Lacey's House

by Joanne Graham

  I went into the kitchen to fetch a dustpan and brush. I got onto my knees and began sweeping at the mud I had left on the floorboards, thinking that I would go to the shop later and pick up a card for Martha. And as I knelt there, I heard the letter box snap open and the sound of the post hitting the floor. I looked up and saw an envelope, white against the floorboards, the familiar black writing a tunnel through time that I crawled down. I saw myself sitting on a bed alone in a characterless room.

  I stared at it, a dustpan full of mud in one hand and a chest that hammered beneath the flat surface of my other palm. I stared at the letter for what seemed like forever. After weeks of waiting and thinking about this moment, I found myself too afraid to open it.

  Chapter 54 ~ Lacey

  She has been here before. Was it here? She is not sure. It looks the same, smells the same. When she looks straight up at the ceiling as she walks she sees the lights flash past one after the other, like they did before when she screamed and begged them to stop. She doesn’t remember for certain if it was the same ceiling. Perhaps it was somewhere else that looked similar. Surely they are all alike.

  The corridors stretch on forever, there are signs, different coloured signs that hang from the ceiling and point the way, but none of them tell her what she needs to know. She wanders half way down one corridor, then back again. She is struggling with the magnitude of this place. It is a maze and she cannot remember where she came in.

  A woman comes towards her wearing pink scrubs. She looks bright and cheerful in that colour but she does not smile.

  “Excuse me,” she says and the woman in pink stops with a sigh but does not speak. “I’m trying to find Avon ward but I’ve got a bit lost, would you be able to help me?” She hears for herself that her voice has shrunk, become less audible. She wonders if it is only her voice or has the rest of her shrunk too, like Alice.

  The woman points and speaks, her voice as tired as her appearance, and she realises that the ward is close; she has simply missed the turning that she needed. She says thank you to the woman’s retreating figure and turns back the way she came.

  It is only then that she wonders at the purpose of this journey. As she stands at the threshold to the ward and hears the voices beyond, she questions what good this will do. She remembers the last time they came face to face, the shock and the pain of it, the humiliation and the smell of the earth as she knelt in the grass. She wonders what she had hoped to achieve by making this journey.

  She knows she will step forward into the room anyway, she knows that she will put herself in sight of others, she knows that she will not back down, because this is important to her. It will change nothing; her life will still be what it has always been. But somewhere inside she will know that just once she stood and let her voice be heard.

  She takes a deep breath and steps forwards. There is a desk with nurses behind it, they pay her no attention as she moves her eyes over the board behind them, studying the names and the bed numbers of those unfortunate enough to be here. They are talking about a party, something so far removed from this place and she wonders if it is how they cope.

  She turns and makes her way down the ward, to the end where there are six beds, all occupied. In the third bed on the right she spots the woman she has come to see, half turned away, alone. She steps towards her, praying that the woman doesn’t shout out and draw attention before she can say what needs to be said. The younger woman turns and sees her. There is surprise in her eyes as she looks at her visitor but there is resignation there too, as if this doesn’t matter, it is only another difficult thing to endure. The patient will not call out, she knows it then.

  She moves closer and wonders if she should ask how the woman is but she decides not to. It would sound disingenuous coming from her. She lets her eyes slide over the pale skin, the dark circles, the grey expression and she thinks she doesn’t need to ask after all, the answer is right in front of her.

  “I didn’t kill your father,” she says and the eyes move further away, to the shaded window through which nothing can be seen. “I know you don’t believe me but I wanted to tell you. It was an accident, he... he fell.” She hears for herself her hesitation and wonders how she can expect this fragile woman to believe her when her own voice doesn’t.

  She tried again. “He was my friend, never anymore than that, or any less. I would never have hurt him.”

  There was still no response, not even the slightest of movements to indicate that she has been heard. She feels lost and weak, “I know you won’t listen to me but I just wanted to tell you, because he would have wanted me to, you see, he was so proud of you. He talked about you all the time; he was so pleased with the person you became. He said you were just like your mum.” Her words fade and she watches as a tear wells up, swells to bursting point and then runs down across the bridge of the woman’s nose to the pillow on the other side.

  She is sorry now that she came. She didn’t think it through. She just wanted her to know that her father had not spent his last moments in the company of cruelty and violence. She wanted her to know that they had only ever been friends. It had seemed important. But now as she watches the silent, dignified tears of the woman in the bed she thinks that maybe it wasn’t important at all, that maybe she has been wrong to come here.

  “I’m sorry, Martha.” Her voice is a whisper in the stillness of the room and she turns from the bed, from the silent crying woman and makes her way out of the ward, back into the maze of corridors that close around her. She feels her heart begin to hammer as her feet move as quickly as they can. She turns corners and walks lengths of linoleum-covered floor but the way out eludes her and she feels tremors start in her muscles.

  People walk towards her and she steps back from them, their faces indistinct, blurred as she hurries on. She rushes through a doorway and finds herself in an empty chapel. It makes her think of death, decay, of her father and the people that cried for him and she holds her hands up and backs away.

  A light is flashing somewhere, the bulb unable to decide whether to work or not. It reminds her of another time, when the lights flashed passed on the ceiling above her, when the jolts of pain burst through her. She feels a wall pressing into her back and she cannot back away any further. The light blinks and she flinches with it as she looks up and sees him coming towards her.

  His face carries the same disapproving frown as he holds his hand out to her. “You’re being foolish Lacey, you know this is for your own good!” His voice is stern, uncompromising. He is so unused to being questioned, denied. She begins to cry, a keening sob that catches in her throat and sounds loud to her own ears. She holds her hands up to him, palms flat, fingers trembling as if this is all it will take to stop him, to keep him away. His hand presses against her flesh, fingers biting into her upper arm and she sinks towards the floor as the flashing light finally fades to black.

  When she opens her eyes the first thing she notices is that the light is bright and no longer flashing. She is lying on her side on a bed in a small, featureless room. She doesn’t know how long she has been here. She looks around and sees that her handbag is on the bed next to her and she grasps at it, clutching it to her chest as if it is a lifeline.

  The door opens and a nurse comes in. She looks too young, too fresh to have any authority and Lacey relaxes a little as she approaches the bed.

  “Glad to see you back with us. You gave the poor chaplain quite a surprise there.”

  She looks at the younger woman, puzzled.

  “You fainted, in the chapel. The chaplain found you in there and called for help. You gave him a bit of a scare I think,” she smiles. “How are you feeling now?”

  She feels fine and says so, though she is confused and can still see the light flashing, can still feel her father’s grip on her arm. The nurse smiles at her as she moves towards the door.

  “I’m just going to get the doctor to come and give you the once over and then we can see if you can go home.”

/>   The door closes behind her and Lacey swings her feet from the bed. She stands on legs that feel boneless and makes her unsteady way towards the door.

  She can’t be here when the nurse gets back. She can’t see the doctor. Doctor’s hurt her, take things from her. She knows that if the doctor comes back and finds her here, she will not be able to leave, they will keep her here, change her somehow. She peers around the edge of the doorframe and sees a long expanse of hallway that is mercifully empty of people. She hurries along to the next corridor and stares at the signs above her head until she sees one that points to the exit.

  She tries not to run and draw attention to herself but she feels as if she is being pursued, as if any minute now they will catch up with her and force her onto the bed, they will tie the straps across her forehead, her wrists and ankles, they will steal time from her until she forgets who she is.

  She feels the breeze on her face before the exit comes in sight and hurries towards it. She can hear no footsteps rushing up behind her. Even so, she wills herself not to look back.

  She rushes from the main door and relief courses through her body as she sees the taxi still there, miraculously still waiting for her as she had requested. She opens the door and climbs in as the driver starts the engine and drives away. She wants to ask him how long she has been, if it is still the same day, the same year. But she is afraid of his answer and so she keeps her eyes straight ahead as the hospital fades in the distance.

  Chapter 55 ~ Rachel

  Dear Rachel,

  I can’t even begin to tell you how excited Richard and I were to hear from you. It has been so, so long. Please don’t think that I am blaming you in any way for that, and there is no need to talk of forgiveness or shame. I will admit that your letter hurt so much at the time, that it stopped me putting pen to paper for quite a while. But I know now, and knew at the time underneath it all, why you said what you did and I am not angry with you for it. What happened was horrible and traumatic for all of us, but I think it was harder for you as you were so young.

  I have often tried to imagine how you felt when the social workers came and took you away, but I can’t. I can tell you from our point of view that we were devastated. We didn’t know they were coming, you see, so it was a total shock to us when they knocked on the door and said they were taking you. I can still hear you crying when they took you away. It broke my heart and I sobbed for days and days.

  At first they wouldn’t tell us where they had taken you. I assumed they had taken you back to the home you’d come from but when I went there they didn’t know anything about it and couldn’t help. A social worker took pity on me and told me in the end but only on the condition that I didn’t try and see you, they said it would be too much of a disruption for you.

  You won’t know this, but I did come to see you once. Richard had gone away on a training course for a couple of days and I got the train up to Birmingham, I never told him. It was a Monday. I stood over the road from the address I had for you. I wanted to knock on the door, to ask how you were but I didn’t because I was worried they would move you to a different home and I would lose touch with where you were.

  I don’t know how long I stood there really but then I saw you, walking up the road in your school uniform. You had grown so much in that short space of time and I decided to ignore what they had said and come and say hello. I started walking towards you but the door of the home opened and one of the carers came out, she walked up to you and you went inside with her. I didn’t get a chance to say anything.

  I don’t know why I’ve told you that, perhaps it’s just to let you know that I didn’t just cast you aside, that I never stopped caring. You have always been in our thoughts, Rachel, and we have always hoped for the very best for you.

  We didn’t foster any more children after you were taken away. We wouldn’t have been allowed to because of my health but if I’m honest we wouldn’t have taken anyone else on anyway. It wouldn’t have been right really, it was your room and no-one else’s.

  The lump in my breast was removed, they got it all and it turned out to be benign. Once it was gone it was gone and there is barely a sign that it was ever there.

  Richard still works in the same factory, what a creature of habit, eh? Though I guess in these times he is lucky to be working. He is very well and tells me to say hello from him. He’s really happy to hear from you too, I can tell you!

  I can’t believe you became an artist, how exciting. I would love to see some of your work and how funny that you ended up in Devon, I always loved it there. I used to go on holidays there myself when I was a little girl so it holds lots of special memories for me.

  Perhaps one day, if it is okay with you, we could come for a visit? Not that I want to impose but it would be so very lovely to see you. And also, of course, you are very, very welcome to come and see us here, this is still your home as far as I am concerned and you can come anytime.

  I still think of you as family you know. I’m sorry if that sounds a bit gushy and emotional but it always felt to me that you were meant to be mine, right from the first time I laid eyes on you and saw those huge dark eyes. I know that you are a grown-up now and that things have changed and it’s been a long time since we saw you and I understand if you don’t look at things quite the same way that I do. I just didn’t want to finish this letter without letting you know that.

  Please, please stay in touch, Rachel, and thank you so much for writing, it meant such a lot to hear from you. Perhaps if you write again, you could send us a photo so we can see the person you have grown into.

  All my love,

  Diane

  Xxx

  With shaking hands I carefully folded the letter along the lines that were already there, I used my nail to sharpen the crease a little. I pushed the sheets back into the envelope and placed it on the table. I tucked my hair behind my ears and my fingers brushed against my cheek, coming away wet. I don’t know how long I had been crying.

  Chapter 56 ~ Rachel

  The surrounding countryside had given me a new kind of freedom, one the city had never offered. If the day went badly, if my painting wasn’t going right or if I got an unexpected bill, I would put on my boots and take off into the wilderness around me. I found it incredibly effective at blowing away anxiety or anger. The fields and nearby moors gave me plenty of scope to stamp out my frustration and the trees and flowers, the very earth itself absorbed my mood and smoothed it out, replacing it with a sense of reason and calm. I never forgot to be grateful.

  I revisited the stream and rather than a negative mood, I took with me a sense of relief, of incredible lightness to pour into the waters. I found it to be a different place now that the rains had returned. I watched the swirls and eddies, the lowest branches of the overhanging trees sweeping lines into the surface.

  Just for a moment I wondered what had become of my little boat, of my child. I found the thoughts less bitter, less raw now. They were a regret, a muted sadness that had become gentle and settled within, it was a part of me that I would never let go of. The grief would always be there and I thought that was just how it was meant to be. I realised that it was okay to allow that, to always wonder what she may have been.

  I jumped the newly spirited water at its narrowest part, my feet momentarily scrabbling for purchase on the slick mud of the bank. I followed the space between trees and shrubs, close enough that the churning water was still the dominant sound. I was prevented from going further by a vast tangled horseshoe of bramble and bind weed. I scanned my eyes over it but it was thick, impenetrable. There was no way through.

  I returned to the stream and saw a glistening arrow of sunlight penetrate the canopy and spotlight the water downstream, highlighting the edges of the leaves with golden light and reflecting off the surface like glitter. It looked ethereal, a beautiful landscape and I quickly reached into my bag for my camera to capture the moment before the clouds chased it away. I snapped a few shots and decided that
if they came out okay, this was an image I would sketch. I would paint it onto a small canvas, tiny and detailed and I would send it as a gift to Diane and Richard, perhaps I hoped that the beauty of the scene would entice them here for a visit. But maybe it was more than that. I think I wanted to show them how far I had come, where I was now. I could sense the little girl in me wanting their approval, wanting to feel their pride.

  I headed back towards the house and thought that perhaps I could invite my foster parents to come and stay in the New Year, I wondered if it would be awkward, but found that it didn’t matter. I was back in touch with them after all this time and I planned to keep it that way. I hoped that they felt the same.

  Chapter 57 ~ Lacey

  The nights close in around her and she begins to wonder when she will die. Her father died a week ago. Or was it a year? She is no longer sure, it seems like forever. She wonders when she will follow him. She wonders if she will see it coming. She is not afraid to die.

  But then she thinks of afterwards, she remembers the church and the hole in the ground. She hears her mother’s voice pouring from the grave, berating her and then she becomes afraid. Afraid of her body shutting down and beginning to fade. She is scared that they will put her in the same ground as them, lying beneath the surface of the earth and feeling the fingers of rot, of evil, from her father. She worries that they will taint her, taunt her, that they will curl around her and pull her down, down into the very depths of Hell where her father will wait and punish her for being a bad daughter.