She stands up, inside the lilac scent, and moves toward the door. One or two people watch the motion from a lazy place behind their eyes. Most don’t notice.
She walks down the lanes in the shimmering heat of early afternoon till she comes to the stifling bungalow she shares with her mother and her older brother Wilf.
She walks by Olive, who sits at the kitchen table smoking and playing solitaire. The stink of old gin rises from her mother. Gin and something else.
Ivy walks down the cellar stairs.
It was here that her father took his own life. He threw a rope over a beam and stood on a chair. He fastened that rope around his own neck and kicked the chair out from under him. All of this before Ivy was born. It was what Duane Simkin had been talking about when he taunted her about her dad being in hell. It was what Frank Foote had been referring to when he told Duane to shut up about her dad. Other people had known about it when Ivy hadn’t.
Olive told her about it, finally, one day when Ivy kept asking her about his spells.
“Did he know I existed?” Ivy asked. “Did he know that you were pregnant with me?”
“Sure he knew. Whaddya think?” Olive said. “Anyway, what difference does all that make at this point? Have you run out of garbage to write about in your brother’s old scribblers?”
Ivy gathered up the notebooks she had hidden under her mattress. She couldn’t bear knowing that her mother had been a witness to her secret self. At the river she lit a fire. She ripped her words to shreds and fed them to the flames.
In the cellar now Ivy finds a small cloth suitcase that someone once said belonged to her father. She heads back upstairs.
Her mother speaks but Ivy doesn’t listen.
She places some clothes and a few items from the bathroom inside the musty bag.
Olive shouts now, but Ivy still doesn’t listen.
She pauses at the front door but doesn’t turn around. She walks out, cloth bag in hand, and lets the screen door slam behind her.
As she walks up St. Mary’s Road toward downtown she thinks of all the fine things she’s never done and maybe never will do, but can, if she puts herself in the right places and changes a little.
She’s almost finished grade ten.
The Battle of Hastings was fought in 1066.
CHAPTER 42
The Present
“Donald Griffiths is coming over to help me work on my volcano.”
“Who’s Donald Griffiths?” Frank asked.
“He’s a guy in my class and he knows about volcanoes and things.” Emma added more Harvest Crunch to her bowl to even out with the milk that was left over.
Emma’s having a boy over, Frank thought. Life as we know it is finished.
“When’s he coming? Will I get to meet him, I hope?”
“He’s coming after supper tonight. I figured we could work up in my room. That’s where all my stuff is.”
That’s also where your bed is, and your pajamas and your underwear drawer, thought Frank.
“I think maybe for tonight you should set things up here in the kitchen,” he said. “I don’t know if Donald…Donald who?”
“Griffiths.”
“I don’t know if Donald Griffiths is ready for your bedroom, Em.”
“I cleaned it up specially.”
“Still, I think Donald’s parents and I would be more comfortable if you worked in the kitchen tonight.”
Frank got up to pour himself more coffee. There was no cream.
“He only has a mum,” Emma said. “What about Garth and Sadie and everyone? They’ll be all over us and embarrassing me and everything.”
“I’ll make you a deal.” Frank poured milk into his coffee and took a sip. “Yuck! I’ve got to pick up some groceries. I hate milk in coffee.”
“You shouldn’t be drinking cream,” Emma said. “It’s bad for you.”
“Yeah, but I like it. It agrees with me.” Frank added cream to the grocery list on the fridge, removed the yellow paper from under its cow magnet and stuck it in his shirt pocket.
“Anyway,” he said, “the deal is, I’ll try my best to keep Garth and Sadie out of your hair if you’ll work on your volcano in the kitchen tonight.”
“Aw, Dad.”
“I think that’s reasonable, Em.”
“Yeah, all right then.”
“Great! I look forward to meeting this Donald.”
“Yeah, great.”
“Would you like to come up to the hospital with me later to see your mum?” Frank asked.
“Mmm, no, I don’t think so,” Emma said.
“Are you sure? I think she’d really like to see you.”
“I hate her,” Emma said quietly.
“Oh, Emma. No you don’t.”
“Yeah. I do, Dad. I really do.”
She rinsed her bowl and placed it neatly with the other dishes beside the sink. When Denise was away the rules were loosened up some and the dishes were just washed once at the end of the eating day. It suited everyone till evening rolled around.
“Believe it or not,” Frank said, “your mother is trying her hardest right now.”
“I don’t believe it,” Emma replied.
Frank slouched over the kitchen table long after she had left for school. She was punishing Denise. For not loving her correctly, Frank supposed, in a way that would have been acceptable to Emma. And of course, for being a drunkard. The two went hand in hand. He hadn’t known how to handle her statement of hatred. He wondered what Gus would have thought of that particular bit of parenting.
CHAPTER 43
The phone message in Wim Winston’s hand was shaking. Frank Foote wanted him to call and Wim’s secretary had written “ASAP” beside the number.
“Jesus.”
He knew he had to return the call. Denise was a patient in his hospital and Frank was her husband. Maybe Frank just wanted to ask him to look in on her, see how she was getting along. See if, in Wim’s professional opinion, she was going to turn things around this time. Quit drinking once and for all. Sure thing, Frank.
Wim punched in the numbers. Maybe Denise hadn’t told on him. Maybe Frank wasn’t calling in order to set up a date to kill him for coming on to his wife.
Frank answered on the first ring.
“Wim. Thanks for returning my call. Could we get together do you suppose? This isn’t something I want to talk about over the phone.”
She told him, Wim thought. But he sounds more tense than mad. Maybe he wants to plead with me to leave her alone. That would be even worse. You can never tell with a cop. I shouldn’t have bothered with her.
CHAPTER 44
Frank sat in Ed Flagston’s outer office listening to Brian recite his recipe for flank steak to someone over the phone. Frank’s stomach growled. The only thing he’d eaten all day was a piece of Greta Bower’s rhubarb pie at a coffee shop down the street from the police station.
Flagston opened his door and motioned for him to come in.
“How’s it going, Frank? Have a seat.”
The room was thick with cigarette smoke and Frank longed to open a window.
“Pretty good. Thanks, Ed.”
“What can I do for you? How are your guys getting along with the rain barrel case?”
Ed leaned over his fish tank. He sprinkled in a little food and Frank watched ash fall from his cigarette into the water. He wondered how the fish liked their home.
“Actually, that’s what I’d like to talk to you about. As I’m sure you’re aware, we’ve pretty much hit a brick wall. But something has come up in my private life that I have an uncomfortable feeling about. And I think it may be connected to little Jane Doe.”
Ed sat down behind his desk and gave Frank his full attention.
“Ed, I’ve come to ask your advice. I feel buried in this thing and I can’t see straight. What I’m about to tell you is something I’m not proud of. God, this is hard!”
“Frank. Look at me.”
Frank met
Ed’s eyes and saw nothing but kindness and patience.
“This is between the two of us,” Ed said.
“Thank you. I know I can’t expect any kind of special treatment.”
“You’re a good man, Frank,” Ed said, “and a good cop. Now tell me.”
Frank began in 1965 with the gang rape of Ivy Srutwa. He explained how peripheral he’d been. He didn’t take part. It was important that Ed know he didn’t take part. And he had set poor young Ivy free, but not nearly soon enough. That was his crime.
He named the Simkin brothers. They were the ones that connected Ivy to the rain barrel. He told his boss that the Simkin boys used to live in Greta Bower’s house. That they were her stepbrothers. That’s where they lived at the time of Ivy’s rape. And she would have known that.
“I hadn’t seen her since high school,” Frank went on. “She quit and disappeared. Till a few days ago when she walked into my office and asked me to help her track people down for our high school reunion.”
“Nelson Mac?” Ed said.
“Yeah.”
“I got my invitation already.”
“Don’t tell me you went there too.”
“Sure did. Probably about ten years before you did. ’53 to ’57 it was.
“Jesus.”
“Yeah. Small world.”
Frank sat for a moment digesting this new information: Ed Flagston as a teenager roaming the same halls as Frank had, sneaking out for smokes, chasing girls in flared poodle skirts.
“You didn’t stay like I did,” Frank said.
“No. We like Crescentwood. I couldn’t get out of Norwood fast enough, to tell you the truth. It’s too much like a small town, everyone in your pocket. It suits some. Not me.”
“I’ve mostly liked it pretty well,” Frank said. “Till now.”
“Go on with your story, Frank.” Ed coughed, a terrible sound.
“Can we open a window, Ed, get some fresh air in here?”
“Sorry, Frank. I’m allergic to something out there at this time of year. It just about kills me.”
Frank wanted to shake his boss, take his package of Export A’s and stomp them into the ground.
He continued. “Well anyway, the Simkins were on the list of names Ivy wants me to help her track down. That’s too weird. At first, I thought it was just the timing of Ivy’s visit, when the rain barrel baby was still at the front of my mind, that made me unable to think of one incident separate from the other. But now I have this idea that it was a revenge ploy on her part, to get back at the boys who hurt her all those years ago. That little Jane Doe was her baby. It’s just, she doesn’t seem insane to me. Odd, but not crazy…I don’t think.” Frank leaned back in his chair. “I just don’t know, Ed.”
“That’s quite a story, Frank. And quite a theory.”
“Yeah.”
“What do you want to do?”
“Well, I was thinking I could get some DNA, maybe some saliva from a drinking glass or something. I could take her for a drink. Then we could send it in for a comparison to little Jane.”
“Sounds reasonable.”
“It’ll take forever.” Frank was groveling. He knew Ed had a brother-in-law who worked in the RCMP lab on Academy Road, where the analysis would be done.
“A few weeks,” Ed said.
“What if she’s dangerous?”
“It sounds like she is.”
“Yeah.”
Ed lit another cigarette and inhaled deeply. “It’s just…well, this is all based on something that happened thirty years ago and your feeling that Ivy Grace is odd. I’m convinced, but it’s way too slim for us to convince anyone else that we should arrest her. We’ll have to do this on the sly.”
Frank breathed a sigh of relief. “I prefer it this way. For purely selfish reasons. I’m not looking forward to that gang rape business coming out.”
“Maybe it won’t have to.” Ed coughed again, this time so violently that Frank worried he would lose this man before he had a chance to trap Ivy.
“My brother-in-law works in the lab.” Ed smiled from behind his handkerchief. “As I’m sure you know, Frank. Linda’s younger brother. Why don’t I do the paperwork? I’ll put his name on it and I’ll speak to him. That should help to move it along. And I’ll tell him to keep it under his hat.”
“I’m very grateful, Ed.”
Frank pushed back his chair. “If Ivy is the mother, it means that she’s HIV-positive.”
“Yes,” said Ed. “Maybe you should get in touch with these Simkin characters and have a talk with them.”
“I can’t,” Frank said. “Duane’s in prison in Quebec and Dwight’s dead.”
“Oh. Well, that takes care of that.”
Frank couldn’t decide whether or not to mention Wim Winston and his part in the long-ago assault on Ivy Srutwa. He decided not to for the moment, but knew he had done the right thing by getting in touch with Wim.
He stood up. “Thanks for this, Ed. I’ll set up another meeting with her and figure out the best way to go about getting that saliva sample.”
Ed walked him to the door. “Are you going to the reunion?” he asked.
“I doubt it,” Frank said and slipped out. He could think of few things he’d rather do less. One of them, though, was seeing Ivy Srutwa again.
“Life isn’t very pleasant lately,” he said out loud.
“Pardon, sir?” It was Brian, looking up from the latest issue of Canadian Living.
“Nothing, Brian. Sorry. Just talking to myself.”
Frank stopped at the Marion Street Safeway for groceries on his way home. He decided to make spaghetti for supper. That would please everyone.
He could hardly wait to see his kids.
After supper, Frank took advantage of the cool evening to get a little more work done on the garage. He had finished the scraping and was now filling holes with spackling paste — a much more pleasant job.
When he was done, he snapped the lid onto his patching mixture and rinsed his putty knife under the garden hose. Some of the holes in the old boards of his garage were so big they were going to need a second application of the spackle.
Frank sighed and headed into the house to see what his kids were up to, to make sure none of them went to bed with dirty necks.
CHAPTER 45
Frank thought about Emma and her slow-moving car and her sinister figure in the rain. Maybe the slow-moving car was no one and the sinister figure was just Donald Griffiths longing for Frank’s daughter.
It was mid-morning on Friday, and Frank waited for Wim Winston in a booth at the Salisbury House. The coffee tasted great — too bad he couldn’t enjoy it. It had been Wim’s idea to meet at the Sals. Frank figured on talking to him at the hospital and visiting Denise at the same time, killing two birds with one stone. But Wim suggested meeting “on neutral territory” as he put it. Frank didn’t know what he was talking about. But as he watched Wim’s Mercedes pull into the parking lot, old feelings of dislike resurfaced.
Frank knew that Wim and Denise had had a relationship of some kind a long time ago. He didn’t like to think about it. A good many years had passed but Frank couldn’t see Wim without picturing them going at it together. It was an unsavoury picture. What she had ever seen in Wim was a mystery to Frank. He hadn’t always looked as bad as he did now but he had never looked good. And he wasn’t even nice. But then, Frank knew sides of Wim he hoped Denise didn’t.
Frank watched as Wim slid into the booth across from him. He extended a clammy hand and Frank shook it.
“How are you, Frank?” Beads of sweat glistened on Wim’s forehead.
“You look like you already know what I want to talk to you about,” Frank said. “Do you want coffee or anything, Wim?”
“No. Thanks. Let’s just get right to it, shall we?”
“Has Ivy been in touch with you then, Wim?”
“Who? What are you talking about?” Wim took a serviette from the dispenser and wiped his forehead, wre
aking havoc on his comb-over.
Frank wished he had a pair of scissors and more of a don’t-give-a-shit attitude.
“Ivy.”
“Who?”
“Ivy Srutwa. Her name’s actually Ivy Grace now, but you’d remember her as Ivy Srutwa.”
Wim looked blank, except for the new beads of sweat that popped out to replace the old ones.
If he says “who?” again I’m going to slap him, Frank thought.
“Who?”
He kicked Wim underneath the table.
“Ow!”
“Good grief, Wim. The Srutwas. The poor family that lived at the south end of the dike. Everybody made fun of them when we were kids. There was a mother and a daughter and a couple of sons. One of them died, I think, and the other one was quite a bit older than us. The dad killed himself. It was mainly the mum and the girl. The girl was Ivy.”
“I don’t remember.”
Frank wanted to kick him again. He saw from Wim’s eyes that this was going to be impossible. He wasn’t going to give an iota. Frank was certain that Wim knew exactly who he was talking about. But he wasn’t going to play. Not now, not ever.
“Okay, Wim.” Frank swallowed the rest of his coffee in one gulp. “Catch ya later then.”
He drove his Toyota station wagon around the Perimeter Highway a ways. The car had started stalling. Maybe all it needed was the carbon blown out of the engine from time to time.
He had tried to warn Wim. Maybe not real hard. But hard enough. And anyway, Wim, the shithead, had never heard of anyone named Ivy Srutwa.
CHAPTER 46
In the early afternoon Ivy parked her car on a side street and walked briskly towards the hospital. Frank had confirmed that Wim was a doctor, so it must be the same guy. Chances were slim that there would be two doctors named Wim Winston.
He was the only one remaining of Ivy’s tormentors. The others had been taken care of and that made her man task so much easier. She said a silent prayer of thanks to whomever it was that had helped her by killing Dwight, jailing Duane, and turning Ronnie Fowler into the eighteenth fattest man in the world.
The Rain Barrel Baby Page 12
