‘I’m sure, Sadie. Yes, she told me about the rape. Can I borrow these … to show Perry?’
She hesitates, so I say, ‘Oh, don’t worry, I’ll bring them back. I won’t forget, I promise.’
‘Well, yes, I suppose, but don’t lose the ones with Sheila. You can keep the ones without Sheila. She only kept them because she’d a crush on Simon.’
‘Well, then, I’ll take the ones without Sheila – thank you. I expect Perry will only be interested in his family anyway. Thank you, Sadie.’
I snap my bag closed.
Chapter 64
Thursday, 4 August 2016
Simon’s bedroom door key will be in Perry’s study but the spare key to his study will be in his office in the converted barn. The ground floor, containing Perry’s office, is accessed by many workers. They use the kitchen, toilets and shower room. There’s a restroom and workers sit about drinking tea or coffee at all hours of the day and night depending on what’s being harvested, loaded or delivered. When I try the door, his office is locked.
‘Hello, Mrs Cutler.’
Jumping, I clasp my chest. ‘Hello … um, Louise.’ Perry’s secretary gives me the creeps.
‘Did you want something?’
‘No, I … well, I’ve lost a key and Perry won’t be happy. I’m supposed to start cleaning out one of the rooms in the farmhouse. But I can’t find the key, and I thought there’d be a spare in his office.’
‘Oh,’ she says, and she weighs up whether she should help me. ‘I’m not allowed to give out keys, as they’re spares and if they go missing he’ll have a fit … I mean he won’t be … you know.’ She flushes at her disrespect.
‘Yes, my husband can be rather ... um, sharp,’ I say, and raise my eyebrows in a conspiratorial way to reassure her. ‘I have a way. If you open the door and bring back the key straightaway? I won’t be able to lock up when I finish so I’ll tell him I lost the key then. At least I will have started to clear the room, whereas now when he comes back, I won’t have.’ I try to look downcast.
‘Okay, I can’t see any harm. Which one is it?’
‘It’s labelled “Simon’s room”.’
She fetches it then follows me. I search for something bright and breezy to say but daren’t speak in case she notices my nervousness.
‘This is it. Thank you, Louise.’ She opens the door. ‘You don’t fancy giving me a hand, do you?’ I push the door open and let her have a glimpse of the contents.
She sniffs the dusty air. ‘No, sorry, I must get on,’ and scuttles away.
It’s always the quickest way to get rid of someone, to suggest they help you with some work. Shutting the door, I look around at the abandoned boxes and rubbish. Everything is where I remembered. The bed is against the wall still covered by the blue candlewick bedspread I’d burrowed under to stop the sick, dizzy feeling after bashing my forehead. That day when I was seven resounds throughout my life. Trying to find my dead father in the lightning storm, meeting Perry, discovering this place, and nearly getting killed; some days are indelibly stamped in your memory, and I often wonder what life would have been if I hadn’t taken the decisions I did on that day. Or the decisions I made the day I first walked into Oaktree House.
Sitting on the bed, I remember Perry taking a book from the bookcase and hiding it in his waistband. It may have been a diary. Perry has never been a ‘book person’. He’s an outdoor type, a gardener, a farmer.
Something about Sadie’s photos hinted at a truth I had not seen before. Something at the edge of my memory floats like a black ghost. The harder I try to capture the thought, the more it slips away. Something compelled me to come here. That Perry could return and find me here frightens me. Perhaps the feeling is caused by the many chemicals I take to keep me sane. Visiting Sadie was an eye-opener into the dynamics of this family. That Mr Cutler, or should I call him Frankie, may have been having an affair with Thora is a revelation. Secrets swirl temptingly in the atmosphere.
Simon’s room holds twelve years of his life. Perry tried to save him from drowning but couldn’t. Chills run up my spine as a real fear of Perry grows. What if he didn’t try to save him? What if he was glad his brother died? What if he walks in and catches me? Fear spikes, and it demands respect.
The room is no longer a shrine. Where are the clues that will reinforce my sixth sense that his death wasn’t an accident? What if his mother had discovered the truth that I’m suspecting? What if Simon was going to share a dark family secret with her – the sharing of which could have been more destructive for his mother then her son’s death had been. A dead son and brother, or a destroyed marriage with your parents separating? Depends on whose viewpoint you look from, and who the truth would hurt the most.
Sarah and I hid our letters and secrets on the back of the bed headboard. Grabbing it with both hands, it shifts away from the wall sending pain through my shoulder and arm. Another tug and it moves six inches. A book is taped to the back, set inside a recess. It falls easily into my hands: a diary. The sound of voices prompts me to slip it into my waistband as my stomach turns to water. There are other secrets here. Fear must be ignored if I’m to find them.
Chapter 65
Monday, 15 August 2016
Matthew and Perry have gone to look at the campsite. They will call it ‘Raven’s Retreat’. Matthew winked when announcing the name; Perry has no idea of its meaning. They plan to open soon. The heated yurts have no seasonal limits and will be booked up until Christmas.
The pub in the hamlet of South Chewton is a mile’s walk away. It’s noted as a ‘short ramble through dales of lush vegetation, complete with an excellent variety of England’s many species of tree and shrubs’. They plan a fishing lake. I pray this project fails. Perry will put up ‘no entry’ signs but people will consider themselves temporary owners and will take little notice of boundaries. The paying of money implies entitlement. My complaint that strangers will wander across my land falls on deaf ears.
That they are getting on so well is a source of irritation, but their absence has enabled me to search the farm. The loft has yielded a set of letters from Thora to ‘Frankie’. That he never destroyed them highlights his arrogance and reminds me of another arrogant man. Leaving something so incriminating tells of a sense of immunity from embarrassment or fear of discovery. Were they hidden when Elsie was alive? Maybe he sought some solace from them after Thora’s death. Who am I to judge another’s feelings when I have irrational ones myself? Maybe we all need an unattainable lover to keep us tortured but alive. Waiting for that exquisite moment when our heart’s delight comes to us and completes us. That we will never be complete leaves us with the desire to keep hold of the dream. Reality is such a let-down.
While rummaging, I notice insurance papers for Laura. Her insurance was not a surprise to Perry as he had taken it out three years before she died. Why lie about that? She died of an infection of her leg leading to sepsis. She delayed in getting help and then it was too late. Why didn’t Perry take more care of her?
The diaries and letters, along with the newspaper cuttings, have shown me a new reality. The events at the time of Simon’s death are clearer. Family life would not have been easy if they knew of the secret affair. That’s why Simon died, I’m sure. The entries in his diary dated 1962 are clear:
I don’t know what to do about the witch. I have tried to forget what I saw, but the image won’t leave me. I can’t sleep. Should I tell Perry? Should I tell Mum? I hate you, Father, for doing this to us! Why! Why! Why! She’s just an old witch, and I hate her. HATE HATE HATE.
Then another:
Now I know about them it’s so easy to spot the signs – the looks that passed between them when she brought the pie yesterday. He was gone for hours to replace a lightbulb. Does Mum know? Something passed through her eyes when she remarked he’d been a long time fixing the bulb. She turned away as he shrugged. How dare he hurt my mum. How dare he!
A few days later:
I have to
tell Perry, but it will break his heart. He loves Mum dearly. I can’t tell him. He mustn’t know.
Then:
I went to the witch’s house today. She had a visitor. A young boy called Frankie. He’s about Perry’s age. He was in the garden, on the swing. He reminded me of me. The witch came out to call him in for lunch, and my father appeared. They stood together watching the boy then Father pushed him, making him laugh. Made me sick.
Father said he would tell me to come and cut the grass for her. I’m not going to do that, and he can thrash me as much as he wants. I will ask to board at school full time. Mum will let me, if I say I need to for my studies. Mum mustn’t find out the boy is at the witch’s in case she goes there. She’ll see that he looks like me. He looks more like me then Perry does. Perry looks like Mum. They have the same black hair. I don’t think Mum is my mum or I would have black hair as well. I hate them all.
Simon’s pain makes me cry. Betrayal attacks his sense of home and security. He is floundering in the waters of teenage hormones mixed with the reality of adult cruelty. He is finding out that the only person you can rely on is yourself, and he is not coping well with this truth. The last entry reads:
I must tell Perry even though he’s too young to understand. I can’t keep this to myself. Or better still I will tell Mum as she needs to know. Or I will go to the witch and kill her. She deserves to die for what she is doing to us.
He is beside himself with rage now, with no idea of which way to turn. A few days later, he was dead. Mr Cutler, Frankie, was having an affair with Thora. The photos confirm it. My Frankie is the image of Mr Cutler. If he knew who his father was, I’m sure Frankie would have told me. Thora invented the rape to cover her duplicity. Perry knew I’m sure, and he would have stopped Simon from telling their mother. Perry would not want his mum upset and have their lives destroyed. She was probably keeping knowledge of the affair to herself, but if Simon shouted it from the rooftops, then she would have to address it. That would have devastated them.
Someone is shouting and banging on the door.
‘Mrs Cutler. Carol. Come quickly. Perry’s had an accident and the ambulance is on its way.’
It’s Louise. Grabbing my bag, we run and get into the jeep. ‘They’re in Spring Field. Matthew is with him, and a couple of the lads have gone along the top lane to show the ambulance where to go. Perry fell awkwardly from the tractor and lost consciousness, but he’s regained it now.’ She puts her foot down and we fly across the field.
‘How do you know this?’ I ask.
‘Matthew phoned me. Are you okay?’
‘Yes, of course.’ Why didn’t Matthew phone me? ‘He’s not badly hurt, is he?’
‘I’m sure he’ll be fine.’ She pats my leg and I turn away to hide my disappointment.
Chapter 66
Tuesday, 16 August 2016
Perry stayed in hospital last night due to a concussion. He has broken a bone in his right forearm, but it should heal without complications. He’s not happy that they have put on a cast. Luckily, he’s left-handed. Matthew tells me how he fell off the tractor, but I tell him to shut up. He assures me he’s not offended by my reluctance to know the details. Perry’s still alive is all I need to know. He should be discharged later today, all being well for him. Not for me.
There is time to search through the loft and Simon’s room again. Many assumptions about Perry’s family tempt me to conclusions. I must take care to reach the correct ones. That Mr Cutler is Frankie’s father is almost certain, but more proof will not harm.
The TV news tells me horror stories about killings and bombings, so I turn it off and take my sandwich upstairs to my study. As I finish eating, the front door bangs open, so I go and look down the stairs. Perry is heading for the kitchen, shouting my name. Fear freezes me, as I’m sure I put Simon’s diary on the kitchen table before I made my lunch. As I stumble down the stairs, Matthew walks in through the open front door.
‘Hi, Carol.’
‘What are you doing here?’
‘Nice to see you, too. Dropping Perry back. As soon as he gets changed, we’re heading over to the site to check the plans.’
As we walk into the kitchen, Perry is standing transfixed, Simon’s diary in his good hand. He looks up at me. This is not going to be pleasant, but I decide to speak first.
‘Hi. You’re back. I didn’t expect you. You should have phoned …’
‘Why bother you? You couldn’t pick me up.’
‘No, but I would have prepared lunch or something. So, you’re okay …?’
‘Not waiting until they could be bothered to discharge me.’ He flicks through the pages in his hand.
‘It’s Simon’s diary, isn’t it? I haven’t read it. Well, only the first pages. But when I realised what it was ...’
‘Where did you find it?’
‘In Simon’s room. Thought I’d clean it. You know how I hate dirt anywhere.’ He regards me with horror pinching face.
‘Don’t go in there again. Get Matthew a coffee while I get changed.’ He walks out with the diary, and a stream of cold air follows in his wake.
‘Is something up?’ Matthew looks worried. Perry has mostly hidden his contempt for me from others, but the pain has loosened the mask he wears keep up the appearance of a loving husband.
‘Nothing different from normal. Tea or coffee?’
‘Whatever you want. You’re going to be okay, aren’t you?’
‘Why wouldn’t I be?’ I turn and stare at him. ‘He’s got a broken arm so I should be fine for a while. Unless he forgets and uses it to hit me, but at least it may hurt him more than it hurts me.’
‘Carol …’ Matthew sits at the table floundering for words, then whispers: ‘I don’t know why you stay with him.’
‘Nor do I. But he is my husband. He didn’t force me to marry him.’
‘But he shouldn’t treat you like this.’
‘Are you going to stop him?’ I pour boiling water over instant coffee.
‘No. Of course not. It’s not down to me …’
‘Are you going to stop working with him? Making money with him?’
‘No … I can’t. Everything’s in place. The finance, the partnership …’
‘Exactly, Matthew.’ Placing his coffee in front of him, I turn and walk out. ‘See you later. Milk’s in the fridge. You may have to go upstairs and help him when he realises he can’t change his pants.’
Fear runs through my blood as always, but now the icy coldness has a tinge of fire. The loneliness of an empty house, with its creaking rooms and breathless air, I’ve accepted. The whispering coldness of my lover’s eyes as he leaves my bed is a repeating dream I’ve tolerated. The four-in-the-morning night sweats when the devil visits, I’ve endured. Give me these things over marriage any day. I’ve learnt to fight my internal demons alone, but the external ones are perpetual. And the ones that come from a spouse – well there’s no suitable rational response. Only the default of ‘kill or be killed’. And I hope that I don’t have to implement that one.
Chapter 67
Thursday, 25 August 2016
It’s a day for celebration, and the air feels alive and fresh. Perry sits beside me as I drive us towards the lakes. His arm is still in plaster, and the bruising on his head and leg has turned all colours of the rainbow. My role as chauffeur both irritates and pleases him. He hates having to rely on me but loves to ridicule my driving. I’m allowed to drive him all the way to Chewton Upton today, as Matthew and Louise are busy.
Driving always gives me a buzz. The thrill and the freedom; the control it imparts; the independence gained. Holding power in my hands is exhilarating: the power to kill or be killed, stemming from the slightest error of judgement. There’s a reason for my good spirits, for I’ve made a decision. A decision that makes me happy and, for once in a very long time, makes me feel that I’m in control of my life. The simplicity of the decision astounds me, and I wonder why I’d not thought of it before. Positive
energy floods me; I’m reborn. My years as a prisoner, confined to a life locked inside my head, are at an end.
Until today, I’ve been unable to stand up and shout out, ‘I have been wronged, and I have done wrong,’ and let the world judge me. For if I had not allowed Frankie to crush me, then I would have retained my independence. Then used my intellect to mitigate my shortcomings.
A gospel reading comes to mind: ‘The truth will make you free …’
As a child, I questioned how something intangible could impact something tangible. Lately, I’ve discovered a truth. A truth that broke the invisible chains binding me – and now my new life beckons. The truth has set me free. The answer was within my grasp all along.
Happily driving towards the lakes, the sun shines, trees sway, and ahead we will see the beautiful expanse of sparkling blue water, a breathing body of birds and fish and sailors. A part of heaven here on earth. To take certain steps on my journey requires answers to difficult questions. Perry needs to answer questions even though he wants to forget. Forgetting the past will have to wait awhile. Drawing upon my shallow reserves of bravery, it’s time to clear the air. If he truly loves me, Perry will appreciate that I need to do this to ratify my decision.
A shudder of nerves and exhilaration rises as I begin. ‘Schmidt didn’t kill Frankie.’
Perry turns from gazing at the scenery.
‘Don’t be stupid, Carol. He was the only one who could have killed him. Or did you spend these last months convincing me that you couldn’t have done it to see if I’d fall for the lie? Are you saying that it was you who chopped off his head while seven months pregnant? Why are you dragging this up again, for God’s sake?’
Killing The Girl Page 24
