Shell House (20 page)

       
“Did he recognise you?”

       
“I think so. We came face to face and then I ran from him and I heard him shouting at me.”

       
“Shouting what?” Harry sat up in his chair.

       
“Bitch, mainly.”

Harry bristled. “It doesn’t mean he knew it was you, he probably thought you were a reporter.”

        “I don’t think we need to worry about that now, Dad.” Jonathan had removed himself from the window and was sitting back on the sofa. “We’ve got something we need to tell you.”

       
“Best leave it until the morning, son. We’re all tired and it’s very late.”

       
“No, she needs to know now.”

       
“Will one of you please tell me what’s going on?!”

       
That night Gabrielle woke several times until eventually she got up and went downstairs. Bruce wagged his tail from his bed at the sight of her in the kitchen but he didn’t get up. He was getting old and there wasn’t a lot that disturbed him from his bed especially not that time in the morning. Gabrielle smiled and went over to pat his head as if she’d noticed him for the first time.

       
She couldn’t believe how tired and exhausted she felt, yet unable to sleep. All sorts of things were interrupting her rest and it wasn’t the shocking news that Jonathan had told her a few hours ago. It had seemed to skim over the surface of her body as if it held no truth in it. Ellen could quite possibly have senile dementia; nothing she said could necessarily be believed. She pondered on whether or not, once the information had sunk in she’d feel differently. Maybe it was all the years of knowing something to be true and then being told to think the opposite that she was struggling with. One thing she did know was that it had made her question if she’d ever done anything deliberate to the two little boys. She’d been told a lot of things by a lot of people when it happened and for a long time afterwards and now she had no idea what her real memory was. She couldn’t work out if the visions she had in her head were her own or ones put there by other people.

       
When she’d finally gone to bed she hadn’t thought about any of this; it was as though she were afraid to. Other things were keeping her awake, like the anxious feeling she had when she realised she’d left her photographs behind. That had been when she’d decided to get up for good; the slight panic causing her to well and truly awaken.

       
Before that she’d tossed and turned, thinking about how Ellen had seen her going into the shed, and she wondered why Ellen had waited for John to go out as well. But then she supposed being ill would make her react in a different way to normal.

       
Then her mind flitted to the couple who’d stared at her on the bus ride over, how they’d not taken their eyes off her as she quietly read her book.

       
Then she thought about all her possessions she’d left in the safe house and how she would get them back. What Rosa would say? She wondered whether she should just go back in the morning and pretend she’d never left, but thoughts like that made her anxious too, because it meant leaving her father again.

       
He and Jonathan had talked to her quite forcefully about staying with them and not going back to the safe house. Jonathan had promised to organise a removals van and supervise her things being collected.

       
She wasn’t sure what she was allowed to do under her licence but seeing as she’d applied to the court for anonymity she didn’t see why she couldn’t have it reversed. But then she also knew the law didn’t work like that.

       
Guilt descended on her again as she pondered on all these things whilst making herself a pot of tea. She couldn’t help wondering how everyone would feel knowing she’d moved back to the village where she’d caused so much devastation. It worried her they’d think she was brazen and not at all sorry, and how it would affect her father and the rest of the family.

       
Harry and Jonathan had assured her it would all be okay. They were like a solid wind breaker ready to protect her against the storm.  And she felt happy to hide behind it for the time being even though she was unsure if it was the right thing to do. She felt physically and mentally exhausted and the offer of someone else taking over and sorting everything out was overwhelmingly appealing right now.

       
Picking up her large cup of tea, she tapped her leg with her free hand signalling for Bruce to come into the sitting room, where she was sure the fire would still be going. He clicked and creaked as he got up and stretched with a yawn halfway out of his basket, and followed her obediently into the warmer room.

       
She needed to think and she wanted to watch the sun come up over the sea as she did it.

       
She sat in the Captain’s chair behind Harry’s desk and let it rotate her side to side allowing her mind to settle on what Jonathan had told her about Ellen. The thing that immediately sprung to mind was how they’d react if they found out she did really do it and their theory was wrong and this frightened her. She’d believed all this time she had and now that it was being questioned she was unsure. She wanted them to accept her whether she was innocent or guilty.

       
The sun was peeping up on the horizon, shining red on all the puffy clouds, making them look pink and swollen like eyes that had been drenched with tears, not dissimilar to hers.

       
Thinking about it all now she suddenly became aware she couldn’t even remember how the twins had died. What she’d done to them. She gripped the mug harder, not wanting to think about it too deeply. It was so far removed from who she was now but she knew she must delve deeper into her mind at some point; stop being scared and face it. After all, there was no better time to do it than now and that’s more or less what her father had told her.

       
That period of time when it all happened had mapped out her entire life, a life she’d spent alone apart from a few friends, who were now gone from her life. Not just because of what had happened but also due to the fact she’d never allowed herself to get really close to anyone. Even potential boyfriends had been kept at a fair distance, making most of them keener to be closer to her. But when it became too serious she’d end it because she couldn’t bear living a lie and involving someone else in it all. It was being alone in a world where she was Rebecca and no one knew she was really Gabrielle. She thought now how that must be the loneliest kind of lonely.

       
What if it was true and she hadn’t killed the twins and Ellen had? How different would her life have been? She’d have still been a writer; she knew that for sure, because as soon as she could speak she’d been telling stories. But everything else would have been different. A life she could have had began to appear before her, marriage, children, a family. Her stomach tightened in pain and she drew her knees up to comfort herself. She had never ever thought of this concept because the guilt of what she’d done was ingrained in her and she’d accepted things just the way they were. Even when friends questioned her about getting married or having children she’d just brushed it off. But then she realised she had been someone else and maybe Rebecca hadn’t wanted any of those things. The facts had always been that she’d committed murder. Regardless of her name or her identity, none of it changed her flesh and blood; she was still the person who killed the Tailby’s children.

       
Tears streamed down her face and she could feel the cold, empty chasm of depression creeping into the room. She fixed her stare on the horizon, not daring to look behind her.

CHAPTER TWELVE

        When Harry found Gabrielle she was sitting in the small cavity under his desk, partly hidden by the Captain’s chair. It was only because Bruce was whimpering by the window and hadn’t come for his breakfast at the usual time that Harry had gone to see what he was making a fuss about.

       
“Whatever are you doing down there?”

       
Being tucked under his desk should have told him there was something very wrong, but it wasn’t until he heard her humming that he realised to what extent.

       
He tried to crouch down so he could talk to her properly but having just got out of bed his creaky old legs wouldn’t allow it, so he leaned one hand on the desk and bent forward.

       
“Gabrielle, listen to me.” He tried to keep his voice stern and commanding. “You must get up off the floor.”

       
She lifted her head from her knees and stared blankly at him; her eyes pale and dull grey as though someone had turned out the lights.

       
“Come on, dear heart.” His voice was softer now. “You can’t stay down here all day; you’ll catch your death.”

       
She sighed deeply and continued humming, averting her gaze from him to the view of the cloudy sky through the window.

       
Harry went to fetch Jonathan, who had stayed the night also and was in the kitchen making breakfast.

       
“Jonathan, we need to call a doctor.”

       
He looked at his father and laughed. “I am a doctor, you silly old man. What’s the problem?”

       
“Don’t just stand there, come and see for yourself.”

       
Jonathan tutted; not impressed with being interrupted whilst he was perfecting his scrambled eggs. “Is it Catherine? Has her back gone again?”

       
“No, it’s Gabrielle.”

       
Jonathan moved quickly passed his father and made to go upstairs, thinking she’d done something awful to herself in the bathroom.

       
“No! She’s in the sitting room.”

       
Harry led him over to the desk and showed him where she was sitting.

       
“Oh Christ. Have you been able to get any sense out of her?”

       
“None at all, she just keeps humming.”

       
“Call Dr. Nobes, Dad.”

       
“Can’t you do anything?”

       
“I can try and get her upstairs to bed but I can’t prescribe her anything. She needs an independent diagnosis.”

       
“What’s wrong with her?”

       
Jonathan ushered his father into the hall so Gabrielle couldn’t hear what they were saying.

       
“I think she’s had a nervous breakdown. Not surprising really.”

       
“A nervous breakdown?” Harry was sceptical about all that sort of thing; he thought it was something made up in order to get out of certain situations. He found it hard enough to admit he’d had one himself all those years ago. “She was alright last night.”

       
“It’s an illness, Dad. Something snaps and the brain switches off. A bit like when you pass out; it’s your body’s way of saying it’s had enough.”

       
“Poor, poor girl.”

       
“She was a bit odd last night when I come to think of it.”

       
“In what way?”

       
“When you’d gone to bed she kept on about a load of old photos that she’d left at the safe house. I reassured her we’d collect her stuff but she wouldn’t drop it. Wanted me to promise I’d sort it out. I just thought she was tired.”

       
“Yes. Now you come to mention it she was a bit odd.” Harry scratched his head causing the wisps of grey hair to stick up, disturbed from where they’d lay.

       
“Right, it’s no good standing here chatting; we can do that later. Call Dr. Nobes and I’ll get her upstairs. She needs to be kept warm.”

       
They both went about their allocated tasks quietly, Jonathan’s taking longer. It wasn’t easy getting her from under the desk. Bruce growled, having taken up the role of protecting her, knowing there was something wrong but not quite sure what.

       
“Shut up, silly dog! I’m not going to hurt her.” He pulled her arm, hoping she’d shuffle out and stand up to follow him, but she just fell forward and lay on her side, humming. His eyes filled with tears at the very sad state of her, that and how guilty he felt at the way he’d treated her. She looked just like a little girl again, tiny and vulnerable. She’d lost so much weight that she could ill afford and when he picked her up he was shocked at her slight frame. It really was like carrying a child.

       
When he held her close to him she stopped humming and laid her head on his chest. He carried her up the stairs with Bruce following obediently behind.

       
Harry watched as tears of guilt and sadness pricked his eyes. He swallowed them back, gritted his teeth, and tried to muster up the will to make himself useful by fetching a glass and a jug of water.