Just Like the Other Girls(24)
She wonders how Ed and the boys are doing. Despite spending two nights every week with Elspeth (much to Ed’s chagrin, mainly because he has to get off his backside and take some parental responsibility), she still misses her family when she’s away. Her real, imperfect, annoying family. Being in this house stirs up memories she’d rather forget, even after all this time, although Elspeth has more or less wiped away any sign of the past. But Kathryn is still haunted by it. And by Matilde and Jemima. She can still see their mark on the walls, the carpets, still feel their energy in every room. They are like spirits that refuse to be exorcized.
Kathryn sits on the edge of the bed and gathers her thoughts. They are all over the place, like wayward toddlers running off in different directions. She tries to bring them together in her mind: her mother, Jemima, Una and the boy she was with, and Lewis. Lewis. Her mind pauses on the gardener. What was her mother arguing with him about in the garden? She’d gone down to the kitchen to talk to Aggie and seen her mother and Lewis having a heated discussion out on the patio despite the rain settling on their shoulders and hair. What has Lewis done wrong now? Another gardener about to bite the dust, no doubt.
When Kathryn’s sure that Una is safely ensconced in her bedroom, she pads down the stairs to check the front door. Una forgot to double-lock it, just as Kathryn had suspected she would – she’d have to talk to her about it tomorrow. Kathryn turns the bolt clockwise, latching it into place. Then she stands with her back to it, surveying the large hallway and the doors to the rooms coming off it: the library, the snug, the sitting room, the dining room that nobody uses, the stairs that lead to the basement kitchen. The only light comes from the landing upstairs. Her mother is fast asleep – she checked on her about an hour ago. She’s a heavy sleeper so Kathryn doubts she heard Una come in, or Kathryn walking about the house.
The Cuckoo’s Nest. She remembers when her mother named the house. She hadn’t long moved in. It was typical of Elspeth’s dark, sadistic sense of humour. ‘The cuckoo,’ she’d said, stroking a finger down Kathryn’s silky eleven-year-old cheek. ‘It’s perfect, my dear, because that’s exactly what you are.’
Kathryn runs her hand along the gleaming teak banister as she returns to her room. This house will be hers one day. She’s worked hard for it, put up with her mother’s bad behaviour, her moods and her put-downs and her demands over the years. She’s put Elspeth before her own family. Yes, Kathryn deserves it. And she’s waited a long time for it. Nothing will get in the way of that. No, it will be hers and hers alone. The cuckoo. The cuckoo’s nest.
10
Una
It must have been Kathryn in my room. I can’t imagine it would have been Elspeth. She’s asleep by nine thirty most nights and she finds the narrow staircase that leads up here tricky to navigate. Kathryn must have a spare key. I’m shocked that she took the effort to unlock the door and creep in, knowing I was out. Why? Why was she invading my personal space and watching me from the window? Was she spying on me? I shudder at the thought.
I glance around my room. Has she touched anything? Maybe she’d been looking for something. I pick up the clothes I left on the bed and, remembering my vow of tidiness, I fold them and put them away in a drawer. Nothing seems out of place.
Kathryn must have seen me with Vince. She’ll have got the wrong idea about us. I’ll have to find a way of setting the record straight tomorrow – although I have to be tactful because I don’t want her to think I’m accusing her of being in my room. Even though I know it was her, I can’t actually prove it. And it is her mother’s house, after all.
I find it hard to sleep. I keep tossing and turning, thinking of Vince and the pub, of Kathryn and Elspeth. When I do drift off, I dream that I’m morphing into Matilde, then Jemima and that someone is chasing me but I can’t see who. I wake up sweating, my heart racing. I’m exhausted when the alarm on my mobile goes off at six the next morning, ready for another day.
Elspeth’s eyes light up when I come into her bedroom. I help her to the bathroom and turn on the shower for her. Her en-suite has been converted to accommodate a walk-in shower with a seat so that she doesn’t fall. I turn away and pretend to organize the towels on the rail as she gets undressed. I wait for her in her bedroom as she showers, busying myself straightening her bed and throwing open the curtains. Usually she’ll come out wrapped in a towel. But today she calls me. ‘Una! I need help getting up.’ I rush into the bathroom, assuming she’s fallen, but she’s perched on the edge of her shower seat, gripping the handrail but not moving, her arms rigid as though she’s seized up.
‘Are you okay?’ I say, pushing the panic from my voice as I reach into the cubicle and turn off the shower. The water sprays up my arm and shoulder, drenching my top.
She shakes her head. She’s shivering. Goosebumps have popped up along her body, her flesh wrinkled and sagging, like the skin on an uncooked chicken breast. I grab a towel and try to wrap it around her, but she pushes it off angrily. ‘Just help me up,’ she snaps.
I do as she says, not sure where to grab her, her skin wet and slippery. She clings to me as we clumsily make our way into the bedroom. She sits on the edge of the bed, still naked and not at all self-conscious about it, while I hover with a towel, trying not to look as though I’m uncomfortable with her nudity. She snatches it out of my hand. Still she doesn’t cover up with it, but pats herself dry. She must be freezing but she takes ages over it. I retrieve the outfit she’s chosen to wear – another twinset. Usually she’s happy to dress herself and I only need to assist with doing up buttons, but this time she sits there like a child while I help her step into her underwear. She doesn’t speak while I do all this, and I wonder if I’ve managed to offend her somehow.