When I awoke, it was still dawn and a peach light filtered through the windows. I’d had the most vivid dream, the kind that leaves you drenched in a feeling you can’t quite grasp the meaning behind. My father was listening to the books and smiling. Telling me to listen. I held one to my ear and heard a heartbeat. Then two; the second one lighter, quicker. And like an apple falling to the ground, understanding came to me all at once. I placed my hand on my stomach and felt a kick. I had not had my monthly courses since my return home and had put it down to travelling, or anything other than what it truly was. Now I felt the curve of my belly, it was real. A tear rolled down my cheek.
‘This will not be easy,’ I whispered, to myself or the shop. I wasn’t sure which. But I could not deny the joy that bubbled up inside of me. A baby. A baby! Conflicting emotions rushed through me all at once: fear, excitement, anxiety, gratitude. I felt too young, too incapable of becoming a mother, but I simultaneously relished the idea of having a family of my own.
I completely lost track of time as I idealised a very different future for myself. I opened the shop quite late that day but it felt as though it were the first day of my life. Everything was gilded in optimism and grounded in meaning. I saw each customer as the child they once were or the parent they would become. I saw us as all being connected, a universal family. And in the quieter moments, I pictured the life growing inside of me like a little rosebud; an unparalleled beauty that would make the world a brighter place merely by her presence in it. It was only when night fell that my glowing heart began to doubt itself. Reality crossed my threshold in the form of Matthew, coming to collect the rent. I had to tell him. In another month or so he would see for himself. In another six months, there would be two of us living here. It all suddenly felt quite weighty. What would he think of me now?
I wished the shop could close in around us and keep us safe, keep the world outside. I wished we could hide within these walls for ever.
Chapter Twenty-Six
MARTHA
Once the autopsy was concluded, the body would be released for burial in a matter of weeks. It was decided that I would have to attend the funeral, to avoid any suspicion. These plans were not mine but Madame Bowden’s. I really did start to wonder if she had, in fact, seen off her husbands, such was her calm approach. And I realised how forward-thinking she had been to ensure I had alibis to corroborate my whereabouts.
‘Why are you doing this for me?’ I asked her later that night when, despite my exhaustion, I could not sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, I would replay the scene.
‘Doing what? I’m simply making sure that justice is done.’
‘But, that’s not how it happened.’ I still couldn’t say for sure what had happened. Had he been so drunk that he lost his footing and fell? Every time I replayed it in my head, I could still see him being pushed, but by whom or what? Some invisible force? Was there more to Madame Bowden than met the eye? I couldn’t decide whether she was my guardian angel or a devil in disguise. Reading her was difficult; there were so many stories distracting me, too many for one lifetime. She told me once that, as an actor, she had to embody her characters. Perhaps they were all still living inside of her, like ghosts.
‘Martha, the facts are that Shane arrived here drunk and abusive with ill-intent. He was the architect of his own demise and that is the only truth worth remembering of that day.’
She sounded so convincing that I tried to hold on to her words like flotation devices every time I felt like I was drowning in the darkness. I wasn’t sure how I was going to face the funeral. My family. Shane’s parents. I thought about asking Henry to come with me, but it would have been wrong on so many levels. Besides, I still hadn’t contacted him. The shock of Shane’s death had paralysed my senses. I tried to text him, but what could I say? I had to see him in person.
I took the bus to Rialto and found the bed and breakfast he had taken me to. It felt like a lifetime ago now.
‘Ah, howya love, looking for a room, is it?’
A short man with a comb-over answered the door, with his foot across the threshold as a barking dog attempted to make a dash for freedom.
‘No, actually I’m looking for someone staying here. Henry Carlisle? He’s English.’ I added the last bit when the name didn’t seem to register.
‘Oh, Henry, of course. No, love, he’s gone back home.’
‘Home?’
‘To England.’
I staggered back a little, as though I’d been shot. I couldn’t take it in.
‘Are ya all right? You look a bit pale there, if you don’t mind me sayin’。’
I nodded and tried to say something coherent. ‘When did he leave?’
‘Oh, it’s a couple of days ago now.’
‘I-I …’
‘Sorry, love, the match is on the telly,’ he said with a longing gaze back down the hall to where the sound of a team scoring a goal could be heard.
‘Oh, no worries.’
The door was closed before I had time to say anything further. The shock gave way to another feeling. Humiliation. I checked my phone. There wasn’t even a text from him. It was obvious now; he must have known after kissing me that it was a mistake. And now he regretted it. Of course he did. I pressed the heels of my hands into my eyes. Maybe he just felt sorry for me. That was it. He pitied me and I mistook it for something more. It probably meant nothing to him. Or else he realised too late that he’d made a mistake and now he didn’t know how to tell me. My fingers trembled as I pulled up his contact details on screen. I tapped the block button before stuffing my phone back in my pocket.
I staggered back down the street. I hadn’t expected it to hurt so much. I always knew he would leave, but I never thought he would be so cruel as to pack up without a word. I stopped and took a deep breath. I wasn’t going to give another man the power to hurt me. If there was one thing I was good at, it was being alone. Nothing could harm me now.
Time passed erratically. I would lose entire days to flashbacks and memories, then find myself jolted forwards into a reality I could scarcely believe was happening. Being back in the village was a shock to the system. Being back in the village for my husband’s funeral was another thing altogether. It felt surreal. People had always thought I was a bit ‘off’。 I tried to act like everyone else but I could never quite fit in like other people did. Never really felt like I belonged there.
Shane’s mother ran the local supermarket on her own after his father’s death and she was often described as a pillar of the community. She had always treated me well, if somewhat standoffishly. She knew there was something different about me too. Or maybe she knew their son better than she let on. Better than I did. Maybe she saw the bruises and wanted to keep me quiet. She couldn’t have a scandal like that ruining her reputation or her trade. And I silently went along with it. I didn’t want to disrupt things either and somehow believed that I was partly to blame for it all. I must have been doing something wrong. Reading her, all I could see was a woman who loved her family to the point of blindness.
Madame Bowden had offered to accompany me but I didn’t want her there. I was embarrassed by the town and everyone in it. I just had to get through the day and it would all be over. At least that’s what I told myself.