Memory Scents (14 page)

              “Christine, where are you?”

              But Chrissie seemed unable to speak and her head was swaying from side to side as if she was trying to get away from something. Her hands began to grip the blanket and tears sprung from her eyes; all that was coming out of her mouth was muffled crying.

              “It’s alright Christine, I’m going to touch your arm and then count backwards from ten and bring you safely back into this room. Ten…nine…eight…seven…”

Chrissie started to calm as she slowly returned back to the comfort
of her living room, and her own surroundings.

              “Don’t sit up just yet sweetheart. Stay where you are for a few minutes and take some deep breaths.”

              Sarah went into Chrissie’s kitchen and poured them both a glass of water. When she went back into the room, Chrissie was sitting on the sofa and rubbing her face.

              “Are you ok?”

              “I think so. That was really strange.”

              “You got as far as the swing and then you became really distressed, which is why I bought you back. What happened?”

              “It was so weird, because I was there and aware of being here at the same time. Is that normal?” Chrissie asked, gratefully taking the glass of water from Sarah.

              “Yes, it’s your physical self keeping a connection with the here and now.” Sarah said, trying to be patient with her friend, but eager to know what had happened.

              “I seemed to be reliving a very vivid memory, or so I thought, but I heard an animal noise by the gate in the garden where the swing was and the next thing I knew there was a large gloved hand over my face. It was horrible.” Chrissie started to cry again.

              “That’s awful, did you know who it was?” Sarah handed Chrissie a tissue.

              “No, but it was definitely a man. He was dragging me along what I felt was a dark track or alleyway. It was pitch black and I just remember feeling really frightened and being unable to scream. As I was coming back into the room, I could hear my mother calling me.” Chrissie blew her nose and stared at Sarah as if she had an explanation for it all.

              “Why would I have a memory of my childhood merged with what must be a past life?”

              “I’m not so sure that it was a past life. You referred to yourself as Christine, which was what you were called as a child.”

              “But I would remember something like that, surely? Could it have been something paranormal?”

              “What do you mean?”

              “Well, I know it sounds weird, but could it have been a spirit showing me something that happened to them.”

              “It could be, but didn’t you say it was a memory from your childhood?”

              “Yes, I remember the house vaguely. It could have been a holiday home we stayed in.”

              “I hate to tell you this Chrissie, but you may have just recalled a memory from your childhood that you blocked out.”

              Chrissie pondered on this information while Sarah made them both some fresh coffee.

              “It can’t be. My parents would have told me. Wouldn’t they?”

              “Not necessarily. It could explain their protectiveness of you.”

              “Hang on a minute, there’s just one small problem with this whole thing! If that was a memory from my childhood, then how am I still here?” Chrissie said, jumping up from the sofa and joining her friend in the kitchen.

              “What do you mean?”

              “I wouldn’t be alive now would I?”

              “What makes you think this memory ended in death? Perhaps you got away?”

              “No, no. I think it was one of the murdered children trying to show me something. I need to explore the village to try and trigger my memory.” Chrissie drained her coffee cup. Her brain was working overtime, a feeling of excitement was creeping through her body and she really felt like she was onto something.

              Sarah looked on with concern; she wasn’t convinced it wasn’t a memory Chrissie had stirred up in this life. Or maybe a past life had merged with this one. She hadn’t seen it before in all the years she had been a therapist, but it was a possible explanation.

*

Dear Alice,

              So, this is it my darling. Now I finally know what happened to my little angel after all these years. And now that I know, it seems the only realistic explanation. It’s funny how you can see it all so clearly when you’re given the true facts.

              I feel like someone’s dropped me into an ice cold ocean, which has awoken me. Woken me from the world I’ve lived in for ten years, where you walk through the gate and up the path to the front door.

              I think I preferred that world. Although I knew deep down you were never coming home. In my moments of panic when time passed and I constantly went to the window, I knew you’d never be there.

              Ignorance is bliss, or so they say. Well, I wouldn’t go that far, but I wish I could stop all the clocks and the world, so I can stay in that time where you come home. That’s a poem I think…can’t remember. Who cares? I can’t even recall how I felt before. The atmosphere has engulfed me.

              I thought I’d feel relieved, but I don’t. I just feel like it’s all over; over forever. I used to envy the other parents in the village who’d lost their child. Awful I know, but they had something that I never had in this whole tragic mess. They had the knowledge of what had happened to their children, instead of spending every moment going over the same scenario, and then inventing new ones to chew over.

              Being privy to that information, albeit horrific, felt to me like you could somehow try and move on with your life, if that’s at all possible. Not having to wonder, and at some point reaching a time of acceptance. Something you have no control over has changed forever, so the only solution is to live your life the best way you can.

              But I don’t envy those parents anymore, not with the news I now have. It’s just a different type of nightmare, worse than the last, and full of unanswered and unthinkable questions. A different set of scenarios to play in the cinema of my mind, and I don’t want to see the reruns. But they’ll play and play, and no amount of crying or time is ever going to change anything.

Loving you always and forever

Mummy xxx

*

NORFOLK 1998

              “How’s your sister?”

              “As to be expected.”

              “Have the police said anymore?”

             
“Not really.” Grace said crisply. She was in no mood for a conversation with Tim.

              “Oh. I went to see Jon. He seems to be handling it ok, said he knew all along.”

              “Good for Jon.”

              “Have I done something wrong, Grace?”

              “Bloody hell Tim, it’s not all about you all the time! My sister’s just found out what’s happened to her daughter after all these years. Give me a break!”

              “Ok, ok!” Tim put his hands up defensively. “I was only saying.”

              Grace busied herself putting wet laundry into the tumble dryer, and then began rifling through the cupboards and fridge.

              “What are you doing?”

              “I’m going to stay with Eve for a few nights, and I need to take some food and clean bed linen with me.” Grace resumed her search for the makings of a cottage pie.

              “What? Leave me here on my own?” Tim attempted a forlorn look.

              “I’m sure you’ll survive. I’m just going to make this and wait for the washing to dry, and then I’ll be off.”

              “Oh, is that for me?” Tim was enjoying winding her up. He was perfectly capable of looking after himself; he’d done it enough times on his boat trips. He was looking forward to having the house to himself. He just wanted to get a rise out of her before she left; another one of his kicks.

              “Don’t!” Grace glared at him, as she pointed a gleaming kitchen knife she was using to chop onions, in his direction.

              “Alright, alright! I’ll have to order in a takeaway.” Tim threw over his shoulder as he walked into the sitting room to watch the rest of the football.

              Grace stood there for a time, staring at the space where her husband had been. As if staring would cause her to suddenly wake up and discover that the whole thing had never happened, and that Nadine was upstairs in her bedroom and Tim had died in some freak accident. And Alice was at home with Eve and Jon. But life wasn’t like that. While she was enjoying this vision, another film was playing in her mind. One where she had walked from the kitchen into the sitting room and plunged the knife so hard into Tim that it pierced the sofa underneath. Then she began wondering how she would get rid of the stains and his sorry corpse. And, she mused, she quite liked the sofa and he wasn’t worth it. No, no, no, it was far too messy and not something that would look remotely like suicide. She snapped back into reality and continued chopping. Her sister needed her right now, and that’s what she had to concentrate on. She’d have plenty of time when Eve was settled into bed to think about Tim’s exit from this world.

*

NORFOLK 1988

              Alice had appeared to stop breathing several times while she endured the rape of her fifteen year old body. And it was rape in every sense of the word. Tim was so violent with his niece that the shock caused unconsciousness similar to a drug induced trance. Every time she became aware of her physical self and the horror of what was happening, she was sick. Which only resulted in Tim becoming more intolerant and cross with her; he appeared to be angry and euphoric at the same time. At one point she thought she was going to choke on her own vomit, because Tim had rammed tissues into her mouth as a way to stem the flow of sick. This only served to make her gag even more, the tissue turning to soggy pulp in her mouth.

              Tim didn’t like human waste of any kind, it repulsed him, and he wasn’t going to let it spoil his long awaited moment with her.

              What she thought was going to be her last memory, was of her Uncle Tim looking down on her. She was standing on the other side of the room watching herself, one of those out of body experiences that she’d heard and read about.

              She watched her uncle with his hands around her tiny neck, squeezing the last bit of life out of her. Her eyes bulged out of her porcelain coloured face, blood, spittle, and vomit drying around her nose and mouth.

              She stood in the corner watching this scenario and prayed to die. She swayed like a piece of driftwood washed up on the shore. Backwards and forwards, backwards and forwards.

              Alice thought she was in her bedroom on the floor when she woke up. It was cold and so dark that even the widening of her eyes made no difference to the light. The memories of what had happened suddenly stung her like a swarm of bees and reawakened the physical pain in her body. Even her skin hurt.

 
              Alice tried to move to get up off her bedroom floor and turn the light on, but the bang and pain of her head hitting some wood made her realise she wasn’t where she thought she was. Confusion hit her at first, and then she thought that maybe she was dreaming. The flash of her out of body experience flew in front of her eyes, and for a split second she thought she might be in hell. The pounding of her heartbeat and the goose bumps on her skin told her she was very much alive.

              Alice knew she was naked even though her body felt so alien to her. She was freezing cold and breathing was becoming harder and harder. She tried again to sit up, but the same thing happened. A noise like the sound of crumbling plaster fell on her. She moved her hands beside her to feel what she was laying on. It felt like floorboards, rough and covered in splinters.

              As Alice became more and more conscious and able to move her body, she quickly realised she was in a large box, which she suspected was in the ground. Her limbs came into contact with every side of it as she moved around; small insects began to crawl across her sensitive skin as they found their way through the gaps. And she soon discovered it was soil that was falling on her through the cracks in the wood, not plaster.

              Panic hit her like a lightning strike and she screamed from the bottom of her soul. But she soon realised no amount of clawing and screaming was going to save her.

              Alice gave up after what seemed like hours; her hands throbbed from banging the lid of the box and her fingers were sticky with blood from clawing at the wood. This had only served to cause more soil to drop through the cracks.