Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
As I turned into Bellamy Lane five minutes later, an odd feeling crept into my body.
My stomach folded in on itself like wet paper, and my heart felt sad in a language I’d spent thirty years pretending I didn’t speak.
My ability to stuff uncomfortable feelings into my brain vault was becoming harder every day that I entertained this stupid house mystery.
Bellamy Lane was council reserve and farmland except for the large wooden gates to number six, which once opened, looked out onto beautiful coastland. But that view was ruined for me. I lived as far away from the beach as I could manage now.
“I thought you gave that up?” I asked as I approached the driver’s side window, smoke curling out from the gap at the top. My sister smiled.
“I did. For thirty-six days, four hours and six minutes. Then you rang,” she joked.
“Been a while,” I said, grinning as she stepped out of the car. I held her at arm’s length to look at her properly. She was only a fraction taller than me with the same light grey eye colour, but that was the end of what we had in common.
June was thirteen months older than me and had blonde hair and pale skin.
She was pin-thin, straight up and down to my hourglass shape.
She’d managed to tick off some of the invisible life milestones—a house, two kids, a marriage, the picket fence.
I didn’t know if there was any genuine happiness in those achievements though, and her purse rattled when she walked.
She wasn't shy about the SSRI’s and tablets for insomnia she took that kept her upright through regular bouts of depression.
Some days, I wished I could suck it up and get a nine-to-five job, and marry a dull accountant whose idea of fun was watching the footie on Sundays from a recliner. But maybe it wasn’t realistic to want both happiness and the checklist.
I hadn’t managed either.
“Too long,” she answered, giving me the patented one-second June hug (shoulders only, no eye contact, exit stage left). Neither of us were that big on the whole displays of affection thing.
She turned around to look at the looming wooden gate with the words Bellamy Children’s Home carved into it. A shiver ran up my spine as its height loomed above us.
“Never thought I’d be back here,” June said. She took a deep drag of her cigarette before putting it out with her pointed black pump. “I’m giving up again as soon as I leave. Scouts honour,” she said, giving me a two-finger salute.
“You don’t have to come in with me,” I said. I knew what I was asking. She brushed a strand of my hair from my shirt and stood taller.
“Yes, I do. I’m not letting you do this alone. Besides, I’m just as curious as you.”
“You think it’s a prank?” I asked, chewing the inside of my Chapstick-covered lip.
“Honestly? I don’t see how it could be. But what other explanation is there?”
We stood shoulder to shoulder at the gate, and I swallowed hard.
“It’s not the same, right?” I said, losing the normal composure I managed to fake in front of people.
“It’s not the same,” she soothed.
I bent at the knees, trying to put the stupid key in the padlock. “And we can leave any time we want, right?”
“Any time,” she reassured me. She squatted down to where I’d crouched on the concrete, trying to stop her black skirt from riding too far up her slender legs.
We sat there for a moment—me staring at a crack in the concrete, wishing I could disappear into it, and her trying not to flash her probably perfectly unholy knickers. Both of us pretending we were fine.
“Ready?” June asked.
“No.”
“Ready?” she repeated after a pause.
I wasn’t, but the key was already turning, like my hand had decided for me.
The click echoed around us. Her eyes locked with mine before we pulled the heavy gate open together.
“Huh.”
“It’s smaller,” I whispered.
“We got bigger,” June said.
Neither of us sounded convinced.
Unwelcome fragments of sound and muddled memories rattled in my mind as we walked around the handball court.
I leaned on the cold bar of the now rusted and overgrown playground.
If I could trade in my brain vault, I would because it was seriously beginning to malfunction.
And after so many years of reliable service.
“Suck it up,” I whispered to myself as I squared my frame with the enormous building.
I immediately thought of the man from the petrol station.
What was his name? John? No, Jono. I should’ve taken him up on his offer.
I could’ve been tangled in sheets and limbs instead of revisiting the site of some of the worst experiences of my life.
This part of the house was the worst. Not because it was where terrible things happened but because it was where the lie began. It tricked parents into believing their children were safe.
It’s like a holiday! The posters screamed, right next to the photo of a kid smiling with a black eye you could only see if you knew where to look.
It was an orchestrated show. I'd look like that too if it were the first time I’d been outside my room in days.
The house had a grand white entrance tucked within a large patio that spanned the length of the colonial-style building and beautiful sash windows.
A quote engraved in the wood above the door read Children are the gift of God.
I don’t know when God had left the place, but I can say for damn sure he wasn’t there when we were.
I wanted to tear it down. Or spray paint a massive cock on it.
“Hello?” a deep voice called out.
A man stood at the gate, waving at us. He wore navy suit trousers and a matching waistcoat, with a lilac shirt underneath. His hair was jet black and styled into a perfect pompadour quiff. Boxy Versace sunglasses hid his eyes, and a gold watch gleamed on his wrist.
“Who are you?” June demanded, lighting another cigarette as she perched on the old swing.
There weren’t many people as no-nonsense as me, but June was one of them, which made her a comfortable person to be around.
I knew I was never going to accidentally say something offensive.
She’d simply tell me if I did instead of silently fuming over it for decades like the rest of the world.
“Mark Ajay, Sotheby’s real estate agent. I sold this house five years ago. Trevor called to tell me you’d arrived,” the man answered, his mouth curving at my sister.
“Fucking Trevor,” I muttered at the wide brick pillars that flanked the front door that I was taking my sweet time getting to. Mark joined me, arms folded, letting out a long whistle.
“They sure don’t make them like this anymore,” he said, removing his sunglasses to reveal pale grey eyes, lighter than mine. I gulped, then gulped again when I spotted the dimple in his chin.
What the hell was in the coffee around here? That made two out of three local men qualifying as unreasonably hot.
No ring, I noted, though that meant little these days. But real estate agents were gross, I reminded myself. And not my type. I preferred my hook-ups without bells, whistles, and hair mousse. Give me some rough and experienced hands that promised to forget me and I was in.
Plus, this guy looked like he was still in his twenties; I’d eat him alive.
“Please make yourself at home,” June said as she joined us on the stairs. My mouth curved, and the man looked between us like he was trying to decide whether to meet her sarcasm or be apologetic. He opted for awkward instead.
“Want a tour?” he asked. “I’ve shown every inch of this place during open homes. There’s nothing about the building or its history I don’t know.”
“Really?” June’s tone suggested she was moments away from proving otherwise. “Tell me, Mark, did you come here as a child?”
I pressed my lips together to hold back a grin, dropping my gaze to my mahogany ankle boots. Mark’s polished smile withdrew from his lips as he realised his agent speak would not work here.
“I didn’t,” he said.
June’s arm folded across her chest as she raised her chin to him.
“So, do you think there may be things about the history that you don’t know?
Or are you clairvoyant?” she pierced her gaze into his.
I turned around to face the brick pillar as a snort escaped from my throat.
He stammered and stepped back, his artificial composure dropping again.
A tiny part of me felt sorry for him squirming under June’s scrutiny, so I threw him a line.
“Do you want to lead the way? It’s been a while since we were here.” I passed him the keychain, the brass jangling as it landed in his hand. June shot me a look like I’d just let the dog on the sofa.
“Ladies first,” he said, pushing open the white door with ease.
June stepped inside without hesitation. I followed, faking bravery.
“Thank you,” Mark whispered as I passed him.
“She can be a little scary,” I whispered back.
He grinned, teeth bright, and something zinged down my spine. No, Riley. Down girl.
The musty scent hit me the moment I stepped into the foyer. So did the long wooden benches lining each wall—benches I’d spent long nights sitting on wishing I could go home.
The swirling in my stomach became a tornado, as did the feeling of sadness calling from somewhere within my body like a lost child I couldn’t locate.
There was mould growing from the corners of the ceiling and around the window frames, and each step we took made footprints in the thick dust that obscured the faded green carpets.
Mark walked around automatically, opening the windows to air the place out.
“All the sash windows down here open but none of the upstairs ones…” he began, before trailing off as he caught sight of June’s twisted expression, eyebrows tented.
“You don’t say? And why do you think that is?” she asked, head tilted. I saw Mark open his mouth to speak again and threw him a warning glance. He wouldn’t win.