Where the Memories Lie
By: Sibel Hodge
I was hit with a memory of his seventy-first birthday, just after we’d bought Tate Barn and moved in with him. Nostalgia rose up inside. I’d wanted his first birthday with all of us living in the house to be a special occasion for him, not knowing how much time we’d have left before the Alzheimer’s took its toll.
I bought him one of those old newspapers you get online, dated the year he was born, which he loved. Anna made him an impres-sion of her hands encased in pottery at school and painted it red.
I don’t know what happened to that. Ethan bought him some fifty-year-old single malt whisky that he shared with the guys.
I can’t remember what the rest of the family bought. It was a great day, though, and Tom was on top form. He had a blast. Didn’t even get confused once.
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Where the Memories Lie My eyes stung behind my eyelids, but I blinked back the tears threatening to flood out. ‘Yes, I made you a chocolate cake.’ It was awful. It tasted rubbish but Tom had pretended it was the best thing he’d ever eaten, and I’d loved him for it.
His face softened, the lines smoothing out as he smiled, his eyes lighting up in recognition. ‘You like pink nail varnish.’
‘No, that’s Nadia.’
‘No, you had it on your toes when you got married. You looked beautiful. I was so proud when I gave you away.’
It was definitely Nadia but I wasn’t going to argue.
‘Tom, do you remember what you told me the other day about Katie? About how you buried her?’ I said gently, trying to ignore the cramping in my stomach.
He stared blankly at me.
‘Katie? Katie Quinn? Do you remember her? She was my friend. She left the village when she was eighteen.’ At least I very much hoped she had.
‘Katie,’ he whispered and fiddled with the edges of the blanket again, twisting it one way and then the other.
‘Yes, she was going out with Chris. She was at your house a lot that summer. Do you remember her, Tom?’
He nodded and screwed up the edge of the blanket in his fist.
‘What happened to her? Did you do something to her? If you did, it’s all right.’ Even though it wasn’t all right at all. What was I talking about? ‘If you did something, we can sort it out. I just need to know what happened.’
He took a shallow breath. The tears fell down his cheeks, splashing onto the blanket, which he gripped tightly. ‘I didn’t mean to do it.’
‘Yes, you said it was an accident, wasn’t it? Just a bad accident?’
He closed his eyes for a long time and I thought he may have fallen asleep. Eventually his eyelids flew open and he said, ‘I got rid of her. It’s OK; no one will find her body.’
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Sibel Hodge
My stomach lurched. Acidic bile rose up my oesophagus into the back of my throat. ‘Where, Tom? Where did you get rid of her?
Where did you bury her?’
He wiped his wet cheeks with the back of his hands and looked at me, shaking his head. ‘You won’t tell them, will you? I was just protecting my family. I was just doing what a parent should.’
‘I won’t tell them, but I need to know what happened to her.
Where is she? Did you really bury her?’
He muttered something so quietly that I had to lean forward, unsure I’d heard him correctly. Hoping with all my might I hadn’t heard him correctly at all.
‘What was that?’ I asked as a wave of dizziness hit me. ‘Can you tell me again?’
‘My house.’
‘Which house? Not Tate Barn?’ I squeezed my eyelids shut tight and took a deep breath in and out, willing my stomach to stop spinning. When I opened them again he was staring at me, his bloodshot eyes etched with sadness.
‘Yes.’
‘Where at Tate Barn?’ I managed to say, even though it felt like I had cotton wool stuffed in my mouth.
‘I’m sorry, Olivia. I’m sorry.’
‘I know. Where at Tate Barn? I need you to tell me. Where’s her body?’
His voice, when it came, was raspy and cracked. ‘Underneath the garage.’
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Chapter Fourteen