They drank their tea. Edward stoked up the fire, which grew into a welcoming, crackling thing, its flames dancing for joy, heating the eager faces and trembling knees seated before it. Once the tea was finished their politeness fell away and they were heads together, talking, talking, catching up. There was no room for sadness or regret, not here, not now, but there were earnest words and earnest laughter, and apologies, lots of apologies from each of them, hushed by the other. Simone claimed she had been “restless”. Her workplace affair had been nothing, short-lived and silly, and how she regretted it! That was all. Edward was not entirely convinced, she could tell, but now was not the time to reveal the real reasons. Later, yes. That time would come. But for now, they drank more tea, smiled broadly at the wonder of the other’s face, touched, held hands… The fire spat and roared, then subsided towards a gentle glow; the clock ticked and outside the fresh-falling rain pattered at the dirty windows.
Tuesday 3rd May 1977
Dear Elizabeth
I’m sorry not to have written for such a long time. I don’t feel like writing letters much these days. If you like we can write just sometimes? I am busy keeping Meg company most of the time. She is lonely and wants me to be with her a lot. I don’t mind. At school today it was our May Day. My best friend Kimberly was the May Queen. Miss Christianson decided it would be her because she is leaving England soon to go back to Michigan where she is from. Is that anywhere near California? I’m a bit sad that she is going back. She had on a blue shiny dress and had flowers all around her hair and she sat on a chair with flowers at her feet and the flowers smelt fresh and sweet and reminded me a bit of Granny’s perfume. There were purple flowers that looked like bunches of grapes. There were orange and red and yellow flowers, a bit like giant daisies, and there were snap dragons. There was May Pole dancing but only for the older kids. I’m not old enough to do that yet but I will be next year. I was an attendant! I stood next to the May Queen and I wore a dress that was pretty but not a queen’s dress it was pink and I had no flowers in my hair but I did hold a posy which I was allowed to bring home after. Aunty Lucia came up to the school to watch the parade and the dancing and I didn’t think she would but I’m glad she did. She stood behind the mums and didn’t speak to anybody but she was there and she smiled at me and I felt proud. Meg was there too some of the time and she told me I looked stupid but of course she was jealous. I’ll write again in a few weeks to let you know what I am up to,
Love from Tina x
Forty
March 2014
This time Tina had tacos. Kath had a large burger and chips and they again shared a bottle of wine. They talked about the reading group; Tina promising to attend the April meeting. They talked about books they had enjoyed in their lives.
‘Ballet Shoes,’ said Tina. ‘It was my big favourite as a kid. I’ve still got my old copy, coloured-in pictures and all.’
Kath was more of a Roald Dahl fan. Tina wasn’t surprised. Tina said she liked Danny, the Champion of the World, but she never had got into fantasy, she said; without irony. After a moment or two she realised what she’d said. Kath said nothing. She really was very wise and tactful.
But in the end the chat ceased and the talking began. ‘Tina, I’d like to talk about your aunt? If that’s all right? I’ve had an idea… I know it’s sort of talking shop but I thought here… Well, we like it here, don’t we? And we are friends, aren’t we?’
‘OK,’ said Tina slowly, and took a sip of wine. She was hot and loose and full of energy. She felt good for once. The floaty orange top whispered against her skin. ‘We’re definitely friends,’ she said. ‘I don’t talk about Meg to just anyone.’
‘Quite so,’ said Kath. She took a gulp of wine and smiled her big frank smile. She was an attractive woman. Her skin was good, clear and fresh-looking. Tina wondered which products she used. She wanted to ask, but felt that she couldn’t. Things were becoming blurred. Tina wasn’t sure if she was having dinner with Kath her friend or with Kate the counsellor, who wasn’t supposed to be her counsellor.
‘I know Meg’s dead. Really I do. I’ve always known it. I just didn’t want to know it. Does that help?’
‘You tell me. Does it?’
‘No.’
‘My idea, if you want to hear about it, is closure. Sorry to bring it up again. You don’t know what happened that day for sure, and you want revenge. You lost your sister in murky circumstances, your mother left home, your father drifted away. That’s a lot of loss for any human being to live with, especially when it all happened to you at such a young age. I think it might help to have a meeting. With your aunt and your uncle and Keaton and me, and we’ll try to sort things out.’
‘Are you mad?’
‘No.’
‘Do you seriously think a… meeting would work?’ said Tina. She was hot, panicked. No. No, no, no…
‘My belief is that it’s worth a try. There are things to be said, I think. Things you need to say. And maybe there are things you need to hear.’
‘Yes, but – you don’t know her.’
‘I’ve met a lot of people in my line of work, Tina, and I can tell you, nothing or nobody surprises me. I’ve seen and heard it all.’
‘Lucia won’t. She wouldn’t. She wouldn’t do it. And what the hell would we talk about? There’s nothing to be said. Nothing at all!’
‘It’s all ri—’
‘No! It’s not all right! I’m not doing it, OK? It’s a crap idea.’ And Tina found herself trembling, and Kath reached across the table and Tina thought she heard her say she was sorry, but she wasn’t sure, and Tina began to cry.
‘OK, Tina, it’s OK… I truly am sorry.’ Kath rubbed her arm.
Tina wiped her eyes with her napkin and took a few sips of wine. She glanced around to see if anybody had noticed her crying. It appeared as though they hadn’t.
‘No, I’m sorry,’ said Tina, avoiding Kath’s gaze. They had argued, almost. How Meg would approve, did approve. For she was always there, of course, in Tina’s mind, her heart, her thoughts; waiting, waiting, waiting.
During dessert and after they had finally finished apologising to each other, Tina decided it was much better to say nothing further to anybody, anybody at all, about her plan to kill her aunt. She would no longer even discuss it with Meg. She’d exposed herself too much. It really did have to be a secret, from everybody. She would keep certain… ideas… completely to herself from now on. It was a waste of time trying to involve those who didn’t understand. Keaton wanted the best for her and so did Kath, but neither of them were capable of understanding what was best. It wasn’t their fault, far from it. They just didn’t know the things she knew and hadn’t seen the things she’d seen. She alone believed in her plan; she alone would keep her faith in it.
Forty-one
April 2014
Edward awoke that drab morning with a new sense of purpose, the likes of which he had never experienced. Hatred weighed down on his heart like a slab, unforgiving, a boulder that would not be budged. Simone had visited him almost every day in the fortnight since her return, to sit and drink tea, and eat biscuits and talk. Lucia always left them to it, busying herself with laundry or dusting and even, once, a slow bitter walk up to the village shop.
The things that Simone had told him only yesterday, he could scarcely believe, and yet he knew them to be true. He felt like he had known these things all of his life. None of it shocked him. His life’s hideous mistake, twisted, re-formed, shaped into something new, something beyond condemnation, beyond punishment. He was at the mercy of lies. Evil had made a fool of him and it had destroyed his life, and Simone’s. But it was not too late, he trusted it was not. He was going to avenge himself. Nothing would stop him, and mercy was banished from his heart, flattened and starved.
When Lucia made him his breakfast of eggs, bacon and toast, he thanked her
and ate. Perhaps he even chatted to her. They possibly remarked on the greyness of the morning. They sat together at the dining table and looked out at the garden, which was wet with dew, green and growing and alive. This would be the last time they sat together and ate. He was going to be free at last, and so was Simone, and to hell with the consequences. He laughed, then checked himself, because it was no laughing matter. It was to hell he would be going, if there was such a place, which he doubted. And if it did exist, hell would be too good for some people. It was time to face up to the stark truths in his life. It was time to face up to the long-delayed consequence of his once foolish – unspeakable – actions. For too long he had escaped.
Of course, he had denied everything to Simone and she had believed him, he thought. She’d cried, apologised, lamented that she’d ever doubted him. He tried to convince himself that his parents would have forgiven him. It was shocking, this thing he was going to do to his sister. But it still had to be done. He could never forgive her.
Tuesday 6th December 1977
Dear Elizabeth
I’m sorry not to have written to you for such a long time. Actually I think it’s your turn to write to me but I can’t remember exactly. I think I forgot your birthday in March and you forgot mine too. I was ten on the first of November. It was OK. Uncle Edward and Lucia and Granny took me into town for tea after school. We went to the Berni Inn. It was nice. I had a Knickerbocker Glory for dessert and I ate it all up.
Then my Granny died a couple of weeks ago. It was really sad. My dad came back for the funeral. He moved away a few months ago, to a big city called Birmingham. Another family live in our old house now. Uncle Ambrose didn’t come to the funeral and my mum didn’t either. It was the first funeral Meg and I have been to and it was not very nice. There weren’t many people there which we were glad about because we don’t like it when people stare. My dad looked different, thin and hairy and taller which sounds silly because grownups don’t grow taller they just get wider but not my dad. He talked a lot to Uncle Edward and Aunty Lucia. I think they were pleased to see him because we haven’t seen him since he moved away and I was glad too and we talked quite a lot and I tried to explain about Meg but he didn’t get it. He has a new job and a girlfriend called Patti who is good for him, he said. I haven’t met her yet. She lives in Birmingham too. My dad has cut down on his drinking by that he means alcohol. Cider and rum and stuff. Dad will come and visit me again. He promised. I think he will. But he didn’t really feel like my dad. But it was nice. He told me to look out for something in the post at Christmas time.
I’m sending you a Christmas card. I hope you have a happy Christmas,
Love from Tina x
Forty-two
April 2014
It was an April morning, and it was warm and drab, the air damp, oppressive. An overcast Tuesday, not raining, and Tina could sense the sun behind the clouds, struggling to strike through. She wished the sun was shining. It would have made things better. Tina had decided she would just turn up at Lane’s End House. She’d toyed with the idea of ringing, to let her aunt and uncle know she was going to visit. But it didn’t seem the right thing to do. It would be unfair, somehow. Uncle Edward might look forward to seeing her as much as she would normally look forward to seeing him. It would be much better to turn up, raise the heavy tarnished door knocker and wait for Lucia to come to the door. There would be no anticipation. That was for the best. She’d told nobody about her plans for the day, not even Meg. She’d put her off the scent, allowing her to believe she was going cold on the idea of killing Lucia. It had taken a great deal of concentration. Tina had told her she was visiting her aunt and uncle because it was her duty, and she felt sorry for Uncle Edward, she said, and even for Aunt Lucia.
‘Sorry? For Lucia? Tina, you’re pathetic, allowing yourself to be persuaded by a fucking do-gooder of a counsellor or whatever she fucking calls herself. She’s put lots of stupid fucking ideas in your head about forgiveness. It’s all bullshit. Fucking bullshit!’
‘No,’ said Tina. ‘It’s for the best.’
‘I don’t believe in you any more,’ said Meg. ‘How the fuck have you been talked out of our plans just like that by a wishy-washy… shrink who doesn’t know her fucking arse from her fucking elbow.’
And so it went on. Tina ignored her sister, who eventually left her alone. Tina thought that this time, she may not come back. She had been so angry, so disappointed. It could be the end. But Meg didn’t know about the secret plan, and Tina did. How she had wanted to tell her sister to shut up and wait, to wait and see, but she’d let her rant, and it would serve her right afterwards, when Meg would have to utter those difficult words: I’m sorry.
Tina drove to Lane’s End House. The clouds began to crack open. Tina swallowed constantly; she wiped sweat from her face. It prickled all over her body. She was hot so often these days, much too readily. She sweated, even on cooler days, worrying that her clothes would be dampened and stained. She was wearing more patterned things, tops with short or loose sleeves. Today she even had her hair back in a bun, off her neck, her face, caught up in a net. She wanted to keep as cool as possible. In the last week she’d felt a crushing fatigue. This she put down to her nerves, her troubled state, her endless planning. Soon it would all be over. She was convinced, once again, that she was menopausal, experiencing its unwelcome commencement – she thought she’d missed another period, although she wasn’t keeping track these days. Another possibility had fleetingly occurred to her. But she couldn’t entertain such an idea just yet. There would be time enough to think about all that later, she resolved, as she turned down the narrow, lonely road that led to Lane’s End House.
It was good, this secret, this knowing something that Meg didn’t know – something that nobody knew. For much of the short journey, she’d driven precariously. She was an erratic driver on the best of days. Today she was all over the road. She couldn’t seem to steer correctly. She had to swerve once to avoid hitting a car, the driver of which blasted his horn at her and gestured furiously. She felt sick, an odd pervasive pressure all over her body, within and without.
She pulled the car to a clumsy halt outside the gate to Lane’s End House. Before getting out, she carefully took the Swiss Army knife from her pocket and ran her fingers along the small blades. She’d procured it several days ago from Keaton’s bedside cabinet, second drawer down. She’d played with it for hours, testing it out, and had accustomed herself to its feel and its uses. It would do. It would work. It was sharp. She might have preferred something a little longer, but this was the best she had at her disposal. Huge kitchen knives would have been too obvious, too difficult to hide, and probably too unwieldy to use. This she could only imagine. She had never stabbed anybody before.
She turned off the engine and sat in stillness and silence for a moment. She touched the blade again. She took one, two, three deep breaths and finally climbed from the car. This was it. All her life had led up to this moment, she could see that now, and whatever came after, would come.
She walked to the front door, climbed the steps and boldly, without hesitation, raised the knocker and rapped – once, twice, thrice. She backed down a step, and waited. For you, Meg, she thought. Whatever you think of me, wherever you are, I love you and I’m going to do this. She carefully grasped the small handle of the knife, and checked again that the blade was locked open.
Nobody came to the door. Edward and Lucia were always to be found at home. But of course, Tina did not pay impromptu visits. Could it be they’d popped out to do their food shopping? Had they gone to the doctor? They still had a car which they used solely for those purposes. The curtains were all drawn back, an upstairs window open. They were at home, surely? She would try the kitchen door, which was often unlocked. She hoped nothing was wrong. Had one of them been taken ill, rushed to hospital? Please, not dear Uncle Edward…
The car was in the shed.
But there was no laundry flapping on the line in the back garden. The grass was too long – elderly people’s grass. Perhaps she and Keaton should visit more often, and get these chores done. Uncle Edward probably struggled with the mower. She paused to regard a brown cow in the field, standing right up next to the fence, looking at her inquisitively. Tina enjoyed the comfort of the kindly face, the huge brown eyes, the moist pink nostrils; she found herself mesmerised by the regal swish of the cow’s tail as she brushed flies away. Then Tina recollected her mission, her reason for being here, and she felt that searing rush of excitement, the pump and flow of adrenalin, that unexpected thrill that comes out of nowhere, from nothing, like a fighter jet ripping into earshot, tearing the sky in two, and disappearing as quickly.
Yet she had not completely fooled herself – she knew what she was doing and she knew what the consequences would be. Her buoyant mood sunk in on itself. She fought tears. Now was not the time to give in to crying. Crying made you weak. How irrational she was being. Chores?! There would be no chores! There would be no comfort. No foreign holidays in blue idyllic places, no more cosy modern home and loving husband. And as for the other thing, if she was indeed… but she could not consider that.
A Life Between Us Page 22
