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‘She should go to bed,’ Tom said. ‘Shouldn’t she? Sleep it off.’
Ellie laughed again, arms open wide. ‘Go
The room spun, like it’d got caught in the wind, as Mum unbuckled Ellie’s belt, pulled down her zip and yanked off her jeans.
‘Silly girl,’ Mum said.
Ellie clutched at her. ‘I have to tell you‑’
‘No talking.’ Mum pulled the duvet over her. ‘Try and sleep. I’ll check on you in a while.’
Lights smeared the ceiling as the door shut behind her and the room whirled faster and faster.
Thirty‑two
Ellie sat at the kitchen table and watched her mother whisk eggs and milk into a bowl of flour. She looked furious with it. Her hips, her waist, the wings of her shoulders through her cotton dress were all twisting and pounding at it.
‘What are you making, Mum?’
‘Batter for Yorkshire puddings.’
‘Why are you always making stuff?’
‘We’ve got to eat, haven’t we?’
‘But only like once a day or something. Does it have to be three times? Don’t you get sick of it?’
Her mum stopped whisking and looked down at her with a frown. ‘When you get married and have a family of your own, you can hire yourself a cook, but until then, can you keep your criticisms to yourself?’
‘I wasn’t saying anything bad.’
Her mum ground salt and pepper into the mix, covered the bowl with a tea towel and slid it to the back of the counter. She stood hands on hips for a minute, as if wondering what to do next, then took a bottle of wine from the rack above her head, opened it up and poured herself a very large glass.
She’s scared… and I’m about to make everything worse…
‘Would you like a drink before lunch?’ Mum said. ‘There’s some Diet Coke in the fridge, unless of course you’d prefer a double vodka?’
Ellie pulled a face and Mum half smiled at her. It had been days since the drinking incident and no one was letting her forget it.
‘What about a cup of tea then?’ Mum said.
‘No thanks.’
Ellie didn’t want anything to interrupt them, though she would actually have liked a drink.
The windows were steamed up and Mum opened the back door and stood on the step with her wine glass. Cold air shivered its way into the kitchen, bringing the smell of bacon and onions from somewhere. The dog snuffled in her basket, deep in a dream. Ellie wondered when Dad and Tom were going to get home.
‘I love this garden,’ Mum said, and she stepped right outside. Ellie followed her and they stood on the edge of the lawn together.
Mum said, ‘Sometimes I think it was a mistake moving here from London. Dad kept going on about what an opportunity it was, and being close to Gran made sense at the time. But it was this’ – she gestured with her hand at the lawn, the trees, the river – ‘this seduced me.’
She smiled at Ellie, and her face was so warm and open. Say it, say it, go on. Give it to her. She’ll know what to do.
Ellie bit her lip, words stuck on her tongue.
Her mum suddenly looked up, shielding her eyes with a hand. ‘Look at that. Isn’t it beautiful?’
Three geese flew across the sky in a straight line. Around them the clouds were swelling and darkening. There was a smell of electricity in the air. Even the birds rushing through the sky seemed aware of it.
‘See what I mean about being seduced?’ Mum said. She sighed then checked her watch. ‘Now, do you think Barry’s expecting food? I haven’t a clue. Dad’s invited him round to steady our nerves, but maybe he’s only expecting a glass of wine or a cup of tea. I don’t want to embarrass the man by offering him lunch. What do you reckon the etiquette is?’
‘I don’t know, Mum. I didn’t even know he was coming and I don’t know anything about etiquette when it comes to lawyers.’
Her mum smiled wearily. ‘No, I don’t suppose you do.’ She leaned against the door frame, the wine glass to her cheek, cooling her down.
‘Mum, there’s something I need to tell you.’
Her mother nodded, but she looked so tired. ‘You can talk to me about anything.’
Standard response.
One, two, three drops of rain, heavy and fat, splashing on the path. Ellie fiddled with a button on her dress – buttoning, unbuttoning it.
‘Karyn McKenzie is telling the truth.’
She could tell by the stillness and the sudden clench of her jaw that her mother had heard.
‘I suggest you think very carefully before you go any further, Ellie.’
‘I’ve thought carefully for weeks. I can’t stop thinking.’
Her mum shook her head very slowly, as if it was a physical thing Ellie had flung at her, a stick that was caught in her hair.
‘Tom’s whole future is at stake. Don’t make this worse than it already is.’
‘But I keep going over and over that night in my head and more stuff comes back to me, more things fit into place. I keep thinking about Karyn and how hurt she is and how it’s not fair if I don’t say what I know.’
‘Not fair?’ Her mother turned to her; wine stained the corners of her mouth. ‘Your brother’s reputation is in tatters. His A‑level year’s been ruined, his confidence is at rock bottom. You think any of that’s fair?’ Her voice was tremulous, her eyes wide and fearful. ‘This isn’t the time for misgivings.’
‘So what am I supposed to do with the stuff I keep thinking?’
‘You’ve had every opportunity,’ Mum hissed. ‘You’ve been interviewed by the police and you’ve made a statement. You told the police everything that happened that night.’
Not quite. Not even the begi
‘So, you’ve never doubted him, Mum?’
There was a pause. It had weight to it, like you could hold it in your hand, like a rock from the garden.
‘Answer the door, Ellie.’
‘What?’
‘That was the door. That’ll be Barry.’
‘But this is important!’
‘So we leave him standing on the doorstep, do we?’ Her mother’s lips were trembling as she knocked the last of the wine back. ‘Go on, go away if you’re not going to answer the door. And don’t bother coming back until you’ve learned to control yourself.’
Ellie’s breath came hot and quick as she ran across the lawn. She felt like she had a fever, like that time she had tonsillitis. Perhaps she was sick, properly sick, in her body as well as her head. Maybe this is what a nervous breakdown felt like – feelings spilling out of you. She sat on the bench under the walnut tree fighting back tears.
There was a boy in her school called Fly
Parents don’t know their children at all.
No one knows anyone, in fact. Her brother could be a rapist. Mikey could be a hero.
It was raining heavily now, splattering off the leaves above her. Even the grass, dark blue in the half‑light, looked like water rippling. She pulled her knees up and hugged them, closed her eyes and tried to think of nothing.
It was only a few minutes later when Barry appeared on the lawn.
‘Mind if I join you?’ he said.
He had her mother’s little fold‑up umbrella, which he closed when he reached the shelter of the tree.
‘I was given special permission to smoke in the house, but I didn’t feel comfortable doing that. You OK if I smoke here?’
Ellie nodded, too stu
‘I’ve just been talking to your mum,’ he said, ‘and she thought it might be a good idea for me to have a little chat with you about the court case.’