13

Paul wasn’t at home, but his mother, Dawn let me in. She was as round as she ever was, but her hair held flashes of grey, and her mouth was turned down at the corners, giving her a slightly sour expression which was at odds with my memories of her. Although she had never quite forgotten I’d almost blinded her son, she was always polite, as if her son’s ability to forgive me trumped her need to harbour any resentment.

‘I suppose you should come in, John,’ Dawn said, but she held on to the door frame, her arm barring my entry. Then she took a step back as if she’d just reminded herself this was not her home. ‘Paul and his wife pay me to clean once a week. But I think they just want to keep me busy.’ She tutted. ‘Come in. Sit down and I’ll put the kettle on.’

I followed her into the living room.

‘Laura’s on an evening shift, but Paul should be home anytime.’ She watched as I took a seat on the sofa. ‘It’s tea you prefer, isn’t it?’

She returned moments later holding a mug of weak tea.

‘What brings you here? How’s your mum?’

‘She’s been better,’ I replied as I took the drink from her.

‘You just never know the minute, do you?’ she said. ‘A massive stroke?’ she asked.

I nodded.

‘Just awful,’ she crossed her arms. ‘She won’t take well to that, eh?’ It was more of a statement than a question. ‘Your mum always liked getting glammed up. How’s she going to cope without managing to do all that?’

This felt like a strange thing to say in the circumstances. Being able to make herself look presentable was the least of her worries. But then I always had a sense that Dawn didn’t quite approve of my mother. Wondering where that came from, I asked, ‘Do you remember much about when Mum and Dad moved into the village?’

She looked at me with a questioning look. ‘Vaguely,’ she replied. ‘Your mum always struck me as a bit of a wild child. Bit of a maneater.’ She coloured at that, as if worried she’d gone too far.

‘Really?’ I asked with a smile. ‘You sure you’re talking about my mother?’

This seemed to make her relax. ‘To my shame I was a wee bit judgemental where your mother was concerned. Jealous, to be honest. She was a stunner, and didn’t hide it. Low tops, long legs. Paul and his dad’s eyes were always out on stalks whenever she appeared. The village was always full of gossip where your mother was concerned.’

‘Like what?’

‘Nobody blamed her, really. It was no secret your dad liked a drink. And…’ her gaze was unclear for a moment ‘…she used to have those episodes, didn’t she?’

‘Sorry?’

‘Paul told me at the time that she used to take to her bed for days. That you’d all be whispering around her till she got better.’

At her words I had a flash of something: Mum fully clothed, on her bed, on her side, knees pulled up to her chest, lying with her back to me. The gloom of the room pierced by a thin, bright strip of sunlight where the curtains hadn’t been shut properly.

Dad was absent, on a case or something, and Mum was in bed for about two days. We went off to school without any breakfast, but at dinnertime we were weak with hunger, so in desperation I managed to make Chris and me a meal of mashed potato out of a tin with some beans. I’d then gone in to check she was okay and she beckoned me over to her, asking me to get onto the bed.

Once I was there she inched closer, put an arm over me, and placed her face against my head as if she couldn’t get enough of the smell of my hair. I couldn’t move for hours. Every time I tried to get off she would start to cry, and eventually the ache in my bladder was too much to contain so I shouted through to Chris to come and take over.

Then it blew over and she was singing and dancing about the house, cooking elaborate meals, and cleaning the place as if she was preparing for some event.

On another occasion she had Chris and I sit on her bed while she ‘performed a fashion show’. She’d shuck her clothes until she was only in her bra and pants and then jump into one outfit after another. Does my bum look big? Am I showing too much cleavage? Do I suit the red or the purple? Chris and I were clueless and answered yes to everything until she gave up asking. Why couldn’t I have girls, she then complained.

‘You mentioned gossip?’ I asked, amazed how such a memory could appear after all this time.

‘The rumour was that something terrible happened and that’s why they moved away from the big city and into the village. So if she was blowing off steam, who could blame her.’

I perked up. ‘A rumour? Like what?’

She waved a hand dismissively. ‘Just gossip, really. Nothing to it I’m sure, and nobody was ever able to provide any detail. We prefer scandal to finding a truth that’s just a kick above the ordinary, don’t we? Mind you, we didn’t have the interweb in those days or we’d have been straight on there.’ She laughed and made typing motions with her fingers. ‘Trying to work out the truth of it all.’

I wondered at this version of my mother, but then reminded myself about the real reason for visiting Paul and realised it was Dawn I needed to speak to after all.

‘I came across an article in an old newspaper when I was doing some research for a school project – about a young boy that had disappeared,’ I lied, surprised how easily it came to me. ‘His name was Green. Robert Green. I wondered if Paul knew anything about him.’

‘Oh my.’ Her face was long, eyes wide, and she held a hand over her mouth. ‘Good lord, I haven’t thought about that in such a long time. Hard to believe as it was such a wrench in the family.’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘Why did you think of Paul when you came across this name?’

‘I recognised it as your maiden name, and I remembered years ago, Paul talking about an uncle in Lochwinnoch. This boy came from there, apparently.’

‘Paul told you about Lochwinnoch?’ she asked in a quiet voice. She waited for my answer as if holding her breath. There was something important going on here and I couldn’t work out what it was.

‘Yeah, about the bird-watching place and how his uncle used to take him there.’

She nodded slowly. ‘Where did you come across this? What kind of project are you doing with these kids of yours?’

‘It’s about how truth imbues fiction, and how authors often use real-life stories as a jumping off point for their novels.’ I hoped this explanation came across as plausible. For some reason I didn’t want her to know, just yet, that there might be a connection between my family and hers.

She made a face. ‘A bit grim, isn’t it? How old are these children you’re teaching?’

‘Och, they’re a hardy bunch nowadays, teenagers. Much more worldly wise than we ever were.’

‘That poor boy.’ She held a hand to her throat. ‘Robert’s dad was my cousin, or something, and when he disappeared the whole town was in shock. His parents were inconsolable. You know, they never, ever found a body.’

I shuddered.

‘What’s wrong?’ she asked.

‘Nothing,’ I answered with a weak smile, but thinking that she clearly wasn’t aware of what had happened to my brother, Thomas. ‘Does Paul know about this?’

‘No, he was just a baby at the time, and there was no reason to tell him when he grew up.

‘Did the police ever find out what happened to Robert?’

‘They found nothing. As far as I can remember, there were a couple of other disappearances too. But in only one of them was a body found. As far as poor Robert was concerned, no body, no suspects, nothing.’