Memory Scents (22 page)

              Chrissie’s mind settled on Tim. Fisherman’s Friend. No. He wouldn’t play games; he’s a retired policeman; Grace’s husband.

              But the more Chrissie’s mind settled on Tim, the more he felt familiar to her.

*

              What was she waiting for? Grace didn’t know. After the day’s events she had become acutely aware of the knowledge she had about Tim. If a friend confided in her and told her this story, she’d scream at them from the steeples that they had to go to the police. But this was her and not someone else.

              The guilt was beginning to weigh heavily on her. She’d kept the information to herself for over a year, even though it only felt like a few weeks. Sometimes when she thought about it all, she felt completely in control and confident she was doing what she believed was only right and just. But a lot of the time she felt like a frightened little child who was completely out of their depth. And that maybe she’d spent the last year hiding away from the truth. Not wanting it to come out because of the repercussions it would cause. She soon snapped out of it, knowing she wasn’t that much of a coward. She wouldn’t have kept the information to herself purely because of the fear of everyone knowing it was her husband and the stigma that carried.

              Grace kicked the bottom of the bed with her heels. She was sitting in Alice’s bedroom, having left Eve to rest. Dennis had dropped her off. She didn’t ask him in, just told him she needed some time on her own.

              She’d eventually got through to Tim and then wondered why she’d bothered. He hadn’t been fazed by any of it. She told him she didn’t know when she’d be home. He’d said nothing.

              Her resolve returning, Grace began to think about her plans. She found this immensely therapeutic and it kept her mind focused; a means to an end, a life for everyone again without Tim.

              She got up from the bed and turned Alice’s bedside lamp on and the over head light off. She didn’t like glaring main lights on in rooms. Apart from making the atmosphere impersonal and stark, it brought back sad memories for Grace.

              She remembered when her mother had died, how she and her siblings had sat around the family kitchen table, the main light glaring down on them all, the bulb high-lighting everything like a big fluorescent pen marking out a sentence. They had sat there to discuss things after their mother’s death, and again after her funeral, and again when they were sorting out her paper work. All under the overhead light and it had made it seem so stark and raw.

          
It was one of those things in life Grace hated. She remembered being distracted because the whole time she sat there, all she could think about was turning the light off and putting the lamps on. Making it cosy, just as it had always been. She supposed it was because she needed the comfort, wanting things to stay the same, as if by turning the lamps on it would flick another switch.

              After she’d turned the lamp on, Alice’s bedroom felt totally different. Grace sat on the bed and closed her eyes. She imagined Alice walking through the door with a cup of hot chocolate and a book, ready to jump into bed and read. Alice loved books. She and Nadine had always swapped novels.

              Grace opened her eyes and stared around the room. It was exactly how Alice had left it. Apart from the fact everything was faded, the posters, the spines of books, photographs and curtains. It was as if they’d faded out alongside Alice. Grace casually opened the small bedside cabinet. A pile of envelopes cascaded onto the floor. They were all addressed to Alice.

              She picked one up. It was sealed. She tried another, frowning. They were all sealed and franked.

              Grace didn’t want to pry, but she was intrigued that all these letters had been sent and put away unopened. She looked at the dates.

              As far as she could tell, all the letters had been sent after Alice went missing. Why hadn’t her sister opened them?

              Grace tapped an envelope on her hand, trying to decide if she should open some. She didn’t normally read people’s letters, but she was concerned that they might hold some important information.

              They all looked like they’d come from the same person; they were identical apart from the sizes and colours. The address on the front of each envelope had been typed, so she couldn’t glean any clues from that.

              She was surprised the police hadn’t found these in their investigations, especially as the case had been reopened. She decided it could be important and ran downstairs with a handful to open over a steaming kettle.

              There was no soft lighting in the kitchen, so she had no choice but to use the glaring one over the kitchen table. It was to be another sad memory stored in her mind, tinged yet again with the starkness of the light.

              She made herself a hot drink and then kept re-boiling the kettle so she could steam open each letter. She sat down at the kitchen table and examined one of the envelopes again before she removed its contents. She was still undecided. She was very particular about privacy and didn’t like it when anyone encroached on hers.

              Curiosity and anxiety got the better of her. She pulled the carefully folded paper from one of the envelopes. A familiar feeling rose in her stomach. Some miniature paper stars and hearts dropped onto the table.

              She opened the letter and began to read. Then she looked at another and another. They were all from Eve. One of them was a birthday card to Alice with a silver charm bracelet in it. They were all decorated with something and were so lovingly written. Some even had photographs of family events.

              Grace thought she would choke on the lump in her throat. An immense sadness descended on her like a veil. She gulped down the tears; she was so exhausted from crying.

              Once she’d finished her drink, she put all the letters and items back in their envelopes. Another wave of guilt passed over her. She felt bad for opening the letters and stealing a private moment that Eve had been sharing with her daughter.

              She took the letters back upstairs and put them in Alice’s bedside cabinet where she had found them. She flicked through the other envelopes to see if they were all the same. They all matched.

              Perhaps Eve had felt that by posting them, it would break some sort of spell and bring Alice home. Grace had no idea. It dawned her that there was quite a lot she hadn’t known about her sister. Eve had been right when she’d implied she’d coped with it all alone. Grace’s face stung with shame. She’d been so wrapped up in her own grief for her daughter and her niece that she hadn’t been there for Eve. It was something they could have shared, a grief that would have brought them closer together. Instead, Eve had turned to the only person there was and that had been Daphne. But as Grace had shut away her pain of losing Nadine, she’d not really wanted to approach Eve’s over Alice. She’d done exactly what she despised in other people, avoided the issue. Not wanting to talk about it, because it was all a bit too dreadful. She’d been happy using the excuse that Jon was there supporting her and they wouldn’t want busybody do-gooder’s interfering in their private time.

              This was Grace realised, what she had wanted, to shut everyone out. Deal with it the way she thought best, stoically and privately. The awareness of the fact that this behaviour may have resulted in her not having dealt with her daughter’s death at all began to creep over her skin. She physically shook herself and her guilt away, something she would have to face at a later date. Feeling herself coming undone again, she jumped up off the bed.

              She looked in Alice’s wardrobe. Her clothes were still hanging in it, just as they had done all those years ago. Grace felt a pain shoot across her heart. She pulled back the clothes to reveal piles and piles of Jackie magazines, all dated after Alice went missing.

              “Oh Eve.” Grace whispered, realising the enormity of her sister’s pain.

              There were some boxes neatly stacked on the shelf at the top of the wardrobe. She pulled them down and looked inside. They were all filled with unopened letters, all addressed to Alice. Grace looked all over the bedroom and found boxes and boxes of the same thing. Hundreds and hundreds of love letters Eve had sent her daughter in the hope she would one day come home and read them.

              A thought dawned on her. She was sure the police would want to search Alice’s bedroom again. She didn’t want them going through these. She decided to bag them up and put them away somewhere. She didn’t want her sister dealing with that. They’d open and read every single one of them.

              She knew exactly where they could be kept safe. Dennis would understand.

              She decided to take them over there that evening, just in case the police turned up first thing in the morning. He wouldn’t mind. He’d told her if she needed anything or felt like a night cap, she only had to call.

              The letters were safely put away at Dennis’s, a task which had taken them both a couple of trips back and forth because there were so many boxes. Then they sat together in his living room and had a night cap. The trouble was that one night cap led to another, and another, which then led to something else.

*

              Tim had drunk too much again. The longer Grace stayed away, the more bored he became. There was a strange atmosphere between them that was unnerving him. He felt like he was losing her, even though nothing tangible had changed. The truth was, Tim had lost her a long time ago, he just hadn’t noticed. Mainly because she was always there and he’d taken her for granted.

              The days and nights she was away left a void and a feeling their marriage was over. Tim was feeling quite bereft about it all. He’d never have imagined he would feel like that about Grace; she just irritated him most of the time.

              Tim shrugged as he sat at the kitchen table and picked at the label on the almost empty rum bottle. When he thought about it, it seemed that ever since Chrissie had turned up, Grace’s attitude had changed. It was shortly after that she’d turned distant and cold.

              Typical bloody women, he thought to himself, sitting around gossiping and convincing each other that there was a better life elsewhere; the grass was greener and all that.

              Tim sighed, bored with himself and his life in general. But however bored he was, he wasn’t about to go to Chrissie’s again and start messing about. The last time had been enough. He knew that drink had a lot to answer for, but he knew what he’d seen and it was no drunken illusion. Never in all his time as a police officer had he seen anything like that. He didn’t believe in it. Load of old clap trap, he thought normally, rum or no rum.

              He had been tempted to go round there when Grace had told him that Chrissie might go to the police. Shake her up a bit to make sure she kept her mouth shut. But he’d reasoned with himself that he’d deny all if the police traced anything back to him. He’d just say that someone must have stolen the clothes from him and Grace, or that they were being set up. He doubted she’d go to the police anyway; she thought it was ghosts playing tricks with her.

              Tim chuckled to himself. There was only one woman he needed to sort out, and that was his mother. He didn’t need her mouthing off about him, especially if she was going round the twist and having spontaneous outbursts. He couldn’t have anything said about him that might connect him to the murders. Even if it did sound ludicrous, someone might just take notice if she went on about it for long enough.

              Once the police connected Alice with the other murders, there’d be a massive investigation, which would spread nationally. The urge to move away and start a new life overwhelmed him again. It was becoming more and more apparent to him there were more positive points to going than there were to staying.

              He had no memory scents, which was his first reason. He’d even burnt the ones he’d stolen from Chrissie, and in light of what happened last time he was in her house, there’d be no chance of getting anymore.

              He could start all over again if he moved away. Get some new memory scents. Take himself out of the picture before things got too heavy with the police.

              His mind wandered back to his mother and settled like a gnat on a potential piece of flesh. What he couldn’t work out was how she knew what he’d done. He’d searched her face for a clue, because he hadn’t been sure if she was calling his bluff. That it was just a wild guess because she knew him so well. It must have been. How else could she know?

              It was a mother’s intuition, Daphne thought as she sat in her magnolia overdosed room, watching the telly. Coupled with the fact she knew him so well, she’d been able to piece it all together. She had seen his elation each time a body was found. His excitement when he relayed the details to her, and how he revelled in the facts.

              All through his life he’d stolen obscure items of clothing from people. She just thought it was a phase he was going through and it would pass as he got older. But it didn’t.