by Maureen Lee
She didn’t want to see the few friends she had left. Their eyes were full of blame, although they pretended to be sympathetic. She longed for new friends, people to talk to who didn’t know about Alice, about how she’d died and why.
That summer, James left school and went to work for a firm of accountants in Liverpool – and Frank had an affair. A divorcee in her forties had moved into a house across the road. Her name was Bella and she was the very opposite of his wife, with her long brown hair and short skirts and dazzling, inviting smile. As soon as James and Kirsty were in bed, Frank would slink out of the house and not return for hours, not caring what Rachel thought. She didn’t protest. She told herself he was getting things out of his system. One of these days, everything would return to normal – or as normal as they would ever be without Alice.
Another New Year and nothing had changed. Bella and Frank had parted, but his clothes still smelled of perfume and he often arrived home late from work, offering no excuse and refusing the meal she’d made him. He didn’t care what Rachel thought. All he felt for his wife was contempt, and the confidence, the sense of her own worth that she had acquired over the years drained away, drop by drop, until she felt like a little girl again, the one who’d gone to infant school and found it agony to speak.
In February, Christopher died in his sleep as his father had done before him. When Rachel was born, he’d been twenty-seven years old and, as far as she knew, had led a happy, contented life in the Army and his beloved Cyprus. It was many years since she’d seen him, but they’d corresponded regularly and often spoken on the phone. She felt too dispirited to go to his funeral, too exhausted to weep, too disillusioned to pray for his kind soul.
She knew Christopher had left her everything in his Will, but was surprised by the amount of savings he’d accumulated. Added to the proceeds from the sale of his apartment and his share of the travel agency, it came to quite a hefty sum.
‘I don’t want anything to do with it,’ Frank said churlishly when she told him. ‘It’s your money, you do with it what you like.’
‘I’d like us to buy another house, get away from here.’ Memories haunted her. She kept expecting Alice’s curly head to pop round from the behind the settee, her favourite hiding place. There were nights when she could have sworn she could hear a childish voice shouting for a glass of water. She would never forget Alice for as long as she lived, but wanted to live in a place where her ghost wasn’t around every corner, reminding her of her loss, where she could make new friends and start to feel normal again.
Frank looked ready to dismiss the idea, but Kirsty said immediately, ‘I’d love for us to move. I think it’s a really cool idea.’
‘What about school?’ Frank growled.
‘I’ll be leaving in July. We might not even have moved by then.’
‘We could live closer to Liverpool,’ James suggested. ‘It’d be more convenient for my job.’
‘Yeah,’ Kirsty agreed, ‘and more convenient for clubs and stuff.’
Frank just shrugged and didn’t speak. Rachel took this as a signal to proceed and contacted a number of estate agents. She was inundated with details of houses, although none were the sort she had in mind.
‘What exactly did you have in mind?’ Frank demanded irritably.
‘I don’t know,’ Rachel said vaguely. ‘All the ones we’ve seen so far look too lived in. People might have died there. There might be a horrid atmosphere. I want a house that’s ours and ours alone.’
When a brochure arrived for Victoria Square, she knew immediately that one of the detached houses was exactly what she wanted. They were very similar to the one built where the cottage in Maghull had once stood: it had been called Three Farthings, she remembered. The properties hadn’t been built yet: the brochure showed only drawings, skeletons of houses with empty rooms set around an oval of little dots that would be a lawn. The small estate was adjacent to a park and close to a lively shopping area in one of the nicest parts of Liverpool, only a short bus ride away from town.
Frank drove them to the site that weekend. The foundations had been dug, the coffee-coloured brick walls of the two detached houses were only a few feet high, the floors just stretches of smooth concrete.
James and Kirsty examined the plans and discussed which bedrooms they would have. For the first time since Alice had died, there was excitement in their voices. The move would do them good, Rachel thought gratefully. She even felt a tiny surge of excitement herself.
‘What do you think, Frank?’ she asked cautiously, expecting to have her head bitten off, but it was much worse than that.
‘I like the fact it’s got four bedrooms,’ he said pleasantly. ‘It means I won’t have to sleep with my stupid wife any more.’
Rachel took a step backwards. She felt herself go icily cold as the meaning, the sheer nastiness of his words sank in. Frank pushed his hands in his pockets and went over to speak to the children. She looked at him, seeing for the first time how stout he had become, that his shoulders were no longer square, but round and heavy, and his hair had receded, exposing his red, heavily freckled scalp. Why hadn’t she noticed before? It must have happened overnight. Perhaps it was because she loved him that she’d only seen the handsome man she’d married.
And did it mean she no longer loved him now that she could see him for the man he had become?
Rachel wasn’t sure.
Tuesday
10 JULY 2001
Chapter 7
It was another brilliantly sunny day. Kirsty shouted, ‘Tara, Mum. I’ll see you when I see you,’ and slammed the door. She didn’t kiss her, as once she would have done. Rachel watched her walk across the oval of grass – everyone did it. In no time at all there would be bare patches criss-crossing it. Perhaps they should start a Residents’ Association and suggest everyone use the path. She could have the first meeting in her house – she’d raise the matter at the barbecue.
With her long, slim legs and short skirt, Kirsty reminded her of a stork. She and James liked living in Victoria Square, so close to town compared with Lydiate. Today, she was starting a four-day course in scriptwriting. As soon as the holidays were over, she would begin to look for a job, but had no idea what she wanted to do.
The eldest of the Jordan boys had come out of his house, a pile of books under his arm, and Kirsty stopped and spoke to him. They started laughing and left the square together. Rachel felt envious. At nineteen, she wouldn’t have had the nerve to approach a boy like that and was pleased her daughter had no such inhibitions.
‘What was I doing then?’ she asked herself. Looking after her mother, she remembered. Grace and Eileen were at Manchester University. More than thirty years later, they still wrote to each other, but the letters had become less frequent. Eileen was in America, having married a widower with three grown-up children and Grace was living alone, her own children married and living far away from Vancouver. In the last of her letters, she had talked about returning to Liverpool. ‘There’s not much left to keep me in Canada now.’
Rachel attacked the breakfast dishes and quickly made the beds. At midday, she and Kathleen Cartwright were going into town to have lunch. Kathleen wanted to do some shopping. She badly needed a new outfit and had suggested they eat first and shop later. Before then, Rachel wanted to make herself look nice, or rather, as nice as humanly possible.
‘Ceiling,’ Ernest murmured the very second he opened his eyes. ‘Dressing table, hairbrush, mirror, duvet, slippers.’ But what were the damn things he was wearing called? ‘Pyjamas!’ It took at least ten seconds for the word to come. A knot of worry formed in his brain. He was convinced his memory was going.
‘Are you having a conversation with yourself, darling?’ Anna enquired from the other bed. He detested having twin beds, but Anna slept better on her own, able to turn over at will and not feel guilty about disturbing him.
‘I didn’t realize you were awake, luv.’
‘I’ve been awake for ages.
I was thinking of getting up, bringing you tea for a change, but I seem to be stuck here. I can see it’s a fine day outside.’
Ernest got out of bed, lifted her tiny frame into a sitting position and stacked the pillows behind her. ‘I’ll make us a cup of tea. Where’s me …’ He paused.
‘Where is your what, darling?’
‘Dressing gown,’ Ernest gulped.
‘You left it in the parlour last night. You said you felt too hot.’
‘Ta, luv. Won’t be a mo.’
‘Take as long as you like, Ernie,’ Anna said graciously.
After they’d eaten – all Anna could manage was a piece of toast – Ernie carried her into the bathroom where she insisted on washing herself. He helped her put on a pretty, shell pink frock. ‘Tighter, tighter,’ she urged when he buckled the belt. ‘It usually goes in the last hole.’
‘You won’t be able to breathe, luv.’
‘I’d sooner not breathe than have a fat waist.’
‘Anna, Anna,’ he groaned, ‘vanity is a sin.’
‘I’ve always been vain, Ernie. I would’ve thought you’d got used to it by now. I’d like to wear my gold sandals, please. They’re under my bed.’
He fetched the sandals and put them on her feet, tenderly kissing each foot before placing it gently on to the carpet.
‘I adore you, Ernie Burrows,’ Anna said softly.
Ernie wasn’t comfortable with words like ‘adore’. ‘And I love you, Anna Kosztolanyi.’ They told each other that at least dozen times a day. ‘Now,’ he said in a business-like way, ‘I’ve got a few telephone calls to make, then I’ll give the windows a good clean.’ He was a far more efficient and thorough housewife than Anna had ever been.
Half an hour later, he was giving the inside of the parlour windows a final polish while enjoying the heat of the morning sun – Anna was watching one of them daft chat shows hosted by a dead smarmy geezer with a permanent suntan dealing with topics like ‘I slept with my husband’s granddad’, or ‘I killed my sister’s cat’ – when he said in an awed voice, ‘Cor! There’s a roller just driven in.’
‘What’s a roller?’ Anna enquired.
‘A Rolls-Royce, it’s silver.’
‘Turn the chair around, Ernie,’ she said eagerly, ‘so I can see.’
‘You need one of them swivel chairs, luv, one that never stops turning. You could watch telly and look through the window at the same time.’
She ignored him. ‘The driver looks most unpleasant. Look at the way he’s scowling! And what a perfectly frightful suit. I can’t stand chalk stripes. He’s either a member of the Mafia or a bookie. I hope he’s not coming to see you, Ernie.’
‘He’s hammering on the door of number one.’
‘That’s where that pretty Sarah girl and her children live. I wonder what he wants?’
‘Alex!’ Sarah said weakly when she opened the door.
‘Sarah!’ he sneered. He pushed the door, throwing her against the wall, and stormed into the house. ‘Where’re my children?’
She ran after him, shouting, ‘They’re my children too, Alex.’
He turned, lashing out with his fist and catching her on the side of her face. ‘You’re not fit to be a mother. I want my kids. I’m taking them abroad and you’ll never see them again.’
‘I won’t let you, Alex.’ She pulled his arm, but he viciously jerked his elbow back into her ribs. Sarah screamed and doubled up in agony. He was so big and strong and possessed with such brutal rage that she was no match for him. She had known he’d want the children, but hadn’t expected him to take them by force. How had he found her so quickly? She’d hoped to have consulted her solicitor and acquired one of those injunction things before he turned up.
Tiffany came in the back door carrying Oliver and wearing only a pair of frilly pants. ‘Did you shout for me, Mummy? Daddy!’ she said sternly when she saw her father. ‘Leave Mummy alone and go away.’
‘Put your clothes on,’ Alex commanded. ‘It’s obvious your mother isn’t capable of dressing you.’
‘I’m playing with water. Nanny always made me wear my swimming costume when I played with water, but Mummy doesn’t know where it is. She’s going to buy me a new one. Jack won’t play with water, because it gets his blanket wet. Oliver quite likes getting wet, don’t you, darling?’ Tiffany kissed Oliver and stamped her bare foot. ‘Daddy,’ she said haughtily, ‘didn’t I tell you to go away?’
‘And I told you to get fucking dressed.’
‘Only bad men swear. Nanny said.’
Alex picked up his daughter, placed her none too gently at the foot of the stairs, and gave her a push. ‘Put your clothes on, Tiffany,’ he said threateningly, ‘or else I’ll punch your mother so hard it’ll send her to kingdom come.’
Tiffany rolled her eyes and marched upstairs, slapping her feet unwillingly on each step. She looked back at Sarah when she reached the top, her blue eyes full of fear. Sarah gave her a little nod that didn’t mean anything.
By now, Alex was in the little back garden where a fully-dressed Jack was holding his blanket with one hand and trying to catch a butterfly with the other – he’d acquired an obsession with butterflies and wanted one as a pet. ‘Where Jason?’ he asked when he saw his father.
‘In a place called Saudi Arabia, son,’ Alex said pleasantly. ‘Somehow or other, I’m not quite sure how it happened, but he managed to lose his passport. Christ knows when the poor chap will get away – if ever,’ he finished with a chuckle.
‘You bastard,’ Sarah cried. ‘You did that deliberately.’
‘Well, I certainly didn’t do it accidentally, my dear.’ He smiled a smile that sent shivers of ice up and down her spine. ‘Now, Sarah, when Tiffany comes down, I intend to take my children home. If you try making a scene, all I have to do is pick up the phone and there’ll be people along to help me within minutes.’ He smiled again. ‘Either that, or I’ll knock you senseless.’
‘How did you find out where we lived?’ She only asked in order to stall him in the hope that help would arrive, though she couldn’t imagine anything or anyone stopping Alex from doing whatever he wanted while he was in his present mood.
‘That van you hired, it had the name of the firm on the side, didn’t it? One of the stable lads made a note of it. I called and asked where the driver had taken you. That was stupid of you, Sarah, but I’ve always known you were dead from the neck up.’
‘Then why on earth did you marry me?’ she cried. ‘Daddy would have a fit if he were alive and knew how horrid you’d turned out to be.’
He burst out laughing, showing two rows of yellow teeth and looking like a wild animal about to devour a tiny, defenceless baby. ‘Daddy wouldn’t have given a damn. What you’ve never realized, Sarah, is that I bought you off your father. I put down a deposit when we got engaged and paid the balance in full on the day of the wedding. It was all my idea and Robin jumped at the chance. Anything, even selling his precious daughter, was better than going bankrupt.’
‘That can’t be true! Daddy would never have done such a thing.’ But Sarah remembered how eager he’d been for her to marry Alex and to do it quickly. ‘There’s no point in hanging around,’ he’d said. He’d been in a terrible pickle at the time, having lost everything on some investment in Spain. Had Mummy known what he’d done? She’d done her best to put Sarah off Alex, but Sarah had taken no notice.
‘Why did you want to marry me?’ she asked in a defeated voice.
Alex glanced at Jack. ‘I wanted kids,’ he said bluntly. ‘That’s why Midge divorced me, so I could have kids.’
‘And you just used me! Alex, how could you possibly be so cruel?’ she said, appalled.
He shrugged. ‘It wasn’t like that. I just didn’t realize you’d turn out to be such a brainless bitch. It came to the pitch where I couldn’t stand us being in the same room together. All I wanted was to be rid of you.’
‘And where does Midge come into this?’
‘M
idge has never been out of it. She’d have still been there even if you and me had got on like a house on fire. She just loves them kids and you’d’ve got used to her eventually. Now she can have them all to herself.’
Would Daddy have still been so agreeable to her getting married had he known Alex intended hanging on to his first wife when he took a second? Sarah daren’t think what the answer would be. She wanted to run upstairs, throw herself on the bed, and have a good cry, but now wasn’t the time.
‘Where’s Alastair?’ Alex demanded. He yanked Jack by his arm towards the back door. Startled, the little boy dropped his blanket and began to scream.
‘Asleep in the front room.’
‘Blanket!’ Jack yelled, struggling to reach it.
‘You can forget about your bloody blanket, son. It’s about time you learned to live without it.’ He shoved Sarah into the house. ‘Tiffany!’ he yelled. ‘Are you dressed yet?’
A haughty Tiffany was coming downstairs wearing the nightdress and picture hat she’d found in Victoria’s. She looked for all the world like a miniature Scarlett O’Hara. Alex cursed, but didn’t comment.
He went into the front room and scooped up Alastair in one arm. ‘Tiffany, hold Jack’s hand,’ he commanded. ‘Hold your brother’s fucking hand,’ he yelled when the girl held back, ‘else I’ll chuck your bloody mother through the window.’ He nodded at Sarah. ‘Open the front door.’
‘No.’
‘Tiffany, you open the door. You know what’ll happen to your mother if you don’t.’
Tiffany visibly suppressed a sob as she reached for the latch and turned it. Alex stepped outside, a still sleeping Alastair in one arm, a distraught Jack demanding his blanket hanging on to the other, and Tiffany hanging on to Jack.
