by Amy Cross
“I don't know,” I mutter. “That's why I asked.”
“You're taking a slip of the tongue and making too much out of it,” he replies. “Please, let's drop the subject.”
He leans over to the hamper and starts taking some more items out, but I swear he seems deeply uncomfortable. In fact, it's only now that I'm starting to realize just how little I know about this guy, which is kind of creepy when I consider that I've allowed him to bring me out here with my daughters. For all I can say, he might be some kind of ax-wielding maniac, or a monster of some description. I watch as he takes some jars of jam from the hamper, but he might have all sorts of weapons hidden away in there.
“We should leave soon,” I announce, even though I feel pretty mean. “We should be getting back to Curridge.”
Anthony turns to me. “But -”
“I'm sorry,” I continue, “but that's just how it is. I need to get my daughters ready for the journey tomorrow. We can't spend all day hanging out here. After all, we're leaving town in the morning, and we probably won't ever be back. In fact, I'm pretty certain we won't be.”
Chapter Forty-One
Alice
Today
“Wait!” I call out, spotting Dorothy trying to drag a pew back into place. “Let me do that!”
I hurry along the aisle, but to her credit Dorothy has already managed to move the pew several feet. By the time I reach her, however, she's clearly struggling, and I quickly take the weight so that she can relax.
“I really think you should rest a little,” I tell her, as I pull the pew into line with the others. The wooden base scrapes loudly against the church's stone floor. “You had a real shock last night.”
“I'm ninety-one years old,” she replies proudly.
“That's amazing, but -”
“Ninety-one!” she adds, poking a finger at me. “The day I sit down and give up, is the day I die. Until then, there's work to do.”
She turns and shuffles away, still muttering to herself.
It's a little after 10am, and I came to the church because I wanted to find a way to help. The nightmare last night left me feeling restless and wired, and there's no way I can just sit around on my butt. As much as the local community seems shocked by the vandalism of the church, nobody else has come to help fix the damage; I was expecting a real local effort, but so far the only other person here is Dorothy. Even Father Redman has remained in his little office at the far end of the church, making phone calls ever since I arrived.
I guess maybe people are superstitious. They don't want to come to the church right now, in case there's a linger remnant of something dark here.
“I think most of the damage is superficial,” I point out to Dorothy, as I grab another pew and start dragging it into place. Glancing at the altar, I see that there's still a bloody stain running down the side, but I can only hope that some more cleaning will do the trick. “I'm sure the place will look fine by Sunday.”
I heave the pew across the aisle, before maneuvering it into its proper spot. Turning, I look along the aisle and see that Dorothy is heading through to the office, and even from all the way over here I can tell that she's trembling. I know I should leave her alone, but at the same time my arms are aching and I'll take any excuse for a short break. I double-check that this latest pew is lined up properly, and then I make my way along the aisle until I get closer to the door. I can hear Dorothy in the office, talking to Father Redman, and I figure maybe I can ask what else needs doing.
“It's not your choice to make,” I hear Dorothy saying. “You should tell the poor woman about her mother!”
Stopping suddenly, I realize they're talking about me. I hesitate for a moment, very much aware that I shouldn't eavesdrop, but then I hear Dorothy say something else:
“She's out there now. What are you waiting for?”
“You don't know what you're talking about,” Father Redman replies tersely. “Dorothy, go home, and take the Ashcroft woman with you. I can deal with whatever needs doing here.”
“And you think it's all a coincidence, do you?”
“I think it's church business!”
“You have to tell her!” Dorothy continues, sounding more and more agitated. “She has a right to know!”
Father Redman sighs.
“You put your head in the sand until now,” Dorothy adds, “and maybe that approach was worth a try, but now there's clearly a greater problem. You have to turn the note over to her! Where is it? I'll do it, I'll even lie and pretend that I've been holding it for all these years! Nobody will ever trace it back to you, but the poor woman deserves to know what happened to her mother!”
“Keep your voice down!” he hisses.
Hearing a chair leg scraping against the floor, I back away around the corner. A moment later I spot a shadow on the stone floor, and it's clear that Father Redman has come to make sure that I'm not close. Just as I'm starting to worry that I might need to make up an excuse, the shadow recedes and I hear him heading back across the office.
“Thank you for your advice, Dorothy,” he says tensely. “I shall take your comments into consideration.”
“But -”
“And now I really must insist that you leave. I have a lot to do today.”
“I want you to -”
“Now, Dorothy! Get out of my church!”
There's a pause, and then I hear Dorothy's footsteps shuffling across the office. Still keeping out of sight, I watch as she makes her way slowly along the aisle. She might be frail, but she's clearly still got a spring in her step, and she also seems to know something that I don't. There's a part of me that wants to march right into that office and demand to know be told whatever Father Redman is hiding, but I doubt that approach would work. Instead, I think I need to be more subtle.
***
“Of course I remember,” Dorothy says a few minutes later, as I help her re-pot some flowers that were knocked over last night. “It's not every day that a woman dies here in Curridge. The whole town was so shocked by your mother's death.”
“Do you remember her?” I ask. “What I mean is, did you talk to her?”
“I believe we exchanged pleasantries once or twice,” she replies. “Of course, I wasn't working at the public house at that point. I was married, but...”
Her voice trails off for a moment, and I can see the tears in her eyes.
“My husband was a wonderful man,” she continues, “but very sadly, he died a long time ago. And since we never had children of our own...”
The words seem to catch in her throat, and I think I sense a hint of regret before finally she forces a smile.
“Your mother seemed like a very nice young woman,” she adds, kneeling next to the flower border. “I used to serve breakfasts at the pub, even then. Kerry was in charge, but she died of cancer and the license bounced around a little before settling in its current hands. It was a long time ago, so you'll forgive me for not remembering everything with crystal clarity, but I do recall seeing the three of you going out for long walks. You had a sister, did you not?”
“I still do.”
“Sisters are very important. Family is such a boon in this world.”
“Do you have any family?” I ask, kneeling next to her and helping with the plant that she's trying to place in the ground.
She shakes her head. “When one gets to my age... Well, I have a sister in Doncaster, or that was where she lived when I last heard from her. Unfortunately, we lost touch a long time ago, but there's nothing to be done about that now.”
“You could try to contact her,” I point out.
“Oh, it's too late for that. But...”
Her voice trails off, as if she's lost in thought.
Before I can ask whether she's okay, I spot a shape carved into the church's stone wall. Peering closer, I see what looks like a letter A combined with a backward C. Moss is already growing in the grooves, so I guess the carving is pretty old, which in turn means it can't b
e part of the vandalism that took place last night.
Suddenly Dorothy reaches out and takes hold of my hand, and squeezing tight.
“Look after your sister,” she adds, “and allow yourself to rely on her occasionally. There's a bond between sisters, and between brothers too, that can save your life. That bond is more important than anything that is ever said, or ever done. It is more important than any words, and it transcends all that is said in anger.”
“I'm sure I -”
“No, really listen to me.” She squeezes even tighter. “When all else fails, when the world seems to be closing in, you'll be able to rely on your sister. And make sure that she can rely on you in return. Do you by any chance have any brothers?”
I shake my head.
“That's a shame.” She pauses, before letting go of my hand, and for a moment she seems a little dazed. “A brother would have been good,” she adds, mumbling slightly. “Not necessary, but very useful.”
“Is there anything I should know about my mother?” I ask, blurting the question out sooner than I'd intended.
“Oh,” she replies, with great sadness in her voice, “my dear, why would you ask that?”
“I don't remember her at all,” I reply. “I was just a baby, and to be honest, we had no other relatives when she died. My sister and I were taken into the care system.”
“I'm so sorry!”
“It's fine, we were well looked after. My sister doesn't like talking about what happened to our mother, because she remembers it. I think she's still in a kind of shock about the whole thing. Maybe she still has nightmares. But the thing is, since we didn't have any uncles or aunts, or grandparents -”
“What about your father?”
“He died just before I was born.”
“Oh, my poor dear girl!”
“Because of all that,” I continue, “I've never seen a photo of my mother. My sister has described her, I know she had dark hair, I know she was quite tall, but I've never actually seen her. Believe me, I've looked, but she died in the eighties. People didn't take so many photos back then. I've always wondered whether one day I might stumble across a photo that she's in, maybe she's just in the background but...”
My voice trails off, and after a few seconds I realize that I've become a little more personal than I'd planned.
“I'm just being stupid,” I add finally, “but if there's anything I should know about my mother, anything at all, it would mean the world to me.”
I wait for Dorothy to reply, and I swear I can see a shade of indecision in her features. Her eyes are watering, and her mouth is trembling as if she's on the verge of saying something.
“My dear,” she whispers finally, “you must -”
“Is everything alright out here?” a voice barks suddenly, and I turn to see Father Redman watching us from the church's doorway.
“Absolutely fine,” Dorothy stammers, clearly panicked as she looks back down at the plants. “We're just tending to the borders a little.”
“There really isn't very much for you to do here, Miss Ashcroft,” he continues, fixing me with a less-than-friendly stare. “Most of the damage was superficial. I'd so hate to waste your valuable time.”
“We were just talking,” I reply, getting to my feet. “I hope that's not a problem.”
“Of course not,” he replies tersely, before checking his watch. “However, I imagine you'll want to be getting on the road soon. There's supposed to be a storm coming soon.”
“They've been saying that for a while,” I point out.
“Precisely. It has to come eventually.”
“I might be staying for a few more days,” I reply, and I can't miss the flicker of annoyance in his features. “Just to spend a little more time by the coast.”
“Inspiration for one of your books?”
“Something like that.”
“Well, I'm sure that will be lovely for you,” he replies. “Just be careful not to get lost down here. People do get very lost, you know. Always make sure to note down your way back.”
With that, he turns and heads into the church.
“He seems... intense,” I point out, turning to Dorothy but seeing that she looks utterly fearful. “You were saying that -”
“I was saying a lot,” she mutters, getting to her feet and brushing dirt from her hands. “You must excuse me, but I have a great deal to get done today before lunch.”
“Let me help you and -”
“Oh, I'd rather do it alone, if you don't mind. That way, I can keep it clear in my head.”
“But -”
“Don't stay for too long,” she adds, taking a step back. “Please, dear. I don't think you'll find anything of much use here in Curridge. It's a very boring little town, very dull. I'm sure there's plenty waiting for you back in London.”
She turns and hurries inside, leaving me standing alone in the cemetery. As the trees start rustling all around, I can't help feeling that Dorothy was about to tell me something, before Father Redman interrupted. Next time I talk to her, I'll make sure we're nowhere near the church.
Chapter Forty-Two
Lizzie
Thirty years ago
“I'll take Alice inside,” I tell Kate as I climb out of Anthony's car, right outside the pub. “Make sure you've got everything before you come in, okay?”
“I picked this for you,” she replies.
Turning, I see that she's holding out a yellow flower.
“That's nice, honey,” I say with a sigh, “but -”
“I think it'd look nice in your hair.”
I open my mouth to tell her I don't have time, but then I realize that maybe she'd get upset if I didn't at least accept the flower. Taking it from her hand, I pause for a moment before carefully slipping it into my hair. I feel pretty silly, but Kate immediately smiles and I figure that maybe for once I've actually done a good job.
“Thank you, honey,” I say, before I lift Alice from the car and carry her into the pub. “Come on. Bring your things inside.”
Once I'm in the bar area, I set Alice in the high-chair and then I turn to see that Kate is talking to Anthony. I guess there's nothing wrong with that, and Kate seems to be the one who's doing most of the talking, but I still don't like anything that might make Anthony feel like he's our friend. I know I'm being rude, but I really just want to get him away from us as quickly as possible.
“So how was your picnic?” the landlady asks.
Turning to her, I see that there's a faint smile on her lips.
“Do you have a piece of paper?” I reply.
“What kind are you after?”
“I just need to write a note.”
She hands me a sheet from a pad next to the till, and I quickly start jotting down a few lines for Anthony. I don't want him to think that I'm some kind of ungrateful bitch, or that I led him on in any way, so I try to explain myself in a way that he'll understand:
Dear Anthony,
Thank you for the picnic today. I'm sorry we won't be able to see you again, but that's just the way it is. You've been very kind and Kate, Alice and I all appreciate the things you've done for us. I'm sorry if I wasn't clear about anything. Good luck, and we wish you all the best for your future. Whatever world that might be in.
Yours sincerely,
Lizzie Ashcroft.
I don't really have time to add anything else, so I quickly read the letter over again before folding it and heading to the door. Just as I'm about to go outside, however, Kate comes bursting in with Anthony just a few paces behind.
“Mummy, can we play cards?” Kate asks.
“Not right now,” I tell her.
“Can we have our photo taken?”
“What do you mean?”
“I forgot about this,” Anthony says, holding up a Polaroid camera. “I thought it might be nice to -”
“We don't have time,” I tell him.
“Just one? As a memento of the day?”
“Please, M
ummy!” Kate continues, tugging on my arm. “I want a photo of you and me!”
Again, although I know I shouldn't give in to her, I realize that she seems absolutely desperate.
“I won't be in the picture,” Anthony explains, “in case that was what you were worried about. I'll just take a family photo of the three of you, so you can remember your little holiday.”
“Please, Mummy!”
“I guess one photo won't hurt,” I reply, and Anthony immediately starts getting the camera ready. As he does so, I see that his blazer pocket is slightly open, so I quickly slip the note through the gap.
I immediately regret writing the letter at all, but I guess it's too late to undo it now.
“Why don't you sit over there?” Anthony says, pointing to one of the booths as I fetch Alice. “The light should be absolutely perfect.”
“One photo,” I say as Kate takes her place excitedly.
Sitting next to her, I adjust the flower in my hair as Anthony holds the camera up.
“Don't forget to smile, Mummy,” Kate whispers. “You're not very good at smiling usually.”
“What's that supposed to mean?”
“You're just not good at it. Please try this time.”
Feeling a little startled, I look toward the camera and realize that I should at least be able to fake a smile. I do my best, and a moment later there's a flash as Anthony takes the picture. Once the white square has come out, he sets it on the bar.
“One more for luck?” he suggests.
“No,” I reply, getting up with Alice still in my arms. “I'm sorry, but I said only one, and I think I should stick to that.”
“One more, Mummy!” Kate pleads. “Please?”
I shake my head.
“This has been a fun afternoon,” I say, turning to Anthony, “but if I let Kate run the show, we'll be here all day.”
“Of course,” Anthony replies, and I'm starting to think that he understands why I'm so reluctant. I'm sure he'll get an even better understanding once he reads the note that's currently hidden in his blazer pocket. “I have things to be doing anyway, so I suppose I should get on my way and stop disturbing you.”
