This sounds like the other Harriet.
‘What do you think?’ she adds.
I almost mention the bag of clothes that she dumped in the recycling bank. The ones with Alice’s name sewed into the back. Of the two of us, I think Harriet’s secrets might run deeper than mine. Despite that, I still feel backed into a corner and I wonder if this is what Harriet wanted. I can’t figure her out. Whether she’s manipulative, thoughtful, or both.
‘I’ll be there,’ I say.
Thirty-Two
Harriet was right about one thing: more or less the entire village has come out to attend the winter ball practice run. The children have massed together towards the back of the village hall and are playing some sort of British Bulldog game by racing widthways across the space while someone in the middle tries to tag the runners. The adults have massed towards the front, where Harriet is on the stage once more.
‘Thanks for coming out,’ she says. ‘I know people outside of the village have been moving on but I want tomorrow to be about Gemma. I think it’s an opportunity for us to come together as a community. We support our own in Leavensfield and tomorrow is our chance to prove it.’
I say nothing – but I’ve not felt a lot of that ‘support’ in recent days.
She moves on to delegating the various jobs that need to be done. Much of it revolves around putting up decorations of some kind. It’s quickly apparent that there’s a lot more people than there are jobs to be done, although I suppose the point of the evening is more about community spirit than it is actual work. It’s hard to fault Harriet for that. A few sideways looks come my way but I wonder if it’s because I’m expecting them and paying too much attention.
When she finishes speaking, everyone separates into their groups and then heads off towards the various corners of the hall. Many of the men are either up ladders, or holding them while trying to string bunting and tinsel across the top corners of the room. There’s a lot of ‘up a bit’, ‘down a bit’ going on. Kylie and I end up unfurling cloths for the rows of tables that are pressed against the sides of the room. One group is mopping the floor, while another is sweeping it. A quartet of locals is hanging lights at the back of the hall, while some of the men have joined in with the game of British Bulldog.
Kylie and I finish quickly enough and then end up standing around, unsure what to do next. We aren’t the only ones. Many of the jobs were small enough that the tasks were completed within minutes. I turn to take in the room. Harriet, Gavin, Sarah, James and Gemma are all on stage, decorating a tree that sits towards the back. Gemma’s the clear odd one out. She has her arms across her front and is nibbling her fingernails as she stands to the side, watching as the pair of couples work in unison. Harriet mentioned something about getting us together for some sort of smoothing over of issues – but it hasn’t happened yet. I don’t blame Gemma for her anger anyway. If roles were reversed – and I thought she or someone close to her had done something to Kylie – then it would need more than Harriet to contain my rage.
Theresa and Atal are towards the back of the room, working with three or four other couples on sticking blobs of cotton wool along the window sills.
When I turn to say something to her, I realise that Kylie has drifted away. I scan the room and she’s off talking to Zoe close to the stage. They’re laughing about something and I can imagine how someone like Zoe will be the closest Kylie might have to a proper friend in the village. There are almost no older teens around here but Kylie has matured in the months she’s been away and they’re two of the younger women in the room.
Nobody is paying me any attention now – which is fine by me. I’ll take ambivalence over hostility. Those dangerous moments outside the school feel like a distant memory or a dream of something I’ve remembered incorrectly.
The world continues turning around me as I watch Gemma trail Harriet around the hall. Harriet has a clipboard and is checking on each of the jobs she assigned. Every now and then, she will turn to Gemma and ask her something. I can’t hear what’s being said – but it’s simple enough to see from the shrugged body language that Gemma is deferring to whatever Harriet decides. It’s only four days since her daughter was found face-down in a stream – and yet she’s here, acting as if it’s all fine. I don’t want to judge her – especially as I have little idea about how long she’s been at the hospital, or the effect that’s had upon her, but something seems off. That’s not least because of the fact that she’s still wearing Harriet’s fluffy snow boots.
When I turn back to the stage, I realise that I’m not the only one watching Gemma. As James continues to work on the tree, his wife is behind him, her eyes fixed on where Gemma is standing close to Harriet. I can’t read her expression, other than – perhaps – that something doesn’t feel right to her either. I’m still not sure why Sarah came to my house, nor why Harriet did so today. Question piles upon question.
When I turn from Sarah back to Gemma, I realise that she’s no longer standing where she was. Harriet and her clipboard have moved on to Theresa and the window sills but Gemma has drifted towards the side of the stage. She glances both ways and then disappears through the door that leads towards the kitchen area. Sarah is back at the Christmas tree, having apparently missed this. When I look to the people around me, they’re all locked in conversations with one another, either having not noticed, or not cared.
It’s probably nothing – there are toilets through that door as well – and yet the way Gemma checked over her shoulder niggles at me. I stride across the hall and through the same door as Gemma. There’s a cloakroom area off to the side, with reams of coats spilling out through the open door. Opposite that are the joint doors that lead into the men’s and women’s toilets. I poke my head into the women’s, though all the stall doors hang open, with no sign of anybody inside.
I move back into the corridor and then head along the passage. There’s a community noticeboard, advertising various events and things people are trying to sell. Past that is the kitchen. I’m almost reaching for the door when a hint of movement close to the fire exit catches my eye. It’s Gemma I see first – but that’s only a moment before I realise she’s talking to Gavin. Harriet’s husband towers over her but there is barely a distance between them as they mutter at a volume that’s much too quiet for me to overhear.
I’m not hidden but neither of them pay me any attention as they continue to whisper back and forth. Gavin’s standing tall, arching forward intimidatingly. It might be inadvertent but Gemma swiftly takes half a step back and replies with a loud ‘no’.
At this, I must shift my weight because there’s a creak from the floorboards underneath. Both Gavin and Gemma turn to look at me in unison and there’s a moment of inertia before Gavin clears his throat.
‘Can I help?’ he asks, acting as if this is all normal.
I focus on Gemma. ‘Is everything all right?’
She scowls as she takes me in, pauses for a second more and then turns her back on Gavin before striding past me back towards the hall.
‘It would be if your husband hadn’t thrown my daughter in a ditch.’
*
SIXTEEN YEARS OLD
I’ve never stayed in a hotel before. I’ve seen Home Alone 2, where Kevin has that grand suite to himself in New York – but that’s nothing like this. There’s a desk built into the wall on one side, with a double bed on the other. The sheets are folded tightly underneath the mattress, which is probably what Auntie Kath wants when she tells me to make my bed. Other than that, there’s a small bathroom with just enough space for a bath and sink – and that’s it.
There’s an odd smell that I can’t quite figure out. It’s mainly lemon but, underneath that, just faintly, it’s like someone has been sick.
I hope I don’t have to sleep here tonight.
There’s a creak from the corridor and I shuffle myself onto the corner of the bed, trying to make it seem as if I’ve been waiting here casually the entire time. No big de
al. The creak becomes footsteps and I brace myself, waiting for the sound of the door opening – except whoever it is keeps walking past this room and away towards the lifts.
I wait, just as my aunt told me to do. She said she wouldn’t be long – but I’ve learnt that adults say a lot of things in order to not commit to a time. ‘Soon’ is the biggest lie of them all. It can mean anything from a few minutes to a few months. If I have my way, I’d ban the word.
The television doesn’t work properly… or not like a proper TV in any case. There’s a screen telling me which hotel I’m in – even though I’m literally in it at this moment. Like someone with a sign saying ‘You’re in London’ while you walk around London. I know where I am.
I press a few buttons, hunting for the guide, but then give up. I don’t care what’s on anyway. That’s not why I’m here.
It takes me nine long strides to get from one side of the room to the other. The pattern of the wallpaper has seventeen spirals across the width of the room and thirty-nine along the length. There are five plug sockets. The curtain on the left side of the rail is missing a hook.
Then the phone rings. I’m not sure what it is at first, although that’s largely because I’m not expecting it. When I pick it up and say ‘hello’, there’s nobody there.
It’s as I’m holding the phone receiver that there’s a beep from the door. There are voices and then, suddenly, my aunt appears in the short corridor leading into the room. I put down the phone and she smiles across the room towards me.
‘Sorry it took so long,’ she says as she turns.
He barely feels real. Like one of my dreams where I’m not sure what happened and what didn’t. Where he’s in my thoughts and then I wake up and can’t figure out whether he was there or not.
It’s Dad.
He’s so thin now. He always talked about losing weight and I suppose he’s achieved that. He’s wearing a sweatshirt that hangs off him, with the sleeves covering his hands. His face is so thin, to the point that it’s only his dark eyes that let me know with certainty that it’s him.
I go to him, wrapping myself around his middle as he pats me on the back gently.
‘Hey, Mads,’ he says.
I want to reply but there’s a lump in my throat and the words are stuck. I don’t know what to say anyway.
Auntie Kath stands by the door and says she’ll be back soon, that we can take our time, although I’m not sure that Dad’s listening.
I close the door and then lock it in place, not wanting him to leave again. After that, I find him sitting on the corner of the bed, in the precise spot that I was minutes before. He’s staring at the floor, with his hands resting on his knees.
‘Are you okay, Dad?’ I ask.
‘I am.’ His voice is croaky – and I’m not sure that he sounds it.
‘How was the journey?’
‘Bumpy.’
I want him to look at me, to hug me again, but instead he stands and crosses to the window. He pushes aside the net curtain and stares down towards where I know the car park lies.
‘We can do anything you want out there now,’ I say. ‘The park, the beach. We can go to the cricket, if you want?’
I want a smiling, happy ‘yes’ but he mumbles something I don’t catch and doesn’t move from the window.
‘Do you want something to eat?’ I ask. ‘There’s a carvery downstairs, or a McDonald’s down the road. I think there’s a Tesco past that if you want a sandwich or a cake…?’
Dad turns away from the window, although he looks through me as if I’m not there.
‘I think I just want some sleep, Mads.’
He moves across to the bed and kicks off his shoes, before sitting on the opposite corner.
‘Do you want to do something later? Go out for food then? Or something else?’
He closes his eyes and then lies back on the bed, staring up to the ceiling.
‘We’ll see, Mads.’
Thirty-Three
FRIDAY
When I wake up, the burner phone is the first thing I check. It sits on Richard’s pillow but I’ve not had a single message since the one telling me to go to the back of the petrol station. I send a simple ‘hello?’ and then wait for a minute or two, hoping for a reply, though there’s nothing.
I feel anger now. How hard can it be to send a brief update, telling me what’s going on? Or letting me know that he’s safe?
I take a shower, spending longer than I usually would in trying to scrub away the injustice of everything from the past week. By the time I’m out, there’s a message waiting for me.
Ru going to the ball later?
It’s been more than a day since the last message and receiving this now is almost more frustrating than receiving nothing. Always questions and never answers.
Me: Why?
You should.
Me: WHY??
I wait for a minute and, when there’s no reply, I try calling the number. It rings five or six times and then goes silent, so I instantly try a second time.
No answer.
Me: ANSWER THE PHONE
I wait. Maybe a minute, maybe two. Then another text comes through.
Go to the ball later. There will be answers. I promise.
I clench the phone so hard that the plastic digs into my palm. What I really want to do is hurl it into the wall. To watch it crumble into pieces. The only reason I don’t is because of those final words. Answers is all I want and, although something feels wrong, I can’t place what.
I type out a few replies but delete them all, knowing there won’t be another response after this. Richard was right about being behind the petrol station to see Harriet disposing of those clothes – and I trust that he’ll be right about this, too.
There’s something buzzing through me now; the determination that everything will be over in a few hours, even though I don’t know quite what that will mean.
When I get downstairs, there’s a gentle humming coming from the kitchen. I can’t place the sound and, when I nudge open the door, I’m not prepared for what’s on the other side. Kylie is sitting at the table with a sewing machine that I’ve not seen since we moved in. It used to belong to my mother and is one of those things that I’ve dragged around with me for years, even though I’ve never used it. Something I doubt I’ll ever get rid of but something I cannot be without.
‘Where’d you find that?’ I ask.
‘Under the stairs. I vaguely remember putting it there when we moved in.’
She checks something on her phone and then glances towards a light blue dress that’s on the table next to the machine.
‘Do you know anything about sewing?’ she asks. ‘I need to do some work on this.’
‘I can tell you what a needle and thread is – but, after that, you’re on your own.’ I slot in on the other side of the table. ‘What are you up to?’
‘Working on a dress for the ball later.’
‘You’re going?’
‘I wasn’t – but then I was talking to Zoe last night and we’re going to go together and freak a few people out.’
She grins and I can picture the two of them coming up with a plan of how to subvert something the village holds dear. As a villager and, more importantly, a mother, I wholeheartedly approve.
‘How are you going to freak people out?’ I ask.
‘We’re going as a punk Elsa and Anna. Y’know, from Frozen.’
She speaks as if I’m a ninety-year-old who’s not heard of anything that happened since Man stepped on the Moon. Something for which I wasn’t alive.
‘I’ve heard of Frozen,’ I say. ‘And why are you going as a punk Elsa and Anna?’
‘Mainly to see people’s faces. We’re going the whole hog. You’ll see. Do you remember Jane from my halls?’
‘Only in the sense that you’ve talked about her.’
Kylie’s not listening. ‘She does fashion, so she’s shown me a couple of things – plus I Skyped her earlier to ask
for some tips on what to do with this.’ She holds up the dress. ‘First I need to figure out how the machine works.’
‘I don’t think I can help you much with that. Your grandma tried to teach me once but I didn’t really know what she was talking about – plus I wasn’t that interested.’
Kylie holds up her phone. ‘I found the manual online.’
‘In that case, I eagerly await the results.’
She turns back to her phone and squints between the screen and the sewing machine. I almost tell her to keep her wits. The evening is supposed to be a fundraiser – and the village has been through a lot since Sunday – but perhaps this is precisely what people need? I don’t think I’m the best person to be preaching about judgement in any case.
I make myself a tea and then leave Kylie to it as I head back upstairs. I’ve spent almost none of the week thinking about this winter ball. A big part of me is surprised that it’s happening at all – especially as Alice is still in hospital. Another part isn’t shocked in the slightest. I can imagine any number of villagers talking about ‘Blitz spirit’ as justification for keeping calm and carrying on.
I suppose, even with it happening, the idea of me being there still feels odd. If none of this had happened, Richard and I would’ve probably ducked our heads in for a short while. I am on the planning committee, after all – but that wouldn’t have stopped us making our excuses after the early formalities were done with. A few hours in and everything devolves into the men heading outside to smoke cigars, while the women are left babysitting and cleaning up. Some things will always be the same.
With everything from these past days, I had no plans to go – but I think Harriet altered that when she visited last night. Especially with Kylie now going, it’s probably right that I’m there. As Harriet said, Leavensfield is a small community.
What My Husband Did: A gripping psychological thriller with an amazing twist Page 23
