by Maria Hoey
“Oh, that! That was just a minor peccadillo, but it’s over now. But you, Kay, you’re the light to my shade.”
I believe I actually gurgled into the phone at that point. Peccadillo, the light to my shade – how had I put up with this fool as long as I had?
Dominic misinterpreted my mirth. “It’s good to hear you laugh again, Kay,” he said. By the tone of his voice I knew he was grinning, pleased with himself and smugly sure that he had clicked his fingers and I was ready now to come running. “Tell me where you are and I’ll come and get you and take you home.”
“You know what, Dominic,” I said. “Don’t bother. I’m already home, and if you have any sense at all you’ll get on the next plane back to London, and I hope that you and your peccadillo will be very happy together. Oh, and by the way – ”
“What?”
“That last time when you asked me if I thought you were losing your hair?”
“What about it?” said Dominic and I could hear the fear in his voice.
“I lied. Give it another two years and you’ll be as bald as a bald eagle’s egg.”
Then I hung up, and I knew that I was not just hanging up on Dominic, but on that entire part of my life, forever.
In bed that night I found it hard to get to sleep. I kept replaying the day over and over, but of all the various incidents the thought that kept coming uppermost in my mind was Grace and her story. I thought about the day I had first seen her, the day of Robbie’s party, lurking by the gate, then hanging around Alexander’s pram. I tried to imagine how she must have felt. Looking at that baby who was her own flesh and blood. How she must have felt looking at that great house and those beautiful gardens and all the lavish show of that party which had been thrown to celebrate the birthday of yet another of her unacknowledged siblings. She would have known that Violet-May and Rosemary-June in their pretty party dresses, their hair ribbons and shiny shoes, were her own half-sisters. I wondered if she had resented them at all, all those Duff children who had what she had been denied? I wondered if she resented them still. Natural if she did, I told myself, but she hid it well if so. And she chose to stay close to them so that must mean something. Yes, she stayed very close to them. I was drowsy now, my thoughts falling from my mind like dropped stitches, but I could not quite surrender to sleep. Something was niggling at me, keeping me just this side of rest. I was on the very edge of sleep when it struck me what it was. That flash of colour, that fleeting but unmistakable flash of a vivid green skirt.
“She was there,” I said aloud. “Grace was there.”
There on Bone Bridge that day, one of the small crowd that had gathered and who watched as we were driven away to the police station. And there again on the day when Oliver followed his yellow ball into the garden pond and almost drowned, the same day Mrs Duff had died. And more recently still, there when Oliver got out of the house and out of the grounds to wander alone by the side of the road.
Grace was there.
Chapter 24
The second incident involving Oliver happened four days into Robbie’s trip to Greece. As with his previous absence, he had made a point of phoning the house each evening at a pre-arranged time just before the children’s bedtime. And again it was Caroline who was allowed to answer the phone before it was passed in turn to Oliver, Rosemary and Violet-May. Again there were the separate calls to me, later in the evenings, when I had been happy to report that I, and indeed all, was well. Aside from the calls, on this trip Robbie had also sent me a couple of texts. The first was a picture message of a blue sea and a brilliant sun, with a message assuring me he was hard at work and not taking advantage of either. The second, on the morning of the day in question, was to let me know he was heading into the mountains.
I had, as I had promised myself, made a special effort to spend most of each day with the children. If, as Robbie had suspected, Grace resented my doing so, then that was just too bad. After all, I also told myself one of the reasons I was here was to help out with Caroline and Oliver. As for those uncomfortable thoughts I had entertained concerning Grace, those were the product of an overtired and over-imaginative mind, which when examined in the light of day appeared too ridiculous to contemplate.
But, on this particular morning, I woke very early with lines of dialogue and strands of plot floating through my mind. I knew from experience that the only way to prevent them floating right out again was to pin them down, and I had got up, thrown on some clothes and gone upstairs to the attic room. I remember wrestling with what at the time I considered something of a dilemma. One of the characters in my book was a little girl, and I suddenly realised that without being conscious of it happening, Caroline had become the model for my fictional character. Perhaps it was because I had been spending so much time with her, but her small quirks had somehow made their way onto my pages, things like the way, when she was very tired, she would bunch her hands into fists and vigorously knuckle her eyebrows, how she always leaned her head to the right and never to the left when she was considering something. That day I remember worrying about what Robbie would think, were he ever to read my book and recognise his niece. But little did I know that before very long I would have something a whole lot bigger to worry about.
Once I began writing, I found myself on such a roll that I forgot about everything else until I was retuned to an awareness of the real world by hunger and a consciousness of cramping limbs. I went downstairs for food. I was just in time to catch Rosemary heading out and discovered that Grace had taken the children out for some fresh air earlier. I asked where they had gone but Rosemary was vague. After she had gone I made myself a sandwich and once I had eaten set off myself to stretch my legs in a long walk. I struck out through the meadow behind the house, revelling in the windy but sunny day and enjoying the sway of the long grass as I moved through it. I kept on going until I came to a field where the blackberries were ripening nicely and was immediately reminded of the day that Alexander died. I found myself thinking, as I had so often thought before, that had I stayed at home that day after the nut-gathering expedition had been abandoned, instead of going to pick blackberries, things would have been different and the nightmare on Bone Bridge would never had happened. And, as I had also done many times before, I pushed the thought from me, knowing that that way lay, if not madness, then pointless, painful regret.
I turned and began making my way back toward the house. By the time I arrived there, I felt tired from both my physical and mental exertions and decided to go and lie down for a short while. I popped my head into the kitchen first but nobody was around, and I headed upstairs. As I passed the door to the playroom, I heard the sound of children’s voices. The door was ajar and, looking in, I was surprised to see Violet-May down on her knees next to Caroline, who was sprawled on her stomach on the floor. Before them was an exquisite wooden Victorian-style doll’s house which I had never seen before. Oliver was there too, sitting on a rug engrossed in play with a large red-and-yellow truck.
“Where did all this come from?” I asked, going in for a closer look.
Violet-May glanced at me over her shoulder. “I ordered them online,” she said. “They arrived today.”
“What a beautiful doll’s house!” I said. “You’re a very lucky little girl, Caroline.”
“Olber got a truck,” she said.
“I see that,” I said and would have duly admired the truck too, if Oliver could have been parted from it for even a second.
“This was very nice of you, Violet-May,” I said and, for no reason I could clearly identify, this display of unexpected thoughtfulness toward the children filled me with a sense of light-heartedness.
“Has Grace gone home?” I asked and Violet-May, distracted by Caroline’s dilemma of which chest of drawers should go in which room, nodded absent-mindedly.
I left them then saying that I was going for a short nap, and headed to my bedroom. It was only afterwards, when I really thought about it, that I realised I had assum
ed Rosemary had come back and was in the house somewhere near at hand.
In my room, I took off my jacket and shoes and lay down on the bed. I intended only to close my eyes for a short time but the next thing I knew I was starting awake to the sound of tapping on the door.
What happened next seemed like some awful recurring dream.
The door opened and Violet-May came in.
“Is Oliver here?”
“But he was just with you,” I said, sitting up and swinging my feet to the floor. “In the playroom, only minutes ago. He was there with you and Caroline.”
“That was over an hour ago,” said Violet-May. “He isn’t there now.”
“And you’ve checked with Rosemary?”
“Rosemary is out,” said Violet-May. “She’s been out all day.”
I stared at her. “Then you were there with them all by yourself?”
“Yes, I was, what of it?”
I got to my feet, “Oliver’s gone missing again, that’s what of it,” I said, because by then I did not care what she thought of me. “So what happened? Who were you on the phone to this time, Violet-May?”
“I wasn’t on the phone. I just left him for a few minutes, that’s all, and when I came back he was gone.”
“You left him on his own?” I repeated. “Why, Violet-May, why would you do that? After what happened last time, tell me why in God’s name would you do that? What’s wrong with you, Violet-May, what the hell is wrong with you?”
The colour flooded her face then, and she came back at me with another small show of spirit. “Caroline needed the bathroom, that’s why. But Oliver wouldn’t leave his truck. He kicked up a fuss and then Caroline started whining that she couldn’t hold it any longer. I tried to pick him up, but I couldn’t manage him and her and the damn truck at the same time, so I left him playing on the rug. Two minutes I was gone, less than that, and I shut the door behind me. But when I came back the door was open and Oliver was gone. But I know I shut the door after me, I swear on my own life I did. And there’s no way he could reach the lock on that door, it’s too high up, even if he tried climbing up on something. And anyway, there really wasn’t time, I swear, Kay. It doesn’t make any sense.”
“No, it doesn’t make any sense. And yet once again Oliver is missing.”
I said nothing more then. The truth was I was afraid that if I once began to speak, I would say things I did not want to put into words, things I could never unsay. Instead I took a steadying breath and pushed past her.
“Where have you looked?” I asked brusquely.
“Here on the landing and on the stairs, then I came in to you. You’d said you were going to lie down and I thought perhaps he’d come looking for you.”
“Right, then the first thing is to make sure he hasn’t got out again.”
I ran to the playroom door where I found Caroline, still sprawled on the floor before the doll’s house. When I scooped her up without warning she not surprisingly protested loudly but I ignored her and carried her squirming from the room and down the stairs. I was aware of Violet-May hurrying behind me.
As we reached the hall and I set Caroline down, Violet-May said a little breathlessly, “How should we do this? Do you want to do the back and I’ll search out front?”
“No,” I said sharply. “This time we don’t split up, we search together.”
“Fine with me,” said Violet-May evenly.
“We’ll check the driveway first in case he’s making for the road again ...”
“You’re forgetting that the gates are kept shut now,” said Violet-May. “Not to mention that there wouldn’t have been time for him to get that far this time. He was only on his own for –”
“Less than two minutes, so you keep saying. Even so, that’s where I think we should check first.”
I forced a smile as I glanced down at Caroline. “Come on, Caroline, let’s go look for your little brother.”
“But I want to play with my house!” said Caroline.
“And so you can, as soon as we find Oliver.”
“Olber is naughty,” said Caroline and I felt my false smile growing ever more crooked.
“Well, yes, if he’s really run off again, I suppose he is a little bit naughty. But we still need to look for him, because he’s very little, you know. Will you help us, Caroline, and when we find Oliver we’ll have a housewarming party for your beautiful new doll’s house? Would you like that?”
Caroline nodded in hearty agreement and allowed herself to be picked up once more. I carried her outside and down the steps, followed by Violet-May, then cut diagonally across the garden the quicker to reach the driveway. Even from the turn of the avenue, I could see that the gate was in fact closed and I felt myself breathe a little easier. Even so, I felt the need to reassure myself that the bars were too narrow for Oliver to climb through. And, having done that, I left Caroline with Violet-May while I unbolted them and went out onto the road. I looked to the right and to the left, but there was no Oliver in sight, and I went back inside the gates and bolted them behind me.
We set off back toward the house. This time Violet-May carried Caroline and I walked ahead, calling Oliver’s name and scanning the avenue to left and right as I went.
“I told you there wasn’t time for him to get this far,” said Violet-May.
“I wanted to be sure,” I said shortly. “And now we can go back and search the house. I just hope to God we find him before Rosemary comes back.”
Violet-May said nothing and I glanced at her, but her chin was buried in Caroline’s hair, and her eyes were downcast.
As we approached the house once more, I said, “You go on in and start searching inside. I want to just run round the back and make sure he’s not there somewhere.”
She went without demur and I hurried round the side of the house and did a quick scan of the garden. I crossed to the middle of the lawn where I stood for a moment considering whether I should do a quick search of the garages and sheds and outhouses, or just go in and help with the search of the house. I decided on the latter course.
Then, just as I turned back toward the house, it occurred to me that it might be worth calling Oliver’s name a couple of times on the off-chance that he had managed to get out here after all. I opened my mouth to do just that, and as I did I glanced up. To this day I still don’t know what made me. Even then, all I saw at first was a flash of colour and it was another moment before my brain processed what my eyes were telling it. But when it did, when I realised what I was looking at, it was as though the machine that worked my heart, my lungs, my very breath, had momentarily stalled, leaving me in a state of absolute physical paralysis. In fact it felt to me as though no part of me was working as normal. Only my brain continued to function like some awful soulless computer remorselessly registering the facts.
Fact: the window to the attic room was open.
Fact: there was somebody crouching on the outside window ledge.
Fact: this was the window from which the broken-hearted scullery maid had jumped all those hundreds of years ago.
Fact: this was no unhappy young woman now, but a very small boy dressed in bright blue.
And I stood there staring in horror at Oliver perched three floors up on that narrow window ledge.
Chapter 25
Even now, there is a gap in my memory that has never been fully filled – the space of time between realising it was Oliver up there on the ledge of the attic window and finding myself inside the house again. I can clearly remember standing rooted to the ground, eyes fixed in a sort of petrified fascination on that small figure on the window ledge. I can also remember the moment when the machine finally kicked in once more, restoring my power of movement: it was the same moment that Oliver, who had remained until then in his crouched stance, suddenly straightened up. As he did, there was a flash of something red and yellow, which some part of my brain recognised as his new truck. He was clearly attempting to lift it, which even under the best
of conditions looked impossible: the truck appeared far too big and unwieldy for a child of his size to be able to hold. But somehow he did, and even managed to hug it to himself before he gave a little drunken stagger and I knew with certainty that he was about to topple forward and plunge to the ground below. That was the moment when I opened my mouth to scream his name. How I stopped myself, I do not know, but somehow I did, and the scream exploded silently in my throat. It left me feeling sick and dizzy at the thought of what I had almost done – Oliver, already in terrible danger on that window ledge was at least blithely unaware of the fact – all it took was something to startle him in any way, or cause him to jolt or wave or ...
As I say, I have no real memory of getting from the garden to the house, but somehow I did end up there with Violet-May coming toward me down the staircase.
“I can’t find –” she began and then jumped back as I pushed past her.
“He’s in the attic room. Window. Outside.”
I was too breathless for coherence, but I heard the gasp she gave and was aware of her hurrying up the stairs behind me.
“What do you mean, outside? You don’t mean he’s climbed out onto the window ledge?”
Ignoring her, I breathed over my shoulder, “Caroline, where is she?”
“In the playroom with her doll’s house.”
