Hush (12 page)

The drive took place in near-total silence, interrupted only by Marcus’s occasional comments about the landmarks they were coasting past. They left around four on Friday, just making it past the motorway by the time rush-hour cars started dribbling on to the road. Marcus had plotted a ‘scenic’ route for them to take – one which avoided most of the traffic and took almost twice as long as it could have done. They arrived at the caravan park just in time to pick up the keys; five minutes later and the office would have been closed. They hauled their cases into the caravan as the sun was setting, and tried not to notice that there was no one else around, that the caravan was dark and poky and that the three of them, plus suitcases, filled all of the available space without difficulty.

‘It’s only a few days,’ Marcus said, too heartily, trying to rearrange the cases so that there was enough space for them to sit down.

There was only one bedroom; Connie would sleep on the sofa-bed in the living area. She took this in without comment. She and her mother sat on the sofa and looked around the room, taking in the predominantly beige décor, the TV in the corner which looked as if it had been around since the nineteenth century. Marcus fussed with water and gas and electricity, eventually combining his efforts in all three areas to produce a pot of tea, which he placed proudly on the table. ‘Not too bad, eh?’ he said, still using his over-cheerful voice, producing plastic mugs with the sort of flourish which
might more commonly be reserved for groundbreaking scientific discoveries. Connie and her mother accepted their tea without comment.

The sun set too quickly for them to get a good look at their surroundings, and none of them wanted to venture outside in the dark. They spent the evening in front of the TV, which crackled and fizzed its way in and out of focus, and Connie wondered how many other families would travel two hundred miles to sit in a living room less comfortable than their own, watching the same programmes they could watch at home on a smaller television set.

They went to bed early, and slept little; the creaking of the caravan kept Connie awake until the early hours, and she lay staring at the front door in the dark, half-expecting someone to come bursting through it.

Esmeralda had stopped leaving her room. Lily went to visit her most days, but the nurses didn’t approve of this, so she had to do it in secret. She usually went in the evenings, the time when the order of the house seemed to break down and the nurses were likely to forget what they were supposed to be doing and who they were supposed to be looking after. The advantage of her silence was that her disappearance generally went unnoticed; no one really registered the absence of nothing.

Lily spent her evenings sitting in the chair in the corner of Esmeralda’s room, wordlessly watching over her patient, who was often so out of it she didn’t notice anyone was there. When she was awake and alert – when, she informed Lily with delight, she had managed to avoid taking the drugs they’d been trying to slip her – she talked endlessly about the conspiracy to keep her locked up, about the pointlessness of existence, and about her parents, who became more demonic
with every passing day. She knew the truth, and they were determined that she wouldn’t have the chance to tell anyone. But she knew. And, some day, she would tell the world.

The red welts on her arms blazed her fury.

When they had succeeded in drugging her, she was either delirious, or virtually catatonic. It was the latter that worried Lily the most: when her friend, who was usually so alive with something (even if it was just the misery of her existence) stopped speaking, and sat motionless in her bed, staring at the wall without seeing a thing.

Sometimes the nurses came in to check on her. They would fuss around her and tell her what a good girl she was being, how she’d be out soon if she just continued to behave herself, while Lily hid under the chair and held her breath until they’d gone.

One day they found her. ‘So this is where you’ve been running off to,’ one of the nurses said, clamping her hand firmly around Lily’s wrist and leading her back to her own room. ‘It won’t do either of you any good, you know. Esme needs to rest and you need to spend time with other people.’

She didn’t clarify who these other people might be, and, when they got back to Lily’s room, she left her there alone.

After that they kept a close eye on her. Escorted her to visit Esmeralda once a week, but always when she was asleep. Lily took to sneaking out of her room in the middle of the night. Esmeralda was usually awake in the night, and Lily would sit on the end of the bed and listen to her whispered confessions. Sometimes she would fall asleep there, curled up with Esmeralda’s arm draped sleepily over her, but she always woke up in her own bed.

One night she woke from a nightmare to find the whole house silent and dark. Aware of the monsters lurking under the bed, she leapt off the mattress, landing a good two feet away, clear of grasping claws. She ran the distance from her
room to Esmeralda’s, shadows chasing her all the way. Burst into the room, shutting the door quickly but silently behind her. Pressed herself against the door, breathing heavily, until the danger had subsided. No monsters here.

Esmeralda was asleep, eyes shuttered by lids which glowed white in the moonlight. Lily took a step forward, and then stopped, registering the odd way in which she was positioned. On her back, arms spread wide. And stains on the sheets.

Blood blacker than the dark.

Lily turned and ran.

She didn’t know where the nurses slept, had no idea where she was heading, but she hurtled blindly in the direction of the common room and was relieved when she found a light still on, a glowing orb of safety in the thick black of the corridors. One of the nurses sat behind the desk, immersed in the flickering of the TV in front of her. She looked up as Lily approached.

‘What are you doing out of bed?’ she asked, her voice reproachful.

Lily gestured in the direction of Esmeralda’s room, breathless, hoping the panic in her face would be enough.

‘Did you have a nightmare, sweetie? It’s okay, you know. It’s not real.’

Lily shook her head, reached out and grabbed her hand, trying to pull her in the direction of Esmeralda’s room. The nurse wouldn’t budge.

‘You need to tell me what it is, Lily,’ she said. ‘I’m not playing guessing games at this time of night.’

Lily stamped her foot in frustration.

‘Okay, okay.’ The nurse stood up reluctantly. ‘Lead the way.’

She refused to quicken her pace, despite Lily pulling on her hand, and so they walked sedately back to the room,
Lily’s insides screaming all the way. ‘You’re not supposed to have been here,’ the nurse said, when she realised where they were headed. ‘Didn’t we tell you to stay in bed?’

Lily glared at her, and pushed the door open.

Connie awoke the next morning with the sun in her eyes and the dawn chorus ringing in the trees outside. The curtains didn’t reach all the way to the corners of the windows, and shafts of bright light zigzagged their way across the room, illuminating the dust in the air and making Connie squint.

She hauled herself out of bed and got dressed as quietly as she could, aware that every movement caused the caravan to shake on its foundations. She went into the tiny bathroom and splashed her face with water, noting her reflection in the tiny mirror above the sink. She was paler than usual, and dark circles ringed her eyes like bruises. She pulled her hair back into a ponytail without brushing it, leaving a bunched collection of knots trapped with elastic.

She unlocked the front door and slipped out, not bothering to leave a note for her parents.

The sun, still not fully risen, was surprisingly warm. There was a chill in the shadows, though, and Connie was glad she had thought to bring a jacket. She paused briefly outside the front door, taking in the view that she had barely registered last night. A mountain, densely forested, rose directly behind her. Ahead, through the trees, she could see the steep drop of the ground falling away into valley. There were three other caravans in the clearing, only one of which had a car parked outside it. Connie moved on, not wanting to run into anyone if she could help it.

A wide gravel path veered off in one direction, leading back to the road they had driven in on. She walked the other way, plunging into the trees on a path which was just too
narrow for a car to drive down. She was enclosed in darkness immediately, but she could see space ahead where the trees cleared and the sun had forced its way through.

She could hear nothing except for birds chattering in the trees and a distant rush of water. She was used to the quiet – Drayfield was hardly a hive of activity in the evenings – but she could usually hear the distant conversation of her neighbours in their gardens, or of people walking up the lane. Here there was no human noise at all. Her footsteps, crunching on the gravel, seemed loud and out of place.

The path took her through a clearing, where daisies pushed their way through the grass and birds hopped freely along the ground. Then she rounded a corner and found herself facing water.

The mountainside on her right had gradually opened out, becoming less densely wooded as she’d walked, and now it was open and rocky, sparsely littered with dry-looking bushes. Water darted over the rocks in a series of waterfalls, which opened out into shallow pools and finally spread across the path in a stream which was just too wide to leap across, though it was dotted with flat rocks that could easily be used as stepping stones. The pathway she was on continued upwards alongside the stream, becoming a series of steps as the mountainside got steeper, and she decided to follow the path and see how high it would take her.

As she climbed, she allowed herself to wonder what Lily was doing at that moment. It had been three months since she’d been sent to the institute, and Connie had only been allowed to visit her once. She had worked hard to pretend that she didn’t find the place disturbing; they’d sat in the common room and played wordless games, and Connie had tried not to pay any attention to the other children who watched them from every corner. One of Lily’s doctors had taken her into his office before they left and quizzed her
about the night Billy died, but when Connie said she couldn’t remember he had left it at that.

More and more, in recent months, she had found herself consciously pushing Billy to the back of her thoughts, especially when other people were around. She was systematically forgetting their friendship. With Lily gone and her parents silent on the subject, she could almost pretend she’d imagined the entire thing.

Except for the others at school, taunting her with what they believed she’d done.

Connie climbed higher, her footsteps following the water back to its source, and tried to imagine what life would be like if Lily never came back. Would the accusations fade over time? Would everyone forget, if Lily no longer existed? Or would they blame her for that too?

And was it okay, to want to sacrifice an already-broken sister in exchange for a happier life?

She paused by a pool in the stream, taking a seat on a large, flat rock which had been baking in the early-morning sunshine. Connie was hungry now; she must have been walking for well over an hour. She wondered if her parents were up yet, if they’d be wondering where she was. She felt a savage pleasure at the possibility of them being anxious about her.

She looked up the mountainside, considered climbing higher, then decided against it. If her parents were awake then they’d almost certainly be concerned about her. And besides, she was hungry.

She made her way back to the caravan.

Connie’s parents were frantic by the time she got back, and for a moment she was half-sorry and half-pleased; she couldn’t remember the last time they’d worried about her.
Then they spoke, and she realised it wasn’t her they were worried about at all.

‘We have to go home,’ her father said as soon as she stepped through the door. ‘There’s a problem with Lily.’

He explained as they carried their things out to the car, Connie thinking it was just as well they hadn’t had time to unpack. ‘A messenger came down here about an hour ago, said he’d got a phone call for me from the institute. It seems one of Lily’s friends has hurt herself.’

There was something about the way he said this which implied she hadn’t fallen over in the playground.

‘Lily’s very upset. Her doctors think it’s inadvisable for her to stay where she is, for the moment. I’ve got to go and take her back to Grandma’s.’

Connie stared at him, disbelieving. ‘Why can’t you just bring her home?’

‘Well, we don’t think she’s ready for that yet.’

‘But that’s ridiculous! Being away isn’t helping her, is it? Has she even spoken one word since she’s been gone?’

‘Well, no, but –’

Connie threw the bag she was carrying on to the ground. ‘Do you think you can just send her away and bring her back when someone else has made her all better? What she needs is her family, not some random strangers.’

‘Her grandparents are her family,’ her father said quietly.

‘Yeah, but they’re not her
parents
, are they? They’re not you. They’re not
me
.’ Connie glared at him, eyes filling with furious tears. ‘Didn’t it ever occur to you that we were down there together that night? That maybe it would be better if we got through it together?’

‘Connie, please, we’re just trying –’

But Connie didn’t hear what they were just trying. She stomped over to the car, climbed into the back seat and jammed her Walkman’s headphones firmly in her ears. As
they drove home, she could see her father turning round, trying to talk to her, but she stared stubbornly out of the window and didn’t hear a word he said.

Connie, as she had been then, first strains of womanhood pushing through childish limbs. Face-paint streaked across unblemished skin; careless clothing, which inadvertently revealed youth along with too much flesh. That sense of brash arrogance, combined with an awkwardness within her own skin. A smell of too many combined beauty products: moisturisers, shampoos, perfumes. And, underneath it all, the scent of someone who was well cared for: still a child.

She was standing on the banks of the river, in the village where she had grown up. Billy was in there somewhere, though she hadn’t seen him. There was the odd ripple, a shadow under the water. A presence that hung in the air. Expectation.

Dread.

She shifted, was awake; saw Nathan’s face in the moonlit glow of their bedroom. She felt feverish, unsure.

Back on the riverbank.

The water shifted, held out its arms to her. As if Billy stood there, inviting her to join him. The clouds above darkened, boiled in the sky, and behind her was nothing: empty space and no time at all.

She was on her knees and unable to move. The ground bit into her skin, gravel-like. She tried to push her hands forward, but all was mud and resistance, and she slid and fell, face-first. Something pushed down on her from above; she couldn’t move.

And still that feeling. Something above and something below. Nothing behind.

‘Okay?’

A murmur, reaching out to her from somewhere, but it was too far. She couldn’t push against the current – the tides – the whatever it was that was pushing her down –

‘Connie.’

It was Billy, she knew; Billy calling her home. She pushed forward, trying to reach him. Held out her hands, met nothing but air. She was too late, he was gone, and she couldn’t breathe, was being crushed, would die here, alone; and she deserved it, that was the worst thing of all –

With an effort, Nathan shook her awake. Her screams filled the house, woke the children; and even after Nathan had got them settled it was hours before she managed to get back to sleep.

‘Do you not think maybe you should stay home tonight?’

‘Because I had a bad dream?’ Connie’s eyebrows were raised in disbelief. ‘Perhaps I should also leave the nightlight on? And wait for you to tell me a bedtime story?’

‘There’s no need to be a bitch.’

‘I’m not. You’re being a patronising arse. I don’t need babysitting.’

‘You know full well I’m not trying to treat you like a child.

I’m just worried about you. That wasn’t a normal dream.’

‘No. It was a nightmare. Probably brought on by you stumbling in at, what, four in the morning?’

‘Three.’

‘Oh, much better. And where were you until three o’clock this morning? You told me the place shut at midnight.’

She was working hard on keeping her voice low; the boys were upstairs playing and she didn’t want to disturb them.
Nathan had conveniently avoided any discussion about the time he’d come home by being worried about her, and then being at work. As a result, she’d spent most of the day quietly stewing about it.

‘I was with James. We went to a casino.’

‘Oh, fabulous. Gambling. An admirable pastime.’

‘I can’t speak to you when you’re like this. Forget what I said. Please do go out, and leave me in fucking peace.’

‘Oh, that’s right. Turn it round on me.’

‘I was just trying to show you some concern, Connie. Just worried about your mental health. You know? Because your sister’s driving you crazy and you’ve just lost your mother and you spend more and more of each passing day in bed, thinking I won’t notice as long as you get up in time to pick the boys up from school? Don’t make me out to be the bad guy here.’

‘If you were that worried, why were you out all night?’

‘Because I was having fun, and I was drunk, and I felt like it. It’s not as though you didn’t know where I was, and it’s not as though you weren’t invited to come along. You chose not to come with me.’

‘Because I was tired.’

‘No, because you were depressed. There’s a difference, you know.’

‘Oh, yes, I forgot. What the doctor says must be correct. I can’t just be tired and in a bad mood, like any other overworked mother. It has to be
depression
. Why does there always have to be a name for everything these days?’

‘Stop it.
Stop this
. You’re being ridiculous.’

‘Am I?’ Her voice was shaking, partly out of annoyance at having such a weak comeback. But she felt utterly defenceless. How was it that he could spend so much time creeping around, cat-like, absorbing details but never bothering to share them with her? And all the while she’d just assumed he wasn’t paying attention.

‘Look, I don’t want to fight with you.’ His voice was gentle, conciliatory.
Because he knows he’s won
, she thought, spitefully.

‘Don’t tell me what to do, then.’

‘Okay, okay.’ He held up his hands: surrender. ‘Do whatever you want. Go and discuss whatever it is that Richard wants to discuss. Have a lovely time.’ He leaned forward and kissed her, softly, on the cheek. ‘Please. Please have a lovely time.’

She nodded; touched the place where his lips had brushed her cheek; nodded again. And left.

Richard was already there when Connie arrived, ten minutes late and slightly flushed from the cold outside. She babbled apologies as she pulled off her coat and sat herself down opposite him, and Richard could see that her eyes were red and swollen, though he didn’t comment.

‘How are the kids?’ he asked, once she’d got herself settled.

‘Oh, fine, you know. Getting on okay at school. Tom’s boring us all senseless with stuff he’s learning about the environment. “Did you know, Mummy, that in 1987 an area of the Amazon rainforest the size of Britain was burned?” and so on.’ She smiled to herself. ‘I love the way kids assume they’re the first generation to have ever learned anything.’

‘Yeah, it’s great. They can teach you all the things you’ve spent the last thirty years forgetting.’

‘I’m not sure there’s enough room in my head for all that stuff any more.’ Connie poured herself a glass of water from the pitcher on the table, then looked around for a waiter. ‘Don’t suppose you’ve ordered yet?’

‘I ordered wine. I felt it would be presumptuous to order food. Also, I wasn’t sure how long you’d be.’

‘Yeah, sorry about that. Nathan’s being a pain.’

‘Really? Why?’

Connie drank half of her water in one go. ‘Oh, I don’t know, really. He’s pretending he’s all worried about me because I’ve not been sleeping that well and so on, but then he went out last night and stayed out until three in the morning, so he couldn’t have been that worried, could he? It’s just irritating me.’

‘Nathan was out until three in the morning?’ Richard’s eyebrows were furrowed in concern.

‘It was a work thing.’ She laughed at his expression. ‘It’s fine, he invited me along but I don’t really like that sort of thing. I just wish – you know – I wish he’d be a bit more responsible, sometimes. Around the house, I mean. Obviously I know he’s responsible at
work
.’ She spat the word across the table with an expression of distaste.

‘He’s got a tough job.’

‘Yeah, I know. It doesn’t exempt you from responsibility in all other areas of life, though, does it?’ She sighed. ‘Anyway, enough about me. How’s Lily? Have you told her about losing your job yet?’

‘Um. I haven’t had the chance, actually.’ Richard explained briefly about Lily being given a sabbatical. ‘I really think it’ll do her good, you know? She obviously needs to take a break from it all, and she’s just blocking everything out and getting on with work instead.’

Connie looked sceptical. ‘Thing is, Richard, Lily’s never been particularly good at dealing with things. She just shuts down and carries on as if nothing’s happened.’

‘I realise that. But maybe this will be her chance to sort herself out a bit.’

‘Right. And what do you propose? Are you going to start counselling her, now that you’ve both got some spare time?’

‘Oh, come on, Connie, I’m being serious.’

‘Sorry.’ She was contrite. ‘What did you have in mind?’

‘Well –’ The waiter appeared at his side, and he stopped talking abruptly. They both sat in silence as the waiter poured the wine.

‘Can I take your orders?’

They ordered the same food they ate every time, and the waiter departed, wending his way through the tables towards the kitchen. Connie watched his progress, sipping her wine and barely tasting it.

‘So I thought we might move into your mother’s house,’ Richard said, his voice rushed and nervous.

Connie stared at him blankly. ‘You – what?’

‘I know it sounds crazy, but I think we both need a break. I think some new surroundings – and for Lily some familiar ones – might be just what we need. And also,’ he continued quickly, before she could say anything, ‘now that I’ve lost my job we’re going to need some extra money, and, seeing as the house is just sitting there at the moment, we could live there rent-free and let out the flat.’ He paused, looking at her closely, trying to read her expression. ‘If you don’t mind,’ he prompted.

‘Um, I – sorry, I’m just really surprised.’ She smiled faintly. ‘I don’t mind at all, but have you spoken to Lily? That house, it – it’s got a lot of history for us, you know?’

‘I know there’s a lot of history with your parents – your dad dying and your mum being, well, the way she was – but I thought maybe if Lily was back there she could confront some of it. It’s like the doctor said,’ Richard said, his voice speeding up again. ‘She’s got these physical symptoms because she’s not dealing with the emotional trauma, and if she goes back there then she’ll have to deal with it all and then – she might – well…’ He stopped, feeling foolish.

‘Get better?’ Connie suggested, raising one eyebrow.

‘Yeah. I suppose. It’s not so far-fetched, is it?’

Connie shrugged. ‘No, I suppose not. Has she ever spoken to you about that house? Or… er, our parents, or – anything?’

‘Not really.’ Richard took a long sip of his wine. ‘I know she was really close to your dad. And I know your mum was institutionalised and – well, you know – the depression. But she doesn’t really talk about your childhood.’

Connie nodded. ‘You know about her not speaking, though? I mean, really not speaking?’

‘Yeah, of course. She said about you guys being bullied, and – well, I’m not stupid, Connie. I know there are things she isn’t telling me and I know you guys had a difficult childhood, but I really think she might get past it better if she faces it. Don’t you agree?’

Connie looked at him. He looked so earnest and so hopeful, staring up at her as if she had all the answers, and she wondered how her sister had managed to find this man who wanted nothing more than to make her happy.

It didn’t matter how she’d found him, of course. It mattered that he was there.

‘I don’t know,’ she said finally. ‘But I think it’s worth a go.’

‘Really?’

‘Yeah. Anything’s worth a go, really, isn’t it?’ She grinned, and raised her glass in a toast. ‘To confronting the past,’ she said, and their glasses met across the table with a gentle clink.

Lily was in a field. It was dark – no, not dark: twilight. Dark enough that she couldn’t help but stumble over things in her path. Light enough that she could see the horizon, blurry blue-black. There was a silvery light in the air, which was not light, but an absence of dark.

She couldn’t see the ends of the earth, but she could feel them, on all sides.

Creatures whispered through the grass at her feet, brushed her bare toes, making her tense. She would not scream.

She could feel the presence in the air, the someonethere, though who it was she couldn’t be sure.

She took two steps forward, and fell through the earth.

The fall wasn’t a long one, but she felt all the breath leave her body as she plunged downwards. Adrenaline shot to her extremities, a tingling so pervasive it was painful. She landed in a cavern, fully dark, underground, underworld. The floor was dirt, the hole she’d fallen through just large enough that she could make out walls.

And that sense, still. Someonethere.

She held out her hands. Scrabbled in the dirt for a way out. Panic setting in as she realised the hole was too high for her to reach, and there were no doorways in the walls; and even if there had been they would have led further into the earth; no way out: she was trapped, and struggling to breathe through dirt-clogged airways.

Think. Calm. Must be some way out. Something.

The walls were briefly illuminated, perhaps by lightning, and the panic intensified. Words all over the walls. Silvery scrawls.

get out get out get out getoutgetoutgetout

Esmeralda’s body on the ground, two feet away, the same silvery scrawls covering her arms. Her blood, of course.

And her face, half-eaten by maggots. But still she was smiling.

And the approach, from behind, of something as yet unseen.

Finally, Lily allowed herself to scream.

She was awake by the time Richard got to her; breathing heavily, but starting to calm down. The bedroom was dark, the green flashing numbers on the alarm clock casting an odd, uneven glow across her face. She’d been crying in her sleep.

‘What was it?’

She shook her head. He sat down next to her, put his arms around her, felt her heart pounding next to his steady pulse. Her breath, short sharp gasps, warm on his neck. She breathed deeper, steadied herself.

‘It was just a dream,’ he said, quietly. She nodded into his neck.

‘Where were you?’ she asked, pulling back, lying back down.

‘I needed to talk to Connie about something.’ She looked at him, questioningly, but didn’t say anything. ‘And now I need to talk to you about something. But I think it can wait until the morning, don’t you?’

She nodded. Too tired to be curious. Already slipping back into unconsciousness.

He lay down beside her, fully dressed, and held her close as she fell asleep. Thinking, if he held her tight enough, if he cared enough, then maybe he could take control of her dreams. Force them down the right path, soothe her splintered unconscious, and give her a restful night.