She leans against the sink and takes a swig of water. I wait for a response. She puts the glass on the worktop. ‘I didn’t hide. As such. I just felt a bit awkward, I suppose.’ Her hand goes to the neckline of her jumper, where her skin has turned red and rashy. ‘You’re all a family. I felt like an imposter.’
Mum comes bustling over. ‘Now you mustn’t think like that. You’re family too. Isn’t she, Kirsty?’
‘Of course.’ I pause. ‘So … Dean?’
‘Don’t be so nosy,’ Mum chastises me.
‘I’m not being nosy. But someone hung a noose outside our bedroom.’ I shake it to emphasize my point and notice Selena balk. ‘It’s both threatening and personal.’
‘And you think it was Dean?’ Selena asks.
I look at her squarely. ‘I don’t know what to think.’
‘Dean wouldn’t do something like that. Why would he? He knows nothing about what happened with Adrian.’
‘He’s never liked me,’ I say. ‘He always thought I was badmouthing him to you.’
She laughs. ‘Well, you were.’
‘Because he was no good.’
‘He’s … he’s changed. He’s been in the army. Sorted himself out.’ I wonder if she’s trying to convince me or herself. She sighs. ‘I had what I thought was the perfect life. The big house, the good job, the professional husband. But it wasn’t perfect. And now Dean …’ She stops and glances at Mum. It’s almost imperceptible but I’m sure Mum shakes her head.
‘What?’ I say, looking from one to the other. ‘What were you going to say, Selena?’
Selena hangs her head and Mum folds her arms over her chest. Why do I always get the impression they’re keeping something from me? Selena referred to herself as an outsider, but in this relationship the outsider is me.
Whatever she was going to say, it’s obvious she’s now clammed up. The rope feels coarse in my hand. Without saying another word, I throw it on to the worktop and walk out of the room.
I’m relieved when Amelia returns safely from her walk. She bounds into the hallway, Julia and Nathan following, happy now she’s expended some energy. She’s always been like a dog needing its daily walk. I hug her to me, breathing in her familiar smell, Lush shampoo and cherry lip balm. She laughs and wriggles away.
‘She was safe. With us,’ says Julia. ‘I’m sorry, though. We should have asked you.’ She looks concerned. Julia’s considerate. Kind. ‘I know how you get anxious. I didn’t think.’
She knows I get anxious? How?
I wave my hand dismissively. But after finding the noose I can’t help but imagine all sorts. I push away the thought that my brother and Julia are keen climbers. They are expert at tying knots in ropes. And Nathan loves a practical joke. I remember the letter he sent Adrian years ago, before we had the girls, pretending to be from an agency who hired ugly ‘character’ models, insisting they wanted Adrian for his ‘unique looks’. There were sillier things too: the clingfilm over the toilet seat when we were kids, the fake finger in my food, the joke-shop dog poo on my bed.
But they were all harmless. This was something else. Even Nathan wouldn’t go that far. Would he?
I take Evie into the village to buy some supplies. Amelia, not wanting to go out again, asks to watch TV. I agree, and she trots off to the playroom. I need to get out of the house. It’s oppressive being there with Mum, living and working under one roof. I’d been in marketing, working for the same charity for years, until I had Evie, and when I went on maternity leave I found I didn’t want to go back. Then Adrian had his breakdown and it seemed the right time to re-evaluate our lives. At least with my previous jobs I could go home at the end of the day and shut it all out. But this is different. I’m living and working in the same place. I have no means of escape, no refuge at the end of the day. Of course I’ll adjust eventually. It’s just a matter of time.
Evie’s running ahead of me, the coat I forced her to wear flapping behind her like a superhero’s cape. It’s cold, for October, and the pavements are still dusted with frost. I have to keep calling ahead to remind Evie to wait for me. She’s in her own little world, talking to her Tinkerbell doll and making it swoop through the air as if it’s flying, her breath blooming in front of her. We pass the little butcher’s and I pop in for some sausages and bacon. Evie holds her nose. She says the shop makes her feel sick.
She’s relieved when we wander into the chemist, which, she says, always smells of fairies. Mrs Gummage glances up at us when we enter. She’s in her early seventies with cotton-wool hair and wire-rimmed glasses that always seem about to slip off her long, pointed nose. Evie eyes her with suspicion, as if she suspects her of being a witch. Although I’m in here at least once a week, usually to pick up Adrian’s prescriptions, she’s never friendly, hardly talking to me if I’m on my own. If I’m with Evie she’ll talk to me through her, like now.
‘How’s things going up at the Big House?’ she asks Evie.
‘It’s haunted,’ replies Evie.
‘I know,’ agrees Mrs Gummage. ‘It’s always been haunted. Why do you think it’s stood empty for so many years?’
I slap Adrian’s prescription on the counter. What is she playing at, telling a six-year-old child that her home is haunted?
She ignores me. ‘You can tell your mummy it’ll be five minutes,’ she says to Evie, picking up the prescription without looking at me and passing it through a hatch. The pharmacist takes it. She’s young and smiley and calls a greeting to us.
‘Evie,’ I say later, as we’re walking home hand in hand. ‘You do know that our house isn’t really haunted, don’t you?’
She frowns and chews her lip. ‘It is, though, Mummy.’
