In Her Wake

by Amanda Jennings

  ‘Got any kids?’ Dawn’s voice takes me by surprise.

  I stare at her as I process the question, but she doesn’t look at me.

  ‘I just wondered. You’re married, so I thought you might have kids.’

  ‘How do you know I’m married?’

  Dawn gestured towards my left hand. I look down and see my ring, telling tales with its shining gold. ‘No,’ I say, my stomach knotting. ‘We don’t have children.’

  ‘How come?’

  ‘It wasn’t the right time.’

  ‘Because of your job?’

  ‘My job?’

  ‘Your career. Not the right time because of that, I guess.’

  ‘Let’s say I’m not one of the lucky ones.’

  ‘Lucky?’

  ‘We’ve been trying. It’s just not happened. Children are a gift, aren’t they?’ David’s words echo around my head.

  Dawn purses her lips and then pours a cup over Alice’s hair, stroking the water away from her eyes. ‘How come your husband isn’t here with you?’

  ‘I needed some space.’

  ‘He didn’t take it too well?’

  ‘I didn’t tell him.’

  And then I notice Alice is peacefully rocking.

  ‘She loves her baths.’ Dawn takes a flannel and carefully wipes around my mother’s face then between her legs without a flinch. ‘I remember her taking a bath with you, when you were a newborn. She told me warm water was good for relaxing babies. I’d sit like this on the floor and watch her in the water with you. You were tiny.’

  As the woman in the bath gently sways back and forth, I can’t help but wonder if it’s her lost baby she’s rocking. If it’s me.

  ‘Is she ever … normal?’

  ‘Well, she doesn’t skip around the house looking for her trainers to go for a run, if that’s what you mean.’

  I lower my eyes.

  ‘She’s been ill for years. What you see is normal.’

  ‘What’s wrong with her?’

  ‘The doctors said her mutism is a form of psychosis, and it happened because of depression, they said. She withdrew slowly, gradually got quieter and quieter. Then one day she stopped talking altogether.’

  ‘Why isn’t she in a hospital?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘A hospital. Would she not be better in a hospital?’

  ‘No. Of course she wouldn’t. I don’t want her anywhere near one of those places. She doesn’t need anybody else to look after her.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘But nothing. She doesn’t need a hospital because she has me. OK?’ Dawn is staring at me, her eyes hard, angry even, her hand clenched into a tight fist around the flannel. ‘She has me.’

  TWENTY-SIX

  Alice is back in her dressing gown. I have been sitting with her for a while, not talking to her, just being still, absorbing. But soon my mind is overrun with questions and continuing to sit in silence isn’t possible.

  Dawn is in the kitchen washing up the saucepan.

  I pull out a chair and sit at the table. ‘Where is Mark? Will he be back later?’

  Dawn stops washing the pan and freezes for a moment or two before starting to scrub, hard and fast, at the pan again.

  ‘Dawn?’

  She places the pan in the sink of water and turns to face me. ‘He left. Soon after she got ill.’

  ‘Oh.’ I wait for her to say something more, but nothing comes. ‘I think he should be told I’m alive. Do you have details for him?’

  ‘He didn’t leave any.’

  ‘None?’

  ‘No.’

  I open my mouth to speak, but she jumps in before I have the chance.

  ‘I don’t talk about him.’

  She turns back to the sink, takes the pan out of the water and begins to dry it.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she says. ‘I didn’t mean to snap. I don’t … talk about him, that’s all.’

  Dawn wipes her hand across her face and furiously continues drying the pan, which must surely be already dry. ‘I’m finding this hard. I can’t get my head around it at all. I’m sorry.’

  ‘I should have sent a letter first. Explained things. Let you get used to the idea.’

  ‘I wouldn’t have read it.’

  I briefly think back to Henry Campbell’s letter. I see it in my hand and imagine myself not reading it. Instead I hold it by its corner, unopened. In my other hand is a lit match, which I use to light the envelope. I watch the flame burn and then die to a smouldering line, which eats his unread words, leaving nothing but ash, which takes off into the air like spider silk, leaving me in contented ignorance.

  ‘Maybe you should tell me about yourself,’ she says softly.

  So we sit at the small kitchen table and I tell her the basic facts, how I’d been home-schooled, about the succession of longhaired grey cats, what I’d studied at university, that sort of thing.

  ‘Which university?’

  ‘Surrey.’

  ‘I’ve not heard of anybody that went to university,’ she says. ‘You must be clever.’

  ‘I worked hard.’ I hadn’t even thought of university until I’d overheard Henry and Elaine arguing about it. Elaine was shouting, but it was unusual because normally, when she got into one of her states, Henry would back down, and quickly placate her with calming words. This time his voice was raised too. Intrigued, I laid my book down and crept onto the landing so I could hear better.

  ‘No, absolutely not. I won’t hear of it! She. Stays. Here!’

  ‘It’s not fair on her, Elaine. You can’t keep her locked in this house forever. Give the girl a chance. She’s bright. She works hard. Her results were exceptional. She deserves to go university.’

  ‘But what if they find her?’

  The monsters, I had thought. She doesn’t want the monsters to find me.

  ‘Then so be it! But, damn it, if I do one thing right in my life it will be this. She needs a future.’

  ‘She has a future! Here. With me!’ Elaine’s voice had grown hysterical.

  ‘What kind of bloody future is that? Set her free, Elaine. For God’s sake set her free!’ He shouted so loudly I jumped. Then the kitchen door slammed and Elaine screamed as if she’d lost her mind, so I quietly crept back into my room, my stomach fluttering with excitement as I thought about what it might be like to pack my bags for somewhere new.

  ‘Is that where you met your husband?’ Dawn asks.

  I nod.

  ‘In the same lessons?’

  ‘He was my tutor.’

  ‘Your teacher?’

  I don’t say anything.

  ‘How old is he?’ she asks, not making any effort to disguise her shock.

  ‘Forty-six.’

  ‘Forty-six!’ The look on her face is similar to the one on Elaine’s after I told her about David, who she seemed to think was some sort of child molester, loitering in the bushes like a wolf hunting lambs.

  ‘He wasn’t forty-six when we met and, anyway, he looks younger.’

  ‘Why did you marry him?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘He’s rich, right?’

  I stare at her; how dare she make assumptions like that? She hasn’t even met him. ‘I loved him. I still love him.’

  ‘Not enough to tell him what was in the letter.’

  I open my mouth to reply but stop myself. After all, I hadn’t told him, had I? I’d kept it from him, walked out on him, dumped my mobile, and him with it, in the bin. And thinking about him now, I don’t ache for him, and I should, shouldn’t I? I must have loved him at the beginning, but all I can recall is the moment he took a small box out of his inside jacket pocket and opened it to reveal an emerald ring.

  ‘It matches your eyes,’ he said, and then, ‘Marry me.’

  ‘I don’t want to talk about it,’ I say. ‘So how about you? Do you work?’

  Dawn gives a burst of laughter. ‘You mean on top of looking after my helpless mother 24/7?’ She sits back in her chair and
folds her arms. ‘No, I don’t work. I just do this.’

  ‘I didn’t mean … what you do … is incredible. I’m sorry … if it sounded like … It really—’ I stop myself mid-sentence as I can see she’s not interested in hearing what I did or didn’t mean. ‘You know, I think it’s time I got going. We’re both … exhausted.’

  ‘You’ll come tomorrow?’ she asks.

  ‘If that’s OK.’

  And then I stand up and leave this girl, my flesh and blood, a stranger, sitting at the table. This place, these people, belong in a parallel universe of which I have no understanding, a world into which I’ve been unwittingly thrown. And I’m stuck here. This isn’t a storybook. There are no ruby slippers, no enchanted wardrobes, no ships to take me home.

  I’m stuck and there’s no way back.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  I walk down the hill into St Ives and pass a supermarket. It’s still open and I go inside to get something to eat. I choose a sandwich and a packet of crisps and then pass a display of mobile phones. I hesitate, then pick up a simple, inexpensive pay-as-you-go model. As I queue for the till, Dawn’s voice rings in my ears.

  And you never suspected a thing?

  I think about the bolts, the absence of baby photos, the knocks on the door that sent her loopy…

  ‘Go to your room,’ she said. Her voice had that hard edge that told me she was serious.

  My heart pounded as I leapt two stairs at a time. But I didn’t go to my room. I crouched at the top and peered through the banister. I watched her check the spyhole in the front door and saw her flap one hand while resting the back of the other against her forehead. She stepped away from the door and I caught a glimpse of her panicked face.

  ‘Henry,’ she whispered with an urgency that scared me. She took a few steps towards his study. There was another loud knock on the door. Henry’s study door opened. ‘It’s the police, Henry. Oh Christ, the police.’

  Henry and Elaine came into sight again. She was walking behind him, her whole body was shaking, small whimpers coming out of her like an injured animal. He turned and grabbed her by the shoulders, shook her so roughly I thought her head might fall off. ‘For God’s sake, get in the kitchen,’ he growled.

  She stayed glued to the spot. There was another loud knock at the door.

  ‘Elaine, get in the bloody kitchen!’

  I held my breath and gripped the banister as he slid the locks and opened the door. My heart pumped and a cold sweat spread. Two policemen stood on the doorstep, dark uniforms, hats pulled so low that from where I was seated I couldn’t see their faces. Terrified, I let go of the banister and ran to my room, leapt into bed and pulled the covers over my head.

  A while later I tentatively climbed out and peered down at the front door from the top of the stairs. It was closed and there was nobody in the hall. Elaine and Henry were talking in the kitchen. I crept down to join them. Elaine was clutching a cup of tea, her body rigid.

  ‘—break-in at The Gables. I told you, they were only asking if we’d seen or heard anything. You’ve got to get a grip, Elaine. You’ve got to—’ He stopped when he noticed me standing in the doorway.

  Elaine turned and as soon as she saw me, a wide smile broke over her anxious face. ‘Oh, sweetheart, what can I get you? Milk? A glass of water? How about we open a packet of chocolate biscuits? What a silly thing I am. Don’t look so worried. Everything’s alright. Come here, baby. Come and give me a hug, will you? Don’t worry. It’s just monsters stealing from The Gables. We’re safe here. Have a biscuit.’

  There were signs. How did I miss the signs?

  It’s around seven-thirty when I get back to the hostel. The girl with the purple streaks is idly flicking through a magazine. She glances up and gives me a muted greeting.

  When I get into my room, I plug the mobile in to charge then collapse back on my bed and peel open the sandwich. I take a few bites but very soon my eyelids are too heavy to keep open.

  I am standing at the foot of the stairs that lead up to the attic. I listen hard because I am sure I can hear music coming from the other side of the door. It’s soft and tinkly and makes me feel a lot less scared. I take a tentative step. I wait and listen for a moment. I can still hear the music. I take another step. One foot after the other, I push myself upwards into the shadow, holding my breath as I climb, drawn by the music. If she finds me on these stairs she will shout and get that crazy-mad look in her eye. I am not allowed here. It’s dangerous. But I climb anyway because I can feel the warmth of the music from behind the sealed door. I reach the top. My heart thumps against my ribs like a caged animal pounding its bars. It’s pitch black. So dark I can’t see my own hand as I slowly reach out to turn the door handle. The handle is cold and smooth; when I touch it I imagine someone is behind me and I flood with fresh terror. The door creaks as it opens and the music suddenly stops. My legs buckle. Don’t go in! I hear a voice shout from somewhere far away. In the room behind the door is a wood. Trees and leaves and moss surround me. Sunlight leaks though the branches, lighting up the carpet of leaves on the floor in patches. I look up. There’s no ceiling. No roof. Just towering trees and blue sky and a multitude of seagulls circling miles above.

  Are they seagulls?

  I squint hard to see better and now I think they might be angels. I look down again and then see a figure up ahead. The person is lying down and doesn’t move. When I get close enough I see the figure is a woman. I think she might be dead. I bend to see if she is breathing, but there’s no movement, no breath on my face. Then, startling me slightly, she opens her eyes. She smiles and when she does I recognise her immediately and I laugh with joy because I’ve found her. I’ve been searching for her all this time and at last I’ve found her. I’ve found my sister.

  I’ve found Dawn.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  I wake still dressed, lying on top of my bedcovers, with the half-eaten sandwich beside me on the bed. My mind is thick and it takes me a while to remember where I am.

  I glance bleary-eyed at my alarm clock. It’s a few minutes past eight in the morning. I have been asleep for over twelve hours. I can’t believe it; I haven’t slept like that in what feels like months, deep and heavy, no stirring. Like the dead, Elaine used to say.

  I wash and dress in fresh clothes and then head down to a café on the harbour I recall passing yesterday for some breakfast. When I get there, the owner is opening up, taking chairs off tables and wiping each one with a cloth as he does.

  ‘Are you serving yet?’

  ‘Give us a sec, love.’ I’m not great at guessing accents, but if I had to, I’d say he was from one of the northern cities, Manchester or possibly Liverpool.

  I cross the road to sit on the low stone wall overlooking the harbour.

  There is something strangely reassuring about the sight of the same boats stranded on the beach once again. They even seem to be leaning the same way as they did yesterday, their colours reflecting a little in the sand, which shines silver in the morning sunlight. Sea birds hop between them, poking about for buried crabs and worms, while a couple of men fish the open waters beyond the harbour wall, rods cast out as they perch on tiny stools.

  ‘Hello? Miss?’ calls the café owner from behind me. I turn around and lift a hand to him then climb off the wall.

  ‘What can I get for you?’ he says as I near him.

  ‘A coffee, please.’

  ‘Plain or fancy? I do a pretty special cappuccino.’ He lifts his eyebrows and grins.

  I smile back at him, liking him instantly, which is unusual for me. ‘A cappuccino sounds great.’

  He looks out over the sea. ‘Today’s a beauty, isn’t she?’ he says. Followed by, ‘Holleck ooey.’ At least I think that’s what he said.

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘How li eck hoo hee. Hoo hee. Though it’s spelt why, vee.’

  I can’t help a small laugh escaping from my lips as I shrug slightly. ‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘I don’t know…’


  ‘How. Li. Eck. Hoo hee,’ he says again, slowly, his mouth making exaggerated shapes around the sounds. ‘It. Is. Sunny. It’s Cornish. I’m learning.’ He lifts his eyebrows and smiles again.

  ‘Oh,’ I say. ‘I didn’t even know they had a language.’

  ‘Aye,’ he says, nodding gravely. ‘They do. I’m doing bits and bobs and the weather first, but soon I’ll start on food.’ He nods backwards, towards the café. ‘Makes sense with me running this place. Now,’ he says as he ties his apron strings behind his back. ‘One of my extra special cappuccinos coming up.’

  I watch him make my coffee or, more accurately, craft it. Working the stainless-steel coffee machine with care and then pouring the hot milk slowly before shaking down a thick layer of frothy foam and artfully grating some fresh Cadbury’s chocolate onto the top of it.

  ‘You here on your holidays?’ he says as he slides it across the counter to me.

  I shake my head.

  ‘Local? I’ve not seen you before.’

  ‘Work.’

  ‘How long are you staying?’

  I dip a finger into the foam and lick it off as I consider his question. How long will I be here? My money won’t last forever and it’s difficult to know what my next move will be. After all, how long does it take to get to know a sister and a mother?

  ‘I don’t know,’ I say. ‘As long as I need.’

  ‘In that case, I’m Phil.’

  ‘I’m…’ I hesitate for a second or two. ‘Tori.’

  ‘Well, Tori, marplegged to meet you.’ He grins at my blank face. ‘Marpleg. It means please. Pleased to meet you, marplegged to meet you. I think if you use good grammar it’s something else, but it’ll be marplegged to meet you until someone tells me better.’

  ‘Marplegged to meet you too.’

  ‘Ah, nice one, love.’

  I grab three sachets of sugar from the counter and stir them into my coffee. Then take it outside to one of the silver tables on the narrow terrace at the front of the café.