She went into the living room and did a circuit. Looked at the family portraits on the wall, the school photos of Sam and Libby, the holiday snaps, a picture of Alison holding a baby. Ellie couldn’t tell which child it was, and it seemed unfair that there was only one baby picture on the wall.
She went to the bottom of the stairs and began walking up. She’d read somewhere as a kid that the way to sneak upstairs was to place your feet at the sides of the steps, as the centres were more inclined to creak under your weight. She had no idea if that was true but she did it all the same, spreading her weight and placing her feet carefully on the edges of each stair as she went up.
She stood at the top, her hand on the banister, and cocked her head again. She could hear breathing from one of the bedrooms, the one to her right. It sounded male, though she wasn’t sure. Not quite snoring but close, a peaceful, rhythmic sound.
She went in the other direction to the bedroom nearest the bathroom. Stood looking at the door for a while, then pushed it open and stepped inside.
Libby’s room. It was a midden, as Ellie’s mum would’ve said. There were clothes scattered all over the floor, magazines and books in three tumbling piles next to the bed. Make-up, cheap bracelets and necklaces were piled on top of a chest of drawers, along with hair straighteners, and half a dozen bottles of grooming products. The desk was strewn with empty Coke cans, biscuit wrappers and crisp packets, schoolbooks buried underneath.
Libby was lying on top of her covers in a short T-shirt and skimpy pants, only her legs under the duvet. She was on her back with her arms behind her head, like a soldier surrendering.
Ellie walked over. Her breathing was deep but gentle, her face peaceful, her skin so fresh and smooth that Ellie wanted to pinch it. She stood watching the girl for a few moments, then rubbed at her own eyes and left the room. She headed for the snoring next, waiting for a moment at the door before going inside.
Sam. The smell of him straight away, not the deodorant but really him, earthy and animalistic, like a fox. She breathed it in. His room was more organised than Libby’s, but not much. Clothes on the floor, football stuff in one corner, an Xbox and television in the other.
Ellie stood over him. He was half-out from under the covers, and she could see he was only wearing pants, the pair of Logan’s that Ellie had given him. She gazed at his bare torso, wiry and hard, ribs ridged up his sides, his elbows and wrists thin and delicate, like they would break easily. He shuffled in his sleep, shifting his weight, turning his face away from her. Ellie’s body tensed. Sam’s back was to her now, a bony spine, the shoulder blades like nascent wings. She wanted to touch them, see them flutter free. She watched his shoulders rise and fall with his breathing then turned and walked out the room.
That left Alison.
Ellie stood at the door and listened. All she could hear was Sam’s breathing from the other direction. She swallowed and pushed open the door.
Alison had her duvet pulled up to her chin. Asleep on her back, a hand hanging over the side. She was tucked into one half of the double bed, hadn’t spread out. Maybe over time she would get used to the extra space and claim it. Ellie imagined having a double bed to herself – freeing or lonely?
An empty bottle of white wine and a glass were on the floor next to the bed. A lamp, clock and a packet of painkillers for the morning. Her clothes discarded on a chair in the corner of the room. A large mirrored wardrobe along one wall, a print of stones on a beach from IKEA on the wall above the bed. Nothing out of the ordinary, just a normal married couple’s bedroom.
Ellie stood over Alison, watched her. Imagined picking up Jack’s pillow and placing it over Alison’s face. She sat on the edge of the bed and put her hand over Alison’s mouth.
‘Wake up,’ she said.
She gave Alison’s rump a shake through the covers and Alison’s eyes pinged open. She grunted and squirmed but Ellie pressed down on her mouth, felt the hard enamel of her teeth and the skin of her lips.
‘Shhh,’ she said. ‘I’m not here to harm you, I just want to talk.’
Alison’s eyes were wide. She shoved Ellie’s hand away from her mouth.
‘What the fuck are you doing in my house?’ she hissed. ‘I’m calling the police.’
Ellie shook her head. ‘No.’
‘Fuck you.’
‘I know about your family.’ Ellie looked behind her at the bedroom door. ‘I want to talk to you, but I think it’s best if we don’t wake Sam and Libby, don’t you?’
Alison stared as Ellie got up. She could see that Alison was wearing silky underwear, burgundy with lace trim.
‘Put something on and meet me downstairs,’ Ellie said, walking out the room.
43
She sat at the kitchen table in the dark.
Alison came in, tying a dressing gown around her waist. She put a light on, a recessed spotlight near the fridge, went to a cupboard and took out two wine glasses then lifted a bottle of Rioja from the worktop. She poured, slid one across to Ellie, then glugged at her own, half of it gone already. She topped it up.
‘Well?’
Ellie examined her. Her skin was crumpled from sleep, but there was more to it than that. The drink was beginning to show on her face, thin red lines under the surface on her cheeks and nose. Her eyelids were puffed and heavy, hanging over her eyes as if trying to keep a secret. Thick lines across her forehead and bags under her eyes from worry and stress. Ellie could see her body relax as the wine began to work, her shoulders slumping, her breathing regular, but she still had her guard up, still ready for combat. This crazy woman had broken into her house in the middle of the night, after all.
‘I want to speak to you,’ Ellie said. ‘One mum to another.’
‘We’re nothing alike,’ Alison said.
‘You think?’
A gulp of wine and a shake of the head. ‘No.’
Ellie took a sip. Just a sip, she wanted to stay in control.
‘You love your kids,’ she said.
‘Of course.’
‘I loved my Logan.’
Alison took another drink.
Ellie stared at her. ‘I know what you’re thinking.’
‘What?’
‘How could I love my son the way you love your kids, if I let him kill himself?’
Alison’s head went down for a moment. ‘I wasn’t thinking that.’
‘I don’t blame you,’ Ellie said. ‘Everyone thinks that. I see it in their faces when I walk down the street. Oh sure, there’s pity and sympathy, but underneath is the animal in us, the bad side of humanity. It’s my fault, I did something wrong, that’s why my boy did it.’
Alison took a drink, but a sip this time. ‘I promise, that’s not what I was thinking.’
Ellie sipped too. ‘You’re the exception then.’
Alison lifted the Rioja and filled both glasses. A little splashed out the top of Ellie’s, a dribble down the side of the glass. She thought of Jack lying in the corner of the kitchen, his stomach oozing. She pictured him lying on the ocean floor, blood droplets infinitely diluted by the billions of gallons of water on the planet until there was nothing left of his essence. She thought about Logan’s ashes, dissolved and now part of the sea.
Alison took another big gulp from her glass.
‘Aren’t you going to tell me I’m drinking too much?’ she said.
‘I’m not in a position to have a go at anyone about their coping mechanism.’
‘Who says it’s a coping mechanism?’
‘Isn’t it?’
‘And what do I have to cope with?’