Page 45

Chapter 45

October 1931

Keith was sitting at the kitchen table when Isobel returned from helping Agnes.

She dumped her basket of groceries on the table beside him.

‘I thought I’d go to the shops since I was out already.

Is Ann in? I need to ask her about the baking for tomorrow.

’

‘She is not.’

Isobel began to unpack the brown paper bags.

‘I was thinking I might make sly cakes. It seems like the right thing, under the circumstances.’ She reached up to the high mantelshelf and took down the well-used copy of Allinson’s Cookery Book .

‘I was looking through this last night for inspiration and found the recipe. I used to make them for Ann and Finlay when they were younger. They called them fly cakes. I thought I might put some in the oven this afternoon so you and Rab can test them out and give your approval.’ She turned around to find Keith with his head in his hands.

‘Or I might not, of course.’ She put the book down on the table.

‘Keith?’

There was no reply.

‘Keith?’ She was alarmed now.

‘Has something happened? Is Rab alright? Is it Ann?’

He looked up at her with red-rimmed eyes.

‘I don’t know. I was trying to help and it all went wrong and she stormed off and I don’t know where she’s gone.

She was not right.’

‘Not right?’

‘I’m frightened for her.

And I should have gone after her and I didn’t and now I don’t know what to do.

’

‘Tell me. Tell me everything.’

Keith took a deep breath.

‘Have you seen her looking in a mirror lately?’

‘A mirror? I can’t say I have, although she’s not really one for primping and fussing, that’s for sure.

But now you come to mention it,’ she looked down into the scullery, ‘the little mirror beside the door there, the one I use to check myself before I go out, that’s gone.

She moved it a few weeks ago, told me the glass was cracked, which it was, in one corner.

The crack wasn’t bothering me in the slightest; it was still perfectly serviceable.

But she hasn’t replaced it.

’

‘Any others?’

‘There’s the one in the drawing room above the fire, but we never go in there anyway, and the same goes for the parlour upstairs and there’s the one on her wardrobe, of course, but that’s usually draped with scarves and wraps.

So that only leaves the one on her dressing table and the one in the downstairs bathroom, and it was still there this morning.

Why are you asking about mirrors?

’

‘She says she looks like her mother.’

‘Like Louise?’

‘Was that her name? She wouldn’t even say it.

’

‘But she doesn’t look like her.

Well, maybe a little, but she’s much more like her father, and Finlay, of course.

’

‘She said that when she looks in a mirror, she can see her mother looking back at her. And she messed her hair up, rubbed it into knots and made it all tangled. I think she was trying to get rid of the person she could see in front of her.’

Isobel sat down suddenly as though all the strength had gone from her legs.

‘So Louise is back, is she? I thought that nasty piece of work was gone for ever. She made everyone’s life a misery, apart from her husband.

She had to hide her evil ways from him or I’m sure he would have had something to say about it.

’

‘I’m not sure I should ask any more.

’

‘She never wanted Ann; she wanted another boy. Louise hated her. I mean really hated her. The thing with her hair comes from that. It was all about control. Louise used to brush Ann’s hair so hard the curls were stretched out until they were quite invisible.

And she put oil on it so it would stay flat, plaited it very tightly so that no stray bits would escape.

Ann wasn’t allowed ribbons or clasps like the other girls.

’

‘That’s a disgusting way to treat a child!

’ Keith could barely contain his anger.

‘She used to get a lot of headaches, but after Louise died, I used to do her hair for her here in the kitchen, before she went to school, and there were no more headaches. And when Mr Black remarried, Ursula would plait it into very loose braids, and loop them around her head like a halo.’

‘Well, I’m sorry to say it Isobel, but this Louise woman has never gone away, in Ann’s head at least.’

‘That bitch!’ Isobel put both hands flat on the table and pressed down, as though to squash something.

‘I’m sorry but there isn’t another description I can think of.

When she was unwell, Louise used Ann like her personal servant.

She would send her to get things from me in the kitchen instead of ringing the bell like any normal person.

As soon as Ann was settled to read a book or draw a picture, she would be interrupted and sent on an errand.

The poor girl got no peace at all.

Ann would sometimes sit here in the kitchen where you are sitting right now and ask me questions.

“Isobel, am I an impossible child? Am I an awful girl?” And I would say no, of course.

And then one day I asked her who was saying these things to her, I think she was about eleven years old then.

She said it was Louise.

I’m ashamed to say that I didn’t believe her, because what mother speaks to her daughter like that?

I just thought she was lying because she was in trouble over something.

I mean, all children tell tales, you know?

’

He nodded.

‘I didn’t understand until one day when I was carrying the tea things through to the drawing room.

I must have been particularly soft-footed that day, so I heard it with my own ears.

It was to do with Ann’s name.

Louise told her that she was an awful child, and that she was just an inconvenience.

She was using her name as a weapon against her.

’ Isobel stood up and began to put the dry goods away in their labelled jars.

‘I don’t think she would want me to have told you about it, though.

It’s been a secret all these years.

’

‘I won’t say anything, I promise.

I do sometimes think there have been too many secrets in this house.

Perhaps it’s time to bring them out into the daylight where they can be seen for what they are.

’ He got to his feet.

‘I’ll put the kettle on.

I think tea is in order.

’

As he spoke, the back door opened and Ann walked in, chilled from the wind.

‘Oh, you’re here at last,’ said Isobel, trying to bring some normality to the situation.

‘I was wondering about making a sly cake for our visitor tomorrow, or do you think just parkin will be enough?’ She looked at Keith’s Fair Isle hat, still pulled down haphazardly on Ann’s head.

‘I have been to the hairdresser,’ said Ann, ignoring Isobel’s question, ‘but there were no appointments available.’ She pulled off the hat.

‘I think I need to take you up on your offer of brushing the tangles out, Keith. I can’t see the back at all, and it may take some time.

It’s either that, or you’ll need to just cut it all off. ’