2018
I’M SITTING ON THE END of the sleeping thing but it hasn’t got any clothes on. It’s bare, undressed. I can’t think of its name.
It doesn’t help that nothing is in its proper place. My bedroom curtains have vanished, for one thing. Who would steal a pair of curtains? The wardrobe is empty, even the hangers have gone. There are several boxes in the corner where my dressing table used to be, a suitcase at my feet, one of those modern ones with wheels. I don’t know how I’ll get it down the stairs. Perhaps there is a hotel porter I can ask.
A man enters the room holding a box. I am about to ask him about the suitcase; he might want a tip but I’m not sure where my purse is. As soon as the man sees me, he smiles. ‘All right, Mum?’
Of course. It’s Daniel. Just Daniel.
‘Where are my curtains?’
‘Packed, Mum. Along with everything else. Are you ready? The guys need to get in here to get the bed and wardrobe down. The rest of the furniture is in the vans now.’
‘Am I going somewhere?’
‘Yes, Mum.’ Daniel smiles again. ‘It’s moving day.’
He offers me his hand but I don’t take it.
‘Am I going to prison now?’
Daniel’s smile freezes. ‘No, you’re not going to prison.’ He sits down slowly next to me on the sleeping thing, creating a dip.
I look at my new shiny suitcase. ‘Why not?’
Daniel runs a hand across his head. He hasn’t got much hair left on top now. I suppose he takes after Arthur. I liked kissing the top of Arthur’s bald head.
‘There are lots of reasons, Mum,’ Daniel says, slowly, patiently, as if he’s told me this before. Perhaps he has. My memory isn’t quite what it used to be. It’s to be expected, I’m sure, at my age.
‘What reasons?’
Daniel looks towards the window. The sky is white and the tree branches are bare. I’ve got a feeling it will be Christmas soon. They’ve been playing carols on the wireless.
‘Lack of supporting evidence,’ he says. ‘You being the only witness. It all happening so long ago. Your mother and Reg gone. Your – current mental capacities.’ He glances at me then looks away again. ‘Lack of public interest,’ he adds.
‘But . . . I knew what happened. I’m an accessory, aren’t I?’
He shakes his head. ‘You had nothing to do with her death.’
‘I don’t know.’ My voice sounds small and I fumble with the sleeve of my cardigan.
‘I’m sorry, Mum.’
‘What are you sorry for?’
‘For never asking. I don’t know . . . I suppose, because you were such a good mum to me, I just assumed your own childhood had been . . . normal. I didn’t realise that Reg was such an unpleasant character.’
I stare at the tiny flowers on my carpet, thinking that I played a part. I accept that now. I could have acted differently that day. I have to live with that.
‘Did they find her?’ I ask.
Daniel looks at me. ‘They’ve found a body,’ he says slowly. ‘They’re working to ascertain if it’s Lucy.’
*
‘Where? Where did they find her? How did they know where to look?’
Daniel shifts his weight and I give him an encouraging smile. He’s trying to protect me but I have to know.
‘What you said about the garage keys, the state of his boots. They went out to the abattoir. That land is full of old outhouses. Well, they located the site of the garages and found a body in an old inspection pit, filled with cement. They don’t believe the pit was in use at the time when Reg was there so it’s unlikely anyone would have noticed it had been filled. I’m so sorry, Mum.’
I think of Lucy, out there alone for so many years and tears fill my eyes. How could I have left her there?
‘If it wasn’t for you, she’d never have been found,’ Daniel tells me.
I shake my head, stifling a sob. Daniel takes my hand and for a few moments we are silent. ‘But what about George?’ I ask finally. ‘Have they told him? Does he know what happened?’
‘They’ll tell him when it’s confirmed.’ Daniel pauses, rubs his chin. ‘George isn’t too well, Mum. I don’t think he has any interest in prosecuting. The police have explained everything to him, your story, the lack of evidence . . .’
I nod, wiping at my eyes. Then I look at Daniel. ‘I think she’d like her ashes to be scattered over the beach. She loved the beach.’
Daniel reaches for my hand. ‘Perhaps that’s what they’ll do, Mum.’
He squeezes my hand and I nod again, satisfied. Then I think of something else. ‘Do you think she’s forgiven me?’
Daniel hesitates. ‘I don’t know,’ he says finally. ‘But . . .’ He holds both my hands in my lap. ‘I think what’s important is that you forgive yourself.’
‘Someone else said that. I can’t think who.’
We sit for a moment, listening to the sound of furniture moving below us, until Daniel says, ‘Oh, I nearly forgot. I bought you a present.’ He hands me the box he was carrying. ‘Go on, open it.’
Inside the box is a camera. I turn it over in my hands. ‘Thank you,’ I murmur.
‘Here,’ Daniel says, taking it from me. ‘It’s a really easy one. You just press this button to turn it on and the same button to take a photograph. You can look through the viewfinder.’ He puts the camera to his eye, demonstrating. ‘Or you can look at the screen. Whatever you see on the screen is what you’ll be taking a picture of.’
He gives it to me and I hold it up to my windows and press the button. There is a satisfying click.
‘Not bad,’ Daniel says, taking the camera from me and studying the picture. ‘That’s pretty good, Mum. You’re a natural.’
‘Maybe it isn’t too late to learn new things after all.’
‘It’s never too late, Mum.’
He shows me how I can look at the pictures I’ve taken by pressing another button.
‘There’s no film, just a memory card,’ he tells me. ‘You can take all the pictures you want and it won’t run out. You can capture all our new memories. And we can print any photographs you want. Just ask.’
‘Thank you, Daniel. It’s a lovely gift.’ And I mean it. I’m going to take lots of photographs in Devon. I’ll add them to my others, those that have been reframed. I’m going to build a whole wall of new memories to help me remember where I am and who my family are.
‘Shall we go down?’ Daniel stands, offering me his hand, and I take it, sliding off the bed.
Bed.
The word came to me. I remembered. I usually do.
‘Can I say goodbye to my room first?’ I ask, glancing around my empty bedroom.
‘Of course. We can say goodbye downstairs too. I’ll tell you what, I’ll take this first then I’ll come back for you.’ He reaches for the suitcase at my feet. ‘I’ll just be a minute, Mum.’
I listen to the sound of his footsteps descending the stairs. I can hear other noises now too: Suzanne’s, and Amy’s. At the front of the house, men are calling to one another. There is the sound of the radio although it isn’t Eddie Fisher. It’s something more modern with a bouncy beat.
I walk over to the window and look out over my small garden. My father is there in his tweed cap and work shirt with his shovel. The Anderson shelter kit is laid out on the grass. He’s giving up a part of his vegetable patch, building the shelter for us, to keep us safe if the bombs fall. The grass is damp and dewy, still slightly frosted. A single leaf clings to a tree branch and a squirrel jumps from the fence to the tree. My father looks up, gives me a wave, and I wave back. I’ll go out and help him in a minute.
The winter sun is breaking through the clouds and I close my eyes, breathing in deeply, letting its warmth wash over me. I’m going on a journey soon. I can’t remember where but it doesn’t matter. I can hear the murmur of the sea, the waves crashing against the beach. The wind rustles the long grass by the sand dunes. I see us: our legs stretched out on the blanket. Lucy tucks a strand of blonde hair behind her ear, smiling at something. She reaches for her Coty powder and sweeps the soft powder puff across my nose, my cheekbones, her face close to mine. There you are, Edie. Beautiful, just beautiful. I can smell the salt on the wind, and something else: Evening in Paris. I breathe in the familiar scent, savouring it. High above us, the red kite dips and dives, dancing in the wind.