Where the Memories Lie
By: Sibel Hodge
It’s not my fault! I wanted to scream at them. A hot flush crept up my neck into my cheeks and I kept my head down, thankful that my phone was ringing to distract me. It was Mary from Mountain View Nursing Home. After she’d given me her condolences she apologised for calling but said they’d put together 226
Where the Memories Lie Tom’s things and she wanted to let me know we could come and collect them.
I drove over to the nursing home when I finished my shift, wondering what was left of Tom’s belongings. When we’d moved him in there they’d told us not to bring any valuables, so those were still in boxes in our loft somewhere. All he really had were minor things that signified his existence in the world. Apart from Katie, of course: she would be the major legacy Tom would leave behind.
Thanks, Tom, for your generous contribution to society.
There were more condolences from Kelly on reception, who said she was sorry for our loss. I know it’s what you’re supposed to say, but I’d always hated it when people said that. It sounds as if you’ve just misplaced something trivial. As she asked me to sign for Tom’s belongings, which had been packed up in two square cardboard boxes, it reminded me again of being in prison ? anyone would think it was me who had a guilty conscience! ? and having your belongings returned when you were released back into society.
There’d be no chance of Tom going to prison now. No chance of justice for Rose for whatever part he’d played in Katie’s death. No chance for redemption. Not that the Crown Prosecution Service would’ve even tried to convict for murder with the condition he was in, anyway.
I wanted to take the boxes and throw them off the cliffs at Durdle Door after Tom. I imagined them hurtling through the air, hitting the water, slowly sinking. It would probably feel good for a minute or two ? that momentary release of anger and frustration.
I didn’t, though, of course. Instead, I hauled them out to the car and dumped them on the passenger seat. I took the lid off the first one and rifled through. I didn’t know what I was 227
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expecting to find. A suicide letter explaining everything that had happened to Katie ? something that said how she came to end up buried under the garage? Something that said how remorseful he’d been? That was obviously too much to ask, because all I found were folded-up pairs of trousers, shirts, a couple of cardigans, slippers, one odd shoe ? where had the other one gone? ? and the magic wooden box. I picked the box up and tried to open it.
I remembered Tom telling me he’d carved it for Eve as a wedding present. Nadia had told me her mum loved it, and it had always kept pride of place on the mantelpiece. Apparently, she never put anything in it because she could never open it. Tom and Anna were the only ones who ever remembered the weird combination routine thingybob to it.
I threw it back into the cardboard box before my anger got the better of me and I chucked it out the window or something.
When I got back to the barn the place was deadly quiet without my family and Poppy. Normally, I loved this place. It had always felt warm and alive. Now it was oppressive and cold and evil. Was it a good idea moving back into the barn like Ethan wanted? Would I see Katie’s ghost in everything that happened here? Would it taint us? I wondered how long it would take to sell.
I put the boxes in a cupboard in the utility room out of sight so I could stop thinking about Tom and everything he’d done, or might’ve done, and trudged upstairs into my bedroom. Reaching into the back of my wardrobe, I retrieved an old shoe box where I kept my mementoes and old photos. Dumping everything on my bed, I picked out ticket stubs from the first concert Ethan had taken me to. His Valentine’s cards from before we got married. Stupid little notes he’d left me around the house when we moved in together.
I smiled as I flicked through them. There were old pesos from the Dominican Republic where we’d been on our honeymoon. Train tickets to London ? Christmas shopping trips Ethan and I and 228