by Gayle Curtis
The comfort of the bathroom had replaced that of the kitchen – it was a safe place in the house free from their father. Roger didn’t approve of nudity and, giggling like children, Cecelia and Sebastian would often dare one another to wander through the house naked, just to wind him up. Neither of them had ever been shy – they’d been exhibitionists when they were children and neither of their parents could understand who they had inherited this trait from. At any given opportunity they would both strip off and wander around freely, giggling at one another.
The bathroom was also the only place where Cecelia spoke. Her voice had returned a few days previously on her way home from school when she’d shouted at a boy throwing conkers at people. It had been the longest she’d been mute and she’d become so used to not speaking that she was still refusing to talk to anyone apart from Sebastian, enjoying the safety of her secret silence.
Cecelia got up from the chair she’d been sitting on while she dried her toes and listened to Sebastian talk about his day. She allowed the towel to drop onto the floor as she pulled on her bathrobe. She kicked it across the floor and yanked the other towels off the drying rack to join the others in the pile.
‘Everything stinks in this house. I’m going downstairs to do some washing.’
‘Leave me a towel.’ He leant forward and pulled out the plug. He would lie in the bath until the water emptied – something Cecelia couldn’t understand. He said it made him feel solid again, brought his being to the forefront of his mind. She had tried it once, just to please him, but it had made her feel sluggish and heavy as she lay in the bottom of the empty tub. All she’d wanted to do was refill it with hot water, as she’d shivered against the cold enamel. Sebastian had wanted her to feel the transition of the gravity in her body. But all she’d been able to focus on was her pulse, which thumped through her stomach as her body sank lower into the tub.
‘What’s going on in here then?’ Roger was blocking Cecelia’s way as she opened the bathroom door.
Ignoring him, she pushed her way past and went downstairs to the utility room to load the dirty towels in the twin tub. Roger let her go, as he had often done lately since she’d started squaring up to him. The balance between them was shifting; her father was becoming aware of what she was capable of.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Sebastian didn’t move from the bath. He was hoping that Roger would be too embarrassed by the sight of his naked body and would walk away without argument. He was surprised he hadn’t followed Cecelia.
‘It’s disgusting,’ he heard his father hiss. ‘What you’re doing is pure filth.’
‘She’s my sister, don’t be so perverse.’ Sebastian lifted his tall frame from the now empty bathtub. Cecelia had taken all the towels but he still searched the room in case there was one anywhere.
‘Excuse me, I need to get a towel.’ Sebastian tried to push past his father but Roger wouldn’t budge.
‘I want to talk to you.’
‘I don’t need a lecture; we’re not doing anything wrong. We’ve always done this. You’re seeing something that isn’t there.’ He tried again to push past Roger but he stood defiantly.
‘Isn’t there?’ his voice was beginning to rise and Sebastian knew it would end in an argument. ‘Do you know what people would say if they knew what you were doing!’
‘I don’t care what other people think. Do you know what people are saying about you? That our mother never left this farm; that you killed her. I’d be more worried about that if I were you.’
Sebastian had no idea where that had come from. It was as though someone had taken over his brain and was speaking for him. Now he was in trouble.
Roger grabbed Sebastian by his neck, bashing his head against the door frame. ‘What did you just say to me, boy?’ He was snarling in Sebastian’s face like a rabid dog. Sebastian’s vision was blurred from the blow to his head. Consciousness regained, he grabbed his father’s arm with one hand and punched him in the face with the other. Within seconds they were fighting on the floor, more seriously than the grapples they had in the yard when Roger was trying to toughen him up.
Sebastian was naked and vulnerable and as their wrestling reached the top of the stairs, he took a kick between his legs, rendering him helpless for some moments. Roger regained his balance, grabbed Sebastian by his dark blond hair and dragged him down the first set of stairs. Once he reached the right-angled turn in the steps, his temper got the better of him and he continued to kick Sebastian. As Sebastian fell down the last set of stairs, he managed to reach out and grab Roger by the leg so he tumbled down with him. There was a bang and a crack as Roger hit his head on one of the spindles in the banister, snapping it in two.
At the bottom of the stairs, Sebastian and Roger slumped like logs split with an axe. Eventually, Roger stood up, unsteady on his feet as he touched the gash on his forehead and looked at the blood on his fingertips. Sebastian pulled himself across the floor so he could lean against the wall in an attempt to stop the room from spinning.
You’re nothing but scum, were the last words he heard from Roger’s lips. There was a flicker of movement in the dark shadow of the large hallway and Sebastian looked up to see Cecelia standing there, her bathrobe open, revealing her naked form. It was a few seconds before he noticed she was holding the .22 rifle from the gun cabinet. And many moments later before he was aware of Roger’s body slumped on the stairs and the blood that had sprayed gently up the wall behind him.
Sebastian slowly turned to look at Cecelia as she tipped the rifle up, unscrewed the silencer, and walked back into the kitchen.
It shocked him that he found the image so erotic and yet, he couldn’t explain why.
CHAPTER NINE
Cecelia made her way to school the next day as normal, although she didn’t get very far. They had to be normal, Sebastian had said. There was a relief in her body she couldn’t help wallow in; it was clear in her face and the way she moved. She couldn’t think about the horror of what she’d done the previous night. That way she could feel safe in her mute world. Sebastian had said they would decide later what they’d do next. Roger had abused them all and then Cecelia had shot him – a fair deal as far as she was concerned.
‘We must carry on as we have been since Mum disappeared. OK?’ Sebastian pulled at her sweater, making her stop in the street. She nodded, reassuring him by squeezing his arm.
‘I need time to think about what we’re going to do. How we’re going to deal with the situation.’
Cecelia thought of Roger still lying at the bottom of the stairs, the top half of his body positioned awkwardly. She remembered thinking how uncomfortable it must be as she’d stared at him while eating her toast. Taking a tissue from her school bag, she’d covered his face with it, not wanting to look at his wide-open, empty eyes. They’d decided not to move him for now. Sebastian had told her not to touch him or use that staircase; they would have to use the one situated across the other side of the house.
Cecelia had lit the fire and they’d slept on the couches in the sitting room. Strangely, it had been the most restful night’s sleep she’d had for months. Her mind was calm, settled, even though in the distance, the far scenery of her mind, she knew what she’d done wasn’t quite right. She’d killed someone and it didn’t matter why. It was still wrong, but she couldn’t quite grasp how wrong it was. There was something in her that simply didn’t care. Not even when she’d woken the following day and stepped over Roger’s legs to get to the kitchen.
Sebastian grabbed her arm, stopping her in her tracks again. ‘Maybe we shouldn’t go to school . . . perhaps we ought to go back . . . hide in the house or barns until someone comes?’
She could see he was running through the ideas, trying to find the right one as they spilled from his mouth.
Cecelia shrugged.
‘They’ll know how long he’s been dead. When it’s investigated . . .’
‘Let’s get rid of him. The grain store or something
?’
Sebastian frowned at her. ‘Where he could be easily found? For fuck’s sake Cece, is that the best you can come up with?’
‘OK. What’s your marvellous plan then?’
He stepped closer to her. She wasn’t going to like what he was about to say.
‘We can’t get rid of him, Mouse . . . we can’t get rid of him because . . . look, I’ve had an idea. We could make it look like Mum did it . . .’
Cecelia was shaking her head before he’d even finished the sentence and began walking back to school. ‘No way,’ she snapped at him.
Sebastian fell into step beside her so she turned round and began walking towards the farm, tears pouring down her face.
‘Mouse, Cece, listen to me. It’s our way out of this mess. If the police think either one of us shot Roger,’ he lowered his voice, even though there was nobody around to hear, ‘we will be separated and one of us will be going to a young offenders prison. Mum would want this for us, don’t you see? We’ll say she came back and a few days later we heard an argument between her and Roger . . .’
Cecelia glared at him, walking faster. He’d stepped too far across the line for her. She would not have their mother taking the blame for something she hadn’t done. Even if she was dead, Cecelia didn’t want to have her remembered as a murderer, especially after what had happened that day.
Sebastian grabbed hold of Cecelia’s school bag, stopping her from walking. She wrenched herself free from his grip.
‘This is the only way, Cecelia. Mum would want this, I know it.’
‘How do you know what Mum would have wanted? You have no idea, no idea whatsoever about anything that went on in that house.’ Cecelia almost spat in his face, she was so angry. ‘That’s what she’ll be remembered for and I’m not having it, I’d rather turn myself in.’
‘She’s dead, Cece!’ Sebastian grabbed her school bag, wrenching her back towards him. ‘Mum is dead and this is the only way. Don’t let him ruin the rest of our lives as well.’
Cecelia didn’t like what he was saying, but she knew he was right. She continued back to the farm where Sebastian helped her bury the gun and silencer deep in one of the ditches that Roger had made her stand in.
A short while later, realising they had to tell someone their version of what had happened, they called the police. Sebastian prayed the officer he’d seen in the station wasn’t on shift. They sat on the sofa holding each other and waited for someone to come. Differing stories of past events swirling around in their minds, they were both hiding secrets but only one of them thought they knew the truth.
CHAPTER TEN
A week later, Cecelia was holding Sebastian’s hand tightly as they sat in the back of the social worker’s car and pulled up outside an all too familiar house. They both knew this part of town; it was an area they passed every day on the way to and from school, occasionally taking a detour up a narrow, steep alleyway which led to the local graveyard, putting off the inevitable return to White Horse Farm.
They’d never known when they were younger that the children they played with from the house had been foster kids. They hadn’t been bothered to ask and were more interested in the newsagent’s and fish and chip shop further up the high street. The house belonged to a woman called Eleanor who lived there with her son, Samuel. It had been in the family for years – her brother had run a funeral directors there but he had died recently. Samuel, who was in his mid-twenties, was trying to take over the business.
Cecelia knew Yvonne didn’t like Eleanor and Samuel and hadn’t approved of her and Sebastian going to the house – making the excuse that the place attracted unsavoury characters – but Cecelia liked it there. She felt at home and had always got on well with Eleanor, even though she’d met some odd children there. Eleanor was an easy person to talk to – softly spoken, attentive, a wise beacon in Cecelia’s confused world.
Looking at the house now, Cecelia thought about all the foster children who’d stayed there and wondered if any of their situations had been similar to theirs. Now they had become the mystery behind the windows, instead of the onlookers outside.
Cecelia recalled Ava and Imogen, twins who had lived in the house and who she and Sebastian had befriended during primary school. They’d drifted towards them when they’d first arrived at the school – twins subconsciously drawn to each other and into their strange secret world that other children didn’t understand. Cecelia had been envious that the girls had a bedroom in the loft space and she would often ponder what could have been if Sebastian had been a female twin instead of male. Would they have been allowed to share a room? Were same sex twins even closer? Then she decided that Imogen was too competitive with Ava and the envy had quickly dispersed.
Ava and Imogen were mirror twins. They often spoke at the same time and even wore the same clothes. Sebastian had found them weird, creepy he said, and decided not to spend time at the house anymore, but Cecelia had been intrigued by them. They were more than identical, but she didn’t understand what mirror twins meant. Ever since then she’d thought she and Sebastian were mirror twins. She knew they couldn’t be, biologically, but in personality they reflected one another. She liked being around Ava and Imogen; even though she was the extra limb outside their secret world, it intrigued her to see what others saw when they looked at her and Sebastian. She’d also never experienced being singular before.
Then, one day when they’d been playing a game in the garden, Cecelia discovered why Sebastian had thought the twins were so peculiar. Ava and Imogen were always swapping and pretending to be one another – they thought it was funny because no one could really tell them apart. Cecelia could, though, because she always thought Imogen had a slightly different look in her eye to Ava. It was the shape of her irises, she realised later – they weren’t as round, which Cecelia felt gave her a colder appearance.
They’d been playing a kind of hide and seek game that Cecelia hadn’t heard of before where once you’d been discovered you were chased by the finder. Cecelia remembered it being a very long garden, quite narrow, and at the bottom it spread out into a small orchard with the graveyard beyond. She’d loved the way the trees seemed to be in uniform order, offering a tent-like shade in the summer. Right at the very bottom was an old war bunker, partly dug into the ground; Cecelia had been fascinated at being able to run her hands over the grass-covered roof. Inside felt very different – it was sharply cold with a heavy darkness; small compartments ran off the tunnel.
It was Cecelia’s turn to search and as soon as she braved her way down there, having exhausted all other options, she’d immediately wanted to come straight out, the darkness being too much of a reminder of home, a more claustrophobic version of the hangars on the farm. But she’d heard giggling in the blackness and a strange scraping noise. Her eagerness to win had gotten the better of her. Found you, she called, in the hope that one or both would come out, so she didn’t have to venture any further inside, even though she knew neither girl would allow her to flout the rules.
Cecelia saw the faint glow of light before she heard them both call in unison, ‘we’re in here!’ Arms outstretched, not wanting to be called a scaredy cat, she made her way further into the tunnel. The glow of light faded and died and she couldn’t see anything. All she could think about was what would happen if the bunker caved in on them. More scraping echoed off the white walls followed by a glow and she realised the girls were lighting matches. Panic filled her as the light faded again and she screamed as she was grabbed and pulled into one of the small caverns.
‘We’re playing a game,’ Imogen said, although Cecelia couldn’t be sure it was her in the dim light.
Disoriented, Cecelia was pulled back by her neck as one of the girls put what she thought was a cotton bag over her head, and held it tight around the base, making it difficult for Cecelia to breathe. Her hands grasped at the cloth as she desperately tried to draw breath, but they just wrenched her closer to the floor, so she was incap
able of doing anything. All she could hear was the two of them giggling.
‘Cece doesn’t like the scarf game,’ one girl said to the other and they began to laugh again.
Just as Cecelia thought she was going to pass out, they pulled the scarf from her head and dropped her onto the floor. Crawling from the bunker as she tried to get her breath back, she ran all the way home and never went back again. A few weeks later Ava and Imogen disappeared from the school, and she later learned they’d left Eleanor’s house as well.
‘Do you remember those weird girls who lived here?’ Sebastian said, looking up at the top floor window as the social worker parked the car.
Cecelia squeezed his hand.
‘I fancied one of them . . . Imogen I think it was.’
‘You told me you thought they were weird.’
‘They were. I once found them in that old war bunker, naked . . .’ Sebastian lowered his voice so the social worker wouldn’t hear.
‘Oh. That’s why you fancied one of them, is it?’ Cecelia was trying to be light-hearted but there was an edge to her voice that surprised even her.
Sebastian gave her a sidelong glance, smiling at her, knowing there was a hint of jealousy. They both looked up to see the social worker looking at them curiously in the mirror.
