I finally wake up at 9 a.m., my body aching, my limbs heavy. Still, I am determined to plough ahead, to tackle some of the less appealing things that have been preying on my mind since last night. Somewhere amongst Mum’s things are the details on the police reports about Simon’s disappearance.
I am going to read them, if only to satisfy myself that they did everything they could to find my brother. I realise that policing methods back then weren’t as advanced or as scrupulous as they are today but I want to be sure that every effort was put into finding Simon and that he wasn’t written off as a wandering miscreant, somebody who became embroiled in an adventure that turned sour. I also want to find out whether or not our family is mentioned; whether or not my name comes up as a person of interest. I know this is highly unlikely but I won’t settle until I see every single report, read every newspaper article I can find about when he disappeared.
Living at Woodburn Cottage has stirred up something in me, some latent force that has set me on the path to finding out what happened to Simon. And now I’m down that route, I won’t turn back. Not until I discover what happened to him and where he is now.
9
‘I got rid of them.’ Kim’s tone is sharp, unrelenting. She won’t be backed into a corner on this. I have no idea why she thought it was in our best interests to dispose of them, but it would appear that that is exactly what she has done. She had no right to do such a thing without first speaking to me. I know this. She knows it too.
‘All of them? Every single article and police report?’ I am trying to keep my voice even, to disguise my growing frustration and anger, but it’s not easy. My face is hot, my chest tight, every blood vessel in my body fit to burst. Frustration and anger swirl in my head, a dark, thick cloud leaden with unspent fury.
‘All of them.’
I wait out the silence, breaking it only as my temper takes hold. ‘You had no right, Kim. You should have consulted me first.’ There is ice in my voice, fire in my veins, a fusion of the two fuelling me, pushing me on. ‘I wanted to see them. You had no right!’
If she is shocked by my sudden outburst, she doesn’t show it. I rarely lose my temper. I’m the quiet one in the family, the reserved one who tiptoes through life, smoothing troubled waters, building bridges. But not any more.
‘I had no right? Grace, you were grieving. Mum’s dementia had worsened. I did what I had to do. Keeping them was never going to bring Simon back, was it?’
I flinch, bruised by her callous manner, the way she can wound even from a distance, using words as weapons. This isn’t Kim lashing out, defending her actions; this is Kim being vindictive, showing me that she is the one who is in charge in this family, that I am in no position to dedicate any time to finding out the truth about my brother. She thinks that it is none of my concern, that much is obvious. I was too young when it happened and therefore have been robbed of any liberties when it comes to enquiring about what took place that night all those years ago. Kim is in charge of our little family and decides who can rake through our past. That is her reasoning. It’s not mine.
‘And pretending he never existed is? I always knew you were a tough one, Kim. I just never realised that you’re hard to the point of being cruel. You disposed of the last things we had of our brother. It wasn’t your place to do that. And don’t you dare use my grief as an excuse for trampling over my feelings, for making decisions on my behalf, pretending I was too cut up to be consulted.’ I am breathless, my stomach roiling, my throat thick with unshed tears. I want to say more, years and years of unspoken words spilling out of me in a heady rush, but I don’t. They stay inside my head, trapped by my lack of power, the inertia that often cripples me when it comes to dealing with my sister. Instead, I visualise myself marching into Kim’s living room, snatching the phone out of her hand and slapping her hard across the face. It gives me enormous pleasure, sending a rush of blood to my cheeks, my neck and ears. I can practically feel the smart on my palm, the sting of pain as flesh meets flesh.
Her silence seems to go on for an age. I refuse to be browbeaten into speaking first, letting her wield her older sibling authority over me. I will wait this one out, stand my ground until the imbalance of power tips in my favour.
When she does answer, it’s as if I haven’t even spoken at all. She is calm, measured, and as always, brimming with self-confidence. ‘Well, anyway, what’s done is done, isn’t it? Time to move on. Are you still up for coffee this week?’ Her tone is brusque, efficient: the voice of somebody utterly unmoved by what we have just spoken about. Kim, the ice queen, impervious to the usual range of human emotions.
Once again, she has rendered me speechless. I stumble backwards, lowering myself onto the sofa in a clumsy heap. Lost for words. I am completely lost for words and do something I have never ever done. Not to Kim, not to anybody. I end the call without saying goodbye then throw the phone onto the floor, watching mesmerised as it spins around on its back, rocking back and forth like a tiny, upturned turtle.
Everything slows down, the world decelerating as my heart speeds up, pulsing angrily beneath my shirt. The floors swirls at my feet, tiny specks of dirt dancing around me. I rest my head in my hands, wait for everything to rebalance itself, for my blood pressure to lower itself. For my world to return to normal. Whatever normal is.
Only when I have calmed down do I stand and pick up the phone, replacing it on the table. I almost laugh at the idea of meeting her for coffee, picturing her sitting there, wondering where I am, why I haven’t turned up, her mind genuinely perplexed at my absence. I wonder how Greg does it. Is he immune to her insults and overbearing manner? I don’t see him as somebody who needs a strong partner in his life, the sort of man who likes being supported by a domineering person. Greg is a capable man. He has his own opinions, his own interests and a successful career.
That’s when it comes to me – she isn’t the same person when she is at home with her own family. Her absurd bossiness is reserved solely for me, her much younger sibling. Time has failed to diminish the roles of our family structure. If anything, it has strengthened them, fortifying Kim’s belief that she can say or do anything she pleases when she is in my presence, strengthening her belief that I am still her little sister, that young, shy, scared little girl who admired her older sibling, following her around the house, begging to be in her company. It is a misplaced notion. Her ideas are out of kilter, anachronistic and skewed. I am her equal, somebody with the same rights as her, the same needs and wants. Somebody who is worthy of her respect.
I am thinking all of these things when I hear a tap at the door. Not the sharp rap of a delivery man, more of a gentle interruption into my day, an almost apologetic tapping.
Her smile is lopsided, her eyes half hidden behind the array of white, silken petals.
‘Carrie?’ My voice is hoarse, a low growl. I clear my throat and step aside to allow her to enter, my palm outstretched as I beckon her inside.
‘These are for you. As an apology for having such a big, fat mouth.’ There is a hint of laughter in her tone, not an abrasive sound, more of a soft quality that resonates with me, catching me in my solar plexus. I need this. I need this moment and I need Carrie to be standing there, smiling at me. She has broken the moment, severed the cord of anger that had me trapped in my own dark thoughts.
I reach out, touch her shoulder and smile. ‘Absolutely no need. But thank you anyway. It’s a really kind gesture.’
We walk into the living room, Carrie looking around for somewhere to place the flowers.
‘Here, let me take those. I’ll get them in some water. Coffee?’ I take the flowers, surprised at the weight. There must be at least a dozen white roses here, interspersed with sprigs of fern and a sprinkling of pale, lilac flowers whose name escapes me. ‘They are really beautiful. Thank you so much. But as I said, there really was no need, you know.’
‘I didn’t sleep last night, thinking about it. Every time I dozed off, the thought of what I said came back to me and woke me up. So stupid and crass. Innes often tells me to think before I speak.’
I think that perhaps Innes is wrong. Carrie certainly doesn’t strike me as a particularly thoughtless or imperious woman. Quite the opposite. I cannot ever imagine Kim doing something like this, bringing me flowers by way of an apology. She would brush away my anxieties with a sweep of her hand and a rush of acerbic words telling me how pointless worry is, how it doesn’t solve anything, blurring all logic and clarity of thought.
‘Oh, poor you! Honestly, I am perfectly fine. It was a silly overreaction on my part.’ I do my best to play it down. I probably did overreact. How could I possibly have done anything to harm my own brother and not remember? In the cold light of day, my near meltdown seems silly and embarrassing. An overplay of emotions on my part.
I place the bouquet in a large vase and make us both a hot drink, the blended aroma of flowers and coffee filling the kitchen.
Carrie is standing looking at a wedding photograph as I walk back into the living room. ‘You look beautiful. And your husband was a handsome man.’
‘Thank you.’ I hand her the coffee, my legs suddenly weak at the thought of Warren and the shock of waking up next to him in bed, his body cold and rigid, his skin as pale as chalk.
‘I’m heading back home in a couple of days.’ She turns again to look at the photograph before catching my eye, our gazes locking, a moment of pure understanding passing between us. ‘I was hoping maybe we could have another catch-up before I leave. And this time, I’ll let you do the talking. I’ll sit and listen instead of causing so much upset.’
We spend a pleasant ten minutes chatting amiably about our children, marriage, her life in Scotland until she looks at her watch and stands up, startled. ‘God, sorry. Got to get back. I’m taking Ted to visit my aunt in Pickering. We’re having a bite to eat then going for a wander around Rievaulx Abbey. I haven’t been there since I was a little kid. Can’t imagine it’s changed much, though.’ She smiles.
I laugh as she places her cup down on the coffee table, remembering the days as children when Kim, Simon and I used to clamber over the ruins, balancing on low walls and calling out to one another, our voices echoing into the emptiness of the crumbling remains.
‘How about tomorrow evening?’ I say, watching her face for any signs of reticence.
‘That sounds perfect. I’ll get Ted sorted then I can be here for about eight?’
Relief blooms in my chest. This is easy, effortless, this renewed friendship with a woman I’ve not seen for decades.
I almost reach out to hug her, stopping myself just in time. Too much, too soon. Perhaps this connection will prove to be nothing more than a fleeting thing. Or perhaps it is the beginning of a lasting friendship. Who knows? Life is unpredictable, special moments rare and transitory. We have to grab them while we can, hold them tight, cherish them. I know this now. Maybe I’ve always known it. It feels like a stronger emotion since losing Warren. I was a child when Simon disappeared and although I felt his loss, it was a different sensation, his vanishing shrouded in mystery. I was protected from a lot of it, my senses dulled to the real hurt and pain, seeing it as I did, through the eyes of a youngster. For years, I thought he would come back. Time held no true meaning for me. A day was a week, a week a month. Only now can I study it properly, scrutinise it with renewed purpose. I became too bogged down with my own family, my job. But now I have the space in my life to truly give it some thought, to allow myself the time to travel back to that night. The night he left our lives forever.
‘Eight sounds great,’ I say, snapping back to the present.
This house, meeting Carrie again after all these years – it has set off something in me, aroused a whole gamut of feelings that have lain dormant for most of my life. But now this concealed force within me is coming back to life, demanding to be heard. I can’t ignore it. I do that at my peril. I don’t care what Kim’s feelings are on this matter; I am determined to put some real effort into finding out what happened to our brother all those years ago. He deserves it. He doesn’t deserve to be shelved away, his memory forgotten, too difficult to speak about.
