1951
THE DOORBELL RINGS LATE IN the evening. It’s been three weeks now since Lucy disappeared. Her picture was in the Ludthorpe Leader again on Saturday, and other papers too. The headlines have got more sensational. Appeal for Information: Mayor’s Daughter Missing. Disappearance of Local Schoolgirl Rocks Small Town. Desperate Hunt for Missing Girl Continues. Factory Owner’s Son Questioned over Disappearance of Ludthorpe Schoolgirl. Come Home Lucy, says Distraught Father.
School has finished, and I’ve been spending most days out on my bicycle, cycling like my life depends on it. Everywhere I go I see Lucy. She waits for me on the corner by the postbox, irritated as I cycle on without her. She sits on the bench by the church and stands, smoking a cigarette, outside the town hall, or on the edge of a field, her hair the same colour as the wheat, wearing a blue dress, although I don’t remember her in blue. She always looks serious and watchful, but never as cross as I imagine her to be. Each day I cycle so far and for so long, my legs constantly ache, my muscles throb and I fall into bed at night exhausted and tearful. During the day, there is a constant queasiness in my stomach, a dizziness behind my eyes. Reg barely speaks to me. It’s as if what happened never occurred, as if we didn’t have anything to do with it. I’ve even begun to convince myself that perhaps we didn’t. My mother is picking up more shifts at the grocer’s. Reg has given up on his plans to make my mother a star.
I answer the door to find Barbara Theddle standing on our doorstep. It’s August, a balmy summer evening. She’s wearing a silk blouse, a cardigan over her shoulders and a scarf around her hair. She looks neat, moneyed: flawless make-up, expensive white-rimmed sunglasses. She gives me a small smile. ‘Hello, Edie.’
I freeze, my heart skipping a beat.
‘Is your mother in?’
I nod slowly, unable to speak. Act normal, act normal.
She smiles again and I back away from the door, moving clumsily along the hallway where my mother and Reg sit in the kitchen, Reg picking at a back molar with a cocktail stick, my mother reading a magazine, circling dress patterns.
‘Who is it, Edie?’ my mother asks as I stand there, digging my nails into my arm.
‘It’s Barbara Theddle at the door,’ I whisper.
Reg coughs, almost choking. ‘What does she want, Edie?’ he hisses.
‘I don’t know. She wants to see Mother.’
My mother rises slowly from her chair as Reg grabs hold of her arm. ‘Don’t let her in, Nancy. It’s got nothing to do with us.’
‘Good heavens, what are you on about?’ my mother says, shaking Reg off. ‘She’s my friend and she’s going through a terribly difficult time, of course I’m going to let her in.’ She leaves the room whilst Reg and I stand by the kitchen door, listening. ‘Oh, Barbara. I’m really not sure . . .’ I can hear my mother saying. And then: ‘Of course, if you really think . . .’
After a moment, the front door closes. My mother is ushering Barbara Theddle into the dining room. I dig my nails into my palm again and Reg and I both move away from the kitchen door as my mother enters.
‘She wants a seance,’ my mother announces, her voice an urgent hush.
Reg’s eyes bulge. ‘Surely you said no.’
My mother gives him a sharp look. ‘Of course I didn’t say no. I could never turn away a friend, not at a time like this. You can both sit at the table,’ she tells us, ‘offer me a little support.’
I shake my head. ‘I don’t think I can . . .’ Just as Reg is making his own excuses.
My mother looks from me to Reg. ‘What’s the matter with you two? Poor Barbara is asking for our help.’
Reg clears his throat. ‘Of course,’ he says grimly, recovering himself, and I feel I have no choice. We follow her into the dining room, my footsteps dragging. My legs are stiff and I’m having difficulty swallowing.
Barbara Theddle is sitting at the table. She has taken the scarf from her head and is threading it anxiously through her fingers. Her make-up doesn’t disguise how tired she looks; there are dark circles under her eyes.
‘I should have booked,’ she says, nervously. ‘I hope I haven’t disturbed your evening.’ She looks from my mother to Reg.
‘It’s perfectly fine,’ my mother replies, giving her a reassuring smile. She turns the light off then takes a box of matches from her pocket.
‘We completely understand,’ Reg adds, trying to behave normally. ‘Given the – circumstances.’ He coughs into the dark but Barbara doesn’t seem to notice. My mother briskly lights a candle, her face appearing in front of me, full of concentration.
‘I thought you might be able to help,’ Barbara says quietly. ‘Richard – he doesn’t believe. He doesn’t know I’m here. He thought you finding Smudge was a coincidence, even though we know it wasn’t.’ She looks down at the tablecloth. ‘I have to try everything, you see. I have to believe.’
‘Of course you do,’ my mother says firmly. ‘You haven’t had any news, I suppose?’
Barbara Theddle shakes her head.
My mother nods and hesitates, and I wonder if she’s having second thoughts, if perhaps she realises it will be too much, even for her, but then she takes her seat at the table and mutters a prayer. We all bow our heads. The atmosphere in the room is stifling and I feel as though I might stop breathing altogether.
‘Let us make a circle,’ my mother says.
Barbara Theddle’s hand is cool and smooth. It is not a hand that does the weekly laundry or daily dishes. Reg’s hand is large and sweaty and I feel a wave of disgust that I have to touch him.
‘Let us clear our minds and concentrate,’ my mother says into the darkness. Next to me, Barbara lets out a shuddery breath she must have been holding.
My mother sits in silence for several seconds then begins to twitch and moan.
‘I believe I’m getting something. Oh, yes. I think I am . . . There is an image, something trying to come through. Lucy? Is it you?’
My body is thick and heavy and I am surprised I don’t sink into the floor. That’s all I want to do, sink into a giant Edie-shaped hole in the ground, escape this horror.
‘I see her as she was,’ my mother says. ‘She’s in the garden at The Gables. At least, that’s where I think she must be. There are rose bushes behind her. She’s happy, so very happy . . .’
I think of Lucy’s picture in the paper last weekend, the photograph taken in front of the rose bushes, and then I think of the day I cycled to The Gables to see how Lucy was feeling and we sat in the garden, the day we fell out over my diary. If only I’d destroyed it like she’d wanted. The guilt burns in my stomach. Lucy is gone and it’s all my fault.
I open my eyes. Reg’s features in the glow of the candle appear contorted with severe discomfort, his expression a mix of fear and dread.
Barbara Theddle smiles. ‘She loved the garden,’ she whispers.
‘Yes, yes . . .’ My mother murmurs, her eyelids fluttering. ‘She was happy. So happy . . .’
‘But now?’ Barbara asks. ‘Can you see her now, Nancy?’
Reg’s hand is growing damp in mine and I fight the urge to pull away and wipe my hand on my skirt. I hardly dare breathe in case I cry out in shame, giving us up.
My mother sighs. ‘Now . . . now . . .’ She moans again, as if what she is doing is terribly strenuous. Watching her, I feel a sense of revulsion.
My mother frowns. ‘I’m afraid I’m not getting anything. I can’t see her.’
Barbara sniffs. ‘Please, Nancy. Please do try. Anything you see could be helpful. Anything at all.’
I lower my head and stare at the tablecloth. The ticking of the clock is slow and torturous. Barbara’s desperation cuts through me and I feel I don’t deserve to live.
‘I see only darkness,’ my mother says.
Barbara begins to cry softly. ‘Oh, Nancy. What does that mean? Does it mean . . .? Oh, no . . .
I fight the urge to comfort Barbara Theddle, to put my arm around her, tell her I’m sorry, so dreadfully sorry. But how can I? All I could do is tell her the truth, and then all of our lives would be over. My mother would never cope, and before long she’d be back in that hospital and I’d have failed my father and lost both of them. I keep my lips tightly pressed together, afraid of what will happen, of what I might say if I open my mouth.
‘It may not mean anything,’ my mother says, her voice faltering.
Reg is struggling, too: I can see more sweat on his brow. Luckily, Barbara doesn’t notice, she breaks the circle without thinking, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. ‘Oh, I couldn’t bear it, if that meant—’
‘Perhaps I see something,’ my mother says quickly.
Barbara swallows. ‘What do you see, Nancy?’
My mother rolls her neck. ‘Ooh, yes . . . There she is. Feeling happy. So happy . . .’
‘Where?’ Barbara whispers, her voice almost inaudible.
‘Somewhere. Somewhere . . . A city. Yes, that’s it. I see tall buildings. Traffic. A large city. I can’t quite tell where it is. She’s there though. Feeling happy, and free, but guilty of course. Oh, terribly guilty for leaving as she did. But it’s all going to be fine, just fine. She plans to be in touch soon. She’s enjoying herself so much. So very much.’
Barbara sobs quietly into her handkerchief. Bile rises in my throat.
‘Oh, dear . . . She’s fading, fading . . . But still happy, so happy . . .’ My mother exhales and drops her chin. After a moment, she opens her eyes and looks up. We release our hands. Reg has gone green.
‘Oh, Nancy. Did you really see her?’
‘Of course,’ my mother says, standing and blowing out the candle. ‘My visions have always been correct.’ She turns the gas on, bringing a dim light back into the room.
How could you?
Barbara is fiddling with her purse. ‘This has given me such hope, Nancy. Really, I can’t thank you enough.’ She looks from my mother to Reg. ‘How much do I owe you, please?’
‘Sixteen shillings,’ Reg says quickly.
Barbara opens her purse as I stare at Reg open-mouthed.
‘Well, thank you. Thank you all.’ Barbara smiles at Reg, then turns to me. ‘I know you were a friend of my daughter’s, Edie, and I know you’ve spoken to the police already. They’ve been so thorough. But . . .’ She pauses, gives me a kind smile. ‘You don’t have any idea where she went, do you, Edie? There were train tickets, and a suitcase . . . She didn’t say anything to you, did she?’
The shame burns in the back of my throat. A sudden chill sweeps through me and yet I’m sweating terribly. The floor seems to be giving way and I’m having trouble standing upright. I can feel Reg’s eyes on me, his hand on my shoulder, a tight squeeze.
‘No,’ I manage to say, almost choking. ‘I’m sorry,’ I add. My eyes are filling with tears as my mother ushers Barbara Theddle into the hallway.
‘What a warm night,’ I can hear my mother saying, as she opens the front door.
‘I appreciate your time, Nancy. I’m so incredibly grateful.’
Everything is spinning, shapes and colours distorted; my head throbs. I turn and run upstairs to my room.