Chapter 50
BETH
I can’t leave it there. I need to understand exactly what Hattie thought she saw. ‘Come with me, Hattie.’
‘Are we going? To the seaside?’
‘Not at the moment. I need your help.’
Anyone looking on could find it quite comical.
Two invalids together struggling up the stairs.
As we enter Hattie’s room, the soft morning light spills across her bed.
‘I need you to help me with something.’ I hope her train of thought hasn’t drifted off again.
I lead her to her bedroom window. ‘I want you to tell me exactly what you think you saw.’
She is silent for a moment. I’m unsure whether she’s trying to recount the thoughts in her head, piecing together the incident last night, or whether she’s off somewhere else. ‘So you believe me now?’
‘Just tell me,’ I say, keeping my voice level. ‘Say it again. What do you mean – chasing after her?’
Hattie points out of the window. ‘The girl ran around the side of the house and then up the drive and scooted off down the lane. She’s a fast runner. Really fast.’
‘Are you absolutely sure?’ Is this another made-up story? How she loves to be the unreliable narrator. In Justin’s words, ‘She’s always been a bit batty.’
‘You should see her run. Whoosh. Zoom.’ She throws her arm forward, her hand knife-straight.
I struggle to give her narrative any credence when she resorts to childish gestures.
‘There was no way he could keep up. He jumped in that car of his and was full throttle after her. Gravel flew everywhere.’
Time slows as I make sense of it all. The troubling thing, the nagging doubt, is that I recall hearing Justin’s car yesterday evening.
But when I challenged him, he came up with the plausible answer that he’d taken Immy to the station, even though I hadn’t been happy with him leaving me alone with his mother.
What if Hattie isn’t making this all up? I almost can’t bear to imagine the alternative. I rack my brain. Now I think about it, maybe I didn’t imagine the car driving off at speed.
‘Hattie, this is important. What were you doing looking out of the window at that time of night?’
‘I was waiting for Harold, of course.’
‘Oh, Hattie.’
‘Please, can we go to the seaside today? I want a penny lick.’
‘A what? A penny lick?’
‘An ice cream, dear. Can’t beat a seaside ice cream. Vanilla for me. Harold used to love going to the seaside. He preferred strawberry ice cream, though.’ She drops her head and places her hands on the windowsill to support her ageing body.
‘What happened after you saw Justin drive off, Hattie?’ I ask soothingly, trying to bring her back to the present.
She lifts her head and starts crying. ‘Harold’s dead, isn’t he?’
I’ve lost her. These conversations are the hardest. It’s easier when she’s in denial. I shuffle over to her, put an arm around her shoulder and gently say, ‘Yes. He died five years ago.’
Her bottom lip quivers. She throws her head back and wails.
I let her cry until I can bear it no more. Trying to maintain composure, I say, ‘I’ll tell you what. Why don’t I ask Justin if we can go to the seaside? It might do us all some good. Let’s get some more tea, Hattie.’
Her tears dry up, and she tries to smile. ‘Not now, dear.’
‘Can I ask you one last thing?’
‘Yes, dear.’
‘Was there anything else you saw yesterday evening? What else did you see last night?’
‘Last night? I don’t know what you mean.’
This is painful. ‘You said you saw Justin drive off after Immy. What happened next?’
‘He came back, dear. I saw the car creep down the driveway. All secretly like. Justin carried the girl out of the car. He’s such a strong lad, isn’t he? Like his father. He carried her as if she was a feather.’
I die a little more inside.