Red Ribbons

by Louise Phillips

  Ellie

  I CAN TELL DR EBBS IS TAKEN ABACK, AS IF HE NEEDS time to digest what I’ve just said. It’s in the way his head moves and his fingers tighten on his pen. He stares at me as if he might get some answers from my silence. Getting up from his chair, he walks around the room, slowly at first, then with more vigour.

  ‘So, if Amy was dead before you set fire to the caravan, why did you do it?’

  ‘Set the caravan on fire?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I would think that’s obvious.’

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘Because, Dr Ebbs, I saw no point in living.’

  He opens the file, flicks back through the case notes again.

  ‘You were dragged from the fire by an Oliver Gilmartin?’

  ‘Yes, the caretaker of the caravan park.’ I remember Gilmartin, and his big mouth. All bravado he was, talking about how he thought at first the fire was set by vandals, looking at me, all smug that he was some kind of hero of the hour. I’d only seen his caravan once. The day we arrived at the site, Joe had dragged me in to sign some goddamn registration book.

  ‘Ellie, are you listening to me?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Ellie, the morning of the fire, it says here Oliver Gilmartin tried to get Amy out as well, but he couldn’t reach her after the gas explosion.’

  ‘People said a lot of things.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Like I was depressed, like I was crazy, that I’d wanted to end my own life, wanted to take my child with me.’

  ‘And why would they say all that if it isn’t true?’

  ‘I don’t know, all I know is I’m the only one who saw him, the man who killed my daughter. No one believed me about him. There was nothing of Amy left after the fire, nothing but her bones, and they said very little.’

  ‘Ellie, according to the file you said a lot of things afterwards, much of which proved incorrect.’

  ‘There are still bits I can’t remember clearly.’ My voice sounds weak.

  ‘Well there would have been trauma, there is no denying that.’

  I wish he would stop flicking through that file.

  ‘I don’t know what I was back then.’

  ‘You say when you got back to the caravan, Amy was already dead.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So how do you know this mystery man killed her?’

  ‘She spoke about him.’

  ‘What did she say?’

  ‘I didn’t think anything of it. I thought he was just one of the kids from the caravan park. But afterwards, I remembered her telling me about how the two of them had gone exploring. She even tried to show me where.’

  ‘And you thought of this when you found Amy?’

  ‘No, not immediately. Immediately, I had other things on my mind.’

  I feel annoyed. I know I should put an end to this.

  ‘Ellie?’

  ‘Can I go now? I don’t want to talk any more.’

  ‘Sorry, just bear with me a little longer. I know it’s difficult.’

  ‘It’s all in the file, why don’t you just read it again and let me go.’

  ‘When you found her, you said that you thought she was sleeping?’

  ‘Yes, she looked so calm, innocent. Everything about her seemed perfect. I had only opened the bedroom door to make sure she was still asleep. It was then I noticed them.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘At first I thought they were of no importance.’

  ‘What were of no importance?’

  ‘The ribbons, the ones on her plaits.’

  ‘What about them?’

  ‘They were wrong, they weren’t the way she wore them. It was because of the ribbons that I looked closer; if not, I might have closed the door and just assumed she was asleep.’

  ‘So you went over to her.’

  ‘Yes, that’s when I knew. When I touched her, her face was cold. Have you ever seen a dead person, Dr Ebbs?’

  ‘Yes, Ellie, I have.’

  ‘Her face was that grey colour of death.’

  ‘And you were absolutely sure she was dead?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But you didn’t think to raise the alarm?’

  ‘What for? I just wanted to be with her. Maybe I wasn’t thinking straight.’ I pause. ‘But I do remember how she was lying.’

  ‘How was she lying?’

  ‘It was so strange. It took me a while to work out why.’

  ‘Why did you think it was strange, Ellie?’

  ‘Because she looked like a statue.’

  ‘A statue?’

  ‘Yeah, a statue of an angel.’

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘It was her hands, they were joined as if she was praying and her body was all curled up, her knees looked like she was kneeling.’

  ‘What you’ve just said about the ribbons, and how Amy was lying, you’ve never mentioned this before?’

  ‘I had my reasons.’ He flicks through the file again and my head starts to ache. ‘Don’t you get it, Dr Ebbs? None of it matters. She’s dead. My daughter is dead. Those words on the page, ‘AMY’ – ‘DEAD’ – ‘WEXFORD’, that’s all that matters.’

  He stops, and when he speaks his voice is gentle. ‘Nor have you mentioned anything since.’

  ‘Since?’

  He looks straight at me. ‘Since you’ve been here.’

  I hold his gaze. ‘No one else has ever asked.’

  Meadow View

  HIS BEDROOM IN MEADOW VIEW WAS SPARSE: A SINGLE BED, a solid-oak two-drawer locker picked up at an auction in Rathmines, a portable television, a music centre at the wall opposite the end of the bed, and one small window looking out onto the street. It was a place to sleep and unwind; taking time out was important to him. Everyone needed to close the door at some point, mentally shut out the world.

  He could hear mumbling from the neighbours, more prominent during times of his silent solitude. Pressing the play button on the music centre, the sound of early-morning birdsong filled the room. With the curtains pulled, he felt content in the dark. Sunlight was for outdoor pursuits, now he needed everything to slow down.

  The cherry-red ribbon was still inside his jeans pocket. Lying back on the bed, he removed it and let it run through his fingers before placing it on the bedside locker. He would be back at Cronly soon, where he could put it away safely. As he closed his eyes, he thought about his battered attaché case underneath the old metal-framed bed in the big house, a suitcase that had travelled with him to Suvereto when he was twelve years old. He remembered feeling excited about the trip and thought about the boyhood stickers he had applied to the case so diligently, most of which were still intact. It was always a treat opening the attaché case, just like the drawers in the old sideboard, with all its treasures. To him, everything in it, from the dull to the glittering, meant something, providing a window to the past.

  He would need to buy another crucifix to replace the one he’d given Caroline. Amelia’s one had gone missing long before, another tell-tale sign of her inadequacy. They weren’t expensive, so he didn’t mind.

  Caroline had been such a sweet girl. He had told her how the crucifix would keep her safe. She liked the idea. She was even wearing it the afternoon he picked her up for their trip to Cronly. He was glad he was going back there soon. He wanted to look at the photographs of Caroline again, now that they were all he had left of her. They were at the bottom of the attaché case, taken with his Polaroid camera, the one he had bought to replace the now-broken one he had received on his eleventh birthday.

  He’d been on a high when the two of them had left Dublin, telling Caroline how important she was, how special. She had been taken aback at first, upset. That had been quite disconcerting, not at all what he had expected. She was concerned, obviously, but he had told her there was no need to fret. He would look after everything.

  She hadn’t liked the house. He could see that from the beginning, the way her eyes had
peered all around her, the rest of her body still. He’d put so much time and effort into taking her there, only for her to let him down. He knew it had been difficult for her to understand. Of course, he hadn’t let her response deter him. After all, if there was one thing he prided himself on, it was his determination and resolve.

  Like Amelia, he had put her at her ease, explained everything would work out once she remained calm. All she needed to do was trust him. She did trust him. She’d told him she did when he’d asked her. A girl with such appreciation of emotion understands these things very well. Even when she’d cried, he hadn’t lost heart. His thoughts and feelings had been tested in the past, but he had never faltered. She must have felt a chill, shaking the way she did. He had even lit a small fire to ward off the old house’s draughts and made her cocoa, but instead of drinking it she’d just sat there, her face red and puffy, her eyes wild. The more upset she’d got, the more he’d started to question if he’d been right to take her there in the first place. The last thing he’d wanted was for her to think badly of him or, even worse, think he was one of those lowlifes who sought out innocent young girls for their own enjoyment.

  If only she had understood. He had tried to explain things – but the more he’d explained, the more melodramatic she’d become, and the distress became so unsettling to him. He had no illusions about Amelia, but Caroline had been different. He’d had such high hopes for her. But in the end, it seemed, she had wanted to spoil everything too. What choice had he – the way she ran to the door like that? He’d had to stop her. Uncanny the way the hands on the Napoleon clock had struck six when she’d gone quiet, a straight line pointing north and south, cutting the white clock-face in two.

  It was when she’d stopped that she’d been at her most beautiful. He’d already had the red ribbons in his pocket as a surprise for her, just like before. She hadn’t minded him plaiting her hair then. In fact, he’d got the sense of her smiling while he’d done it, and this had pleased him more than anything. When her body had hardened, he’d needed to fix her – she wouldn’t have felt anything at that point, her peaceful expression had remained constant throughout.

  He regretted taking her to Cronly. It was wrong of him. The size of the house, not having told her about it, must have frightened her. More than most, he understood how someone so young could be in awe of such a strange place. But she’d had to be stopped once she’d started screaming. The second blow to the head had produced such a profusion of blood, but he was sure she hadn’t felt anything after that.

  In his bedroom, the gentle sound of birdsong and the darkness eased his body and mind. What he regretted most of all was that he hadn’t had the chance to take Caroline to his hideout, down by the wonderful elderberry trees.

  Ellie

  DR EBBS IS LOOKING AT ME LIKE I’M A COMPLICATED puzzle he needs to solve. His elbows are resting on the desk, the fingers of his hands joined at the fingertips. There is a smudge on his glasses, and I have the strangest urge to take them from the end of his nose and clean them. Maybe my mind is playing tricks, drifting from the past to the here and now. I could get up and leave, tell him I no longer want to answer his questions. It wouldn’t be a lie. Reliving everything brings a clarity that has a habit of making tiny moments last forever.

  ‘You were undoubtedly in shock, Ellie. Perhaps at the time, when you were asked about how you found her, your shock prevented you giving the information correctly?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘But later, why didn’t you mention it then – the ribbons, the way you found Amy? I find it incredible that no one asked you before this, or if they did and you’ve forgotten, that this is the first time it has fully come to light.’

  ‘Maybe I had my reasons for not clarifying things. Maybe I still do.’

  ‘You lost your daughter, Ellie. It must have been difficult.’

  ‘“Difficult” – that’s a handy word. Yes, difficult. It was difficult to accept my daughter was dead, it was even more difficult to know her killer was still out there.’

  ‘Had you ever spoken to this man?’

  ‘No, but I saw him.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Soon after we arrived.’

  ‘At the caravan park in Wexford?’

  ‘Yes, near the beach.’

  My mind drifts again to the road at the back of the sand dunes, the wild grasses, the smell of recently cut hay, a dirt track opening to a clearing.

  ‘And you said this to the police at the time?’

  ‘Yes. As I said, no one listened.’

  ‘I’m listening now.’

  ‘It’s not important now, not any more.’

  ‘Why do you think that?’

  ‘Death has a way of focusing the mind, Dr Ebbs. My world fell apart, but I learned one thing fast.’

  ‘And what was that?’

  ‘The truth.’

  ‘The truth?’

  ‘Yes. Amy was dead, and the reason for it was clear. It wasn’t just leaving her that night, the night she was killed, it was the fact that I’d been missing all the time beforehand. I failed her, Dr Ebbs.’

  ‘You blamed yourself?’

  ‘Wouldn’t you?’ He ignores this. I must learn to take a leaf out of his book.

  ‘It must be hard, Dr Ebbs, to put yourself in the shoes of a mad person.’

  ‘I don’t think you’re mad, Ellie.’

  ‘Don’t you?’

  ‘I think you could be quite sane, which in many ways, if what you say is true, makes this a whole lot worse.’

  ‘I’m not asking you to believe me.’

  He sighs. ‘Perhaps we should finish for today, Ellie.’

  ‘Have you ever felt lost, Dr Ebbs? The kind of lost that stops you wanting to be found.’

  ‘No, Ellie, I can’t say I have.’

  ‘You’re lucky.’

  ‘I guess I am.’

  ‘When I found Amy, in a weird way she looked more beautiful than ever. Uncanny really, how calm I was. I even shocked myself.’ I manage to smile at this. ‘I sat talking to her, you know, stupid things, like how much she loved school, how kind she was. I didn’t say anything about being sorry, letting her down, none of that. We both knew, you see, without words. I tried to remember the last time I’d looked at her properly, made eye contact. I’d forgotten how lovely she was. How can a mother forget such things? I undid the red ribbons in her hair, they didn’t belong to her, brushed her hair out, and all the time while I was doing it, I knew.

  ‘Knew what?’

  ‘That losing her meant that nothing else mattered.’

  ‘You had no inclination to tell Joe what had happened?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I find that surprising.’

  ‘We were beyond words, Joe and I, even from before I found Amy.’

  ‘So you decided to set fire to the caravan?’

  ‘Yes. I waited until Joe left. He had no idea she was dead. I let him think everything was as it should be. It was better that way.’

  ‘But when you were taken from the fire, what did you tell him then?’

  ‘Nothing. Not at first. He thought the worst, they all did. Words seemed pointless.’

  ‘And the man, did you tell Joe about him?’

  ‘Eventually.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And nothing. Like the others, he’d already made up his mind.’

  ‘And this man you think killed Amy?’

  ‘What about him?’

  ‘You can’t be completely sure he killed her?’

  ‘No, but when I found her, I remembered things, things I should have paid more attention to.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘She said she thought he was real clever, just like me. I paid no attention to it. As I said, I guess I thought he was just one of the kids at the holiday park.’

  ‘That hardly makes him a killer.’

  ‘No. But I’d seen her with him. I mean, I didn’t know for sure it was him, but I’d seen him twice.�
��

  ‘And you didn’t think it strange? Unusual?’

  ‘Well no, not the first time. I figured he was one of the dads. I didn’t know his name. The first time I saw them, Amy was petting his cat.’

  ‘And the second time?’

  ‘The second time she was heading for the beach. She had just come off the pathway at the back of the sand dunes, the place she tried to show me once. I could tell they had been talking. She waved goodbye to him. I did think it odd. I mean, a grown man taking time to talk to a young girl. I’d meant to say something to her. I’d definitely meant to ask her about him. Tell her to be careful.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘I never got a chance, or never made one, I guess.’ Again my voice lowers.

  ‘And these things make you think he was the killer?’

  ‘You don’t believe me either,’ I snap back.

  He ignores my last remark.

  ‘This man, could you recognise him now?’

  ‘I don’t know. It was a long time ago. But sometimes I’m surprised by what I remember and by what I forget.’

  ‘Shock can be indiscriminate, Ellie. It affects everyone differently.’

  ‘Do you know what I think about when I think about back then? I think about how numb I felt – shocked, as you say. I thought there could be nothing worse than finding Amy the way I did. Then afterwards, when the real pain came, when the shock finally wore off, I wished I could have the shock back again, for what followed, Dr Ebbs, was a whole lot worse.’

  ‘Ellie, do you realise the importance of what you’re saying?’

  ‘Dr Ebbs, don’t you get it?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘None of it matters.’

  ‘But you’re saying you’re innocent of the very thing that brought you here.’