Our phone torches send a crazy green light into the long, wide hallway. The darkness is layered here, shrouded in a gloom that lingers across my face with the brush of a deadly caress. We find a grand sitting room. No. Sitting room is so the wrong word. It would be something fancy like drawing room. Morning room. Heavy, high ceilings and swirls and twirling patterns on its coving. But that’s where the love stops. The room is empty except for a plain, wooden chair missing a leg; it leans off balance on the ground. The curtains are stiff and sticky, dirt smudging their natural red colour into a much darker shade. They’re pulled tightly closed, intensifying the claustrophobic atmosphere.
I head towards the room near the front door. Go in and get the photo of the women up on my phone. I look at the room I stand in and the one on the phone. It’s the same room with the window looking out on to the driveway. I feel transported, almost as if I can hear those long-ago voices echoing against the walls, the bubble of activity. I wonder what the day was like when they took the photo. The women laughing, chatting with high excitement as they put themselves into two rows ready for the photo to be taken. Or did someone organise them into rows? The voices of the past slowly fade and die, leaving me standing in the middle of a room racked by a gut-churning sadness.
I head back out. Look up and up the lengthy first flight of stairs. There’s a gloom, a murkiness here too. A jarring shudder spasms the length of my body as I continue to look up.
Miriam leans into me. ‘Maybe this is the part where we run for it and never look back.’
I purse my lips. My half-sister is beginning to rub me up the wrong way. Not bothering to answer, I head up the stairs . . . and almost fall through the first step. I tip sideways and clutch the banister. I manage to haul myself straight.
‘Are you OK?’ Miriam rasps, hanging back. ‘This place is a bloody death trap. It should be condemned.’
I’m more conscious and careful of where I place my feet as I climb to the top and it’s just as well because a few steps gripe about being trodden on. It’s gloomy up here too. Particles of dust are visible, moving with the hip-swaying motion of go-go dancers.
My sister instructs, ‘You search this landing and I’ll do the second floor.’ Then she’s gone.
Every room I search is in as sorry a state as the downstairs and, more aggravatingly, devoid of clues. Each room on this floor comes up with the same thing. Nothing.
The chill from this house wraps its fingers around me. I head upstairs to join Miriam but when I see no sign of her I climb a narrower staircase to the attic. It’s a minefield of downtrodden furniture and discarded instrument cases. I try my best to search through this debris but find nothing. Plus, I’m worried that something will topple on to me.
Realistically, did you think you would find something? After nearly thirty years? My mocking inner voice wags its finger in my face. Still, it leaves me distressed and mad that I couldn’t find anything. The nooks and crannies of this house are stuffed full of the secrets of the young women who passed through this building and I can’t find one thing? Not one?
I sink back against a wall. Only then does it hit how bone-weary I am. Dead on my frigging feet. I feel like I’m watching Mummy Cherry die all over again.
I find Miriam downstairs, standing near the boarded-up space under the stairs. Her face is stark, features grim, a muscle in her cheek twitches. Her voice is weak and uncertain. ‘I’m going to wait outside. I need a puff. You know.’
My temper flares. Since we got here Miriam has been like a deadweight. I don’t want to recognise that I’m also annoyed because this place has chosen not to give up any of its secrets.
Angrily, I stride over to her. I know I should bite the words back, swallow them down, but I don’t. ‘If you didn’t want to come you should’ve said. I didn’t twist your arm.’
Miriam is shaken by my sudden verbal attack. I see her fold back in on herself. ‘I’m here, aren’t I—’
‘Are you?’ I’m too close to her, jutting into her space. I should step back. But don’t. ‘You’ve been bitching and moaning, Miriam, since we got here.’
Miriam’s posture changes. Stiffens. Features screwing up, she rears over me. ‘I am going to turn my back, walk out of here and pretend you never used the word bitch in the same sentence as my name.’
Bristling, I look deep into her blazing gaze. ‘Walk away? You know all about turning your back and walking away. It sounds like that’s been your theme tune most of your adult—’ I slam my mouth shut. Hell, what’s happening to me? I feel like I’m losing control. I’m mortified. So ashamed. I reach out towards her seeking her forgiveness. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t know—’