Killing The Girl

by Elizabeth Hill

  ***

  Perry left early morning. Mr Cutler walked into the kitchen, so I put the kettle on and offered to cook eggs and toast.

  ‘Where’s Perry? I need his help with the fencing down Drovers Way.’

  ‘He had to do something. He might not be back till late.’

  ‘Late? Why?’

  ‘Um … Frankie decided to go to France. To see in the New Year with his friends.’

  ‘Oh, he has, has he? Well, that’s very nice for him, seeing as everyone else’s Christmas is ruined.’ Mr Cutler stood, fists clenched. ‘What has it to do with Perry? Don’t tell me they’re both going?’ He let out a guffaw and coughed.

  ‘No. Frankie forgot his passport. Perry has driven to Portsmouth to give it to him. Frankie couldn’t drive back because he didn’t have enough money for petrol. His friends will meet him in France and they’ll have money for him.’

  Mr Cutler’s face reddened. ‘What the bloody hell is Perry doing that for?’

  ‘I persuaded him to, so blame me, because he didn’t want to. I convinced him. I’d have gone, but ...’ I opened my arms around my belly. ‘It may do Frankie good to be away for a while. Have a rest, a change of air.’

  ‘Rest? Change of air? What is he, some bleedin’ woman with the vapours?’

  ‘Please, Mr Cutler. I’m sorry. I thought it best. Perry has been so helpful. You have a thoughtful son who’s a credit to you.’

  Mr Cutler looked at me, assessing me. ‘Yes, I have, and you’d do well to forget that two-timing bastard. Sorry, I didn’t mean to swear. But you should forget him. We’ll look after you, and the baby.’

  My hands covered my face as I cried. ‘I’m so grateful for your kindness. I don’t know what I’d have done without your support ... I’ve paid for his petrol, by the way.’

  ‘Get away with you. We’ve known you half your life, and I won’t forget all you did for Elsie.’

  ‘I did what anyone would’ve done. No need to thank me. She got me to the hospital after I fell off the gate.’ I rubbed my forehead remembering the whack I’d got.

  There was an awkward silence before Mr Cutler turned and left. I eased myself into a chair; my mind was racing in a panic but I hoped that when the police came looking for Frankie, Mr Cutler would back us up. As long as he didn’t go to Oaktree House – because Perry’s car was in the garage.

  At last I gave in to fate and slept for hours.

  Chapter 40

  Thursday, 31 December 1970

  A note on the hallstand reminded me of my anti-natal appointment, but I had already missed it again. My baby was fine and loved to kick and bruise my ribs. Relaxing in the cosy chair in my kitchen, book in hand, I felt wonderful. Frankie, resting close by, eased any isolation. The churning wheels of doubt and fear had slowed to manageable levels. For once my head felt in harmony with my body.

  But convincing myself life was good didn’t stop loneliness taking hold. The house was empty without Frankie. The rooms suffocated without his breath and shrank without his touch. No more meals to prepare, or body to satisfy. So many demands no longer required, an autopilot list that made me feel jittery with frustration. New behaviours jostled to replace my favourite ones. Grief was natural. But it would be put in a box, not savoured.

  If only my brothers weren’t so involved in their own lives, they could come for a meal and enjoy my home. We’d reminisce about our happy past and plan happy futures. There would be no reuniting with my mother either, as she’d replaced my father with an imposter.

  If only Sarah hadn’t betrayed me in such a deceitful way, I could have forgiven her. Maybe we could be friends again now that she couldn’t touch Frankie. I went to the phone.

  Mrs Burcher answered immediately, clearly disappointed that it was not Sarah. Sarah hadn’t come home since the day before. They were distraught. The police weren’t overly concerned, as she was seventeen. The Burchers had to admit that she’d a boyfriend, although they didn’t know who he was. The police weren’t interested, so they wouldn’t look for her. Then it would be another night. Mrs Burcher cried and needed me to comfort her, but there was nothing to say. I asked if they had checked with Alice, but they hadn’t seen Alice for a while. Matthew was home for New Year but had no idea where she was and had spent hours driving around looking for her. She’d phoned Mr Cutler yesterday. They decided not to tell me, as I had problems of my own. Thanking her for her concern, I made her promise to phone me when they found her.

  The situation was bizarre. Sarah wouldn’t stay out all night. The last time I’d seen her was the Sunday before Christmas. Before Lisa arrived. Before Frankie lost his mind and ruined everything. Maybe she was fretting, trying to pluck up the courage to tell them about the baby. Where would she go? To Alice? She told me that Alice was a favourite friend, but that was meant to hurt me. Would she come here to see Frankie? Would she dare, even though I’d warned her?

  Returning to the kitchen, I sipped my drink before pulling on my wellingtons and heavy coat and grabbing a torch. Perry had dug-in brambles on top of Frankie’s grave, completely obliterating it. He’d also mulched manure in, haphazardly over the orchard, the pungent smell enough to repulse keen noses. I asked Frankie where Sarah was, but he didn’t acknowledge me.

  Leaving the orchard, the path to the top of the hill met the pathway down through Dawnview Wood where it then carried on towards the estate below, and Sarah’s home. My baby-bump unbalanced me as I stumbled on; unease raced my heart. I walked to the oak tree in Dawnview Wood, the twin of the one in front of the house. A sense of déjà-vu threaded its way into my consciousness. A strange breeze carried memories of my brothers: our treks, our happy hunting, our old ways. I glanced around expecting a movement: a boy, a man, a girl, a woman. Tranquillity had vanished, and uncertainty lurked.

  My blood ran cold and acid swirled in my stomach. Struggling along the hill, my baby moved appendage-like, obstructing my legs and forcing me to tilt backwards. Sarah whispered to me, her presence skulked close by, ready to materialise from the woods.

  ‘Sarah, where are you? Everyone is worried.’

  The long grass crumpled in the winter’s cold. My wellingtons thwacked the backs of my legs. The ground did its best to upend me.

  ‘Sarah, go home. Frankie doesn’t want you, and I haven’t forgiven you for what you did. Go home. Your mother is worried.’

  Oaktree House drifted out of sight behind me, beyond the high wall. Clouds dulled the hillside. All around, trees, grass, leaves, and bushes merged into one big obstruction. The dry vegetation rattled its cold bones as I brushed against it, picking my way through the bare, broken bushes, seeking my fear that Sarah had come up here to speak to Frankie.

  The place was beautiful on a clear, sunny day when the gifts of spring abound, or when the fullness of summer gave up her bountiful offerings. Then there was joy and thankfulness. I didn’t need to be fearful in these woods where I’d spent most of my life. Just because it was dark didn’t mean it was different. ‘It’s just dark,’ I repeated prayer-like, as the clouds parted and pale sunlight streamed in droopy rays. Struggling to stay focused, I stepped forward until the looming silhouette of the oak tree towered over me.

  Sarah’s feet hung limp. In the distance an owl hooted, closely followed by a fox’s call echoing from a field beyond the brow. I had found her. Her hair had fallen forward, shading her pale face. Her naked skin glowed in the silvery light, a ghostly pallor, a cold, empty shell. I touched her naked leg, spongy, smooth, inhuman. She’d stripped herself in the open and arranged her clothes in a neat pile with her shoes on top. Perplexing, bewildering, unnatural.

  She fascinated me, this strange Sarah, so different from the Sarah who’d walked beside me. The porcelain mask of her face assessed me as I clasped her soft fingers. She had gone. She had left me because of Frankie. Frankie had wanted me, but she had wanted Frankie. Cold air hit the back of my neck. Did you make her do it, Frankie?

  If she’d known he was dead, she wouldn’t hav
e joined him, would she? Now poor Sarah would have to endure hell with him. She had opened herself to him, her weakness had cast them into the fires of hell, and they would burn for all eternity.

  Back home calls were made to remove her from my land. I prayed that the police would not look too closely around the area. Frankie was just settling in.

  Chapter 41

  Saturday, 2 January 1971

  The first day of the New Year had passed leaving me bereft. Frankie, Sarah and Thora had gone. Money was empty and meaningless when you felt cast adrift in a beautiful ocean.

  The watery sun failed to light my bedroom as I huddled under the covers. My arm dropped onto Frankie place. The memory of his warm body taunted me. The fantasy that he loved me played in my mind, and I wanted to stay in that dream.

  The curtains were open because I couldn’t bear to cut myself off from the world, but now I wanted to fix them so they never opened again. The house was cold, the range neglected, the fires unlit. This mausoleum needed energy and zeal from someone with strength and determination. My baby grumbled and stretched in its womb, and I feared its birth, feared being unable to care for it. Needing the toilet made me leave the warmth of my bed, but I crawled back into my refuge and prayed that time didn’t move on to make me face motherhood. Could my brothers help? Could one of them move in with me? Deciding to visit them got me out of bed.

  ***

  My intention to visit Denny and Gerry faded as I drove down the hill. Neither of them had supported my marriage or been to Oaktree house since Thora’s funeral. Uncertain of what to do, I abandoned my mission and turned right onto the spine road leading through the estate. As I neared Sarah’s home, I changed my mind and turned sharply to head for the library.

  My father’s arms enclosed me for a while as memories came tantalisingly close. The smell of print, the soft swish of a page turning, the joy of my dad’s voice reading to me: excitement, sadness, laughter, as he play-acted the story: enchanting, drawing me into other worlds that existed in better places. I could taste them: cocoa and Christmas wrapping paper flew in from other worlds with their assurances of safety and comfort. My old life beckoned me.

  Arriving at my old home, I parked in the lane by the garages. Nothing had changed, yet everything had changed. I was an outsider; the place was my history, not my present. Tears stung as I remembered the first time I’d driven this car. Thora was sitting next to me, already dying. Sarah was sitting in the back, worried about the rifle instead of enjoying the ride. Sarah, taking on the worries of the world and wasting her time on them. Her upbringing, designed to conform to the demands of others.

  A vision of her naked feet forced me to stumble out of the car and stagger into the Burchers’ back garden. I leant against her back door while Ruby Silver told me to picture what I wanted, what I desired, and focus on it. My necklace sat heavily around my neck as if in support; my earrings caressed my skin, but the awful vision of Sarah’s naked body shimmering in the moonlight remained. I didn’t mean to hurt her with my words and lack of sympathy. Maybe touching something she cherished would allow me to connect with her. We should have damned Frankie together, consoled each other, and found the strength to dismiss him. Now she has chosen her way, and I had chosen mine.

  ‘Raven. Long time.’ Matthew opened the back door. ‘Come in. You’ll catch your death in this. Though it’s not as cold as Ireland.’

  The room was a mess: dirty breakfast plates pushed aside, clothes dropped on the chair.

  ‘Mum and Dad have gone to the police. They found a suicide note.’ He sat, then laid himself flat on the table, resting his head on his hands. His shoulders shivered and I longed to ease his pain. His fingers scrunched against scratch-marks at his temples. ‘Have you come for your books?’

  ‘My books?’

  ‘She left them on her desk. With a note.’

  ‘Oh. Yes.’ She had my copy of Rebecca, and the thought jarred memories. Laughing, teasing and writing our coded letters, each knowing what the other was thinking. My friend. Long red hair. Green eyes dulled by a lack of confidence.

  ‘You found her. What happened?’ Matthew pushed himself up and poured steaming tea into cups.

  ‘Yes.’ I stared at my tea unable to look at him. ‘I didn’t think she’d kill herself.’ The words mirrored my guilt.

  He picked up his cup and threw it past me. It hit the wall and shattered. Tea exploded in a spray and splashed onto me. I jumped and yelped.

  ‘Oh-oh-oh …’ I swiped my hair, my neck, my shoulder as I ran to the sink, where I picked up the dishcloth and soaked it in cold running water. He stood behind me as I dabbed myself, pressing the cold cloth to my burnt skin. There was no defence for what Frankie did, because Frankie chose me, not her, and we both abandoned her. Matthew wanted to hurt me, and I didn’t blame him.

  ‘Why did you come here?’ He moved closer; his hip touched mine. His breath flowed softly against my neck. I wanted to turn around, to look into his eyes and meet his grief. He leant into me. Our bodies fused as he took the cloth and ran it under the cold tap. He pressed it into my neck. Cold water trickled down the front of my jumper, soaking into the V and running in a shivering stream between my breasts. He watched the water run, his head so close that I inhaled the scent of his hair.

  ‘I need to go …’ I said as dizziness and longing for him engulfed me. The sick feeling that he could replace Frankie didn’t cause me revulsion as it should have.

  ‘Don’t go.’ He pressed again: gentle, rhythmic pressure. A minute ticked by before he sat down at the table. His profile was strong, the straight nose perfect for his face, but his full-fleshed lips had thinned with grief. I remembered the boy he had been: hard, unflinching and cruel to his sister. The skin on his cheeks was pale and mottled from distress. His long brown hair fell either side of his collar in soft tendrils. His shoulders weakened me as they had always done. Their shape, their strength, their maleness. The thought of them close to me punched straight to a spot in my womb. Frankie’s baby turned and kicked my ribs.

  ‘Okay. I’ll pour you some more tea.’ Opening the cupboard, I fetched a cup. ‘It’s not stewed yet … maybe I’ll make some more.’

  ‘No.’ His voice touched something inside of me. My hand jerked, making the teapot lid rattle. ‘Just pour it and sit down.’ My hands shook as I placed the cup in front of him. He looked up, his face a mixture of the paleness of shock and the blue of helplessness.

  ‘Tell me what happened. Tell me about my sister.’

  ‘She came to see me, the Sunday before Christmas. Told me she was pregnant, by Frankie. He’d told her we’d split up …’

  His head dropped into his hands, and the scrunching of his temples started again. ‘Where is the bastard?’

  ‘He’s gone away … with his friends … France. We weren’t married, because he already has a wife. And a child.’

  ‘Oh, for fuck's sake!’

  ‘I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say.’ I reached for his hand and he squeezed my fingers.

  ‘Tell me why you’re here. It’s not for the books, is it?’

  ‘To find her, be near her. I don’t know where she is. Her body hanging from that rope ...’ Tears gushed. Matthew watched but didn’t comfort me. I went to the sink and splashed cold water on my face, ‘I’m going to her room.’

  He followed me upstairs, and we stood for a moment outside her door before he pushed it open. I walked in, but he went into the bathroom. On top of her desk were the pens she’d been using, with some unfinished knitting, a few books, and a note in code: ‘Carol. These are yours. I’ve written a letter to you.’

  A pair of daps sat beside the chest of drawers. A vision of us, laughing as we tried on Paula’s clothes. Sarah posing. Me drawing a picture, and her hiding it in our secret place, behind the headboard of the bed. She said she loved it and would treasure it forever.

  The letter was hidden behind the headboard. In a sealed envelope addressed to me. The toilet flushed, so I slipped it
into my waistband as Matthew returned. Sliding into the neatly made bed, I pulled her pillow to my face, immersing myself in her smell. He lay beside me, taking the pillow and placed it under our heads. He turned my face and looked into my eyes as he kissed me. His warmth and the touch released me back into my body. I gasped as my senses jolted back to life and my skin pulsated with the pleasure of his touch. His tears drenched my breasts, and his hands sought my belly, smoothing the swollen mound with reverent strokes. We joined in a place away from our suffering. His passion was my atonement, and the last vestige of decency left me. I was happy to abandon it; to ratify my guilt. We cast ourselves outside of that horrid world and banished ourselves to a twilight place of ghosts and memories, prolonging our agony to satisfy our sin.

  He ran a bath as I dressed and made my way downstairs. As I filled the kettle, Sarah’s parents returned so I gathered my things and slipped out the back door. They couldn’t see our familiarity and guess what we’d done. We must not cause any more pain. I destroyed Frankie with my love, but I wouldn’t destroy Matthew. He didn’t deserve me.

  Chapter 42

  Tuesday, 2 February 1971

  Spirits walked with me in the early morning and sapped my strength with their demands on my guilty conscience. The year was freeing itself from hibernation. If I could summon the strength to walk in my beloved woods, I would find many buds pushing their way into the light of day. They had more strength than me: they saw a future in their efforts whereas I couldn’t look beyond the next minute. The coming spring should have excited me, but it didn’t.

  Never wanting to leave my bed, I wallowed until twelve unless Perry, or Mr Cutler, came to chop wood or tend the garden. The sight of them toiling on my behalf brought a mixture of resentment and gratitude as I wavered between wanting to be alive and dead. The logs stacked in the kitchen taunted me with the need to either keep warm or freeze to death. If only I could leave this struggle to live, I thought … but I was weak.