible.’

  ‘Did you talk to Zara about Samuel? Did you ever meet him?’

  ‘I met him a couple of times when they were together in town. He seemed like a sweet boy.’

  ‘What happened? Did she agree to stop seeing him?’

  ‘The decision was taken out of her hands. Samuel was the victim of a vicious attack. Some local boys beat him up, he spent some time in hospital. They cut his face with a broken bottle. It was horrible.’

  ‘Oh God, poor Zara, poor Samuel.’

  ‘It was dreadful for his family of course and they were worried for Samuel’s younger sister, so they moved back to Jamaica. Zara took it badly, she didn’t speak for weeks after the attack. She stopped going to school. Then one day I came home from school and decided to persuade her to come out of her bedroom, to go for a walk. She hadn’t been out of the house for ages. I suppose I felt sorry for her, she was miserable all the time. I knocked on her bedroom door and when she didn’t reply I pushed it open and that’s when I found her.’

  As she recounted the story to me there was no emotion in her voice or her expression. It was as though she was describing a scene from a mildly entertaining film.

  ‘She was laying on the bed,’ she continued. ‘She’d put one of her shawls over her face, she was so still that at first I thought she was dead. There was an empty bottle of pills on the bedside table. I panicked, I shook her hard and then I could see she was breathing, her chest was rising and falling. I started screaming at her, “Wake up, for God’s sake, wake up,” but she didn’t respond. Mum and dad were out and we didn’t have a phone in the house. I knew I’d have to leave her to go to the phone box. I was terrified she would die as soon as I left her, I knew I’d get the blame. I ran to the phone box, phoned for an ambulance. They arrived in minutes, whisked her off to hospital and pumped her stomach. Said she was lucky I found her when I did.’

  ‘Why would she hate you for saving her life?’

  ‘Because she wanted to die.’

  I was struggling to take it all in, but I was grateful I was finding out about this terrible time in Zara’s life after I had seen her at least alive, if not well. Knowing about her suicide attempt just confirmed what many had secretly feared when she went missing.

  ‘After that we moved, came to live here,’ she continued. ‘Mum and dad said we all needed a fresh start. It was because of Zara’s stupidity that I had to leave my friends behind. Mum and dad were fixated with Zara, what she was doing, how she was feeling. I might as well have been invisible for all they cared.’

  ‘So, the suicide was before she moved to Tamarisk Bay, just before I met her?’

  She nodded. ‘Then, no sooner had we finished school we had to move again. No-one asked for my opinion. At least now I get to choose where I live and who I see.’

  She glared at me, which was my cue to leave.

  The images of poor Zara lying comatose on her bed while Gabrielle tried to save her made my mind reel and my stomach churn. The days when I struggled to shake Zara from her sadness all made sense now. There were too many similarities between the loss when Samuel was taken from her and the loss she must have felt after Joel’s tragic death. I had to get Zara out of the squat and into a brighter place where I could keep an eye on her. I knew what I needed to do, but I had no idea how I was going to do it.

  Chapter 27

  I heard Poirot chuckle softly beside me. ‘How did you know?’ I whispered.

  The Mysterious Affair at Styles - Agatha Christie

  Greg’s first week at Mowbray’s went well. Each evening he came home full of enthusiasm for what he’d learned, with plenty of amusing anecdotes. He’d hit it off with the rest of Mowbray’s team, and I could tell that they were pleased to have him onboard. Listening to him chattering away over supper was a perfect antidote to the anxious thoughts that were running through my mind. When I started my search for Zara I thought that tracking her down was my sole challenge. Instead, now I had found her, it was clear that I had a whole host of further puzzles to solve. It was like being lost in a maze.

  It appeared that reading had gone out of fashion, with another quiet day in the mobile library. A quiet day was just what I didn’t want. After everything Gabrielle had told me about Zara’s attempted suicide, I was more anxious than ever. I couldn’t return to the squat until I had a definite plan. Until then what I needed was distraction and busyness, but each hour seemed to drag. Then the door opened and in walked a woman and as soon as I saw her I guessed who she was.

  ‘Can I leave these leaflets in here, dearie,’ she said. ‘This spot on the desk will do just fine.’

  I didn’t need to read the front of the flier to realise this was Crystal, the local clairvoyant, whose posters were plastered all over the notice boards in town.

  ‘Um, sorry, no, we aren’t supposed to have advertising in the library, unless it’s about talks, lectures, that kind of thing.’

  ‘Well, that’s what I do. Talk, not lecture though, dearie, oh no. I don’t pass judgement, that’s for the spirits, they’ll let you know if they’re not happy.’ I wondered if the tattered shawl wrapped around her shoulders and her dangly earrings were all part of her act, or if this was her normal dress code.

  ‘Right, yes, but I’m
sorry, I still can’t let you leave the leaflets. You could try the paper shop, the one on the corner of High Street and Waterstone Avenue. Mr Peters is the owner, I’m sure he’d be happy to help.’ It struck me Crystal and Mr Peters would make a well-matched couple, both in love with the spirit world and fascinated with the afterlife.

  ‘I’ll keep one for myself though, if I may?’ Desperate times required desperate measures. I’d been crazy enough to wander around a cemetery with the weird Mr Peters, so paying for a half-hour session of palm readings, or whatever else she did, might not be a bad idea.

  ‘I won’t forecast the sex,’ she said, nodding her head towards my midriff. ‘I’m careful with mothers-to-be, it’s a precious thing, childbirth, not to be messed with.’

  ‘Right, yes.’

  ‘But I’ll help you with your search.’ Perhaps there was more to Crystal than I had first thought.

  ‘How do you know I’m searching?’

  ‘Oh, we’re all searching, dearie. That’s what this life is all about, looking for answers, for love, for forgiveness. It’s not ‘til you reach the next life that it finally makes sense. I just help folk along the way. Well, not me, you understand, it’s the spirits, they talk to me.’

  ‘I see, yes,’ although I really didn’t, but I was fascinated to hear what Joel might have to say to her from the other side.

  ‘Will I see you then, dearie? Will you make an appointment now? Afternoons are best, shall we say tomorrow?’

  ‘Er, yes, okay, why not. 3pm?’ I had nothing to lose, except for the silver needed to cross her palm.

  As I left dad’s the next day I told him about Crystal. He couldn’t stop chuckling and made me promise to come straight back to tell him the outcome.

  ‘It’ll be better than a chapter from one of your murder mysteries,’ he said.

  Crystal’s place of work turned out to be a little caravan, tucked round the back of one of the many junk shops in Tidehaven Old Town. Any ideas about the inside of a clairvoyant’s caravan were quickly dispersed when she opened the door and bid me inside. This was no homely mix of brightly decorated floral china and shiny brassware, instead the walls were patchy with mildew and the strip light was so covered with grease it barely cast any light.