A Half Forgotten Song (56 page)

Zach drove straight down to The Watch. It was getting late in the afternoon, and when there was no answer to his knock, he tried the door. It was unlocked, and he let himself in uneasily. Dimity locked it, normally. He’d always heard the rattle of bolts before she opened it. For the second time that day, he went upstairs calling her name, with a head so full of thoughts he was having trouble addressing any one of them clearly. He knew only that he had things he wanted to ask her; accusations, almost. Dimity hadn’t moved. She still lay on her side on the bed, and this time Zach rushed over to her with a jittery feeling, sighing with relief when he heard her breathing. Her eyes were open, staring at nothing. She blinked when Zach crouched down beside her. He gave her a gentle shake.

“Dimity, what’s wrong? Are you all right?” Without a word, Dimity swallowed, and struggled to rise. Zach helped her sit up. Her legs, as he guided them over the edge of the bed, were bone-thin. “Should I call a doctor?”

“No!” she said suddenly, and then coughed. “No doctor. I’m only tired.”

“It was a strange night,” said Zach, carefully. She nodded and looked down at the floor, her expression desolate. “I’m sorry,” he said. He didn’t know quite how to explain what he was sorry for. For discovering her secret, when she’d kept it so long. For taking it from her, he supposed.

“He was dead these past six years. I knew, but I . . . I dreamed that I didn’t know. I wished it,” she said. Tears swelled in her eyes and splashed onto her cheeks.

“You really did love him, didn’t you?” Zach murmured. Dimity looked up at him, and the pain in her eyes was tangible. One by one, the questions in Zach’s mind came loose and drifted away. She owed him nothing.

“More than life,” she said. She took a deep breath. “And I’d have done anything for him. Done anything to make it up to him.”

“To make what up to him, Dimity?” Zach frowned. Two more tears dropped onto her clasped hands.

“What I did,” she breathed, so quietly that he hardly heard her. “What I did.” She shook as a sob ran through her. Zach waited to hear more, but she was silent. Something Wilf Coulson had said to him came into his mind. “Now everyone will know. People will come, and they’ll know he was here. They’ll know I hid him. Won’t they?” She looked at him again, grief and fear scoring her face. Zach shook his head.

“They don’t have to, Dimity. If you don’t want me to tell anyone, I won’t. I promise.” Disbelief made her eyes grow wide.

“Do you mean it? Do you swear it?” she whispered.

“I swear it,” said Zach, feeling the weight of the promise circle his heart tightly. “The secret you and Charles kept is still yours to keep. And the pictures are Hannah’s property. She hasn’t betrayed you for them yet, and I’m sure she won’t now,” he said. Dimity nodded and shut her eyes.

“I’m so tired,” she said, lying back down on the faded sheets.

“Rest then. I’ll . . . come back and see you tomorrow.”

“Rest? Yes, perhaps. But they’ll be coming for me, you know,” she said, her voice small and fearful.

“Who will, Dimity?” Zach frowned.

“All of them,” she whispered, and then her face went slack in sleep. Zach pulled the blanket up over her, and touched his fingers to one grubby red mitten in brief farewell.

Troubled, and still of two minds as to whether or not he should call a doctor to visit Dimity, Zach drove into the village and was about to take the lane to Southern Farm when he saw a familiar figure, sitting on a bench with a small dog at his feet, and looking out to sea. Zach pulled up alongside and lowered his window.

“Hello, Mr. Coulson, are you well?” he said. Wilf Coulson clasped his hands around the whippet’s lead, and nodded with the minimum of good manners. “I know you told me not to ask you anything else about Dimity . . .”

“That’s right. I did,” said the old man warily.

“I’ve just been down to see her and she said something . . . Well, it reminded me of something you’d said and I wanted to ask you about it? Please?” Wilf Coulson gave him a complicated look—curiosity mixed with sadness and belligerence.

“What, then?”

“I asked you what little Élodie Aubrey died of, and you said natural causes but that there were some that said otherwise. I was wondering . . . what you might have meant by that?”

“Was it unclear?”

“No . . . but, who were these people? And what did they say? I won’t use this information, you understand. I mean, not for my book. I’m just trying to understand what Dimity’s going through . . . Will you tell me what you meant?” Wilf seemed to consider this, his jaw working slightly, cheeks moving in and out. But in the end he wanted to talk, Zach could see. He wanted to unburden himself.

“The doctor came into the pub, a couple of nights after it happened. Dr. Marsh, who’d been at the hospital with them. I was there, too, so I heard him talking. He reckoned she’d got gastric flu, but the day it happened Aubrey himself ran about saying they’d eaten the wrong thing and been poisoned. The older girl was often out picking things from the hedges, with Dimity.”

“The older girl? Delphine?”

“That’s her, that married the Brocks’ boy in the end. The doctor talked about the symptoms and I saw some looks exchanged, over his head. Aubrey had mentioned other symptoms too, and there were plenty in there that knew what it sounded like.”

“And what was that?”

“Cowbane,” Wilf said shortly. “Hemlock.”

“Jesus . . . you mean, Delphine picked it by mistake, and . . . and Élodie ate some?”

“Either that or . . .”

“Or what?”

“It’s hard to come by. Water hemlock. Farmers pull it up wherever they find it, since it’ll kill livestock. She’d have to have gone a long way and get damned unlucky to find any.”

“So . . . what are you saying? That it was deliberate?”

“No. I’m not saying that. Why would the one sister poison the other? And risk poisoning the whole house? Why would she profit from it?”

“Well, she wouldn’t . . .” Zach trailed off, because a chill had slid down his spine. He looked down towards The Watch. “Delphine wouldn’t profit from it,” he murmured.

“Dimity weren’t herself late on that summer. When they came back from Africa. And what were they doing, taking a girl like Mitzy to Africa, anyway? What good can it have done? She weren’t herself. I tried talking to her, but she weren’t her right self.” Wilf clamped his lips together, and shook his head angrily. “There, now. Let that be enough for you. Let it lie,” he said gravely. Zach noticed that the old man’s knuckles had gone white, gripping the lead so hard. Zach paused for a moment, and understood his fear.

“I won’t tell her that you’ve told me. I give you my word,” he said. Wilf Coulson sat back a little, though his expression did not change.

“I’d have married her still, after all of it,” he said, in a strained voice. “I’d have married her still, but she would not have me.” He took out a threadbare handkerchief and blotted his eyes, and Zach’s heart ached for him. He wished he could tell Wilf why Dimity wouldn’t have him—why she couldn’t. She’d had Charles to think about, and to love, and to hide. And to redeem herself to.

“Thank you, Mr. Coulson. Thank you for talking to me. I think . . . I think Dimity is getting rather tired. I think . . . that if you did want to visit her, then sooner rather than later might be best.” Wilf gave him a quick, startled glance, and then nodded.

“I understand you, boy,” he said. “Now leave me be.”

H
annah let him in, wearing an expression that Zach couldn’t read. There were shadows under her eyes, and her lips were pale.

“You’ve started to clear up,” said Zach as he sat down at the long kitchen table. There were gaps in the detritus on the worktops, and the paperwork on the table seemed to be shifting into piles, into some kind of order. Two bulging black trash bags sat near the door, ready to be taken out. Hannah nodded.

“I . . . suddenly felt like it. It felt like the end of an era, with Ilir gone.”

“Did they make it to Newcastle okay?”

“Yes.” She nodded. “Yes, they’re fine. Well . . . as fine as they can be. Bekim needs to start treatment for lead poisoning as soon as possible . . .”

“That’s the chelation you were talking about?”

“Yes. To draw the lead out of his system.”

“Is it really that bad, then? I mean, I noticed that he was groggy, but I thought he was just exhausted . . .”

“It’s worse than you know. He’ll be living with the effects for the rest of his life. How old would you say he is?”

“I don’t know—a bit older than Elise. Seven or eight?”

“He’s ten. Coming up eleven. The lead stunts growth and development . . .”

“Christ. Poor kid,” said Zach. “I understand . . . I understand why you wanted to help them. Give them a new start.”

“Of course.” She busied herself at the counter, with the kettle and mugs and teabags. She seemed unwilling to meet his eye. “I thought you’d gone,” she said eventually.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you got what you came for.” She turned around to face him, folding her arms defensively. “You found out where the Aubrey pictures were coming from. You found out what happened to Delphine, and who Dennis was.”

Zach studied her for a while, and noticed that though her voice was angry, her eyes looked fearful. He shook his head, stood up, and walked over to her.

“So you thought I’d just take off, with all this newfound knowledge? And do what with it?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “Write a book. Break the story. Cause a splash.”

“Wow. You really don’t have much faith in people, do you?” He smiled, and put up one hand to brush her cheek. Hannah knocked it away impatiently.

“Don’t play games with me, Zach. I need to know . . . I need to know what you’re going to do.”

“I’m not going to do anything,” he said.

“Nothing at all?” she said incredulously. She shook her head and went back to making tea. “So, where did you go?”

“I went to see my grandma.”

“Oh? Spur of the moment?”

“Yes. I finally got her to admit whether or not she had an affair with Aubrey. Whether or not I am actually Aubrey’s grandson.”

Hannah paused and took a deep breath. “Because if you are, then all those pictures belong to you,” she said stonily. Zach blinked.

“I hadn’t even thought of that. But yes, that would be the case, wouldn’t it?”

“It would, yes,” she said scathingly.

“Hannah, come on. I swear that’s not why I went. I went because if I am his grandson, then you and I would be related. I’d be your great-uncle, or something.”

“Second cousin.”

“What?”

“If you were his grandson, we’d be second cousins. But only half, because I’m descended from Celeste, and you from your grandmother.”

“Half second cousins? You worked it out already?” Zach smiled at her, and Hannah’s cheeks colored, ever so slightly.

“Weeks ago,” she said. “When we first slept together. You’d already told me about your family rumor. So, what’s the verdict? Are we kissing cousins? Are you Aubrey’s heir?”

“No,” Zach said, still smiling. “No, not at all. My grandpa was my grandpa. Granny let us think otherwise all these years because . . . well, because she’d married a man she didn’t love, and she wanted it to be true, I guess.” Hannah stopped what she was doing and hung her head for a moment, shutting her eyes.

“Good,” she said, at last. Zach gave her a quizzical look. “It would have made things very complicated, if you’d suddenly wanted to claim your inheritance. All those pictures.”

“No. Those are your pictures. Your inheritance.”

“Mine to do what I like with.”

“Yes.”

“And if what I want is to leave them there, with Mitzy?” she challenged him.

“Then so be it,” said Zach. Hannah blinked, taken aback.

“You mean you’re fine with that? You don’t mind? You can keep a secret like that?”

“I just swore to Dimity that I would. And I will.”

“Well,” she said, and turned away again. She put her hand on the kettle as if to make tea, but she’d forgotten to put it on to boil. She paused, and said nothing more. Zach took her by the shoulders and gently turned her to face him. There were tears in her eyes, which she blinked away angrily.

“What is it?” he said.

“Nothing. I’m fine. I just thought . . . I thought . . .”

“You thought you had another battle on your hands. With me,” said Zach. Hannah nodded.

“It’s been a . . . a stressful few months. You know?” She blew her nose messily on a piece of newspaper, leaving a smudge of newsprint on her top lip.

“I only want to help you,” Zach said gently. “You must know that by now?”

They finished making the tea, and once they’d drunk it, Hannah went out of the room for a moment. She came back with a small envelope in her hand.

“What’s this?” Zach asked as she handed it to him. Hannah sat down opposite him.

“Open it.” Zach frowned at the front of the letter. The address was written in extravagant handwriting, all loops and lazy slopes, and quite hard to decipher; the addressee was Delphine Aubrey. Zach glanced up at Hannah. “I found it in my grandma’s things, after she died. It was the only one. The only letter from Celeste, that is. She kept it all those years. I thought it might . . . interest you,” said Hannah.

“Oh, my God,” Zach murmured. He brushed his thumb reverently over her name.
Delphine.
Abruptly, Hannah stood up.

“I’m going for a swim. I need to . . . clear my head. Come and find me, once you’ve read it.” Zach nodded his head distractedly, already opening the letter and starting to read.

Delphine, chérie, my daughter. I miss you so much. I hope you do not miss me as much, but this is a pointless thing to hope. You were always loving, and loyal. You were always a good child, and a good sister to Élodie. Help me—writing her name is like cutting myself. My poor Delphine, how can you know? How can you know the pain I feel? It hurts you to lose her, to lose your sister, but to lose a child is more than a person can stand. It is more than I can stand. Your father will look after you, I know it. His heart is like a cloud in the summer sky. It drifts and is blown about, it chases the wind, and the sun. It is inconstant, in some ways. But love for a child does not lie in the heart—it is in the soul, it is in every bone of your body. He cannot be inconstant to you. You are part of him, as you are part of me. And Élodie was a part of us, too, and since she died I am no longer whole. I will never be whole. I am like a child again myself, no longer a mother. I don’t know how to live anymore. I am with my mother, and she cares for me.