The House of Memories

by Monica McInerney

  As I came into our apartment after my appointment, I heard a noise in Felix’s bedroom. Aidan was in there, sitting on the floor, a box beside him. He was putting Felix’s toys into it. He’d been trying to, at least. The box was empty. He was on the floor surrounded by Felix’s toys and books, crying so hard he didn’t hear me come in. He didn’t know I was there until I started shouting.

  I see now what he’d been trying to do. I didn’t see it then. I shouted at him to leave Felix’s things alone. I wouldn’t listen when he said he thought it would help me, that he was just trying to —

  ‘Help me? How can you help me? It’s all your fault, don’t you realise that? This is your fault.’

  It was the first time I’d said it out loud. I’d thought it but I hadn’t said it. It was said now. Jess was the one who’d been in the park, but if Aidan hadn’t agreed to go into work and asked her to babysit, it wouldn’t have happened.

  That’s when it changed between us. At that moment, with that sentence. We stayed together for another month, but what had been said couldn’t be unsaid. I blamed Aidan every time I looked at him. He blamed himself. If I looked at him, I could see only guilt. We slept in the same bed but we didn’t touch. He moved to hug me once, and he took me by surprise and I jumped back. I flinched. That was the last time we’d touched.

  Now, here I was in London, many months later, holding something that he had touched recently. An envelope he had sealed. In it, a piece of paper on which he had written —

  Ella, I want a divorce.

  I could see the words so clearly it was as if I had opened the letter. I shut my eyes as tightly as possible. There was one word in my head.

  No.

  No.

  I didn’t want to divorce Aidan? Is that what I was thinking? I didn’t want him to divorce me?

  You abandoned him, Ella. Lucas’s words.

  Suddenly all I could think of was Aidan in Felix’s bedroom that day. On the floor, crying. I had stopped him cleaning out the room. I had ordered him out. I’d shut the door. I’d left the apartment without going in there again. So who had finally tidied it? Who had packed away Felix’s toys, his books, his clothes? Who had taken down all the pictures? Aidan? On his own?

  Another memory, long pushed away, came to me. A message from Mum on my voicemail. A short message, softly spoken, telling me she was on her way to Canberra to help Aidan pack up. They were the words she used. Two days later, another message. She was back home. She’d brought everything back to Melbourne. ‘I’ll keep it all here, Ella. It’s safe, I promise.’

  I hadn’t called her back. I hadn’t called her back even after she’d rung me to tell me what she and my husband had done with my son’s toys and clothes.

  ‘Is this seat taken?’

  It was an elderly woman, an umbrella in one hand, a small dog at her feet.

  I stood up. ‘Please, have it. I was about to leave.’

  ‘Are you sure? I don’t want to hurry you.’

  ‘I’m sure,’ I said.

  I went straight to Lucas’s house. I was going to read Aidan’s letter now, but not on my own. I wanted Lucas to do it with me. Be beside me as I read it. Help me cope with whatever it said.

  His door opened before I had a chance to use my key. He must have been watching for me.

  ‘Lucas, I haven’t read it yet. I need you —’ I stopped. ‘What is it? What’s wrong?’

  ‘Your mother’s just rung. Charlie’s on his way to London. Jess has gone missing.’

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  I rang Mum back immediately. Lucas had given me the basics, but I needed to hear all the details from her.

  She was crying. It took a minute or two to get her to stop. ‘We didn’t want to tell you, Ella. We didn’t want you to know that she was even in London. But she needed a change of scene so badly. We’ve been worried sick about her, and we thought a new city, a few auditions, might help her, give her something to be excited about. It’s so cut-throat over there, but we thought it might do her some good, even to be away for just a few weeks. She’s a great singer and dancer, she really is, but she needs more experience. We wanted her to try it, so she would feel that she’d achieved something, that she could still do something. It’s been so hard to keep her spirits up. We’ve been so worried about her. She took herself off her medication, and —’

  ‘What medication?’

  ‘She’s been on antidepressants on and off since it happened. And then I got so worried that she might start to hurt herself again. I know she’d stopped doing it but we were so —’

  ‘She’d done what?’

  ‘She was self-harming. Ella, I don’t want to talk about this with you. Not this week. I know what date is coming up —’

  ‘Mum, please.’

  She told me everything. Jess had been under psychiatric care for the past twenty months. She’d been on different types of medication. She’d been unable to stop crying for weeks after it happened. Eventually she managed to go back to college for occasional classes, and to do her slot on Mum’s show, but it was often the only thing she could do all week. They’d had to script it to the last word and she’d become so nervy that if she got it wrong she’d be depressed for days afterwards.

  ‘All she seemed to be able to do was write in her diary,’ Mum said. ‘I know I shouldn’t have, but I read it. It was the only way to find out how she really was. And it just made me cry and cry for her. She was pretending to herself that everything was okay, that her career was going well, that she was so happy. But it wasn’t true. She could barely get out of bed some days. And I read about what had been happening at college. Some of the other students were kind to her but the others have been so mean, so cruel, Ella. Walter and I thought she needed time away from there as well. She’d talked about going to London for years, you know that, so we thought, even if she only stays a month, it might build up her confidence, make her feel independent again. Even though we helped her, of course. We paid for her hotel and gave her a credit card. We were even thinking about surprising her with a visit, especially once we knew you were there too, but then she rang and we had an argument and since then —’

  ‘How long has she been here?’

  ‘Ten days. We put her up in a lovely hotel in Covent Garden for a week, and the plan was for her to find a flat after that, perhaps with some other performers, to help her make friends. She never goes out with her old friends here any more. And of course we were happy to pay her rent until she got a part. But then there was a big misunderstanding about her getting her own TV show. She was told something that wasn’t completely true and we tried to explain, but she wouldn’t listen and that’s the last time we —’

  I made Mum slow down and explain it all. It seemed that the cable network had done market research and discovered Jess was very popular with male audiences, young and old. They’d proposed a new weekly show for her, provisionally titled Mess with Jess.

  ‘And of course we said no to it, Ella. You should have seen the script. Frankly, it was soft porn. We didn’t bother even telling her about it. We didn’t tell her when we got approached by one of the men’s magazines, either. It was the last thing we wanted her to do, pose topless, no matter how tasteful they said the shots would be. And the show would have been the same – not topless, but all about sex. But she didn’t let us explain. She thought it was her own comedy cooking show, a showcase of her singing and dancing. And she got so furious and said we’d let her down. She thought we’d said no because I was jealous of her and she hung up on us. We thought she’d calm down and ring back again but she didn’t. And she hasn’t used Walter’s credit card since and she’s moved out of the hotel and she hasn’t emailed or texted us or posted anything on Facebook. There’s just been nothing. We didn’t do anything for a few days. Walter said perhaps what she needed was her freedom, time to think and be on her own without us watching her every move. But she still won’t answer our calls and no one at the hotel knows where she went and she ha
sn’t got any money.’ She gave a shuddering breath. ‘We’re so worried, Ella. We couldn’t ask you or Lucas to help, we knew that, so Charlie’s on his way to London now. I only rang Lucas to ask if —’

  ‘I’ll meet Charlie at the airport,’ I said.

  ‘Ella, we don’t expect you to. We know —’

  ‘I want to. Please.’ I asked for the flight details. Charlie was due to land in four hours’ time. ‘You’ve got my mobile number too, haven’t you?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Mum, don’t worry. She’ll be all right.’

  ‘But what if she isn’t, Ella? What if she isn’t?’

  She was still crying as we said goodbye.

  Lucas had heard everything. He explained she’d rung him to ask if he could book Charlie into a hotel. ‘I insisted he stay here with us, of course.’

  He told me Mum had also asked him if he would go into Jess’s Covent Garden hotel to speak to the manager and find out what he could before Charlie arrived.

  ‘I’ll come with you,’ I said. As Lucas fetched his coat, I thought of Aidan’s letter in my bag. Now wasn’t the time.

  We took the Tube, changing lines once, coming up and out of the cramped elevator into the centre of Covent Garden. We went straight to Jess’s hotel. It was well known, Lucas told me, frequented by actors and film stars. It was sleekly designed, darkly lit. All the staff looked like models. We spoke to the receptionist. Five minutes later, we were sitting opposite the manager, a young, elegant woman. She’d already spoken on the phone to Charlie in Boston and to Walter in Melbourne. No, she assured us, of course she didn’t mind talking to us too. She clicked her long-nailed fingers on the notebook computer in front of her. Yes, she could confirm Jess had checked out of the hotel four days earlier. No, she hadn’t left a forwarding address. Yes, there was CCTV footage. If we really did feel it was necessary, yes, of course she could arrange for us to see it.

  She was sceptical underneath her businesslike courtesy. Jess was nearly twenty-two, an aspiring performer in London for the first time. If she couldn’t go wild now, when could she?

  Lucas seemed to guess her thoughts. Without going into detail, he explained that Jess had had personal difficulties. He used the term ‘at risk’. The woman’s attitude changed for the better.

  ‘She was here for a week,’ I said. ‘Would there be any staff members she’d have had regular contact with?’

  ‘Our staff are friendly and helpful to all our guests,’ she said. ‘We pride ourselves on that. But I’ll ask around, certainly. Do you have a photo of her I can show them?’

  We didn’t. Instead, we brought up her Facebook page on the manager’s computer. There were dozens of photos there.

  ‘She’s beautiful, isn’t she?’ the woman said. ‘I’m sure people will remember her.’

  We thanked her and left our phone numbers.

  We tried the theatres next. We spoke to three box-office managers before realising it was pointless without a photo of Jess to leave with them. Even as I described her – small, pretty, lots of hair, an Australian accent – I knew I was describing hundreds of young women in London.

  As we walked back into Covent Garden, I thought I saw her, walking across the cobblestones with that confident dancer’s walk. I even called her name. The girl turned, not in response to my voice, but to change direction. It wasn’t Jess.

  Lucas and I parted at Paddington Station. While I went to Heathrow to meet Charlie, he was going home to phone the theatre companies about their audition schedules. He was going to print off some flyers. He was also going to phone the police.

  It wasn’t until I was on the train, halfway to the airport, that I took Aidan’s letter out of my bag. I slit open the envelope. There was only one sheet of paper inside. I unfolded it.

  I had to read it three times before the words sank in.

  Chapter Forty

  Dear Diary,

  This isn’t a diary entry. I’m writing this so I have a record if I decide to go to the police. I would ring Mum but I don’t even know what her number is. It was in my phone and my phone is gone and so is my money, and worst of all I might even be pregnant or have some STD. I don’t know what to do.

  I’m going to write it all down exactly as it happened.

  I got back to Ben’s at nine p.m. He’d just got home himself. If I’d had the money I would have bought him a bottle of wine but I couldn’t afford it so I bought a bottle of cider. It was the cheapest thing I could see in the bottle shop or off-licence or whatever it’s called here. But Ben said it didn’t matter and he produced two bottles of champagne, actual champagne, and Zach (he was there too) laughed and said, ‘You’ve found the key to that magic cave again, I see.’ And I said, ‘What magic cave?’ and Zach laughed and said, ‘A long, long time ago, Jessica, there was a magic land and in it there was a magic cave and in it were the most wondrous things anybody could want or need, from the creamiest soaps to the softest towels, sheets and pillowcases to the most expensive champagne and —’

  ‘Shut up, Zach,’ Ben said. ‘Ask no questions and we’ll tell you no lies, Jess, okay?’

  I realised then what he meant, of course. The champagne was stolen from the hotel. And then I remembered his bathroom. All the nice towels. The nice soap. I thought of the biscuits and chocolate in the kitchen. The flat was full of things from the hotel. ‘But that’s stealing,’ I said.

  ‘No, it’s not,’ Ben said. ‘It’s supplementing my below-par wage.’

  ‘But that champagne costs about fifty pounds a bottle.’

  ‘Says the little princess,’ Zach said. ‘Have a bath in it, Jess, did you? When you were still on Daddy’s payroll?’

  I didn’t answer him. I’d decided the only way to handle him was to ignore him.

  ‘You can have water, then, Jess,’ Ben said. ‘If the idea of stolen champagne is so appalling.’

  I nearly did but then I thought there’s no way I can sit here sober while they get drunk. So I had a glass of it. And it was beautiful, it really was, all tiny fizzy bubbles, and it tasted like honey and flowers and it was just delicious. And it made me feel happier, even for a little while. It made us all get really relaxed, and Zach stopped picking on me and I made a couple of jokes and the two of them laughed, especially Zach, and I started to think, maybe he’s not so bad, maybe it was because I was so tense and upset when I first met him that I didn’t get on with him. And it was all fine, it was even good fun and we put music on and I sang along and they said, ‘Wow, Jess, you’ve got a really good voice. Do another one,’ and they weren’t being sarcastic. So I stood up and sang a proper song and they applauded and it felt so good and I thought, I can make it here. I can’t let a few bad auditions put me off. I really do want this to be my career.

  Then Zach opened a second bottle of champagne and Ben brought in a basket of food, and it was all stuff from the hotel too, mini-bar things like chocolates and wasabi-flavoured snacks and peanuts, but I was really hungry so I had a bit of everything even though it was stolen. And we were talking and drinking and it felt great, fun almost, but then I said something about my counsellor and it all went funny after that. Zach jumped on the word counsellor – ‘Oh, so Mummy and Daddy sent their little princess off to a psychiatrist, did they? Why, because you weren’t happy with the pony they bought you for your birthday? Or your treehouse was too small? You’d wanted one with ten rooms, not eight —’

  I never talk about that time, I don’t. I get too upset, but the champagne and the week I’d had and his mocking face just all got too much and so I said it, in a horrible way. I just said the truth. ‘No, Zach. I had to see a counsellor because I killed my nephew.’

  And he shut up and Ben said, ‘That’s not funny, Jess,’ and I should have stopped there. I should have pretended I was making a bad joke and changed the subject but I’d said it and it was the first time I’d said it out loud in such a long time that I just started telling them what had happened and I couldn’t stop.

&n
bsp; It was as if all the times I hadn’t been able to speak about it had saved themselves up and were there in my head. It came out in a rush, every detail of what had happened that afternoon in the park. I could see Ben and Zach were shocked, really shocked, but I could also see they were really listening. So I just kept on talking. I told them everything, about Felix walking on the fence, the horrible moment when he fell, about ringing Aidan and the ambulance coming, but all of us knowing that it was too late. And I told them about the funeral, how Ella had started crying as they were taking the coffin out of the church, the saddest noise I have ever heard, like a wail, and how she couldn’t seem to stop herself – she stepped out into the aisle and she kind of put her arms around the coffin, and it was just so sad. I started crying too and then I couldn’t stop. I couldn’t stop for days. I couldn’t sleep. All that kept happening was the picture of Felix falling and me not being able to stop him. It just went round and round in my head and it didn’t matter what anyone said to me – that it was an accident, over and over again Mum and Dad said it to me, Aidan had said it to me too but it didn’t help – how could it help when it still meant Felix was dead, and he was dead because of me.

  I told Ben and Zach all of this last night. They just kept staring at me, as if they couldn’t believe what they were hearing me say.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me this before?’ Ben asked, and I said, ‘Sure, Ben, when we were out having that first drink: “By the way, I killed my nephew.”’

  ‘You shouldn’t say that,’ Ben said and he was angry about it. ‘You didn’t kill him. It was an accident.’

  ‘It was an accident that happened because I was looking after him. I killed him. If it wasn’t for me, he’d be alive now.’

  ‘But you didn’t do it deliberately. You didn’t want to kill him. It was fate.’