I’m nervous standing here, outside the house at Aberfoyle Crescent, waiting for Heidi to arrive, to discuss what happens next.
Like her, I now just want to get this all over and done with. I want the past put in the past. So much makes sense now that didn’t before.
I’m not sure how I’ll look her in the face when she arrives. I can feel my palms sweating, despite the biting cold. I don’t want to be back in this house at all. I can’t imagine how Heidi has kept coming here, kept facing her trauma over and over again. If it wasn’t for my mother and Kathleen badgering me to make sure they had access to Dad’s things, I’d have been happy never to come here again.
The house is icy, unwelcoming. No one has put any heating on in here in days and the temperature hasn’t taken its time to drop, cold and damp settling into the very fabric of the building. The big clock in the hall still ticks loudly. I can just hear the low hum of the fridge, but aside from that the house is silent.
I can feel it, though, for the first time. The badness of this place that gave Stella the creeps. I’d assumed she’d felt my pain, but it was possible much worse had happened here.
I see a picture of Natalie, a slightly older version of the woman Heidi has become, smile down from the wall. I wonder if I should’ve given Natalie more of a chance. For the two years she’d been in my life I’d treated her with nothing but absolute disdain. I’d hated her, although all she ever did was be kind to me. She was soft-spoken, like Heidi. Meek. Unaware of her own beauty. She’d try to engage with me, even when she was ill. Even when it was clear she was dying. I turned my back on her every time.
She’d tell me she understood. It must be hard for me, she’d say. I remember her saying that, sitting in the armchair in the living room, little more than a bag of bones. Her face grey, her eyes sunken. I remember her hands, long bony fingers. Bruises on the back of her hand, livid blue-and-green. Specks of blood from cannula sites. Her fingernails were still painted the palest pink. A pink I’d have asked her about if I hadn’t hated her so much. The faintest wisp of hair escaped from a pale lilac headscarf.
What a bitch I’d been not to give her a chance, even when it was clear that she didn’t have much time left.
The same chair still sits in the living room. I can almost conjure her image in it. I wish I could talk to her now. Apologise for how I’d been with her. Apologise for not protecting her daughter.
I’m so lost in my memories that I jump when I hear the key turn in the lock behind me. Heidi walks in, carrying a sleeping Lily in her car seat and that ever-present changing bag. She huffs and puffs as she puts the seat down and wriggles out of her puffy jacket. Of course as soon as she puts the jacket down she shivers, wraps her mustard scarf around her neck more tightly. She looks unwell, the colour of the scarf draining her pale skin. There are dark rings under her eyes. I think of her mother again, or how alike they look, my stomach twisting.
‘Well,’ she says brusquely, ‘you wanted me to meet you here and here I am.’
She looks nervous, fidgety. She clearly doesn’t want to be here. I’m tempted to tell her she’s not the only one.
I feel awkward now. Lumpen and heavy. Misplaced.
‘I’m not sure what your plans are for the house,’ I start.
‘Estate agents will be out at the start of next week to value it and get it on the market,’ she says, looking around as if she’s seeing it for the first time. Looking anywhere as long as it isn’t at me.
I swallow. ‘We’ll do our best to sort through his things. As quickly as we can. Get out of your hair. I know Kathleen wants some things. The police said they’ve all the stuff they need, so there’s nothing stopping us from getting on with it.’
‘Take whatever you want,’ she interrupts, her voice cold. She delves into her jeans pocket and pulls out a sheet of paper, folded in two. ‘Those are the only items I want from here – anything else is yours if you want it. Once you’ve had your pick, I’ll get someone in to do a house clearance. Dump or sell all the other stuff. I’ll sort through the junk in my old bedroom too, but there’s little I want from there. Probably my dolls – you know, for Lily. Of course, someone smashed Scarlett.’
She looks at me for the first time that day. She is accusing me. Suddenly it’s as if I’m fourteen again and this precocious nine-year-old with the awful haircut is looking up at me, looking so needy and pathetic and wrapped up in her own selfish world.
I blush purple. ‘I’m so sorry,’ I say, the words sticking in my throat. I am mortified. ‘So very sorry. I was a bitch. I’m such a bitch. I was just angry and hurt and wanted to hit out at someone or something …’
‘At me,’ she says, glaring at me. ‘You wanted to hit out at me. You’ve always wanted to hit out at me. For whatever I did to you. I thought we might be past it now, but the last few days … nothing has changed, has it? You’ve not changed. You’ve not matured. You’re as spiteful and manipulative as you ever were. You’re still all about playing mind games.’
‘I broke the doll and I’m sorry for that. I really am. But I’ve not been playing any games. Not this time. Look,’ I say, ‘I just want to get this over with as much as you do. Can we just do that? There’s been enough hurt.’
‘Really? We’ve finally reached a limit? Good to know after all these years we’ve crossed that hallowed threshold. We just needed to blame missing prayer books on me, talk about me behind my back to my husband and have my mother’s grave opened against my wishes.’
Her eyes are flashing with anger, her voice harsh. Lily is starting to stir in her chair, no doubt disturbed by the angry tone of her mother.
‘Heidi, the prayer book was in your bag. I found it there. I didn’t disregard your wishes. I didn’t know them. Everything was so messed up. I’ve apologised for breaking your doll. If I could turn back time … And yes, I’ve talked about you behind your back, but I’m sure you’ve said a few choice words too, about me.’
She shakes her head. ‘Why are you lying? Why do you keep lying? Why can’t you just admit it was you who killed him and you’ve been doing everything in your power to point the finger of blame at me since?’
I see her body tense, her hands ball into fists. I fear she won’t stop herself from lashing out this time.
Before I know it she is lunging at me, pushing me as hard and fast as she can against the wall. My back hits the plasterwork first, my head second – a sickening thud, the force of which causes me to bite into my tongue. I taste blood, feel my legs buckle. I try to centre myself, looking up to see her glaring at me, a fist raised, poised to come at me. I lift my hands, block her assault. Scream at her to stop.
She lashes out again, furiously. I can see she is crying.
‘You’re making everyone think I’m mad. You’re turning my own husband against me. You have to stop! You have to stop!’
I can see years of pain on her face and I almost, almost, want to lower my hands and let her take out her rage on me. I deserve it. I could have saved her even if I didn’t save myself.
‘I’m sorry,’ I blurt through my tears. ‘I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry. He hurt me too, Heidi, he hurt me too!’