CHAPTER SEVEN
ELLA
I was desperate now to tear into the past, as if the faster I ripped off the makeshift plaster inside of me, the faster the wound would heal. I sighed, realising the logical person to talk to was Carolyn. She was the only one I could remember in our lives back then, and she’d known my mum better than anyone. She’d be more than happy to talk to me now about my mother; she’d been trying in vain for ages, often inserting little titbits about her in our daily conversation. I’d tune her out or interrupt, willing her to stop talking. Not that she ever got the message. You couldn’t will Carolyn to do anything.
Would she ask why I wanted to know about my mother now? I wondered. After all, I’d put her off for years, always slamming the door closed with every attempt. I swallowed. No way would I tell her about the advert I’d seen or how much it had unsettled me. I didn’t want her to know that, somewhere deep inside, some part of my subconscious still smarted from what my mother had done.
I could barely believe it myself.
I made it through the day at work, hurried home to feed Dolby, then threw on my jacket. Dolby looked up at me with an enquiring gaze. It wasn’t often I went out in the evening . . . actually, it wasn’t ever. I spent the whole day avoiding people at work, so why would I voluntarily meet up with them after hours?
‘Just going out for a minute or two,’ I said, scratching her behind her ears. ‘Won’t be long.’
The soft summer sun had given way to fog, and I hurried along the promenade with my chin tucked down against the wind. A few minutes later, I was standing outside Carolyn and Rob’s, staring up at the brilliant white facade that was dazzling, even in the dim light. At huge expense, they had it painted every three years or so; Rob hated any bit of potential peel. The house was their baby – they had rescued it from demolition after it had fallen into a state with squatters, who’d almost burned it down at one point. With Carolyn a newly qualified teacher and Rob only just starting out as an engineer, they’d bought it for hardly anything and spent the next ten years making it into the home it was today.
Not that I’d ever considered it my home. After almost fifteen years here, right up until I got my job at the museum and had saved enough money for a deposit on my studio, it still didn’t feel like that. This house would only ever be the place where my life had changed. It was here that, after years and years, I’d finally accepted Mum wasn’t coming back.
It was here that I lost a mother, and here where I was no longer a daughter.
But that first morning . . . oh, how sure I was that my mother would never leave me. It never crossed my mind that she didn’t mean the words she uttered every night. Memories tugged at my brain now, and for the first time, I didn’t stop them. I urged them forward, welcoming them into me.
I’d known my mother was gone the second I opened my eyes. Everything was unfamiliar, from the scent of frying bacon (made Mum ill) to the radio blaring BBC4 (gave Mum headaches). I could hear the clanking of plates and Carolyn’s cheerful yet tuneless humming, and for a second – a second I’m so ashamed of now, yet at the time I had no idea of its true significance – I wished this could be my reality: that Carolyn was my mother and every morning started this way, instead of the heavy silence pierced only by my mum’s snores.
But that morning there were no snores, and I was happy. That meant my mother was up and about, and I wouldn’t have to creep into her room and try to wake her up . . . though for what, I didn’t know, since her piano students had long since stopped coming for lessons. That morning, there’d be a hot breakfast on the table and I could fill my tummy until bursting, and Carolyn would still urge me to eat. I’d slid from the covers, grinning.
What had happened next? I strained to remember, but for a morning that had blown my world to bits, everything seemed fuzzy. I recall Carolyn asking where my mother was, and me saying I didn’t know before tucking into the breakfast – funnily enough, I remember the toast was black on one side; Carolyn didn’t know our toaster liked to ‘keep us on our toes’, as Mum always said.
And then the hours are a blur of Carolyn ringing round – although I couldn’t imagine who she was calling, because it’s not like we knew anyone. I remember night falling and Carolyn taking me to their house in the car, me only too happy to sit in front of the telly we didn’t have at our place. It was only at bedtime when it really started to hit me: Mum wasn’t here. She’d promised she’d always be with me! Where was she?
I remembered asking Carolyn that question over and over. In all of my five years, my mother had never not been there. Carolyn responded that she wasn’t sure, but my mum must have had something important to do and would probably be back in the morning. At last, my eyes grew heavy and I slept.
I woke up on the soft, downy mattress at Carolyn and Rob’s house. Voices drifted up from the kitchen, and I raced down the stairs in my pyjamas, which Carolyn had brought over from home. I couldn’t wait to see my mum and hear her stories of where she’d been. When she was in a good mood, Mum had a way of making even the most mundane event sound like the funniest and most exciting thing in the world.
I’d rounded the corner into the kitchen, my bare feet skidding on the unfamiliar polished tiles. I froze at the sight of two policemen sitting at the table with Carolyn and Rob. What were they doing here? But before my five-year-old brain could begin to even conjure up answers, my gaze fell on the clear plastic bag on the table in front of them. In that bag were things I recognised: the cardigan full of holes that Mum always wore, her gold hoop earrings, the butterfly bracelet I’d broken once and Mum had managed to fix . . .
What were all those things – those pieces of my mother – doing there, in that bag?
Where was she?
Carolyn took me by the hand and led me the lounge – one of them, anyway, the one they called the sun-room. She sat me in a wicker chair and told me I’d be staying with them for the next little while. I’d shaken my head, saying I had to get home. Mum would be wondering where I was. If she wasn’t here, she’d be waiting there – waiting for me to crawl into her bed, to hear those ten words and say them back again.
I slid from the chair and opened the door. Carolyn tried to grasp me, but I was too quick for her to catch hold. Forgetting I was only wearing my nightclothes with nothing on my feet, I slipped out the door and into the fresh morning air. The sky was a heavy grey, and as I streaked across the manicured lawn dew coated my bare feet. On the beach in front of me, I could see police officers sifting through the rocks and chatting to people with dogs, usually the only ones out so early. A boat was moving back and forth, back and forth, people on board prodding at the water as if looking for something they’d lost.
‘Ella.’ Carolyn had touched my arm, and I’d jumped. For a second, I’d forgotten where I was. ‘Come back inside.’
‘What are they doing?’ I remember asking. ‘What are they looking for?’
‘Come inside.’ Her voice had sounded unfamiliar then, miles from the usual cheery tones I’d been used to. Even though I’d been intent on going home, a little voice in my head had urged me to follow her. Her feet had been bare, too, and they couldn’t have been more different from my mum’s slender, delicate ones. The door closed behind us, and although questions bubbled up in my brain, I couldn’t get them out to ask. Somehow, I knew those policemen on the beach were connected to my mother, but I didn’t know why. I couldn’t put it together.