What Lies Between Us(95)

How many people are fortunate enough to have three generations of one family all living together under one roof? Not many, I’m sure. So I don’t take any of this for granted. I am a very, very lucky woman.





EPILOGUE





NINA


Two novels I’ve been waiting for arrived in the delivery van this morning. Life of Pi and Flowers in the Attic are both for Maggie, so I volunteer to refill the shelves and I hide them in my usual spot in the War and British History section.

I start thinking about tonight’s dinner. It’s Dylan’s turn to eat with me and because he’s been looking a little pallid of late, I’m going to pick him up a steak fillet from Waitrose on the way home. It should add a little iron to his blood as I don’t want him becoming anaemic. Choosing tomorrow evening’s dinner with Maggie won’t be so difficult. She doesn’t eat much more than a sparrow, pecking at her food or pushing it around her plate with a plastic fork. Nevertheless, feeding three people on one wage means my purse is taking quite the hit these days. But that’s a small price to pay for what I get in return from them.

The sudden appearance of Benny startles me and for a moment, I think I’ve been caught squirrelling away my books.

He looks concerned. ‘Nina, there’s a phone call for you,’ he says.

‘Who is it?’ I ask as I follow him to the library reception desk.

‘I don’t know, but she said it was urgent and that she didn’t have your mobile number any more.’

‘Any more,’ I repeat, my curiosity piqued. I head behind the counter and pick up the receiver. ‘Hello, Nina Simmonds speaking. How can I help?’

‘Oh Nina, thank God. It’s Barbara, Elsie’s daughter.’

‘Hi Barbara,’ I reply with genuine surprise. I can’t remember the last time we spoke, and it’s certainly never been by phone. ‘Is everything all right with your mum?’ I quietly hope that it’s not and that she’s called to tell me Elsie has suffered a particularly painful death.

‘You need to get home right away.’

‘Why, what’s wrong?’

‘I’m so sorry to be the one to tell you, but there’s been a fire.’

‘A fire,’ I repeat, the words failing to register even when I say them aloud. Perhaps I misheard her. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Nina,’ she says more firmly. ‘Your house is on fire.’





MAGGIE


I stand by the window and take in the view over my street one last time.

All I’ve loved about this ordinary little cul-de-sac in this ordinary little town I now hate. It’s not the street’s fault, it’s not the house’s fault. It’s all my fault. And hers. If I had a second chance, I’d do everything differently. I’d have found Nina the help she so badly needed and I wouldn’t have let my grandson slip through my fingers. Of all our stories, his is the most tragic. He lived the life I wanted for him when I let him go. Yet he still found his way home. He went full circle and left the world from the same place as he entered it.

I slowly make my way down the stairs and to the first-floor landing. For reasons unknown to me, Nina never bothered to fill in the hole I had dug out of the plasterboard, perhaps thinking there was little point, as no one was likely to enter this house again.

I tear many pieces of cardboard from the soundproofing egg boxes and push them through the hole and into the other side of the wall. Then I remove a box of matches from my pocket. Nina had been too concerned with trying to get one up on me with the incarceration anniversary cake to notice as I swiped the matches from the table.

I strike one, light a piece of cardboard and then drop it through. I put my ear to the wall and listen to the fire crackle as it spreads to the other pieces. The carpets in this house are so old they’re not fireproofed. They stretch all the way downstairs to the ground floor and to the doors of the lounge, kitchen and basement. It won’t take long before the wooden doors go up in flames either. I take Nina’s memory box, rip its paper contents into pieces and scatter a trail of them up my stairs. I strike another match and watch in delight as her past slowly takes light. Now she won’t even have those first thirteen years of innocence to cling on to.

Then I retreat to my room, careful to leave the door open. I lift myself on to the bed, lie back and close my eyes. I take a little comfort from knowing it will be the smoke that kills me, not the flames. I’m sure my lungs will burn for a few moments as I cough and splutter, but this really is the best way.

There is nothing I can do for myself and there is nothing more I can do for Nina. She thought that she was lacking a son and that when she found him, it was the missing piece of her puzzle. But she was so, so wrong. What she was actually missing was a self, only she couldn’t admit or confront it, even when she sent Dylan to his death.

She wasn’t the only one who was wrong about herself and what she needed, because so was I. Only now can I see that my knowledge gave me the freedom I craved. Not in a physical sense; but up here in my head, here where it counts, I have always been a free woman. All along, it’s Nina who has been incarcerated. Without offering her insight or nudging memories, it is me who has kept her locked up in her own prison. I have created and nurtured this monster and now I am extricating myself from its grip.