The Couple at No. 9(19)

‘He won’t tell me the truth. Dad should have been a politician.’

‘There must be someone you could ask. I know your grandparents are dead, but … a cousin perhaps?’

He takes his wife’s hand and they walk out of the cemetery together. He doesn’t know his cousins. It’s hard for Jen to understand because her family is huge and they all get on. ‘I’ll start by asking him. And if he doesn’t give me what I want, I’ll find out for myself.’

‘Good. And I’ll help. It will be a distraction.’ She smiles but her eyes are too bright.

It feels as if someone is squeezing his heart. ‘Jen … we could go and see someone. Get some tests?’

She shakes her head, a blonde curl falling into her eyes. ‘Not yet. I’m not ready to face that yet. Let’s just wait for now.’

He kisses her hand in response, his mind already slipping back to his father and the newspaper article. Tomorrow, he vows. Tomorrow I’ll find out who my dad is looking for, and why.





10


Lorna





It’s too dark and quiet, and Lorna is finding it difficult to sleep on the hard futon, knowing her daughter and her boyfriend are on the other side of the wall. She still finds it difficult to get used to the thought of her only child having sex and now carrying a baby. A baby. She can’t believe she’s going to be a grandmother.

She misses the sounds of San Sebastián – the occasional laughter and screeches of teenagers, the thrum of music from a neighbouring tapas restaurant. The comforting noises of city life, not this God-awful silence. Then her mind wanders to Alberto. She turns onto her side and reaches for her phone on the pine bedside cabinet. It’s gone midnight. Spain is an hour ahead. She expects he’ll still be at the bar, the proverbial night owl.

She sits up, trying to shake the image of her boyfriend surrounded by a flock of scantily clad women. There’s no point lying here trying to sleep – she’s suffered from insomnia in the past and all the advice she’s read on the subject says to get up. She throws on her hot-pink kimono and opens the bedroom door quietly so as not to wake Saffy and Tom and pads down the hallway towards the little bedroom. She’s drawn to it, that bedroom, that insight into her past. She pushes the door open, wincing as it creaks before continuing into the room.

There are no curtains at the window and a shard of moonlight illuminates a patch of black varnish stuck like tar to one of the floorboards. She stands at the window that looks over the garden. The hole in the ground looks even more ominous in the dark. The woods, thick and dense, line the back boundary. She forces her brain to remember more. What happened here? she whispers to her reflection. But it just stares back at her, like a ghoul with big curly hair and wide haunted eyes. She turns away from the window, to survey the room. Her bed was in that corner, by the door, where the boxes are now. Yes, yes, she remembers. It had a white iron frame and a colourful crocheted throw with large yellow daisies, and underneath she kept a pair of red patent shoes, like Dorothy’s in The Wizard of Oz. She hasn’t thought about those shoes for a long time. They had been her favourite. Where did they go when they moved to Bristol? And the iron bed frame and the crocheted throw?

The wallpaper is faded in parts, yellowing in others. The fireplace looks like it needs renovating, and there is a thick layer of dust on the wooden mantelpiece. The past tenants obviously didn’t use this room. Saffy and Tom will have their work cut out if they want to turn it into a nursery. She turns back to the window. A cloud moves across the moon so that for a few moments the woods and the garden look bleak and sinister.

She should go back to bed and read. She’s got Marian Keyes’s new one ready to begin. She wraps her kimono further around her body. She’s cold now and shivers slightly.

Just as she’s about to turn and leave, something bright catches her eye. A flicker of light between the trees in the woods. She presses her nose to the glass and cups her hands around her face. Her heart picks up speed. It looks like torchlight. Is someone there, watching the house? She blinks, not taking her eyes off the dot of light, the surrounding halo-like beam moving between the darkness of the trees. And then just as quickly it vanishes. She stands there for a further ten minutes, straining to see, but there is nothing.

The next morning, Lorna doesn’t mention it to her daughter. She knows she’ll only worry and that’s the last thing she wants. Instead, after she’s dressed and had breakfast – one of Tom’s fry-ups that she notices Saffy pushes around her plate – she says she’d like to walk in the garden.

‘I’ll come with you,’ says Saffy, making to get up from the table. Tom already has his old decorating clothes on, saying he wants to make a start on painting the banister in the hallway.

‘No, it’s okay. You finish your breakfast. I’ll see if anything jogs my memory.’

‘Oh … okay. Good idea.’

The sun is bright this morning although there is a chill in the air and dew on the grass as Lorna steps onto the lawn, the dampness seeping into the sides of her sandals. She takes a deep breath of the unpolluted country air. It smells more refreshing this morning, like washing after it’s been on the line. She ignores the hole in the ground and carries on until she reaches the end of the garden, with the beautiful purple tree. She wonders what it’s called. She makes a mental note to ask Saffy. She turns back towards the cottage to make sure her daughter isn’t watching and steps onto one of the low thick branches, just enough to give her a leg up so she can hop over the wall. The action is so natural she must have done it before. She holds on to the trunk for support as she jumps down on the other side.