Page 9 of The Tapes

‘…I once stole hiking boots from the outdoors store in town. I’d seen them in the window the week before and couldn’t stop thinking about them.

I went in to look at them and there was a second pair at the back of the store, near the counter.

They had a left foot on the rack, then a row of boxes underneath.

There was only one person working there, this university kid, maybe twenty, twenty-one, something like that.

I knew where to look for security tags by that point, so I’d already ripped them off and left them in a different shoebox.

Then I waited until he was helping someone over by the coats, and just put the boots on and walked out.

I actually felt sorry for him because I wondered later if he might get charged for them.

Stupid thing was, I already had a new pair of boots because Bruce had bought me some for Christmas.

They were so much better than the ones I took, and I’m not sure I even wore the stolen ones in the end. ’

I stop the tape again, partially because there’s a shuffling from the other side of the wall as Faith settles for the night. The other reason is that it’s not easy to hear that voice speaking with such clarity about her own failings. Is the self-awareness better or worse?

It’s hard to stop listening for long, though.

‘…there was this checked red and black pet coat that looked cute. We don’t even have a dog, so I left it on next door’s porch.

It might make up for the time I took their car.

That’s the thing because the book says that things escalate.

I went from boots, to dog clothes, to their car, to robbing the bank.

I stole a million pounds just to show I could, then gave it back and the manager thanked me for helping. That’s the thing with ? —’

The obvious lie has me stopping the tape, simply to take it in.

The mistruth is so clear and unbridled that I listen to it again, just to assure myself she said what I thought.

Mum never stole next door’s car and she definitely didn’t rob a bank.

Even if she somehow had, there’s no way she simply gave it back, no harm done.

But who’s the lie for? Was she kidding herself, trying to pretend her problem wasn’t so big? Except it occurs that being a serial thief means being a serial liar. It would be impossible for so many items to simply show up without explanation. She would’ve had to claim she bought things.

We weren’t rich, but I had new school shoes every year, a new uniform, new bag. There was nothing I ever needed that I didn’t have. It didn’t occur to me then that any of this was strange. Now I wonder how much of that was taken from various shops, then left on my bed. Perhaps all of it.

It’s impossible to know for certain, because there’s nobody to ask.

Dad could not have been so blind to it all.

He must have known. Maybe that’s why he disappeared for those months?

I think maybe I knew as well. Deep down.

But it’s not an easy thing to keep at the front of your mind when you’re thinking about your own mum.

I can’t listen to any more of the apology tape, so swap it for a random one with a month and year.

It’s late, so I undress and lie under the covers, listening to my mother talk about her book club.

She had a large disagreement with someone named Viv about the meaning of a Stephen King novel that apparently split the group.

She spends a good fifteen minutes explaining why she’s right and Viv is wrong.

Perhaps she really was a podcast pioneer?

I’m still not asleep, and another dated tape has Mum whispering about a long hot summer and how the plants in the garden are wilting. There is still so much more content and it feels as if they’ll end up being a dizzying mix of heavy confessionals blended with banal musings about books and weather.

I definitely prefer the latter.

Except I still cannot sleep.

I retrieve the first tape and skip through the first part.

‘… and I need you to know that I love you.’

I listen to it over and over, wishing I didn’t need the affirmation, yet addicted to it.

It’s impossible not to see my mortality, especially as my own daughter is sleeping on the other side of the wall.

Perhaps I should record a video for her, saying I love her, just in case?

She would likely think it strange in the present but, one day, she’ll be me – and I’m certain she’d want to hear this again.

‘… and I need you to know that I love you.’

I close my eyes and listen to my mother tell me she loves me one more time, although it’s hard to sleep as the tape skips back to the infant me, and then onto my mother saying she knows who the Earring Killer is.

I know I should stop it entirely but I’ve been denied this voice for thirteen long years and the one taste now feels like an addiction.

Not only do I want to hear more – but I already have a plentiful supply in the giant box under the bed.

I’m an addict.

Except my eyes close and I let my thoughts drift and swirl and…

‘… that’s why it’s my fault. I found a jewellery box.

…

OK, I didn’t find it. I just… couldn’t help myself.

It was so pretty with the flowers engraved on the side but then, when I had it back home, there was something about the light and the colour.

It didn’t seem that nice at all. It was ugly, really – scratched, too.

I couldn’t figure out why I’d taken it but that’s what my book says.

I keep reading the same bit about impulse control.

It says you want something, so you take it, even though you don’t necessarily need it, or even want it.

I know I shouldn’t, I know I don’t really want these things, but I can’t stop myself.

…

That was the thing with the jewellery box. It was empty, and ugly, but there was also a rattle. Like there was something in it, even though there wasn’t. I became obsessed with it after that, until I found a catch that opens a secret bottom. That’s where I found the earrings. They were ? —’

I stop the tape. I must have been drifting, asleep for maybe ten or fifteen minutes. The tape is much further on now and it’s entirely my mother’s voice. I had never let it get this far before, assuming the rest of the recording was the infant me learning numbers and letters.

I sit on the edge of the bed, wide awake, and rewind the past few seconds.

This is why Mum knew the identity of the Earring Killer. She stole a jewellery box, filled with stolen earrings.

‘…I found a catch that opens a secret bottom. That’s where I found the earrings.

They were all singles, not pairs. It took a couple of seconds but I knew I’d seen them before.

Then I realised they’re from the photos, the news reports.

It’s all the single earrings he took from those women.

There’s one that has a peacock dangly bit and it’s so unique. ’

There’s a near-silence in which I can hear my mother breathing steadily into the microphone. A few seconds pass as the hairs on the back of my neck flare.

‘I can’t go to the police, not after everything. Maybe that’s why I’m recording this. I don’t know what to do, or who to tell. He’s going to know I took the box, and then he’s going to kill me.’