My Sister's Bones

by Nuala Ellwood

  “Shh—” she says again, her eyes bulging.

  I look over my shoulder into the darkness. There’s nothing there.

  “Where’s the phone, Fida?”

  “Shh—” She’s trying to tell me something.

  I make my way up the hallway, but I can’t see a phone. There’s something sticky underneath my feet. I shudder. It’s blood. The house smells of it. I remember that smell. It’s what my childhood smelled like. Even though Kate was always first on the scene I would hover behind her, standing on tiptoes to see what state my mother was in this time. Even though Kate tried to shoo me away, I still saw the bruises; I still smelled the blood.

  I need to get her out of here. Perhaps I can get her next door to Mum’s and break in somehow, then call the police from there.

  “Shh—” she gasps, then flops her head back onto the step.

  “Sorry, love, I can’t hear you,” I tell her, my heart thudding. “Look, we’re going to have to get you up.”

  She shakes her head, then grabs my hand. Her breath is shallow as she forces the words out.

  “He’s . . . gone.”

  “Who’s gone?” Does she mean her husband?

  Her eyes roll in her head.

  “Shh–” she says, wincing in pain. “Shed.” The word falls out of her mouth like a stone.

  “Shed? He’s in the shed?”

  I’m terrified. I just want to run. But Fida squeezes my arm tighter.

  “You . . . have . . . to . . . go.” She spits out each word, squeezing my arms tighter with every syllable. “The boy—”

  She lies back, exhausted from the effort of speaking, then she lifts her head and stares at me pleadingly.

  “Please . . .”

  “Your little boy is in the shed?”

  She nods her head.

  “Help him,” she gasps.

  Then her head falls back. I put my hand on her chest. She’s still breathing but it looks like she’s fainted.

  I stand up, my heart pounding. This is too much for me. I need to call the police. But if something happens to that child while I’m away I’ll never forgive myself. This is one child I can help.

  I take off my coat and put it gently over Fida, then make my way through the house.

  Be brave, I tell myself, as I push open the back door and step out into the shadowy garden. Be like Kate.

  38

  My legs feel like they are going to give way as I move across the grass toward the shed. What the hell am I doing? I feel disoriented from the wine and pills but I know I have to do this. If I can help this little boy, then I’ll have done something right in my thirty-five years on this earth. Then maybe Paul will be proud of me. He’ll see that I can be a good person.

  I reach the shed. The door is wide open. I count to three, then step inside.

  “Hello?” I call, my heart beating so fast it feels like it’s coming out of my chest.

  “Hello?” I repeat. “It’s okay. You can come out. I’ve come to help you.”

  As my eyes adjust to the dark I can see it’s just an ordinary garden shed with plant pots and old boxes. What was I expecting, a dungeon? Fida must’ve been delirious with the knock to her head. There’s nowhere to hide a child here. He must be in the house.

  I’m just about to go back when I hear it. A rustling coming from the back of the shed. I freeze.

  “Hello?” I call again, my voice quivering.

  I am scared, so scared. But then I see something move in the far corner. I step closer and there he is: a tiny boy crouched behind a ladder.

  “Oh my God,” I say softly, my heart thudding against my chest.

  I walk toward him and he cowers farther into the corner.

  “It’s okay,” I whisper, sensing his fear. “I won’t hurt you.”

  The boy mumbles something beneath his breath.

  “What was that you said, darling?”

  I get down on my knees and gently ease myself toward him. I remember when Hannah was a little girl, she was so shy and she hated it when adults stood over her; it used to terrify her. Mum would say: “If you make yourself small, then children will trust you.”

  “What’s your name?” I ask him. I’m next to him now and I sit down on the floor, resting my arms on my knees.

  He looks up at me fleetingly, then hides his face again. His hands are so tiny.

  “What are you doing in here?” I ask him. “Playing hide-and-seek?”

  He looks at me blankly so I try again.

  “Shall we go and find Mummy?”

  He nods his head, then whispers something. I lean in closer, gently take his hand, and pull him out of his hiding place.

  “What did you say, love?”

  “Find Mummy,” he says, looking at me for the first time.

  “Come on then,” I say, getting to my feet. “Let’s go and see Mummy.”

  I hold out my hand but he stays where he is.

  “Come on,” I say.

  “No,” he cries, shaking his head. “No go out there. Bad man out there.”

  The poor kid is terrified but I don’t know what to do. I’m guessing the “bad man” is his father and if he comes in here to find him we’re done for. I need to get him and Fida next door to my mum’s house and then I can think what to do next.

  “There’s no bad man,” I say, kneeling down next to him. “He’s gone now. But I know a nice place we can go. It’s my mummy’s house and I bet there’ll be some biscuits there. You can have some while we wait for your mummy.”

  “Mummy not out there,” he shouts. “Mummy down there.”

  He’s pointing at the ground.

  “Don’t be silly,” I say. “Your mummy’s not down there.”

  “She is!” he yells. “She down there.”

  He sinks to the floor and pulls a scrap of old carpet back.

  “There,” he says.

  I go over to him. There’s a square shape cut out in the floor. I crouch down to take a closer look. It’s a kind of trapdoor with a large metal bolt, built into the floor.

  “What do you mean?” I ask, looking at him.

  He says something but I can’t hear so I lean nearer to him and accidentally dislodge an old metal bucket, which tumbles loudly across the stone floor. The noise startles the boy and he goes to run past me.

  “Shh, it’s okay,” I say, taking his hand. “Don’t panic. It was just a silly old bucket.”

  He’s terrified; his little body trembles in my arms and I rub his head gently. His hair smells musty; like it hasn’t been washed in weeks.

  “It’s okay,” I whisper, though I’m scared too.

  “Mummy,” he says again, untangling himself from my arms. “Mummy down there.”

  He steps over to the trapdoor and points at it. If this is a game then maybe I should just play it, humor him for a bit until we can get out of here.

  “She’s down there?” I say gently as I make my way back over to him. “Through that door?”

  He nods his head.

  “You open,” he says. “Open now.”

  I crouch down and tug at the bolt. It’s stiff and I have to yank at it. Finally it slides across and I pull the handle toward me. As I do, a weak trickle of light filters up and the boy squeezes past me and disappears down the hatch.

  “Wait,” I call as I lean over the hole. I can see a set of steps below me. The boy has disappeared into the darkness.

  I need to get him out of here. I start to climb down. The steps are made of wood, the kind you find in loft conversions, and they lead me down to a wide, airless room, dimly lit by a solitary light bulb in the center of the ceiling.

  The room smells of damp and sweat and I hold a hand to my mouth as I stand at the entrance. What the hell is this place? I can see exposed brick walls with tufts of yellow insulation poking out of the cracks. As I move forward I see a filthy single mattress draped in a thin quilt, wedged against the wall. The quilt is covered with faded cartoon characters.

  I keep
my hand over my mouth as I step farther inside. I daren’t take it away as I am scared I will throw up, the stench is so bad. My foot hits something and it skitters across the floor. I look to see what it is, my heart pounding. It’s a silver pen. Something about it is vaguely familiar.

  I turn to find the boy. He’s over the other side of the room. There seems to be another bed pressed against the wall.

  “Mummy, wake up,” he shouts as he climbs on to the bed and it’s then that I see a mound lying in the middle. I go cold. There’s someone in the bed. His mummy.

  “Lady’s here,” he cries. “Lady help. She nice.”

  He pulls the covers back and I see a tuft of dirty blonde hair. Who is this poor woman? The boy curls himself into her arms and she smothers his face with kisses.

  “Er, hello,” I say. “I’m Sally, I . . .”

  The woman lifts her head. I look into her eyes and my world becomes another world.

  “Mum?” she whispers.

  39

  Hannah!” I gasp. “What . . . what are you doing here?”

  “David tired,” says the boy. “Mummy hug David.”

  She takes the boy in her arms and rocks him like I did with her when she was small.

  “Is this your boy?” I ask. I can’t think of what else to say.

  She looks up and nods and my heart feels like it’s been ripped out of me.

  This is all too much to take in.

  Then I hear steps coming from above.

  “Sally?”

  I swivel around at the sound of his voice and my hand drops from my face.

  “Oh, thank God, you’re here,” I cry.

  But instead of coming to me he goes to Hannah.

  “We’ve found her, Paul,” I sob. “Our girl.”

  I move toward them but something stops me. Paul has pulled Hannah in front of him and has his arm around her. He looks angry.

  “Paul?” I say.

  Then I notice it. There’s something in his hand. It glints.

  “What are you doing, Paul, you plonker?”

  My words come out light and breezy and I have to stop myself from laughing. This is a joke, right?

  “The more pertinent question, Sally,” he says, “is what are you doing? Why are you here? Did your booze run out?”

  This is not a joke. This is actually happening.

  Paul is holding Hannah in between us, and she’s so close I can feel her breath on my skin like when she was a baby and she would fall asleep on my shoulder. Her lovely blonde hair has been cut short and it’s all tangled and greasy. She was so fussy about her hair, it was her pride and joy.

  “Your hair,” I sob. “What happened to your lovely hair?”

  My beautiful, blue-eyed girl who disappeared that day more than five years ago is now a woman, an emaciated woman with hollow eyes. She stares at me, then blinks and turns away, and I feel something rise up inside of me, something that has been missing since the day she left. This is my daughter and I will do anything to get her out of here. Nothing is stronger than a mother’s love.

  “Hannah,” I whisper, reaching out my hand to her. “It’s okay. I’m here now.”

  As I speak he pulls her backward. My mind is still refusing to work out what’s in his hand.

  He laughs. “That is the most ridiculous thing I’ve heard in a long time. You’re here now. Isn’t that nice.”

  “She’s my daughter, Paul,” I say, keeping my eyes on him.

  “Ha,” he says. “That’s a laugh. Your daughter? You were never a proper mother to her; you were a disgrace. That’s why I had to step in, give the girl some security, a bit of guidance.”

  He pulls a wooden chair from the side of the room and sits on it, still holding Hannah to his chest. Why won’t she speak? Why doesn’t she just push him away?

  “Paul, what’s going on?” I say, easing myself toward them. “Just let her go.”

  He stares at me and I stare back.

  “I’ll let her go when I’m ready,” he says, not taking his eyes off me. “But first I want to tell you a few things and if you try anything daft, Sally, then I will slit her throat.”

  He moves his arm from beneath her rib cage and it’s then I see that it’s a knife clasped in his hand. He moves it up to Hannah’s face.

  “Paul, for fuck’s sake,” I cry. “Please. Why are you doing this?”

  “Why am I doing this?” he says calmly. “Hmm, that’s a good question. I’m doing this because you left me no choice. I’ve always been a nurturer, a sucker for lost causes. Why do you think I ended up with you? But there came a point when I had to make a decision. I had to remove Hannah from a dangerous situation and put her into a place of safety. You were abusing your child, Sally. Someone had to get her away from it.”

  I feel a familiar anger rising up inside me, a memory from a childhood spent trying to hold it in, trying to keep the peace. But if I want to get Hannah out of here I’m going to have to swallow my anger once more. Keep him talking, I tell myself, as I sit down on the floor and draw my knees up, keep him talking until the time is right.

  “Thank you,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “Thank you for taking such good care of her.”

  Hannah frowns at me. She is confused but I nod my head at her reassuringly.

  “Now if you let her go,” I continue, “I’ll tell the police what a good job you’ve done, giving her a safe place, away from the arguments, away from me. They’ll understand. I’ll tell them it was all my fault.”

  “You stupid bitch,” he yells, leaping to his feet and pulling Hannah up by the throat. “Do you think I’m a fucking idiot? None of us are getting out of here, do you understand that? None of us.”

  40

  I sit on the floor holding my knees to my chest, staring at the wall in front of me. There’s writing on it in red pen. The one word that stands out, the one that’s written over and over again, is “Mum.”

  “Touching, isn’t it?”

  Paul is smiling. How can the bastard smile after what he’s done?

  I stay silent. If I answer back I’m playing into his hands.

  “Look at that,” he says. “Can you read it? It says ‘Help me Mum.’ Isn’t that sweet? Crying out for her mum. But Mum never came, did she, Hannah? She was too busy getting drunk. I said to her, you can write what you like, it doesn’t bother me, because one thing’s for certain—your mother’s not coming. Your mother couldn’t give a shit. And I’m right, aren’t I, Sally?”

  I shake my head. My girl was crying out for me and I couldn’t hear her.

  David whimpers in the bed and I get up to go and comfort him.

  “Leave him,” snaps Paul.

  “He’s scared,” I say. “He’s just a little kid.”

  “I said leave him.”

  He stabs the wall with his knife and I sit down again, my body numb with shock and fear.

  “Whose is he?” I say, trying to block out his cries.

  Paul laughs and squeezes Hannah tighter.

  “Do you want to tell her or should I?” he says.

  She bows her head.

  “All right, I’ll tell her,” he says, rolling his eyes. “He’s mine, you stupid bitch. The kid is mine. And it’s your fault.”

  David carries on whimpering while all around me the air gets thinner and thinner. I can’t breathe as I sit here listening to the man I once loved describe how he groomed my daughter.

  “You were always pissed,” he says, flexing his hands tighter across Hannah’s chest. “Do you remember when we first met, you were off the booze, said you’d seen the light and gone teetotal? Well, all it took was a little encouragement and before you knew it you were an old lush like your father. I enjoyed that. Watching you destroy yourself. And you were so stupid, so gullible and desperate for love that you actually thought it was you I was interested in, not your pretty little daughter. Before long you were in no fit state to look after Hannah. Someone needed to step in. The girl needed comforting and I was the
re.”

  Hannah turns to look at me. Her eyes are bloated with tears. She looks like a little girl again and I reach out my arms to her.

  “I’m sorry, darling,” I whisper. “I’m so sorry.”

  “She’s sorry, Hannah.” He repeats my words mockingly. “Did you hear that? Mummy’s sorry. Isn’t that nice?”

  Hannah cowers as he speaks and I want to comfort her but the knife held firmly to her throat keeps me back.

  “And then one night we crossed the line, didn’t we, sweetheart?” He prods Hannah in the side. “Didn’t we? Shall we tell your lovely mother where you seduced me?”

  Hannah keeps her head down but I can see that she’s crying; her shoulders are shaking. I can’t bear this.

  “Gone shy, have we?” he says, putting his face into hers. “Okay then, I’ll tell her.”

  I hate this man more than I have ever hated any human being in my life. He’s a monster and I let him into our home. How could I have been so stupid?

  I put my hands over my ears and start humming in an attempt to drown out his voice but he sees me and jumps up, dragging Hannah across the floor toward me.

  “Take your fucking hands off your ears or I’ll kill her,” he snarls. “You’re going to listen to what I have to tell you, okay? Try to cover your ears one more time and I swear I’ll kill her, slowly, right here under your nose. Understand?”

  “Yes,” I whisper. “I understand.”

  “Right,” he says, returning to his spot by the wall. “Where was I? Oh, yeah, that was it. Summer 2009. She had just turned sixteen. Sweet sixteen. Been flirting with me for months, hadn’t you?”

  He yanks at the end of Hannah’s hair.

  “I said hadn’t you?”

  She whimpers and nods her head.

  “You’d been having a go at her about trying to find her dad,” he says. “Night after night I came home to the sound of your screaming and yelling. Like a bloody fishwife you were, never letting up. And then there was that incident with the watch. That was it for poor Hannah, the final straw.”

  A chill runs through my body.

  “Thought you’d kept that secret, didn’t you?” he says, shaking his head. “Thought I wouldn’t find out that you’d attacked your own daughter. But Hannah told me about it when I came home that night. She told me how you’d gone at her like a madwoman and broken her watch. She was shaking like a leaf. You’d really scared the poor girl. But, see, it was a pivotal moment, Sal. It was the moment I found out just how dangerous you could be.”