The Bones of You

by Debbie Howells

  “It’s like she’s asleep with her eyes wide open,” I tell Laura much later on, when she calls round on her way home. “What happens? Will she just come back, as it were, or will they give her drugs?”

  “They probably already are,” she says. “Poor Jo. This isn’t going to be over quickly. Are you still okay with Delphine?”

  “We’re happy for her to stay. I couldn’t bear to think of her anywhere else.”

  I couldn’t do that, not to poor Delphine. Having settled, as far as I can tell, she deserves some stability in her life, which has already been far too troubled.

  “There’s Carol, of course. I called her earlier. She’s more than happy to have Delphine there, but it means leaving school, her friends.... I’ve no idea what’s best.”

  Given what’s happened, is it harder to leave the familiar or easier to stay?

  “Talk to her at some point,” Laura says gently.

  “I went to talk to Alex.” I say it quietly.

  Laura looks alarmed. “Kate . . . please . . . stay away from him.”

  “I had to, Laura. After everything I thought about him, I really don’t believe he did it.”

  Laura sighs. “There’s still a murder inquiry under way. And whatever you think, he’s a suspect.”

  “He’s innocent,” I say firmly, noticing her eyebrows arch. It was the way he spoke as I left his house that convinced me he was telling the truth.

  I didn’t kill her, I promise, on my life . . .

  “So if not him, who?” Laura asks.

  “He’s convinced it’s Neal. Says that he faked being drunk, that the alibi isn’t strong enough. . . .”

  Laura screws up her face, thinking. “But that’s wrong. This guy who saw him walked across the green just before eleven. Says he saw what he thought was a homeless man in the bushes, passed out. He didn’t do anything. Obviously, he was in a hurry to meet his lady friend. But on the way back, Neal was still there, in exactly the same place. The guy tried to wake him, but he was snoring loudly and couldn’t be roused. That’s when he saw the whiskey bottle. Jo herself says that he crawled in, stinking of booze, early the next morning. There’s an outside chance he was faking it, but honestly, I don’t think he was.”

  “Then it has to be someone else,” I say, just as I hear Delphine come downstairs. She’s just back from school. “Are you okay, sweetie?”

  “Can I make a drink?” Her face appears in the door frame, impassive.

  “Of course you can. Call me if you need help.”

  I hear her fill the kettle and clatter around a bit, but then she comes back through, holding another of those white envelopes.

  “I think this just came through your door.”

  I hesitate, then meet Laura’s eyes as I keep my voice as normal as possible.

  “Thank you.”

  Once she goes back in the kitchen, I open it and read the note to Laura.

  Ask her about the necklace.

  Then, as I put it down, something clicks into place.

  ROSIE

  Without vodka to make them soften and blur into sleep, evenings are too torturously slow, Joanna thinks. It’s so long since she’s been sober, she’s forgotten how slow.

  Glances at her watch. Ten thirty. She hears Della upstairs in her room, doesn’t go up there, see her sitting on her bed, writing silently. My only, lonely sister, who aches for someone to hold her close or smile warmly into her eyes.

  Ten thirty-two. Joanna’s restless. Is everything prepared?

  Of course it is. She’s Kate, remember? Practical and capable with those horses of hers, Kate can do this, too. Joanna knows she can. She closes her eyes, thinks of Kate’s straight hair, her skin tanned from being outside, those awful, ugly clothes she always wears, those dreadful hands, her common sense. Understanding that tonight will serve her well. Hoping it’s enough. She looks again. Ten forty-one. Gets her car keys, jingles them in her hands just as Della walks in, gets herself a glass of water.

  “Mummy? Can I go to Harriet’s house tomorrow?”

  For a moment, Kate wonders why Joanna doesn’t answer. Then remembers with a start, she is Joanna.

  No. Just shakes her head.

  She can’t think about this now. The world exists only up until tonight. She can’t think about tomorrow, not yet.

  Ten forty-eight. Her heart starts to palpitate. She glances over at the phone. Why is Delphine still here? Watching her?

  Bedtime. Mother Joanna voice.

  She has to get Kate back. Closes her eyes again. Thinks of Kate’s cool calm, her chunky thighs in her jodhpurs, hair that needs the attention of a good stylist. Breathes out again. It’s okay. She’s ready.

  She picks up the phone. Calls me on Alex’s phone. Speaks in such a caring way. Hears the shock in our voices. How does she know we’re there? Together? Hears shock fade to suspicion, then fear, as she tells them Neal’s on his way.

  Forgets Della, halfway up the stairs, listening, wondering why her mother’s lying about the car keys she’s lost, which are in her hand; about her father, who isn’t raging at all. He’s just been drinking quietly, heavily, all evening. Or did she miss something?

  But as Joanna-Kate leaves in a hurry, because now it’s time for her to do this, she doesn’t even notice Neal’s gone. Has no idea why, at the last minute, she snatches up the knife.

  The car is parked on the road. No gravel-drive noise. She drives slowly, with no lights, until she reaches the end of the lane. Not that her neighbors will notice. No one round here notices anything.

  As she drives, her hands shake, fumble with the gear stick, turn signals, making her flustered. Makes herself take deep breaths. Summons the part of her she calls Kate. Sees Rosanna walking down the road. Back to that slut Poppy’s, just as she guessed. And then it’s easy.

  I climb into the car, surprised. Joanna’s jittery. It crosses my mind she’s drunk, but then I know how terrified she is of my father. She drives until she feels my hand on her arm. Then she says, “Do you mind if we pull over? I’m not feeling too well. I need some air.”

  I’m used to Joanna not feeling well. Think nothing of it. She gets out and gulps the air like she’s been suffocating; then she pulls on the coat that’s in the back, says, “Such a beautiful night. We should walk.”

  She starts off up the lane, then turns, waits for me to follow. She tells me she doesn’t want to go home yet. “Your father will be there. He’ll be so angry. He’s found out. We’ll wait. He’ll calm down. What will we do?” Then she says in a different voice, “It’s a lovely night for walking in the woods.”

  I know then, she’s mad. But I can’t leave her here, my mad mother in the woods. So I follow Joanna as she keeps walking, every so often checking her watch. Remember, she has a plan.

  And though I know that this is crazy, that Joanna’s behavior is unnerving me, my response is involuntary, molded by my childhood, my synapses and neural pathways obedient to her will. As I was always going to, I do what she says.

  Joanna-Kate doesn’t remember the bank being this slippery or nearly losing her footing, having to clutch at branches to pull herself up here. But it’s a secret, hidden, wild place—and so pretty when she came here in daylight. The trees are so tall, so black against the indigo sky, their jagged shapes carved against the moon.

  “Look,” she says to me. “Look up there. It’s watching us.” Then her eyes fill with panic. “Oh my God. It is . . . watching us.”

  I look up, try to see what she’s frightened of. But there are only the trees like sentries, standing guard around us, beneath the moon, a benign friend.

  At my side, she watches, tells me what a mess this all is, but how we can sort it out. That the baby will ruin everything, but there’s another way, and if we put it behind us and start again, everything will be perfect.

  And then it hits me. It’s why she’s so strange.

  She knows I’m pregnant.

  My heart flutters. “I’m keeping the baby.” My voice is
scared, shocked, resolute. “You can’t stop me. It’s my body, my baby.”

  “No,” she cries. “That’s not the answer. He mustn’t know. Not ever. He’d kill me.”

  And there it is, in those few words. My existence, Della’s, too, from the beginning, always second to him. Suddenly, I want to leave here. I know viscerally, on a primal level, that I’m not safe. Say in a calm voice that isn’t calm at all, “Let’s talk about it at home.”

  “Not yet,” she says.

  Soon.

  She looks at my face, caught in the moonlight, like a ghost. Frowns. “We have to talk.... You can get rid of it, Rosanna. No one will know. I’ve found somewhere. We’ll tell your father you’re taking a course or staying with Carol.” Carol, in a different, hateful kind of voice.

  “I won’t,” I shout, furious, fearful, betrayed. “I’m keeping it. It’s my baby. Your grandchild,” I scream at her.

  But it’s not Joanna’s voice shouting back at me. She’s a mad stranger, grabbing me, hurting me.

  “You have to. It ruins everything.... No one will know.... You’ll forget. It’ll be over soon. Everything can go back to how it was.... Don’t be selfish, Rosanna, always thinking of yourself, like a child. What about me?”

  I try to pull away from her, but her rage is all-consuming, her strength inhuman, even though I fight back, punch at her, tear at her clothes, her hair.

  “You have to,” she mutters. “Don’t you see? It’s the only way. You have to.”

  I feel her shake me, then push me roughly, hard, her hand pulling my hair, smashing my head against a tree.

  No . . . The world starts to spin, and suddenly, the stars are not just above. They’re everywhere, all around me. I blink them away, then hold her eyes, see them flash as the moon catches them.

  “I can’t.” For a second, I believe she’s giving in. Her grip slackens, her head drops, but I’m wrong. The brute force born from a lifetime of anger, belittlement, and abuse, from being thwarted at every step, takes me by surprise. She shakes me, batters me repeatedly against the tree, cracking my head, my skin stinging as the bark cuts it, her rage a scream of vile words and hatred against her life, until I fall to the ground.

  And as my legs crumple, my body sinking in slow motion, my eyes still locked on hers, so my head is the last part of me to hit, colliding, bouncing, splintering, against the rock.

  Feel the blinding, excruciating agony of the knife that first time.

  Then nothing.

  In a moment of perfect stillness, the night on pause, she stares, not seeing, as I leave my body and float, watching her shocked face, hearing her gasp, stricken, her madness draining into the darkness. Oh God . . . What has she done?

  I see her horror, because she didn’t mean to kill me, just to make me understand that, as always, there are no choices, just necessities. Was that why she brought the knife? She drops to her knees. Makes this piercing, agonizing wounded-animal cry, doesn’t know whose baby she’s crying for.

  Until something catches her eye. Alex’s beautiful necklace, glittering in the moonlight. So beautiful, she can’t leave it here. Reaching behind my neck to open the clasp.

  Then panic seizes her. There’s no going back. Not even in the darkest corner of her mind had she imagined it might come to this. What about the baby? The poor baby who couldn’t live. Her baby’s baby. She has to do something, to show how much she wishes it could have been different.

  And slowly, it comes to her what that is.

  Before she goes, she must cover her. In a rush, Joanna scoops up leaves, twigs, earth, whatever her trembling hands find, until my body slowly blends into the woods and disappears. Another sob wells up from the deepest part of her. What has she done? She can’t leave me, not like this.

  Joanna hunts around in the darkness for soft green moss, so pretty. So much more fitting for the daughter who’ll always be perfect. Takes a deep breath. It wasn’t what she planned, but it will still work. Neal won’t be able to leave her now. It will be hard, but everything can go back to how it was.

  Almost.

  41

  “Delphine? Did you write this?”

  She turns to gaze at me with those pale eyes that hide everything. Then nods.

  I hear a gasp of breath that’s all mine. “Why?”

  But she turns back to the jar of hot chocolate, measuring it out deliberately, silently.

  “Delphine.”

  She turns round again, her eyes questioning.

  “If you know something, you have to tell us.”

  But her look is blank, as though what she’s done means nothing.

  Laura chimes in. “It’s okay, Kate.” She catches my eye as she steps toward Delphine.

  “It’s too hard to talk about, isn’t it?” Her voice is gentle.

  There’s a pause, and then, as she stirs her drink, the back of Delphine’s head nods, barely perceptibly.

  “Did Mummy or Daddy do something?”

  This time, Delphine doesn’t move.

  “Is it easier if you show me?” Laura asks.

  Delphine turns round again. Those pale eyes that have seen too much meet Laura’s. She nods.

  It’s getting dark as we take my car and drive through the village. As we unlock the Andersons’ house and let ourselves in, Delphine runs back out to the garage. When she returns minutes later, she’s carrying a small leather purse, which she unzips, then tips into Laura’s hand.

  Laura picks up the necklace set with tiny colored beads, the one I’ve only ever seen on Rosie’s neck. The one Alex gave her.

  “Is this what I think it is?” Laura asks.

  I nod.

  “Is this Rosie’s?” she asks Delphine.

  “Yes.”

  “Did your mummy put it there?”

  Again Delphine answers, “Yes.”

  She turns and goes out again. We follow, into the garage, where she goes to the shelves of her old books, where she pulls out a book with an overtly childish cover, then gives it to Laura.

  It’s like any other child’s book of fairy tales, its cover beautifully painted with princesses and dragons from other worlds. Until Laura opens it.

  Inside tells another story. In a hollowed-out compartment is an iPhone. Laura catches my eye, then looks at Delphine.

  “Is this Mummy’s?”

  Delphine nods, then, without pausing, spins round, back outside, and through the side gate into the garden.

  She runs across the grass, with Laura and me close behind her. Instinctively, I know where she’s going, though I’ve no idea why. It’s the apple tree, and when she reaches it, standing in the middle of the flower bed, she does the strangest thing. She leans forward and kisses it.

  The three of us stand there for a moment, time suspended. Then Laura turns to me.

  Her voice is urgent. “Can you get a spade?”

  I dig for ages, as the light fades, while Delphine whirls around the garden, then sits on her swing, singing to herself. Eventually, some way down, the spade hits something.

  Dropping to my knees, I stare closely at the earth as through a brief gap in the clouds, the last rays of sunlight catch dull metal.

  “I’ve found something.”

  My heart in my mouth as my fingers carefully ease the knife from the ground.

  Beside me, Laura gasps. “Leave it, Kate. We have to call the police.”

  “There’s something else,” I tell her.

  It’s just an ordinary plastic bag, heavily coated in soil, but as I pick it up, the stench is unbearable. Laura takes it, then starts to open it.

  “Dear God.”

  ROSIE

  She doesn’t need Kate now. It’s just Joanna.

  She needs to think. Wiping the knife before carefully putting it to one side, because she mustn’t leave it here. Stripping off, like shedding a skin. Pulling on her gym gear, luckily, there in the bag in the back of the car. Hiding clothes stained with my blood and her tears. Her shoes. Then home. She needs to drink.r />
  And on the way, it’s so easy. She drops the holdall in someone’s garbage bin, which will be emptied, its contents incinerated, before anyone knows it’s there, because tomorrow’s pickup day. Drives home and leaves the car on the road, tiptoes across the gravel and lets herself back in. No one will have missed her. No one will know.

  Forgetting, as she always does, about Delphine.

  And her reward is waiting in the fridge. The first glass she barely notices. She stops shaking after three glasses. Stops remembering after five. As the bottle empties, finds oblivion.

  Until the next morning. Waking up. Head thumping, mouth gritty and dry. Remembers last night, meeting me, leading me into the woods, sick with horror as the rest of it comes back, too. That instead of killing my baby, she killed her own baby. If only she’d never brought the knife.

  It was an accident, she tells herself. The most terrible, horrible accident, when she was just trying to help. She didn’t mean for it to go wrong. And there’s this other thing she has to do. Plant a tree. The apple tree. A tree of immortality and love. A mother’s love. Her love.

  And then comes the next part. The future. From here, she has to be so careful about what she says, what she does, what people see, every second of every minute of every day. Even more than before. Create her mask, behind which, behind the blankness in her eyes, you can’t tell if there is a fairy princess or a psychopath. For as long as it takes for Neal to see how much he needs her.

  Or it will all have been for nothing.

  42

  After, as the horror recedes slightly and the heat of another summer settles on us, I allow myself a glimpse of Jo’s tangled world of shattered dreams and blurred boundaries, of the brutality and twisted logic that led her to believe that she could keep Rosie’s secret and her own perfect world preserved forever.

  I try to explain to Angus that you could liken what’s happened to a rosebush, because however pretty it is to look at, however many blooms it has, if underneath the roots aren’t strong or the soil’s poor, it won’t survive.