The Safe House, page 21
‘Mrs Allbright, I—’ Esther touched Tom’s arm to make him stop. Mother twitched as if a fly had buzzed into her face by accident, but she did not even glance at Tom. She stared at Esther as she moved closer.
‘Mother, we’ve come to help you. You have to let us.’
‘You are okay? Dear God, you’ve been lucky! We … we’ve been lucky … I knew you would come back,’ she continued as if Esther hadn’t spoken. ‘I knew I was right. I was right about it all from the start. And now you’ve seen it for yourself. Just like I said.’ She shifted and Esther thought she saw a flash of something metal in the pocket of her cardigan. A pocket that would fit a small gun. ‘You’ll stay now.’
‘Just tell her,’ Tom whispered.
Father.
‘No,’ Esther whispered back.
‘You’ll stay now, yes? I can see it in your eyes, you know. I’m your mother; you can’t hide it from me.’ Mother’s gaze bored into Esther. ‘You’ve seen what it’s like. It’s safe they say, no one needs to hide away, they say, you’re paranoid, they say. But it’s not safe, is it? None of it is. The seas, the earth – all poisoned – and the air, the air is the worst …’
Esther remembered the stench of exhaust fumes, the roads, the cars, the relief she had felt when returning to the pub from visiting Olivia and her old street. Tom began to speak but Mother talked over him as if he didn’t exist, never taking her eyes from Esther.
‘So you’ll stay. This is your home. It is where you feel comfortable – I’m right, aren’t I? After all … here, sit down, sit down. You need a glass of water. Have you got your inhaler?’ Esther resisted being pushed into the nearest chair.
‘I’m fine.’
‘My God. So lucky. So, so lucky,’ There was a pause and Esther was fixed by Mother’s wild eyes, the sourness of her breath. ‘To what do we give thanks?’ Esther pressed her lips together, but she didn’t look away. Mother sighed. ‘To what do we give thanks, Pips?’
And Esther couldn’t stop the answer. Call and response, every morning since she had been a five-year-old. ‘The House.’
‘What protects the air we breathe?’
‘The House.’ Her voice less than a whisper, a ghost.
‘What gives us plants and water and power and comfort?’ Those eyes kept hold of Esther’s.
‘The House.’
‘What keeps us safe?’
Silence.
‘What keeps us safe?’
‘The House.’
The House, the House, the House. The air filtration system seemed to sigh in relief at her answer as Mother leant back with a small smile, moving her hand to her cardigan pocket, the one that was the perfect size for a gun. And for a second Esther was convinced that was what it would be, that really, now she thought about it, it was the only logical thing Mother would do; after all, she had brandished it before …
But in her hand was no gun, merely the television remote control. Esther felt laughter gurgle in her throat.
‘You’ll stay.’ Not even a question anymore.
Except what was gurgling in her throat was not laughter now, Esther understood. It was something wilder than that, something fiercer, something that – if she let it – would roar out of her mouth in words that she would never be able to take back. So she only allowed one word to escape, but that one was the most important of all: ‘No.’
The House held its breath.
Mother’s smile disappeared.
‘I don’t like this.’ Tom pulled on her arm.
Now she was here she realised how hard this would be, to puncture the steel self-belief her mother had built up around her, as thick as bunker walls.
Suddenly they heard footsteps downstairs and a cautious, ‘Hello?’
Tom went to the stairwell and looked down. ‘I knew it. I knew he wouldn’t be able to stay away.’
Mother sprung up. ‘Who—?’
Esther needed more time to explain. Just as one drip of water could, over years, gouge out a hole in stone, so could a gentle drip of information beat its way into the concrete of Mother’s brain. ‘We know. We know what you did.’
She slumped back, her eyes wide, one hand to her throat as if she was physically holding back the words. ‘You know? What … what do you know?’
‘About Father. What you did to him.’
Footsteps on the stairs.
‘You … I didn’t do anything! Nothing happened. You …’
‘That’s why I left, Mother. I couldn’t tell you at the time because I don’t think you’d have understood, but you understand now, don’t you?’
Mother continued to clutch at her throat, her other hand gripping the remote, pointing it towards them as if it were a weapon.
‘No, I— You can’t—’
A hand came into view on the stairwell.
‘You see, Father found me. And you can’t hide from this anymore – you have to face him, face what you’ve done.’
‘Your father …?’
Now the top of his head came into view. And with that, there it was – his face. He climbed the last few stairs, sure-footed, neatly dressed, eyes blazing so much they could have set fire to the room.
‘Hannah,’ he said, his hand trembling on the handrail.
And Mother laughed. A quick, short, choking kind of laugh.
‘Mother?’
One hand over her mouth, Mother shook her head in disbelief. ‘That man … that man is many things – but … but … he is not your father.’
Chapter 57
Lies.
They were like the air – Esther moved through them without noticing, she breathed them in, sucked them deep within her lungs where they lodged like shards of glass.
When would they stop? Who was she meant to believe?
Mother laughed again, the kind of laugh that had been dragged out into the desert and left for the flies. ‘That’s not your father.’
‘Mrs Allbright,’ Tom began, ‘I know that—’
Ned interrupted, ‘She’s right.’
His words fell like dead birds – thud, thud in Esther’s brain. She could only stand and stare.
‘Esther – meet your uncle.’ Mother got up from the sofa and wrapped her cardigan tight around her.
‘I have an uncle?’ Esther asked.
‘You didn’t even tell her I existed?’ Not-Ned took a few paces closer to Mother.
Mother stood firm. ‘You don’t. Not here.’
‘So – who exactly are you?’ Tom shot the question to him.
But it was Mother who answered. ‘Adam.’ Not-Ned gave a slight nod. ‘Always had to stick your nose in where it wasn’t wanted. I haven’t seen you since …’
‘Since you stole my niece.’
‘My daughter. I didn’t steal anything.’
‘I’m sorry.’ Here Adam turned to Esther, moving a step to her, his hands outstretched but she backed away from him. ‘I am so, so sorry that I lied. You didn’t deserve that but I would never have got in here, otherwise. And I have been looking for so long. My brother … it took him a few years, but it was his mission and he found you, on his own, with very little help. I discovered that letter you read – it was really from him. He must have written it once he thought he’d unearthed you but then, I guess, decided not to send it, couldn’t wait and came here, not telling anyone. Because he did come here, didn’t he, Hannah?’
Mother’s face didn’t flicker.
‘And he never came home.’
Mother remained tight-lipped but she didn’t drop her gaze.
‘He …? My father … came here?’ Esther walked closer to the circle of light coming from the sky window and tried to understand what she had just been told.
‘It took me so many years,’ Adam continued. ‘All of those years to find out what took him only a couple. And, as every year went past, it seemed the answer got further and further away from me.’
‘Until I appeared,’ Tom said bitterly.
‘Yes and I’m sorry I told you that I was Ned, but, well, as I’d learnt the hard way – no one really takes much notice of the uncle. But the father? The father is a different story.’ Adam took some more steps into the middle of the room, walking straight to Mother, chin high, hands formed into fists at his sides. Stranger, father, uncle.
‘How could you lie to me, though?’ Esther’s voice made him turn.
‘I—’
Until a few minutes ago this man had been her father, a man who had shaken the grave dirt off his cadaver and sprung back to life. He had been the man who was going to help her build a new life in the Out There, guide and support her like a father should and now he was as bad as Mother, both of them riddled with deceit that clung to them like moss on old trees.
‘You lied to me, over and over. You gave me my father back and then you took him away again. How could you do that to me?’
‘I know. I tried to tell you – you have to believe me. So many times … but there was never the right moment and then you were so happy and, God forgive me … I couldn’t do it. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have let it come to this.’
‘Get out of my house, Adam. You’re not wanted.’ Mother stepped between him and Esther.
‘Look, I don’t care about a confession, I don’t care about explanations. I only want one thing. I want to know what you did to my brother.’
Mother did not move. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘Really? After all these years? Isn’t it time to tell the truth? To me. To her?’
‘Nothing happened.’
‘Nothing …’ Adam’s words tailed off and he gave a tight smile, moving closer again, into the middle of the room, centre stage full spotlight with Mother. ‘Nothing happened. Let me walk you through what I think was the nothing that happened. Ned came here. Maybe you let him in, maybe you didn’t. But he never returned and I can only think … mad though it sounds … that you killed him.’
‘No.’
Adam raised his hands as if he wanted to hit Mother, but then he clenched his fists and let his arms fall back to his sides, an oddly defeated gesture. ‘I just want to know. It’s been so long, Hannah, I just want to know what happened to him. Please.’
Mother flinched a little at that, a quick narrowing of the eyes. Esther backed away from them both until the wall stopped her and then she didn’t try to move again, wasn’t sure she was able to, her head felt strangely light and the rest of her body numb, as if her skull had decided to float away, a meat and gristle bubble.
Could she believe that her mother was capable of murder? She couldn’t. She shouldn’t. She knew her mother: Checklist obsessed, maker of dubious wooden figures, shuffling about in her old slippers and terrible cardigans. She couldn’t have lived with her all of this time and never suspected something as huge as that, something that was currently squeezing her backwards, pressing her up against a wall that kept her upright.
But then there was the memory of her mother crying in her sleep, and the nightmare of an earthy hand on her young shoulder as she stood with her face pressed to the door, listening to the shuffling behind her. Not a nightmare, a memory …
When she spoke, the words rushed from her, so ready was her body to give up this piece of information. ‘I think I know where he’s buried.’
Chapter 58
Hannah
Fourteen years earlier
As she sat huddled in the corner Hannah decided the night had never happened.
Yes. That was it.
Never. Happened.
Something wet seeped over her little finger. She moved it away. So, the night had never happened. It couldn’t have happened, could it? They had had two safe, dark, underground years, her and Esther. The House worked perfectly. The days slid by. Esther was happy, playing with her toys and at their homemade school, her father becoming more of a memory and less of a person. Hannah had told her he was dead. In the end that fateful night when the steelworks had exploded had been a blessing: it had given her the chance to run whilst he had been busy. She’d done him a favour: she had made him a hero. A sacrifice, one last brave act, saving others from the explosion.
The dead cannot arrive by night at the front door, slamming their fist against the metal. So, it couldn’t have happened. She had not run down to open it, only thinking of ending the noise that could wake Esther and break her carefully constructed little world. That would have been a stupid thing to do – so she could not have done it.
He had not come in, a blazing fire of a man, the anger coming from him threatening to sweep her to ash, shouting and trying to push past her. It was unthinkable that he would ever have made it to the stairs. He did not exist. He should have been dead in an explosion in a town she never thought of anymore, and her and Esther, they were safe.
They had to stay safe.
It hadn’t happened. Before she had opened the door, she had not scrambled to the storeroom shelves, grabbing the first thing that looked like it would stop him, a bar or wrench of some sort. Metal had not thudded against flesh – against bone.
He had not toppled. He had not slumped on his knees at the bottom of the stairs, his head bowed as if in shame. He had not slurred something and reached out a hand to her as if she could help him, a look of puzzlement on his face as blood dripped into his eye.
She had not struck him again.
It hadn’t happened. Hannah was not a woman capable of doing that.
Hannah’s leg began to numb and she hauled herself to her feet, wiping her hand on her pyjama top, using the wall as a support, gazing at the spot at the bottom of the stairs.
That was not his body.
It was easier then, once she understood this. Because if it was not his body then it was merely a problem that had to be dealt with – and she was good at dealing with problems. She was capable. She could do this.
First, an old sheet. She had lots of those. It was hard to roll the problem onto it because it was surprisingly heavier than she had expected and by the time it was on the sheet she was sweating.
Then – drag. She had options. Through the door and out, past the front of the House and to a spot with soft earth that could be easily dug. But that was a lot of dragging she realised and her wrists were sore from just hauling the problem a few short steps. Over uneven ground, in the darkness, alone at night? She supposed she could haul it out and then leave it somewhere, perhaps do the burying in stages once it was out of the House, but the animals would get to it and make an unholy mess she didn’t want to have to look at. She just wanted it sorted. Dealt with. Now.
The tunnel.
Her solution was already there. A short drag to the last few alcoves, ones that she had deliberately left empty so they could grow into them – space for more storage that would eventually be needed. They were prepared for a lifetime after all. For the first time she blessed the fact that she had decided not to concrete the floor in this part. The digging would take her all night. But if she dug deep, wrapped carefully and carted the earth away, there would not be a problem any longer.
The dragging began.
It was fine. Nothing had happened and she had put another sheet over the problem so that it was a long, heavy, dirty-white lump, nothing more.
She did not get very far.
There came the sound of footsteps made by small bare feet.
Esther was at the last step before Hannah could stumble around the big, shrouded lump of nothing and rush towards her.
‘Esther! Go and stand by the door! Face the door and stand there. Do not turn your head.’ She grabbed her by the elbow, her flannel pyjama top soft against her grimy fingers and they left a mark as she hustled her to the door and nearly pressed her face into its metal. ‘You stay there, d’you hear me? Why are you out of bed?’
‘I thought I heard—’
‘I’m digging in one of the alcoves and it’s dangerous – you will get hurt. Stay where you are!’ Esther’s shoulders wobbled and Hannah softened her grip.
‘But … but it’s night … Why are you doing it now?’
‘I – I couldn’t sleep. Needed something to do.’
‘I’ll go back to bed,’ Esther sniffed.
‘No!’ If she crossed back to the stairs she would look as she passed the tunnel and she would see. No – she would have to stay where she was until Hannah got the problem stuffed into the alcove. ‘No,’ she said, forcing the manic edge out of her voice. ‘It’s too dangerous to get back to the stairs. Let me make it safe – do not move an inch – and then I’ll take you back to bed. Get you some warm milk, hmm?’
Esther nodded. Her good girl, her good, obedient girl. Safe. She put an earthy hand on her shoulder.
Back to the dragging whilst her seven-year-old stood with her face to the door as if Hannah had put her in the naughty corner.
And so, five minutes later she was upstairs watching powdered milk heat in a pan – the watery thin stuff tasted nothing like actual milk, but Esther did not remember the difference anymore.
Beneath their feet a problem waited.
Hannah only had one night. There was no way she could leave something like that half-finished with a seven-year-old tearing around the place. Even a good, obedient seven-year-old.
There was a simple solution. Hannah knew what she was doing and the milk was gritty anyway. There was no way Esther would be able to tell that there was extra powder in it. She didn’t even have to hide it in the milk anyway. If Hannah told Esther that she had some medicine to take before bed then Esther would dutifully open her mouth. No questions asked.
Hannah needed a whole, undisturbed night.
As she cracked the pills and stirred them in, she noticed flecks of red on the cuff of her pyjama shirt. For a moment her hand paused, trembling. She took two deep breaths, thinking only about them, the way air was sucked into her lungs and then blown out again.
It was another problem. She’d been thinking about changing her clothes for the dig, but her pyjamas were grubby now anyway so she would wear them and then bleach-wash the whole outfit afterwards. Or set fire to it.
