by Hannah Emery
‘Nothing’s the matter,’ she replies after a minute. ‘I’ve found somewhere we need to go today. I’ve been out for coffee, so I got the train straight to yours—’
‘Out for coffee?’ Elsie’s words are stretched by another yawn. ‘But it’s still early.’
Grace shrugs. ‘So don’t you want to know where we’re going today?’
Elsie pads into the kitchen and flicks on the kettle. Her hair is scraped back. Grace hasn’t worn her hair up for years, and seeing Elsie’s fine cheekbones, her delicate jaw, reminds her that she should try it.
Elsie nods, and takes two mismatched mugs from the cupboard.
‘There’s a vintage fair in town. I thought we might go and have a look for some books and other things for the shop. It starts at ten. What do you think?’
Elsie smiles. ‘I think you’ve already decided on my behalf. But it sounds good. I’ll have my coffee and then get ready.’
‘Is Eliot here?’ Grace asks after a few moments, not even sure why she wants to know.
‘Yes. But he’s still asleep. I’ll leave him here, I think. It’ll be nice to do something just us.’
Grace is touched by the words, momentarily stung with unexpected pleasure. She wants to reply, to give Elsie something back, but before she can, Elsie stands and picks up her mug.
‘I’ll get ready,’ she says, leaving Grace to sit in the kitchen, alone except for the ghost of her mother, drifting around, unable to see, but there all the same.
The vintage fair is crowded and smells of must and dampness. Grace buys them each a cup of tea in a scalding cardboard cup. They wander around the stalls, their sleeves pulled around their hands to stop the burning.
As they walk slowly through the flood of people, Grace stares around her at the elaborate carvings above their heads, worn with age. The lost decorum of the building floats in the air like the spirit of a once grand, forgotten lady. A band is playing in the ballroom, throwing out drum beats and electric guitar notes that clash with the evocative grandeur of the ornate pillars and ceilings.
‘This must have been a beautiful place once,’ Grace says as she’s jostled along. Elsie doesn’t hear over the buzz of conversation, the music.
They stop at a stall that’s crammed with vintage jewellery. Brooches, bracelets and earrings are all draped over exquisite, exotic jewels. Grace’s eyes are drawn to a distinctive necklace, and she leans forward and lifts it carefully from its place on the table.
‘Look at this, Elsie. It’s beautiful.’
The chain is a worn, antique silver, with intricate clasps holding smooth, bright aqua stones. Grace tries to get the stall owner’s attention, but she’s deep in conversation with an older woman about a brooch. Grace clutches the necklace tightly, not wanting to put it down, the clasps biting into her skin.
‘Come on, let’s carry on looking and see if it’s still there on the way back.’
‘It might not be. I really love it.’
‘But we’ve not even looked at any book stalls yet. All the good books will be sold if we don’t get a move on,’ Elsie says, beginning to walk away.
Grace sighs and places the necklace down reluctantly, before continuing to meander through the fair. Just as they reach the first book stall, Elsie looks around absently. ‘Need the loo,’ she explains. She flits off into the maze of people and Grace pushes her way to the front of the stall, picking up an old Bunty annual and leafing through it with the children’s corner at Ash Books in mind.
Just as Grace is scanning over a comic strip called The Four Marys, wondering how she might do some kind of black and red themed display to match the colours of the drawings, Elsie reappears, her face unusually bright and hopeful.
‘That was quick,’ Grace murmurs, looking up briefly from the annual.
‘Here,’ Elsie says, pushing a paper bag into her sister’s hand. The bag is pretty: pale pink with white polka dots. Grace puts the book down and opens the bag.
‘Oh, Elsie!’
Inside is the necklace.
A rush of dizzy pleasure blooms inside Grace. ‘I don’t know what to say!’
‘You don’t have to say anything,’ Elsie replies, her face flushed, her stance awkward.
‘Thank you so much. That was a really amazing thing to do. Put it on for me, will you?’
And so, as tutting people try to pass them, and the clouds shift above them, casting a moment of bright light down through the skylit ceiling, Elsie moves closer to Grace. Grace feels Elsie twist her hair up from her neck and feels her twin’s cool fingers against her skin. She feels the weight of the aqua stones, the cold silver clasps jagged on her bare collarbone, and a rush of hope and promise beams through her, bright as the momentary sun.
Chapter Thirty Two
Louisa, 1994
‘Where’s Elsie?’ Louisa asked Grace as she lugged several carrier bags of food into the house. It was the Christmas holidays, and Louisa had gone to the supermarket early to buy a turkey and pretzels and peanuts and all those other things that Christmas expected of you. She had bought Elsie and Grace a magazine each: Shout! for Grace, and Smash Hits! for Elsie. She wondered if they’d swap and read each other’s when they’d finished with them. She hoped so.
Grace flipped her hair over her shoulder. It was getting long, and seemed to get shinier each year. Louisa’s own hair was beginning to become threaded with silver, but as long as Grace’s hair stayed as shiny as this, Louisa didn’t care quite as much about her own.
‘She’s gone to Mags’s house.’
Louisa dropped the bags to the floor and winced as a glass bottle clanged against the floorboards. It will have been her brandy. She hoped the bottle hadn’t cracked.
‘She didn’t mention to me that she was spending the evening with Mags. When’s she back?’
Grace bent to pick some bags up and took them through to the kitchen.
‘Tomorrow. She’s staying over.’
‘She’s what?’
‘Sleeping there. Did you get marshmallows?’
‘But why? I know she’s been getting on well with Mags, but why does she have to sleep there? Why can’t she sleep here?’
Grace shrugged as she poked and prodded her way through the shopping bags.
‘Dunno. Suppose she doesn’t want to. She said something about Mags doing face masks and putting Dirty Dancing on.’
Louisa felt a flutter of apprehension and thought again of the brandy in the bag on the floor. She picked it out of the bag. It hadn’t broken. She snapped the lid off and took a small sip.
‘Mum!’ Grace cried, horrified.
‘What? It’s Christmas! I just wanted to check that it was okay for making the pudding.’
‘It’s no wonder Elsie’s run off to Mags,’ Grace said as she pushed past Louisa to leave the kitchen.
‘Grace! Come here. I’m sorry. The marshmallows are here. And look, I got you Shout! magazine.’
Grace stared at her mother for a moment, and Louisa noticed for the first time that day that her daughter’s eyes were fringed with a light, hesitant coat of mascara. How long had Grace been wearing make-up? Louisa had no idea. She wanted to ask, but instead she waved the magazines about.
‘I got you both one. Elsie can read hers tomorrow, I suppose.’
Grace’s eyes fell to the magazines in Louisa’s hands.
‘We’ve already read those ones.’ She snatched the marshmallows from Louisa’s hand and stomped upstairs.
The rain came down heavily that night. Louisa sat in front of the fire with her brandy, unable to shake off the look of disgust in Grace’s eyes. Grace had shut herself in her bedroom all afternoon. Louisa had knocked on her bedroom door several times, but Grace had avoided her pleas. Now, Louisa eyed the phone on the wall before standing and picking up the receiver.
Noel answered.
‘Noel, is Elsie there? It’s Louisa.’
Noel was polite and lovely, like he always was. Louisa cocked her head to one side to try and h
ear Elsie’s response to Noel’s coaxing. After a few seconds, Noel was back.
‘She’s a bit busy. She’s making some mince pies with my mum. Can she call you back?’
Louisa let out a small ‘yes’ and gently put the receiver back on its cradle.
It was about an hour later when the phone rang. Louisa jumped up.
‘Elsie?’ she answered, thrilled.
‘No. It’s me.’ The voice was deeper and more mature.
‘Oh,’ Louisa said, slumping against the wall. ‘Hi Mags. How’s Elsie?’
‘She’s fine. She’s just having a bit of time away. She might stay a day or two. I hope that’s okay with you.’
Louisa was silent for a moment. ‘Mags, why doesn’t she want to be at home with me? And with Grace?’ she asked eventually.
Mags’s sigh crackled through the line. ‘I don’t know. She won’t say. But she has mentioned your drinking, Lou. I think she just needs a break. I think she deserves one.’
‘You think she deserves a break from her own mum?’ Louisa felt a wave of unexpected anger towards Mags. She wanted to say so much about how she had talked to Noel all those times when Mags had been too busy gossiping or applying lipstick or rooting in her bag to pay him any attention. How had it come to this?
‘I didn’t say she needed a break from you. She’s fifteen—’
‘I know how old my daughter is,’ Louisa snapped.
‘Look. I don’t want to argue with you, Lou. Elsie obviously needed a change of scenery. I happened to be here. She thinks a lot of Noel, too. So she’s having fun. She’s safe. And you still have Grace. She can have you to herself for once. Is that so bad?’
Grace, upstairs alone in her bedroom with her door shut tightly. Louisa felt sharp tears prick her eyes.
‘I just miss her,’ she said, her voice cracking.
‘I know. Of course. Tell you what, why don’t you come round here on Christmas day? Bring Grace, and we’ll all have dinner together. Noel and I weren’t going to do much. But I’ve got a turkey, so we’ll cook that, and we can play some games and make it a nice day. Yes?’
Louisa agreed, and put the phone down, and it was only after she had put her head back on the sofa and closed her eyes that she remembered she had bought a turkey to cook herself.
Darkness filled the lounge as Louisa sat sipping her brandy, listening to the sound of the steel-grey waves smashing against each other. The more she tried not to listen to it, the more she heard it, until it felt as though the shards of water were crashing against her head. When she could no longer bear the noises of the sea, and the heavy blackness around her, Louisa stood up and clicked on the television and the lamp. The room filled with pale light and sounds and Louisa thought of Grace upstairs and wondered if she had turned her light on too. She eyed the sugary brown liquid sloshing around in her glass. Then she stood, turned and ran up the stairs, tripping on the final step and spilling her drink on the swirling carpet. She ignored the unpleasant soaking of the brandy through her socks and banged on Grace’s bedroom door.
‘Grace! Grace! You have to come out! I need to show you something, and talk to you.’
There was silence for a moment, then a scuffling from behind the door.
‘Grace, please,’ Louisa said, more quietly this time as the effort of the stairs and her trip suddenly washed over her.
The door opened, slowly and narrowly. Grace stood behind it, the mascara blurred around her eyes after a whole day of wear.
‘What?’
‘Come with me,’ Louisa said, clutching at Grace’s arm.
Grace followed her downstairs into the lounge, where Louisa raised her glass to the air before re-filling it.
‘Mum, can’t you do anything without carrying a glass of—’
‘Wait! Watch!’ Louisa interrupted, pulling Grace into the kitchen. She raised her glass again, towards the ceiling where it twinkled in the fluorescent strip light. Then she swooped it down to the sink and poured it away.
‘I’m done. I won’t lose my girls.’
Grace smiled and Louisa’s heart lifted.
‘Do you think Elsie’s very mad with me?’
‘I think she’s a bit mad with you. But she’ll come round. She’s seeming mad with everything lately. So it’s probably not even you.’
‘You’re so honest, Grace. I’m so pleased about that.’
Grace blushed a little, then rolled her eyes. ‘I’ve got some marshmallows left upstairs, if you want some.’
Louisa nodded, ecstatic. ‘I’ll get the toasting forks.’
Louisa turned off the television. They sat listening to the rain and sea and toasting the marshmallows on the fire. The spitting of the flames and pattering of rain and the chewing of gooey, warm pink and white marshmallow filled the room with magic.
Christmas day at Mags’s house was full of creased foil decorations and cheap crackers: bad jokes and plastic nonsense spewing out onto the table. Mags had cooked her turkey with little sausages nestled around its wings and bottom. A Black Forest gateau sat on the wooden kitchen worktop, waiting for the dinner to be over.
When Louisa and Grace arrived, Suzie came to the door to let them in. She had black hair with blonde streaks at the front and wore heavy black boots.
‘Where’s Elsie?’ Grace asked Suzie, beating Louisa to it.
‘She’s upstairs. Good to see you both. Merry Christmas.’
Suzie gave Louisa a hug before returning to the lounge. Noel appeared then, and gave Louisa a hug that made her feel cocooned and safe and happy. He smelled of a festive mix of new shower gel and roast potatoes. Louisa looked up at him.
‘Happy Christmas, Noel. I’m glad you’re here.’
Noel smiled. He had Mags’s wide smile with big teeth. Louisa remembered Noel’s very first tooth. She tried to summon the feeling of Noel as a baby, his bare gums showing a first little spot of brand new white, his light head resting on her shoulder, but before the memory had fully arrived, Noel moved past Louisa to give Grace an awkward Christmas hug and it blew away again like smoke.
‘Where’s Elsie?’ Grace repeated to Noel.
‘She’s upstairs in the shower. I’ll get Mum to go up and see if she’s done.’
‘I’ll go up, if you like,’ Grace said, stumbling past to climb the stairs. Louisa craned her neck to watch her daughter disappear into the upstairs of the house and then turned to Noel.
‘Where’s your mum?’
Mags was in the kitchen, sipping daintily at a tiny glass of sherry and chopping lettuce for the prawn cocktail. She gave a squeal as she saw Louisa and dropped her knife.
‘Happy Christmas!’
‘And to you. How is she?’
‘Elsie? She’s fine. She’s absolutely fine. Here, wash these tomatoes, will you?’
Louisa took the proffered handful of tomatoes and moved over to the sink, which was overflowing with pots and pans and slithers of potato peelings.
‘I’ve really missed her.’
‘If today goes well then she might come home.’
Louisa nodded, feeling positive, as though anything was possible.
‘I hope so.’
‘Wine?’ Mags asked as she twisted a corkscrew into a bottle of red.
Louisa shook her head and looked for a clear surface to deposit the washed tomatoes.
‘No? It’s Christmas! Go on, here you are,’ Mags said, pushing a full glass into Louisa’s hand and taking the tomatoes off her in one skilful movement. ‘Come on, it’s all ready. Let’s shout the kids and sit down at the table. Noel, move the telly into the dining room so we can watch the Queen while we eat. She’s on at two. Noel!’ she hollered as she manoeuvred her way out of the kitchen with a dish of prawns in one hand and the salad in the other.
At the dinner table, Louisa waited for Grace and Elsie to emerge before choosing her seat. They floated into the room together a few minutes later. Elsie glanced tentatively at Louisa before giving a weak smile.
‘Happy Christmas
, Mum.’
Louisa held her arms out to Elsie and was rewarded with a brief half-hug. She sat down and beckoned for Elsie to sit next to her on one side, and Grace on the other. She pushed her wine glass away and saw the twins exchange a glance.
The conversation was subtle and pleasant to begin with. Suzie asked Noel if he liked the Christmas number one in the charts and he said no, causing mock outrage and good-natured lecturing from the twins that lasted well past the starter.
It was during the main dinner when things turned sour, when everybody had pulled crackers and wore gaudy paper hats and the table was littered with plastic treats from the crackers. Mags retrieved her wine glass from amongst the debris and held it into the air, the liquid sloshing over the side a little and dripping down onto her dinner.
‘I want to make a Christmas toast. To family and friends.’
Noel took another piece of turkey. Grace smiled weakly and Elsie looked down at her still knife and fork. Louisa eyed her full wine glass that she had pushed away from her. Suzie chinked her glass against Mags’s.
‘I’ll drink to that, Aunty Mags,’ she said. ‘I wouldn’t have a Christmas dinner if it wasn’t for you lot. Mark’s still in the police, and he pulled the short straw at work so is doing all the long shifts in the cells all over the holidays,’ she explained to Louisa and the twins. ‘But staying with Mum and Dad in Spain with nobody else to talk to would have been painful!’
‘We’re lucky to have you here,’ Mags said. ‘Come on, everyone. Cheers!’
‘Come on, Louisa. I especially want to clink glasses with you!’ Suzie said with a laugh. Louisa smiled nervously.
‘Here you go, Lou. Go on,’ Mags said, passing Louisa her wine and not noticing the confused look on the twins’ faces, or the look of tension on Louisa’s.
‘Why do you want to toast my mum so much?’ Elsie asked, wrinkling her nose.
‘Surely she’s told you,’ Suzie grinned, a stud in her nose twinkling in the weak winter light. But Louisa hadn’t. She hadn’t told the twins about her gift, or how she stayed up at night to try and earn the money to buy all the things they wanted on a whim. She hadn’t told them anything about that day on the beach so long ago, about the blurring sight and the forceful images that made her head burn with terror.
