The Rotting Spot

by Valerie Laws

  ‘I need to do a blood test, dear, must look after you.’ Trust me, I’m a doctor. Molly didn’t feel a thing – one little prick, and she fell, just like the old joke. Then, who but Liz could use a scalpel that efficiently? Lifting Lucy out of the steaming dead body bag that had been Molly, seeing her eyes open for the first time, the rush of love that still ran round her veins. Making sure Lucy was warm and safe, before cleaning up. Sealing the head in a bag. Packing the body cavity with stones, weighting the bound legs with metal traction weights; dropping the used body overboard when it was dark enough. Swilling out the fishing boat with sea water, while all the time the sea rocked her new baby, beginning to mew like a baby gull. Smuggling her home in a holdall. They all went to a remote cottage for a few days. Told relatives Liz was in hospital having the baby, didn’t want visitors, would soon be home.

  Arrived back at Stonehead with Lucy in her arms. Seymour was over the moon. His daughter, home; and his sin, fled to London with Molly and his money, or so he believed. Or let himself believe. It was so easy. Almost a quarter century ago.

  From the moment Liz held Lucy in her arms, she loved her. Lucy was truly hers, and Seymour’s. He adored her. She had his eyes, as time showed, and Liz and Lucy held Seymour between them. There were no more strayings, roving eyes. He only had eyes for Liz and his daughter. A lot of the wild spirit had gone out of Seymour, and he took to drinking a little, just a little, more than was strictly advisable. Liz explained that the plan had worked, Molly had gone, funded by your money and his, she was established in a little town somewhere, better he didn’t know. She may come back one day to her mother and father, but that would be her decision. After a while, she told Seymour the payments could stop, because Molly had got married and wanted to forget all her past life.

  Her heart ached for poor Peggy, who’d driven her daughter away, and mourned for her as if she was dead. Liz tried, she really did try, to make it up to Peg, especially when poor old George’s health broke down and he eventually died. Didn’t the Seatons pay for the best treatment for him? Look after Peg and protect her from all worries? Keep the awful secret of her daughter’s moral ruin from her? Let her look after Lucy and be a second mother to her? And when Peg was widowed, didn’t they let her move into Hex Tower House with them? They’d done all anybody could do. And it wasn’t easy, having her always around. She could be irritating, heaven knew. That eternal knitting, that constant preaching, those awful clothes. There was something missing in Peg. But Liz cared for her with barely a cross word.

  As Lucy grew up, Liz realised that the miracle she’d prayed for had come true. Lucy was really her and Seymour’s daughter. She was beautiful, and clever. She was so forward, and Liz spent time with her, nurturing her gifts. She worked hard at school, tried so hard to please her mummy and daddy, and in return they showered her with gifts, money, love. One day she’d be a doctor like Liz. A consultant, doing good work and having material success as well.

  It was a worrying time when she got mixed up with that Ricci Bruce character. Liz’d never had close girlfriends like that, it seemed unhealthy, Ricci had too much influence by far, when hers should be the influence that mattered. Lucy turned out to have acting talent; again proving she was Liz’s daughter, hadn’t Liz acted the performance of her life for years? But then she started talking about making a career on the stage. Not good enough for the Seatons’ daughter. Getting mixed up with obscure oriental religious practices, meditation, poetry, all sorts of things. Liz kept her head though. She didn’t panic. It was just a folie à deux, two clever girls who’d gone a bit off the rails. She bit her tongue, never uttered a word against Erica Bruce. Lucy was idealistic, and Liz had to feed that. She was Liz’s daughter, and therefore a born mother. Liz could use that as well. And, Lucy had been brought up in luxury. Peg had not approved. She’d made it clear, despite living in her sister’s debt, that the Seatons spoiled Lucy. What did she know? Now Liz saw her wisdom rewarded. She could appeal both to Lucy’s materialism and her idealism. She applauded her starring roles at school, but made sure she knew how hard it would be to make a living as an actor. Lucy did well in her exams, she couldn’t not do well, even as a rebellion. Again, she was like her mother. Liz started taking her to work whenever she could. Showed her the need, the good she could do. Introduced her to the most successful, glamorous doctors. Little by little, Lucy realised she could make a real difference, and make money. Relieve suffering, bring new life into the world, the power to bring life, what could be more wonderful? Liz showed how she could help, support her, use her influence. She let her watch operations. It’s not called a theatre for nothing! Lucy’s need for drama was more than catered for, she could just picture herself producing babies and saving lives. Liz was winning. Lucy still talked about acting, but Liz pointed out she could do that at university while doing her medical degree. Keep her options open. Knowing she’d not have time once she became a junior doctor. Liz had to let her make the choice she wanted herself, or she’d be too proud to do it. Poor little Lucy, she was struggling. A mother can tell. It dawned on her there was only one thing holding Lucy back. Losing the respect of Ricci Bruce. Going back on what she’d said was her dream. It was easy to phone Ricci, get rid of her. But look at Lucy now. Just the daughter she’d always wanted. And soon, she’d relent, and want to see Liz. Her true mother.

  It wasn’t easy to come back to Stony Point now, a criminal on bail. Liz hated the demeaning sympathy of the villagers. And their condemnation of Seymour. So unfair. But she’d agreed to do it, for Peg. And no-one would recognise this car, or Liz herself. She’d aged in a short time, lost weight, was shaky, no wonder after all she’d been through. She was wearing a heavy dark coat and wool beret, she felt the cold now so much. Cars came and went, people went in and out of the pub, until a taxi stopped next to her. In the back, were Dr Derek Gould and Peg Westfield.

  Peggy hadn’t rejected her! She still had faith in her younger, prettier, cleverer sister. It was a long, hard habit to break. Liz rolled down the window and the two sisters kissed through the gap. Peg’s face felt soft and felty, insubstantial. But she’d been determined to have this visit with Liz to the site of her daughter’s partial burial and discovery. It had to be at night, she’d said, at the time when Molly had first looked on the outside world again. Dr Gould waited in the car as the sisters walked over the bridge, Liz leading, onto Stony Point. The hostel gleamed softly. Rumour had it Spence had left it to an American skull-hunter’s organisation as a museum, but the villagers were opposing this.

  They walked carefully round the path to the site of the rotting spot, where Molly’s skull had waited for so long among the ants and worms. Below, the tide was in, the harbour channel full, the moored boats bobbing. Across the bridge, the windows of the Stone Arms glowed. A couple with a dog walked past the two older women as they sat on the garden wall of Mickey’s hostel, and headed back over the bridge. They were alone by the rotting spot, which had been filled in and planted with sea pinks.

  ‘You think the trial will go well for you dear?’ Peggy asked. ‘Lucy’s been telling me all about it. She often visits me, you know. Now she knows I’m her gran.’

  Did Peg realise what a knife that was in her heart?

  ‘Well, my solicitor thinks so. I might go to prison –’

  ‘Oh, dear! Imagine … what poor dear Mam would say. It’s a mercy she’s demented. God is kind to her, poor soul.’

  ‘But don’t worry Peg. I’ll soon be out, and able to look after you and Seymour again. You do understand, don’t you? I was only protecting you, and Seymour.’

  ‘Yes, I understand…’ Peg stood up. She too had lost weight, but was still her stocky self.

  ‘Careful dear.’ Liz stood, and held her sister’s arm.

  ‘Will you pray with me, Lizzie?’

  ‘Of course dear.’ Liz, happy to humour Peg, stood on the edge of the path, as she’d led Peg to the rotting spot. They both bowed their heads and shut their eyes.‘Lord, forgive us all o
ur sins. And look after Molly.’

  Liz was muttering the words a beat behind her sister – the crushing blow above her ear caught her off balance. She began to fall, when a firm shove sent her falling further, faster, and she glimpsed the water rushing up to her a second before she hit it.

  Peg stood above, like a wind-beaten sturdy thorn tree, watching the dark-coated figure barely visible below struggling feebly in the silty chill water for a short time before it sank, waterlogged. Peg threw the stone she’d used as a weapon into the harbour.

  ‘Dear Liz, you couldn’t forgive me for having a daughter, could you? So you took Molly – and Lucy. Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord. A life for a life. A life for a life.’

  Repeating the words under her breath, the elderly woman made her way carefully back to the bridge and crossed it without looking back. The doctor sprang out and helped her into the taxi.

  ‘My sister wants to spend some time alone,’ she explained, as the driver set off. ‘She has a lot to think about. I sometimes think I’m the only one who really understands her.’