The Home

by Sarah Stovell

She was right, I knew that. There was no way out of any of this.

  I said, ‘We might as well.’

  She put her arms around me and for a long time, neither of us moved.

  But that night, I lay awake, with Hope sleeping beside me, and I didn’t want to die. I was guilty and ill, and everything about my love for Hope was falling apart, but one day, with time, things could get better. There were ways I could ease my guilt. I could get out of here and live a good life. I could study hard and find a career that helped people. I could give money to charities that supported people with my mother’s kind of illnesses. I could…

  I didn’t need to die.

  Urgently, I shook Hope awake. ‘I can’t do it,’ I said. ‘I don’t want to.’

  ‘What you talking about, Annie?’ Her voice was thick with sleep.

  ‘I don’t want to die,’ I said. ‘I can’t do it.’

  ‘You can,’ she said, and rolled over. Then she added, ‘Lara’s coming with us.’

  71

  Hope

  ‘But you said you would. We agreed. We’ve been talking about it for months now – not always in so many words, but we both knew what we meant.’

  I worked to keep my voice calm. I was trying hard now not to shout at Annie, not to turn into the person who destroyed her with poisonous words.

  ‘I don’t want to die,’ Annie said again. ‘And you don’t have to. There are other solutions.’

  ‘Like what?’ I asked, but she stayed silent. Of course she did. She only had one solution: abort the baby, as if it were that simple; as if by ending the pregnancy, this child would never have happened.

  I said, ‘OK. Then we won’t die.’

  She was right, of course. I didn’t really want to die, not now I had all the promise of a baby and a future. It didn’t matter, really, whether Annie came with me or not. I could make a life with anyone. That’s what they always said in secure. ‘A family is a family. It doesn’t matter what form it takes.’

  She turned to me with hopeful eyes. ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes. Really. You fuck off and live your life. If you won’t come with me, I can run away with Lara. She needs a family. She’ll be grateful for it. She’d love the chance to live with me and help me bring up the baby.’

  She stared at me as if I’d lost my mind. I suppose no one could have blamed her for that. ‘Lara’s twelve, Hope,’ she said. ‘You can’t … you can’t…’ Her voice trailed off in disgust.

  ‘I don’t mean she’ll be my wife, you idiot. I just mean we’ll be two people who need a family, and we’ll have one.’

  ‘And Ace? What will he do to Lara?’

  ‘Nothing. I won’t let him.’

  ‘Until you’re desperate, Hope. Until you’re living in some squalid flat with a crying baby and not enough to eat and no idea where your next meal’s coming from.’

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘It won’t be like that.’

  ‘Of course it will be like that. It can’t be any other way. Lara is a dream for Ace. Twelve years old and unable to tell anyone what he does to her. He’ll jump at the chance to have her on his books, to let middle-aged men…’

  I hated that about Annie. She never thought twice about quashing a dream.

  To Lara, I said, ‘I know we talked about killing ourselves, the three of us together. But I’ve got a better idea…’

  She looked at me with interest, the way she always did now.

  I went on: ‘We all know they’re shutting this place down. I have to go to some shit heap called Norwich, Annie’s going to Edinburgh. I suppose you know where you’re going?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Do you want to go there?’

  She looked vacant.

  ‘Course you don’t. How about you and I run away?’

  I could see she was listening.

  I told her I knew this man, Ace Clarke. I said he was the father of my baby and he was rich and kind and generous. He’d give us a place to live if I agreed to work for him for a while, and in six months, I’d have enough money saved to rent a flat. We could live there, she and I, and she could help me with the baby. I would be like her sister… I watched her as I spoke, and saw the first flicker of interest transform into something more. Her eyes looked bright and hopeful.

  Then all of a sudden, in a voice weak with lack of use, she said, ‘I’d like that.’

  72

  Annie

  It was hard to believe she could be serious about running away with Lara. It was a crazy idea, not one that would ever possibly work. When she was speaking, she reminded me in some ways of my mother. They were both delusional.

  The next day, she came to me and said, ‘Lara’s up for it. We’re going to run away. Ace will give us money.’

  ‘Whatever,’ I said.

  ‘So you’re not coming?’

  ‘No.’

  She fixed her eyes on me and didn’t let the smirk leave her face.

  I need to get away from you.

  I reminded myself there was no evidence. There was nothing at all that linked me with my mother’s death. The coroner had returned a verdict of suicide. It had all been so terribly, shockingly easy…

  Ten days after I’d first had the thought about mixing the sleeping pills into my mother’s food, I did it. I’d been able to think of nothing else all that time. She was still mad, still delivering me slaps across the face, on top of the bruises already there, and I thought, I am never going to be safe here. There was no one for me to tell. I had no family, no friends and no teachers I felt I could ask for help. I was trapped in this house, in my mother’s endless madness.

  She was sitting in the front room as usual, smoking Mayfair and watching a quiz show I’d never seen before.

  I said, ‘Shall I get some dinner?’

  ‘OK.’ She didn’t take her eyes away from the screen.

  ‘I learned how to make spaghetti bolognese in food tech the other day. Shall I do that?’

  ‘Bit fancy, isn’t it?’

  ‘It’s nice, though.’

  ‘Alright.’

  I cooked the pasta and heated a tin of minced beef and onions on the hob. I loaded my own plate first, leaving more than half the can in the saucepan for Caitlin. She needed a big portion of mince to host the pills, disguise the taste, and stop her noticing the powder on her tongue. We didn’t own a pestle and mortar, so I crushed them by piling them on the worktop and rolling a can of baked beans over them. Then I stirred them into the mince and served it to her: her last supper.

  She ate mechanically, as she always did, lifting the fork to her mouth and chewing as if she were barely tasting the food. I watched, and shook and felt sick. I was killing her. I was killing my mother, and although I was nervous, I couldn’t say I was feeling guilty about it.

  The pills took effect quickly, faster than I’d expected. She raised a hand to her head and said, ‘I think I need to go to bed, Annie. This dinner has knocked me out.’ Her words came out more slowly than usual.

  ‘Are you alright?’ I asked.

  She nodded. ‘Fine,’ she said. ‘It must be the Lord…’

  Oh, the bloody Lord.

  ‘OK,’ I said, and she dragged herself up the stairs.

  I sat and watched the television for hours.

  It was the early hours before I took myself upstairs and lay the empty pill packet on the floor beside her bed. I did it quickly, in the dark, without looking at her, but I listened for a while and couldn’t hear her breathing.

  I spent the night drifting in and out of sleep, feeling only emptiness and disconnection from what I’d done. As soon as it was light, I got up and took myself downstairs. Her cigarettes were still on the arm of the sofa. I sat and smoked them, one by one, until they were gone.

  At midday, when she still hadn’t come downstairs, I went up to her room. She was lying quite still beneath the covers. I’d never seen her look so peaceful.

  73

  Hope

  Things at the home dragged on. Annie ha
rdly spoke to me anymore. She slept in her own bed and I slept in mine and, at night, without her, I cried. I missed her, and loved her, but it felt like there was no way back now from this dark place we’d walked into. It was my fault, I knew that, and when I thought about it too much, I felt such deep shame I could hardly bear it. It was easier to hate her than face it.

  Just before Christmas, I met Ace in a café in Windermere. I wore loose jeans and a top, even though my bump was still barely noticeable.

  The midwife had told me some women didn’t show for a long, long time, so to Ace, I was able to say, ‘I had an abortion.’

  ‘When did you do that?’

  I shrugged. ‘A few weeks ago.’

  He leaned over the table and patted my head. ‘Good girl,’ he said. ‘You’ve done the right thing.’

  I was silent for a while, then said, ‘The home is closing down soon. They want to send me to Norwich.’

  ‘Norwich?’

  ‘I don’t want to go.’

  ‘Of course you don’t. It’s bloody miles away.’

  I looked him square in the eye. ‘I want to come back and work for you.’

  His face lit up. ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes, really.’

  ‘That’s excellent, Hope. Really excellent. You can have your old flat back, if you like.’

  I smiled. ‘Thanks. I’d appreciate that. It would only be for a while. I want my own place when I’m sixteen.’

  ‘Sure. I’ll help you.’

  ‘And I want to bring my friend with me. Lara.’

  He leaned back in his chair. ‘Lara,’ he repeated, as if he were trying out the name on his tongue.

  ‘Yes. I want her to live in the flat with me.’

  ‘Is this the girl you said I was never to meet?’

  I nodded.

  ‘And how old is Lara?’

  ‘She’s twelve, Ace. She’s had a bad life. She needs looking after.’

  ‘You know I’ll look after her.’

  ‘But you’re not to touch her, Ace. She’s a child. If you touch her, I’ll do you in.’

  He chuckled.

  I said, ‘We’d like to come as soon as possible.’

  ‘Of course, sweetheart. Tell Lara not to worry. I’ll take care of everything. If she needs clothes, I’ll buy them. If she needs money, I’ll give it to her.’

  I nodded. ‘But you’re not to touch her, Ace,’ I said again.

  74

  Annie

  I listened outside Lara’s door, to the sound of Hope going on about her insane plans. ‘I’ve met with Ace,’ she was saying, ‘and he’s agreed to give us a flat. He’ll pick us up and drive us there. It’ll have to be after six because it needs to be dark so no one will see us. I suggested he pick us up from the church in Meddleswater. We can wait inside so if he’s late we won’t be too cold. Don’t pack too many things. We’ll have to walk there. It’s not far, but you don’t want to be weighed down with bags. Don’t worry, he’ll give us money for new clothes when we get there.’

  I felt her words like a kick to the stomach. How could she use the church – our church – as a place for all this seediness? That’s what it was. Seedy. There was no other word for it.

  The door opened and she stepped into the hallway. ‘Were you listening?’ she said, as soon as she saw me.

  ‘You’re insane, Hope. Absolutely insane.’

  ‘So says you.’

  She walked past me to her room. I followed her and shut the door.

  ‘Fuck off,’ she said.

  ‘No, I won’t fuck off. What are you playing at, Hope? You can’t take Lara to live with that man. It’s dangerous. It’s … it’s wrong. It’s completely wrong.’

  ‘No, it’s not.’

  ‘Has he agreed to you keeping the baby?’

  ‘I’ve had an abortion, like you wanted.’

  ‘Bullshit.’

  ‘I have.’

  This was a lie, such an obvious one I didn’t know why she was bothering to tell it. ‘Is that what you’ve told Ace?’

  ‘Yes. And it’s true.’

  ‘It’s not true. And he’ll find out. How do you think you’re going to live in his house and hide a pregnancy? It’s dangerous. You know what that man is. He can hurt you. I’m going to tell Helen. I won’t let you do this.’

  Her face took on a look I’d never seen before – fierce and so full of hatred, I wanted to cry. ‘If you do,’ she said, ‘you know what will happen. You’ll be banged up for your mother’s murder. I mean it, Annie. I’ll fuck your life up. I know how.’

  I looked at her smirking at me and, for the first time, I felt truly afraid of her, as if I were trapped in a world where I either did what she said, or she would ruin me.

  ‘You wouldn’t.’

  ‘I would. I can tell Helen. She’ll tell the police. She’ll have to. It’s her…’ she floundered, trying to think of the right words, ‘…moral responsibility,’ she finished, looking triumphant.

  ‘You won’t.’

  ‘Watch me,’ she said.

  75

  Hope

  I couldn’t believe it. After all this time, she’d started speaking – just a little at first, just single words and short sentences, but slowly, and as long as she knew no one else could hear her, she began to talk more and more. Mostly, she whispered. ‘I want to live with you and the baby,’ she said, and I could tell she was excited.

  ‘You will, Lara,’ I promised her. ‘You will. We’ll be just like a normal family. Well, maybe not a normal family exactly, but a good one.’

  She smiled and curled up beside me on the bed. ‘Don’t tell anyone,’ she said.

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘I mean don’t tell anyone I can speak. I didn’t even know I could.’

  ‘I won’t say anything,’ I promised.

  I felt proud of her, as if she were my child.

  76

  Annie

  I wasn’t sure how serious she was. Would she tell the police? There was no way of knowing. All I knew was that the Hope I loved had gone and there seemed to be no way of getting her back.

  If she did tell the police, what could they do? I reminded myself again that there was no evidence to connect me with my mother’s death. None at all. But I’d seen those programmes on TV where the police bullied people into confessions. I wondered if they’d try that on me, and shuddered at the thought. So I said nothing to Helen about Hope’s plan, even though I wanted to, even though every instinct was telling me it was the only thing I could do. She needed to be stopped, and Helen could do it so much more easily than me.

  But I was afraid.

  I knew they were planning to leave on Christmas Eve. I don’t know why they chose that, of all days. Maybe it was because Hope hated Christmas. She didn’t want to be reminded of it, of being away from her mum and stuck in a home with people who only cared because they were paid to.

  In the afternoon, around three, she came into my room. ‘I wanted to say goodbye,’ she said.

  ‘You’re definitely going?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And you’re definitely taking Lara?’

  She nodded.

  I sighed. ‘Well … Good luck.’

  Suddenly, viciously, she said, ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘It just means … I hope it works out the way you want it to.’

  ‘Fuck you. You don’t hope that at all. You want it to go wrong. You always have done. You never wanted me to have this baby. You wanted me to kill it from the very beginning.’

  I couldn’t be sure, but I wondered whether she’d been drinking. If she’d seen Ace recently, he could easily have given her booze to bring back to the home with her.

  I said, ‘Please, Hope…’

  She disappeared for a minute. When she came back, she had a kitchen knife in her hand. I’d seen it before. It was the one she kept wrapped in a T-shirt beside her bed. For a split second, I thought she was going to kill me with it, but instead, she hel
d out her arm and ran the blade across it.

  ‘Is this what you want, Annie?’ she said. ‘To see me bleed?’

  ‘Please, Hope…’ I said again. ‘Please…’

  She dug the knife into her skin and brought blood to the surface. ‘Like this?’ she asked. ‘Or more than this? Probably more. More like this.’

  The blade went in further. A few drops of blood fell to the floor. She pulled the knife away and revealed a deep gash. There was more blood now, all over the carpet.

  ‘Hope, stop it. You don’t want to be doing this.’

  She lifted her top and revealed the tiny bump of her baby. ‘What do you want me to do, Annie? Shall I cut it out of me? Leave it here for you as a little gift?’

  I started to cry. She laughed, and tossed the knife on the floor.

  Then she went.

  77

  Hope

  It was just before six when we set out. I tried to find Annie to say goodbye again, but she was nowhere to be found. Fuck her, I thought.

  I told Lara to wait and went downstairs to the office. Helen was on leave now. She wanted to spend Christmas at home with her own kids. The ones she really cared about, not the ones she’d been dumped with.

  I knocked on the door. ‘Come in,’ said a bright, cheerful voice. Danny.

  I opened the door and stepped inside. ‘Dan, can I have a word?’

  He swivelled his chair round to face me. ‘Sure.’

  ‘There’s something that’s been really bothering me. I haven’t known what to do about it and I’ve felt really torn, but now I think I just need to do the right thing.’

  His expression became serious. ‘Go on,’ he said.

  ‘There isn’t an easy way to say it, so I’ll just say it.’

  ‘OK.’

  He sat calmly, ready to listen.