The Old House on the Corner Page 17

  She missed having babies, missed their dependency, teaching them to talk and walk, running into her arms when she collected them from school, helping to tie their shoelaces and myriad other things.

  Although James and Kirsty could still make her heart turn over: James, for instance, when he’d been presented with two prizes on the final speech day at Junior school, looking incredibly serious and proud when he marched up to the front to take them from the headmistress; Kirsty for just being herself, tall and gawky, atrociously dressed, pretending to swoon during Top of the Pops when Take That came on the screen, promising herself that one day she would marry Robbie Williams. ‘Then I won’t have to change my name, will I, Mum?’

  ‘No, sweetheart,’ Rachel assured her.

  The day Kirsty started senior school, Frank telephoned from the showroom. Did she get off OK?’ he asked.

  ‘She hates the uniform, but we already knew that. I’ve promised to take the skirt up a few inches tonight.’ Rachel sighed. She felt terribly sad.

  ‘I suppose you don’t know what to do with yourself.’

  ‘Well, there’s plenty of washing and Kirsty’s room is a tip, but I know what you mean. I wish we’d had more children, Frank.’

  ‘It’s a bit late in the day to think that, love. We thought two was all we could afford.’

  ‘I know.’ She sighed again. She was unlikely to conceive again at forty-four. ‘But, Frank,’ she said, ‘it wouldn’t hurt to try. Hang the expense.’

  Perhaps God had been eavesdropping, because a few months after her conversation with Frank, Rachel found herself pregnant. ‘If it’s a girl,’ she said, ‘let’s call her Alice – Alice in Wonderland.’

  Some women actually said they felt sorry for her, having a baby at her age. Rachel was aghast. ‘But I’m thrilled to pieces,’ she exclaimed, ‘and so is Frank.’ James and Kirsty pretended to be embarrassed by the growing evidence that their parents, whom they’d thought well past it, had actually engaged in sex, but Rachel could tell they were secretly pleased.

  Alice burst into the world on the first day of June after a long and excruciatingly painful delivery that left Rachel too weary to nurse her straight away.

  ‘She’s a little smasher,’ Frank whispered. He’d been present throughout the birth and his cheeks were streaked with tears. ‘I hope you haven’t been having it off with the milkman, love, because she’s nothing like us or our other two.’

  Rachel glanced at the baby in the cot beside her bed, struggling to free herself from the sheet wrapped tightly around her tiny body. ‘It was the chimney sweep,’ she said. Alice’s curly hair was as black as soot. ‘Christopher told me our father had black hair when he was young.’ She gave a dry smile. ‘I can’t imagine my father being young.’

  ‘I can’t even remember what mine looked like.’ Frank made a face. ‘But we’ve come through, haven’t we, Rach, despite our lousy childhoods?’ He laid his head beside her on the pillow. ‘Our kids have always known how much we wanted them. They’ve never been shown anything but love.’

  Within a few months, Alice’s eyes had turned from blue to brown and her black hair had grown into a tangle of waves and curls. She reminded Rachel of a Victorian doll with her tiny snub nose and little pink mouth. She had the sweetest of natures, never stopped smiling and clearly found the world a delightful place. Even the women who’d felt sorry for Rachel when she was pregnant had to concede she was an exceptionally lovely child. ‘If I’d been in your place,’ one woman said, ‘I’d’ve had an abortion – but just imagine if you’d got rid of Alice! It hardly bears thinking about.’

  Rachel shuddered. ‘Such an idea never entered my head.’

  James and Kirsty adored her. When Alice caught a mild cold, James walked all the way home from school in his lunch hour to make sure she was all right. Kirsty was her willing slave and brought her friends back home to admire her baby sister. Several times a day, Frank would ring to ask what Alice was up to.

  ‘She’s just crawled across the room,’ Rachel would tell him or, later, ‘She’s just walked a few steps,’ and, later still, ‘She said “Dada” this morning.’

  When Alice was three, Rachel was reluctant to let her go to playgroup, wanting to keep her precious daughter all to herself, but common sense told her it was best for her to mix with other children. The first morning, alone, the house felt unnaturally quiet without Alice’s joyous presence, but she was determined not to mope. At an age when most women’s children were adults, she’d been blessed with a beautiful little girl and it was ridiculous to resent her growing up. One day, her children would get married and have children of their own. Best look forward to that day, not dread it.

  Frank telephoned in the afternoon. ‘How did playgroup go?’ he asked anxiously.

  ‘She loved it. She did a drawing of a teddy bear.’ Rachel giggled. ‘It looks a bit like you. I’ve stuck it on the fridge.’

  ‘I can’t wait to see it.’

  *

  That Christmas, Kirsty brought home her first boyfriend – at least, the first her parents knew about. His name was Whiz, he was seventeen, and had a gold stud in his eyebrow. Rachel glanced at Frank’s horrified face. She could tell that, like her, he was praying it wasn’t serious.

  ‘What’s Whiz short for?’ she asked her daughter when Whiz had gone.

  ‘Nothing, Mum, it’s just his name.’

  ‘He wasn’t christened Whiz, surely?’

  Kirsty shrugged. ‘It seems a perfectly OK name to me.’

  Frank, playing the heavy father, asked what Whiz did for a living.

  ‘He’s still in the sixth form at school. Next year, he’s going to university. He wants to be a doctor.’

  Rachel and Frank looked at each other, stunned, and Frank muttered he wouldn’t have much confidence in a doctor with a stud in his eyebrow.

  Whiz was soon replaced by Chas, who was replaced by Ian. From then on, Kirsty seemed to have a new boyfriend every month.

  And James, who had seemed such a sensible, respectable young man, always neatly dressed, arrived home one day with his head shaved.

  ‘Ronnie Bannerman did it with clippers in the lunch hour,’ he said, looking terribly pleased with himself. ‘What d’you think, Mum? If we buy clippers of our own, it’ll save a fortune at the barber’s. Dad could use them too.’

  ‘You look like a skinhead,’ his appalled mother gasped. ‘Lord knows what your father will say.’

  An equally appalled Frank said much the same as his wife. James was hurt. ‘The leader of the Conservative Party, William Hague, has a haircut like this. I thought you’d be pleased.’

  ‘I can’t recall doing anything even faintly shocking when I was sixteen,’ Frank said that night when James was upstairs doing his homework.

  ‘Neither can I,’ Rachel replied. ‘I was incredibly well behaved.’ She smiled. ‘Although I’m glad they feel they can be themselves. I’d rather that than they be a pair of goody-goodies.’

  After some consideration, Frank said he felt the same.

  James commenced his final year at school on the same day that Alice started her first. On a beautiful September day with a faint hint of autumn in the air, Rachel walked along the towpath of the Liverpool Canal, Alice dancing beside her, a furry haversack on her back in the shape of a panda that held a new pack of felt pens, two pencils, a rubber, and a spare hankie. She wore a blue and white check frock and a navy-blue cardigan and looked terribly self-important. The canal sparkled like a silver ribbon. It was a slightly longer way to school, but made a pleasanter walk than the main Southport road.

  ‘Can I paddle on the way home?’ Alice asked.

  ‘No, sweetheart, the water may look nice, but it’s filthy. Not only that, you might drown.’

  ‘I am coming home, aren’t I, Mummy?’ She looked at Rachel nervously with her huge, brown eyes. ‘I’m not going to stay at school for ever?’

  ‘Of course not.’ Rachel laughed. ‘You’ll have lunch there, then I’ll colle
ct you in the afternoon and we’ll be home well in time for tea.’

  ‘Will I like the lunch, Mummy? Will I have to eat carrots?’

  ‘I’ll tell the teacher you hate carrots and, if you don’t like the lunch, tomorrow I’ll make you sandwiches.’

  ‘Thank you, Mummy,’ Alice said gravely. ‘You’re very kind.’

  ‘And you, Alice Williams, are the funniest little girl in the whole world. Come here and let me give you a kiss.’

  Unlike James, who’d always claimed to find school boring, and Kirsty, who continued to hate every minute because she couldn’t stand people telling her what to do, Alice quickly settled into the routine of lessons. She really enjoyed being taught how to read and write. Rachel made a set of cards with a three-letter word written on each: CAT, MAT, BIG, DOG … James and Kirsty fought over who would give Alice her reading lesson that night.

  Rachel, who’d already started knitting for the Christmas Bazaar the school was having on the Saturday before Christmas, sat in a chair in front of the fire, watching and listening, thinking what loving, perfectly adorable children she had. In a few months, the new millennium would arrive. In the past, she’d often wondered where she would be, whom she would be with on the eve of the twenty-first century and had never dreamed she would spend it in such perfect company.

  On the final day of the autumn term, Rachel woke up with a throbbing headache. She didn’t mention it to Frank or the children, but after she’d taken Alice to school, she took two tablets and lay on the settee, mentally ticking off the things she still had to do.

  The bazaar was tomorrow and it would be Christmas next week. The decorations were up and there were already a few parcels under the tree – her brother, Christopher, always sent expensive presents for the nieces and nephew he’d never met, although Rachel sent him loads of photographs – they could never afford to take the whole family to Cyprus and Christopher was at first too busy, then too frail to come home – he’d recently had his seventy-sixth birthday. The cake and the puddings had been made weeks ago, but she still had mince pies to do and shortbread for Frank – he loved homemade shortbread – and had promised to make a couple of sponges for the cake stall at the bazaar. There were buttons to sew on the matine´e jackets she’d knitted and, of course, ordinary, everyday things, like washing, cleaning, and preparing that night’s meal. As soon as the headache had gone, she’d get started.

  An hour later, the headache had got worse, not better, and the pain had spread to her limbs. She was shivering, yet felt much too hot. Twice during the morning the doorbell rang, but she felt too sick to answer. At around noon, she managed to stagger as far as the kitchen and take more tablets but, almost straight away, she vomited them up in the downstairs lavatory. She collapsed on to the settee and drifted into a restless sleep.

  When she came to, it was quarter past two. In an hour, it would be time to collect Alice from school. Rachel tried to stand, but fell back when a wave of dizziness mixed with nausea washed over her. She’d never make it as far as school. She wondered who to call and ask to fetch Alice home? Some of her close friends had moved away and the ones left no longer had children at infant school. She was about to ring the school, but remembered Frank had promised to come home early that afternoon. He would be only too pleased to collect Alice. Once again she drifted into sleep, this time full of bizarre dreams featuring giant spiders and trees with eyes that stared at her balefully.

  It was Kirsty who woke her. ‘Are you all right, Mum? You look awful,’ she said when Rachel struggled to sit up.

  ‘What time is it?’ She rubbed her eyes. They felt sticky and would hardly open. She saw it was pitch dark outside.

  ‘Nearly five o’clock. Where’s Alice?’

  ‘Isn’t she home?’ It was a stupid question to ask. As if Alice would have come home and not woken her mummy! Rachel had the first feeling of dread.

  ‘She’s being awfully quiet if she is.’ Kirsty went to the bottom of the stairs. ‘Alice,’ she called, ‘are you up there?’ There was no reply. Kirsty said, ‘I’ll just make sure,’ and ran upstairs. ‘She’s not there,’ she said, white-faced, when she came down.

  ‘Then where is she?’ Rachel screamed. She stood, but had to sit down again when her head swam. ‘Is your dad’s car outside?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘He said he was coming home early. I expected him to pick Alice up.’

  ‘Don’t panic, Mum,’ Kirsty said sensibly, although she looked about to panic herself. ‘If you weren’t there to collect her, maybe she’s gone to someone’s house. You shouldn’t have relied on Dad, you know. He often promises to come home early, but can’t if a customer turns up.’

  ‘Yes, but …’

  ‘But what, Mum?’

  ‘Never mind. I’ll ring the school. Maybe she’s still there.’ It seemed most unlikely at this hour. She tried to stand again, but it was impossible. Her legs refused to support her. ‘Kirsty, you’ll have to do it for me, love. I think I’ve got the flu.’

  ‘OK, Mum.’ A few minutes later, she came back. ‘I spoke to the secretary and she said all the pupils had gone, but Alice’s teacher, Mrs Burgess was still there and she called her to the phone. Apparently, it was late when Alice left. She’d been making a Christmas card for the family and the glue hadn’t dried. Mrs Burgess said she was dancing around the classroom, waving the card to dry it. Next time she looked, Alice had gone and she thought you’d taken her. Why didn’t you call the school, Mum, and tell them you were ill?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Rachel muttered.

  James arrived, dumped his satchel as soon as he heard the news, and left to search the streets for his sister. Kirsty called every number she could think of to see if anyone knew Alice’s whereabouts, but no one had seen her. She called the showroom to ask her father to come, but he’d already left. ‘Mum,’ she said in a frightened voice, ‘I think we’d better call the police.’

  Rachel nodded. By now, fear had entered her soul. She just knew, could feel in her aching bones that something terrible had happened to her darling Alice.

  Neighbours knocked to ask if Alice had been found. They stood outside, looking grim, telling each other they couldn’t imagine how they’d feel if it had happened to them, and what a lovely child Alice was.

  Time passed very slowly: seven o’clock, eight o’clock, nine, and with it came the certainty that by now there was no chance of Alice coming home of her own accord. Someone must have taken her. Either that, or she’d had an accident.

  No one had thought to close the curtains on the Williams’s house, so gaily decorated for Christmas. Frank could be seen, pacing the room like a crazy man, while Rachel lay on the settee, her mind full of nightmares and her body shaking with fever. James had long since returned from his search of the streets, having shouted his sister’s name, the shouts becoming louder and more desperate when Alice didn’t appear. There was no sign of Kirsty, who was in her room trying not to imagine the unimaginable horror of Alice never coming back.

  It was just before midnight when a police car drew up outside the house. By then, the small crowd had gone, although quite a few curtains moved when the car was heard to arrive.

  Alice’s body had been found floating in the canal. Rachel couldn’t think what it was that made her come home that way. Perhaps, knowing it was Mummy’s favourite walk, she’d thought they were more likely to meet.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ the oldest of the policeman said soberly. ‘It looks as if she just slipped, but there’ll be an inquest, naturally, to see if there’s any sign of foul play.’

  Frank’s eyes were two black holes of horror. His face seemed to collapse, as if the bones were coming apart and Rachel realized how fragile he was inside. His wife and children had made him strong, but now that one of the children had been tragically taken away, he could no longer hold himself together. Rachel knew that, from now on, he would need her more than ever. Her blood seemed to turn to water when he turned to her and said in a voice she’
d never heard before, ‘It’s your fault. If it weren’t for you, Alice would still be alive. I’ll never forgive you for this, Rachel. Never!’

  Christmas was forgotten. No one left the house. Endless cups of tea and coffee were drunk and Frank was never seen without a glass of something in his hand: whisky, rum, gin, bought to offer visitors over Christmas.

  Rachel’s flu persisted for a few days, but she did her best to rise above it. Her grief was fourfold. She had her own to deal with while at the same time her heart ached for James and Kirsty who were gutted. And Frank, poor Frank, who refused to let her comfort him the times he collapsed, sobbing in despair. ‘Don’t touch me,’ he would roar when she tried to put her arm around him.

  Inevitably, once the new millennium arrived, life acquired a semblance of normality. The children returned to school and Frank to work, although he continued to use his wife as a sort of mental punchbag to help him cope with his despair. He looked on the edge of a nervous breakdown, so Rachel just bowed her head and let him get on with it in the hope he would eventually come to his senses.

  ‘It was all your fault,’ he would insist contemptuously. ‘Alice would still be alive if you’d used your brains and asked someone to collect her.’

  ‘But you promised to be home from work early,’ Rachel protested more than once, knowing how weak it sounded, knowing what his reply would be.

  ‘I didn’t promise. I said I might. You’re a fool to have relied on that. The manager called a meeting and I had to stay.’

  ‘I felt ill, Frank.’

  ‘Nobody’s that ill.’ He turned away, not realizing that she was more necessary to him now than she’d ever been. Without Rachel, he would have had no one to blame, no one to vent his frustration on.

  James and Kirsty were growing away from her. They also blamed their mother, although hadn’t said it openly. Whole days would pass and they’d hardly talk. In the main, Frank ignored her, but when he spoke, he made her feel very small and very stupid and told her she was letting herself go, which was true. She no longer bothered to have her hair set, didn’t care what she wore, was putting on weight, although had no idea why because she ate very little. Perhaps it was the lack of exercise, of sitting in a chair for hours on end, thinking about Alice, torturing herself, wondering if she’d suffered and cried for her mummy as her head sank under the dirty water of the canal.