Her mother is begging them again. She doesn’t care who, she says, either she, or Vicky, it doesn’t matter, but one of them must go quickly to fetch Cecil from the station.
Vicky isn’t moving, and her mother is becoming hysterical, so Penny is edging along the hallway, her back pressed to the wall; she’s stepping over her mother’s feet, she’s edging around Ed’s splayed arm, she’s reaching for the latch on the front door.
And now, with the door before her open, the cold air drifting in, she’s turning back to look.
Yes, she remembers it all, now. She remembers the scene perfectly.
It looks like a Renaissance oil painting, some still-objective part of Penny’s brain thinks. Because there is Vicky in a pink floral dress, a red bobbly jumper, long white socks and shiny black shoes. She’s standing halfway up the stairs, one hand delicately placed on the bannister. And there is her mother, lying across the floor, her face tortured like some disciple of Christ, the perfect pleats of her blue Crimplene skirt draped out across the ochre tiles of the hallway. And there is Ed’s body, because, no, this is no longer Ed, but his body. She’s only five, but she can tell that Ed is no longer present, even though she doesn’t understand yet quite what that means. His head is at an impossible angle, his body is splayed awkwardly, one side of his face is red and broken and around him is forming a deep, viscous pool of blood. The quantity, thickness and the deep, dark colour of the liquid surprise her.
And now Marge is looking up at her, shrieking, screaming, ‘Go! Just go, will you?’ And so she turns and steps through the door into the cold, sunny daylight, where she runs and runs until her lungs smart.
Penny turns away from her sister’s questioning regard – it has become unbearable to her. She struggles to her feet, wobbles and then finds her balance on the shifting pebbles beneath them.
‘Oh God,’ she says, looking around her now, grasping for an idea of what to do, where to go, what to think.
And now she’s running all over again, her feet sinking into the pebbles as she crosses the beach. She’s staggering and weeping and running away. She has no destination except not here. Anywhere but here.
After thirty yards, she stumbles and, out of breath, falls to her knees and vomits, unexpectedly, on to the beach.
‘How disgusting,’ a nearby woman on a towel declares and, despite everything else, Penny manages to think, or say (she’s not sure if she’s thinking or speaking), ‘You stupid woman!’ But then she’s on her hands and knees and she’s vomiting some more.
Eventually (it must take a while because the woman has gone), she manages to stand. She glances behind her and sees that Victoria is walking towards her, her arms wrapped around herself as if she is cold.
‘Don’t,’ Penny tells her, raising one hand in a stop sign. ‘Just . . . don’t. I need . . . space.’
And now she’s running again, just running and running, still further away from Victoria, still further away from home, and when, finally, she runs out of breath and can run no more, she pauses, her hands on her thighs, and looks back along the vast expanse of beach she has covered. Victoria, she discovers, is nowhere to be seen.
EPILOGUE
‘They’re here!’ Sander calls out, and Penny, who has just finished preparing the spare room, gives the light switch a final wipe then descends one flight of stairs.
On the easel in the bay window, Sander is sketching an outline on to a large canvas. ‘You’re working?’ Penny asks. ‘Today?’
‘Not really,’ Sander says. ‘I was just doing a bit of prep while we were waiting.’
‘Right,’ Penny says, now looking down at the street below, where Martin is lifting bags from the back of the BMW. ‘What’s this one going to be of, anyway?’
‘A sex-toy party,’ Sander says. ‘Women holding vibrators and furry cuffs and stuff.’
‘Nice,’ Penny says. ‘I like it.’
Sander puts down his pencil and moves to Penny’s side. He slips one arm around her waist. ‘You don’t like it,’ he laughs.
‘Oh, don’t listen to me,’ Penny says. ‘I thought the others sounded horrible, but they’re gorgeous, so what do I know?’
‘Are you nervous?’ Sander asks. ‘About the reunion?’
‘Nah,’ Penny says. ‘It’ll be fine.’
They descend the staircase to find Chloe opening the front door to reveal Martin’s beaming face. ‘Hello, people!’ he says. Max, in the doorway to the lounge, smiles up at them.
And then Bertie appears, urging Martin forwards, and then, behind Bertie, finally, Victoria.
Everyone bustles excitedly into the lounge, leaving Penny alone with her on the doorstep. ‘Hello, Sister,’ Victoria says shyly.
‘Hello,’ Penny replies.
They look into each other’s eyes for a moment, then both women sigh simultaneously.
‘It’s been too long,’ Penny says, opening her arms for a hug.
‘Almost a year,’ Victoria replies, hugging her rigidly back.
‘So, come in,’ Penny says. ‘I’ll get that kettle on.’
The sisters take orders for teas and coffees and cans of Coke and then move to the kitchen to prepare them.
‘I don’t want to hassle you or anything,’ Victoria says, once the kettle has been plugged in, ‘but I was wondering if we could do the ashes thing today? I know that the proper anniversary is tomorrow and everything, but . . .’
‘I had planned to do it tomorrow,’ Penny confirms, glancing up at her from the line of mugs on the countertop.
‘It’s just that I’m kind of nervous about it,’ Victoria says. ‘So, if we could get it over with, I’d find it easier to relax, I think.’
Penny sighs deeply and nods. ‘There’s no reason why not,’ she says. ‘It’s just you and me, anyway, isn’t it?’
‘I think so,’ Victoria confirms. ‘Neither Bertie nor Martin seem overly motivated.’
‘Then let’s have this cuppa and go and get it done, yeah?’
‘Thanks,’ Victoria says.
Penny opens the cupboard and reaches in for tea and instant coffee, then returns for a third container, a plastic pot she dumps unceremoniously in front of Victoria. ‘There you go,’ she says.
‘Um?’ Victoria says, reaching out to touch the urn, then freezing. ‘Oh! That’s not her, is it?’ she asks.
‘Yep,’ Penny says.
‘You’ve been keeping her with the cornflakes?’
Penny shrugs. ‘We don’t have an actual cremains cupboard,’ she says, ‘so this seemed as good as anywhere.’
The children are excited to see each other after such a long, enforced break. They fill the lounge with noise, and it is Chloe, for once, who seems the most enthusiastic.
But once the two women find themselves alone in Penny’s car, the conversation becomes stilted.
Desperate for this reunion to go well, both women are walking on eggshells and each feels unexpectedly shy in the other’s presence.
It’s not until they reach the Thanet Way that either of them dares speak. ‘How long’s the drive to Margate?’ Victoria asks, more to break the silence than anything. ‘About an hour?’
‘A bit less,’ Penny says. ‘But if we’re doing this on the jetty, we have to drive right into town.’
‘Maybe we could park up by the old house and walk in?’ Victoria suggests.
‘Sure,’ Penny says. ‘It’s a nice enough day for it.’
They drive in silence for a few more minutes until Victoria speaks again. ‘I was so relieved when you contacted me,’ she says. ‘I may even have cried a bit when I got your email.’
Penny glances across at her and smiles sadly. ‘I may even have cried a bit when I wrote it,’ she says.
‘Did you?’
Penny nods. ‘I’m sorry it took so long. But I needed time to sort my head out.’
‘I know,’ Victoria says. ‘I understand. I understood at the time. Even if you had never wanted to speak to me again, I would have understood, you k
now.’
‘It wasn’t against you. I just had so much stuff to work through,’ Penny says. ‘That was the thing.’
‘Can I have one of these?’ Victoria asks, brandishing a packet of mints she has found in the door pocket.
‘Sure,’ Penny says, holding out one hand. ‘I’ll have one, too.’
Penny sucks her mint for a bit then continues, ‘I’m not sure if you remember it, but you once told Will that you felt like you were living in a big, dark cave.’
Victoria nods. ‘Yes, I remember that,’ she says. ‘It was when we were trying to understand what had got into Bertie.’
‘Right,’ Penny says. ‘Well, the thing was, I didn’t feel like that. I thought all the corners of my life were quite well lit, really. I thought I had it all worked out. I’d done all my processing during my training, and everything seemed tickety-boo.’
‘Well, it was, wasn’t it?’
‘Well, it seemed that way. But then you sort of opened a curtain and all this light shone into the corners and I realised that I was living in a room full of horrors after all. Does that make any sense?’
‘Maybe,’ Victoria says.
‘There were all these things tucked away in the corners, things I thought I’d dealt with and hadn’t – like Ed’s death – and all these memories I’d completely repressed. And suddenly it was all visible. It was all in the room with me. And the only way to cope with it was to take the time to have a good spring clean to sort it all out.’
‘Yes, I get that,’ Victoria says.
‘I had to go back over everything,’ Penny explains, now glancing in the rear-view mirror as she indicates to overtake a lorry. ‘I had to go back into proper therapy, you know.’
‘I thought you never stopped,’ Victoria says. ‘I thought that went with the job.’
‘Oh, we have supervision, but that’s only for work stuff, really. No, I had to go to two sessions a week for six months just to work through it all.’
‘What did your shrink think about your murderous sister?’ Victoria asks bravely.
‘I wouldn’t know, really,’ Penny says. ‘He’s not the chatty type. But I wouldn’t suppose he considered you responsible, any more than I do.’
‘Only, I was.’
‘You were seven,’ Penny says.
‘Eight.’
‘OK, you were eight. And he was threatening you. And you pushed him in a game. That’s hardly murder in the first degree, is it?’
‘I don’t know,’ Victoria says. ‘I thought of turning myself in at one point. But there didn’t seem to be any point. I couldn’t see how anyone would gain anything from it.’
‘The police would have laughed you out of the station,’ Penny says. ‘They have way more important things to deal with than you and your guilty conscience.’
‘I sort of imagined myself getting judged for manslaughter. I used to fantasise about the trial.’
‘It wouldn’t even be manslaughter,’ Penny says. ‘It would be accidental death.’
‘That’s kind of you,’ Victoria says, now turning to look out of the side window. ‘I thought of going after Cecil, too. Of telling the police or something. But I was never quite sure enough of myself. And now it seems a bit late.’
Penny can tell from her voice that she is on the verge of tears. ‘It is a bit, I suppose. I don’t know. But you know, one of the things I had to work on was that I had always thought that I was responsible for Ed’s death,’ Penny tells her. ‘I thought that, if only I had brought Cecil back, he might have survived.’
‘But that’s crazy,’ Victoria says.
‘Yes. I know. And for you to think you did anything other than give him a silly push is crazy, too.’
They drive in silence for a few minutes and then Penny asks, ‘So, what about you? Are you seeing anyone, shrink-wise?’
Victoria smiles and turns back to face her. ‘I’m seeing four!’ she says.
‘Four?’
‘Yes. I’m still seeing Müller – he’s quite good, actually. And there’s family counselling with Martin and Bertie – that’s Wednesday nights. There’s a guy at the hospital helping me with my OCD stuff, and another one for the Valium. He’s more of an addiction specialist, really, but he can be quite shrinky, too.’
‘Shrinky,’ Penny says. ‘I like that. And it’s helping?’
‘It is, actually,’ Victoria says. ‘I feel much, much better. And I’m almost off the Valium now, so that’s good.’
‘That’s great,’ Penny says.
‘The HRT helped masses, too,’ Victoria tells her. ‘That changed everything, really. I think the menopause thing was quite profound for me, in the end. I wasn’t prepared at all and it sent me into a sort of emotional tailspin. I was sleeping about three hours a night at one point, and just that made me feel quite mad.’
‘Yes, lack of sleep will do that,’ Penny says. ‘I’ve been discussing it with mine. But he’s not a big fan of HRT.’
‘He,’ Victoria repeats, with meaning.
‘Yes, I hear you,’ Penny says. ‘But it hasn’t been too bad so far. So, I’m OK, really. But if it gets worse, don’t worry, I’ll be on the phone to your specialist woman in a hot flash.’
‘She is really good,’ Victoria says.
‘You didn’t even see what I did there, did you?’
‘I did,’ Victoria says, smiling wryly. ‘It just wasn’t that funny. Is that really her?’
‘Is who really who?’
‘Oh, sorry,’ Victoria says. ‘I mean, Mum, in there.’ She points to the plastic urn which Penny has stowed in the drinks carrier of the car. ‘Do you think it’s really her, or do they just fill it with a bit of random ash from the whole day’s takings?’
‘I assume it’s her,’ Penny says. ‘But I can’t say I’m bothered either way.’
‘No,’ Victoria says. ‘No, it’s more symbolic, really, isn’t it?’
They park the car in Garfield Road, right outside their old front door.
‘This is weird, isn’t it?’ Victoria says, leaning back against the car and looking up at the facade. ‘It still has the same rose bushes in the front garden.’
‘Yes,’ Penny agrees. ‘They haven’t even changed the colour of the front door. Do you want to go in? We could knock and ask. They might let us snoop around.’
Victoria wrinkles her nose. ‘No,’ she says. ‘No, there’s nothing good for me in there. Let’s walk.’
Penny slips the urn into her handbag and the two women cross Canterbury Road and head down towards the seafront.
It’s a warm August day and the breeze is gentle, but both the sky and the sea are a uniform grey colour.
‘So, how are your two?’ Victoria asks as they descend the steps to the promenade. ‘Chloe seemed full of beans.’
‘She did, didn’t she?’ Penny laughs. ‘You know, I’ll let you in on a secret. I think she’s intending to turn Bertie into her gay best friend. She suddenly considers him quite exotic.’
‘I’m not surprised,’ Victoria says. ‘We’re all jealous of you and your Will.’
‘Ah,’ Penny says. ‘Yes, I didn’t think of that one. Like mother, like daughter, eh? They’re getting married, you know.’
‘Will and Ben? Is he still with Ben?’
‘Yes. In October. Will wanted to do it in August, but Ben – you know how that boy likes to dress up – well, he thought they’d all be too hot for a formal do in August, so October it is. Do you want to come? I could try to get you an invite, maybe. It’ll be a riot, I expect.’
Victoria shakes her head. ‘Will’s lovely,’ she says. ‘And he’s always been kind to me. He was great when all that Bertie stuff was kicking off, too. But no, he’s your friend, not mine. I am jealous, though.’
‘Well, he’s special. They both are.’
‘And Max is OK?’
‘Fine,’ Penny says. ‘We’re waiting for his GCSE results, and Max is being all dramatic, of course, and saying he’s failed everything. But we th
ink he’s done fine. He wants to do fashion design, he reckons, so it’ll be A levels next.’
‘Fashion design? He’s not gay as well, is he?’
Penny laughs. ‘No, he’s on his third girlfriend in six months. He just likes clothes. He talks to Ben for hours about it, and Ben has started bringing him stuff. He’s turning into a right little dandy.’
As the promenade rises past the site of the old sun-deck, Margate’s only tower block, Arlington House, comes into view. ‘I had a boyfriend who lived there,’ Victoria says. ‘Do you remember?’
‘I do,’ Penny replies. ‘Wayne something, right?’
‘Very good, Pen. Wayne Ellis. Lord, he was chavvy.’
‘I remember,’ Penny says. ‘Imagine if you’d settled down with him. You’d probably still be living there.’
‘I’d be dead, probably,’ Victoria says. ‘He got into heroin, or so I heard.’
‘And how’s Martin?’ Penny asks.
‘Oh, Martin’s fine.’
‘Whatever . . .’ Penny starts.
‘Yes?’
‘Actually, never mind.’
‘No, go on?’
‘It’s just, well . . . is everything all right with you two now?’
‘All right?’
‘Yes, you said you had doubts . . .’ Penny says.
‘Did I?’
‘Yes. Anyway, never mind,’ Penny says. She looks out to sea and pulls a face. She had briefly forgotten she was supposed to be walking on eggshells.
‘I remember that I had doubts,’ Victoria says. ‘I’m not denying it. I just don’t remember telling you about them, that’s all.’
‘Oh, well, you did.’
‘Right. Well, it doesn’t matter anyway. There wasn’t anything going on in the end.’
‘Oh, good. That must have been a relief.’
‘Oh, it was. He was working late, that’s the thing. And I couldn’t work out where he was. But it turned out that he was doing all this pro bono stuff for some charity. You’d approve. For Syrian refugees and the like. He helps them with their asylum petitions.’
‘Really?’ Penny laughs. ‘Martin?’
‘I know,’ Victoria says. ‘No one could be more surprised than I was.’
The Bottle of Tears Page 33
