‘It might have been Sarah.’ Elsie’s eyes trailed over the books cradled in his arm.
‘Who?’
‘Sarah. She’s a police officer. We used to go to school together. She called to see me today.’
‘Right. The gate.’ He released the books onto her bed.
‘Yessir, the gate. She’s done well for herself. She’s going to visit again.’ She frowned in disapproval at the books. ‘I asked for Mary Cleveland.’ It was the second time he’d let her down today; the latte he’d brought home at lunchtime had been lukewarm.
Christian was picking up the empty éclair box off the floor. ‘They’re all out on loan. You never mentioned any Sarah before.’
‘We lost touch after school. I did have a life before you, you know.’ She pointed at the book cover featuring a woman standing in front of a police car. ‘Look at that. Her pants are so tight you can see her religion.’
‘They’re your usual reads, Mom. I did my best.’ Muttering something about making sandwiches, he sloped off to the kitchen.
‘I’ve run out of E45 cream!’ she called after him. ‘And I’m low on talcum powder. You’ll have to pick up a batch from the pharmacy.’ Her skin was a cracked landscape of red, her joints in constant pain. She had tried to clean and powder the weeping sores in the folds, but there was only so much she could do on her own. She rubbed the back of her neck as another dart of pain made itself known. When Christian was young, he would dutifully wash and powder every crack and crevice in her skin in exchange for a chocolate bar or a bag of crisps. But now he was eating healthily she had even less in common with him than before.
Tomorrow. She sighed. She would drag herself into the shower tomorrow, maybe even look at getting a wet room. ‘What happened here?’ Christian’s voice echoed from the kitchen as he surveyed the cat litter trays lining the floor. ‘Did your friend tidy up as well?’
‘No, I did it,’ Elsie said proudly. The ache in her lower back was a testament to that. It was burning like blazes, but she’d felt better about herself as a result. ‘I changed my bed linen too.’ Her old, stained sheets were sloshing around on a boil wash, along with her underwear. Christian did what he could, but it was a long time since either had been changed.
Christian was standing in the kitchen with his back turned to her, buttering a half loaf of bread into peanut butter and jelly sandwiches – a snack to keep her going until suppertime. The cats were eyeing him hopefully, protesting with hungry mews.
‘That’s good,’ he said, kicking the fridge door shut. ‘I’ve been busy too. I let the police into Blackhall Manor so they could have a look around. Some kids were messing around in there last night.’
Elsie thumbed through each of the books, already formulating the one-star reviews she was going to leave.Lazy, gawdawful, porn-level writing. Double crapola, stinky ending,potty-mouthed filth.A smile rose to her lips at the genius of her repertoire. She raised her face to her son as he returned, plate in hand. ‘You’d think if kids were able to get into that creepy old place that law enforcement would too.’
‘It doesn’t work like that,’ Christian called from the kitchen. He emptied a pint of milk into the plastic cat bowls. ‘It all has to be above board. The gate is padlocked. We don’t know how they got in.’
‘That place is evil, pure and simple. The devil’s playground.’ Elsie pulled the wheeled table over as Christian walked in carrying a slab of sandwiches. She wanted to tell him that she was cutting down on calories, but she wasn’t ready. Not yet. ‘I’ll have some of that nice apple pie and cream,’ she said. ‘And don’t forget—’
‘The chocolate milk. Coming right up.’
Elsie stared at the tower of sandwiches, dented by Christian’s fingers where he had pressed into them while cutting them in half. She wished he would wash his hands before preparing food. She lifted each slice of limp bread, carefully checking its contents for cat hairs. Mention of Blackhall Manor was almost enough to steal her appetite away. She made a silent note to pray for the poor souls who lost their lives there. If ever there was a place devoid of the Lord’s attention, it was there.
‘Will you eat with me later?’ she asked, as he rested the litre of chocolate milk on her table. Friday night was pizza night, and a takeaway would be ordered at eight.
‘I ate at work,’ he said, looking longingly at the door. Christian liked to go on his computer game and catch up with his online friends. But the evening stretched out so long in front of her, even five minutes in her son’s company was better than nothing at all.
‘What was the name of that officer you let into Blackhall?’ Elsie countered. ‘It wasn’t Sarah, by any chance?’
‘They were two male officers. Why?’
‘You’ve got to keep this to yourself, mind.’ Elsie smiled, tapping the side of her nose. She waited for Christian to pull up a stool. He lowered his hand to stroke Felix as the cat curled its tail around his legs.
‘She seems a nice enough lady. She deserves to be able to get on with her life. I mean, it’s bad enough, everything she’s been through without people sticking their beaks in, wanting to talk to her.’ With some satisfaction, she watched him drink in her words. It was nice to have his undivided attention for once.
‘I’m not with you. Who are you talking about?’
‘The girl in the Middleton family. The one who was shot last.’
Christian’s face clouded in confusion. ‘How would anyone speak to her? She’s dead.’
‘Rumour and conjecture. The whole thing was hushed up.’
Elsie bit into her sandwich. It tasted better than it looked. ‘The wardrobe door was locked, so her dad shot right through it before turning the gun on himself.’ She raised a hand to her head. ‘The bullet skimmed her right here,’ she said, pointing to her forehead. ‘Left her with a scar. She covers it up with her fringe but it’s still there, rightly enough. There’s no denying who she is.’
‘No denying who who is?’ Christian scratched his cheek.
