Forget Her Name(15)

I almost laugh out loud, but then see a similar look of alarm etched on my dad’s face. ‘Of course not. It’s nothing like that.’

‘Let’s hear it then.’ Dad sips his black coffee and settles back in his seat, crossing his long legs. Like a crane fly, we used to say as girls, giggling at him in shorts. Daddy-Long-Legs. ‘What’s this visit about?’

I take a deep breath. ‘Rachel.’





Chapter Nine A thick silence follows my sister’s name, as I guessed it might.

My parents never like to discuss Rachel with me, not even in passing conversation. Mum is sitting so still, she seems to be holding her breath. My parents look at each other down the length of the dining table as though I’ve said something explosive. Talk about the black sheep of the family, I think, gulping down a mouthful of hot coffee to hide my nerves and only succeeding in scalding my mouth.

I can hardly blame them for that reaction, of course. My own memories of my older sister are not exactly fond. In fact, I still have nightmares . . .

Dad puts his cup down carefully.

‘Rachel?’

Looking directly at him, I say, ‘A parcel arrived for me at the food bank. I don’t know who sent it. But when I opened it . . . Rachel’s snow globe was inside.’

He stares at me. ‘Her snow globe?’

‘With an eyeball inside it.’

My mother makes a noise of protest, a hand at her mouth. ‘Oh God.’

‘It was a horrible shock. Which I imagine was the whole point.’ Noting my mum’s sudden pallor and wide eyes, I say, ‘Though it turned out not to be as gruesome as it appeared. I took it to Louise – she’s a nurse at the hospital, a friend of Dominic’s – and she confirmed my suspicions. It isn’t human.’

My mother lets out a shaky breath. ‘You mean it was a fake? One of those joke-shop eyeballs?’

‘No, it was a real eyeball.’ I think back over the phone call from Louise. ‘Just not human. Probably a cow’s eye, Louise told me.’

‘Oh my God,’ Mum says faintly.

‘They’re quite easy to get hold of, apparently. Butcher shops have them. And abattoirs. Places like that.’

Dad stirs at last, sitting forward with obvious interest. ‘So who on earth sent you this . . . cow’s eyeball?’

‘I told you,’ I say, ‘I don’t know. There was no sender’s address on the parcel. And nothing inside either.’

‘How convenient.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

But he sidesteps the question, asking instead, ‘What did Dominic say?’

Now it’s my turn to feel uncomfortable. ‘He doesn’t know.’

For a moment, nobody says anything.

My father frowns, studying my face. ‘You’re telling us you received something that ghoulish in the post . . . and didn’t tell your fiancé?’

I shrug.

‘Why, may I ask?’

‘I didn’t want to alarm him,’ I say, not entirely untruthfully.

‘You didn’t want to alarm him?’ my dad repeats. ‘Darling, don’t be ridiculous. The man works in a hospital. He can hardly be squeamish.’

That wasn’t what I meant, of course. I hesitate. ‘It’s complicated.’

‘I see,’ he says drily.

Mum glares at him. ‘Robert.’

‘Oh, very well.’ He shrugs, a vague hunching of his shoulders. But I can tell he doesn’t believe a word I’ve said tonight. He’s just humouring me for Mum’s benefit. And perhaps mine, too. ‘So let’s see if I’ve got this right. The cow’s eyeball was inside Rachel’s snow globe?’

‘Yes.’

‘And you’re certain it was her snow globe? Not simply a similar-looking one?’

‘Yes,’ I say again.

‘But how can you be so sure?’

‘Well, for a start, “Rachel” was written on the plinth. It was a typed label, just like the one I remember.’ I’m struggling to sound credible, hearing myself and thinking wildly: I wouldn’t believe this either. ‘Obviously, I should have brought it with me. But to be honest, I didn’t think you wouldn’t believe me. And I couldn’t stand to look at the horrible thing again. I’ve hidden it.’

‘Hidden it?’

‘In our flat,’ I tell them.

He glances at my mother again.

I look from one to the other, reading their shuttered expressions with dismay. They think I’m losing it.

I want to leave. That’s my first unhappy impulse. Leave now before they humiliate me any further. Snow globes and eyeballs. What must they be thinking? I made a mistake coming here tonight. I could have been snug at home in front of the telly, or falling asleep in a deep bubble bath, waiting for Dominic’s key in the door. He’s my rock, my safe haven.

I should have told Dominic instead. He would have believed me without question. He would have understood how much this incident is shaking my confidence. He wouldn’t speak to me as if I were deranged. But I didn’t want to drag him into the nightmare of my past.

I’m angry now. Angry and confused.

‘I thought maybe . . .’

Dad raises his brows, his searching glance on my face again. ‘Yes?’