Sarah Rayne - What Lies Beneath

Or what?

Or until she could find a way to keep her mother quiet for ever.

When she was seventeen Ella opted to stay at school for an extra year to take what the school called ‘business studies’. It was a year-long course, consisting of shorthand and typing and a smattering of bookkeeping. The school was pleased it could offer this to girls who did not want to try for university places. One or two boys took the course as well, generally because knowing shorthand was useful for the police force or journalism, but in the main, it was aimed at girls. The teachers, while conscientiously proclaiming themselves in sympathy with the vibrant sixties and equality for women, said it remained the best thing for girls. The idea was for them to work as shorthand typists or secretaries for a few years until they settled down with some nice man. Ella’s mother, told about the plan, said dispiritedly it was no doubt a good idea since Ella would have to make her way in the world.

Ella found the course quite hard, particularly the book-keeping classes, but she persevered. Clem was going to try for a university place so he had gone up into the sixth form to take A levels. He would get a Bachelor of Arts degree and he might become a writer or a journalist, he thought.

Veronica left school altogether and got a job behind the make-up counter at the local pharmacist. She said it was to mark time because eventually she wanted to work in fashion or the beauty industry. She quite fancied fashion journalism, actually. Ella did not think selling cheap make-up was likely to get Veronica onto the staff of Vogue or into a Mary Quant boutique, but she did not say this in case it sounded bitchy. Several people commented that Veronica seemed to have a lot of boyfriends and hoped she was not heading for an unfortunate experience. Still, working in a chemist’s ought to be useful on that score.

Ella thought she might sort of have a boyfriend herself by this time, because shortly after her eighteenth birthday Derek Haywood, from the fifth form, started to take her to the pictures once a week. This was quite gratifying because his parents lived in a big detached house, and Derek was going to study for some accountancy exam or other, which sounded important. Accountants were professional people who wore smart suits and had their own offices. Veronica thought Ella was mad to go out with somebody who was almost two years younger, but she entered into the spirit of things and brought make-up samples from the cosmetic counter for Ella to try. She said Ella should wear mascara because her eyelashes were a bit pale. Men liked the sooty-eyed look, even if it was only Derek Haywood from the fifth form, said Veronica. But Ella thought the mascara made her look like a panda and Derek now seemed to think it a settled thing that they went to the cinema every Saturday anyway, so sooty eyes would not make much difference.

At intervals her mother remembered that she was going to confess to killing Lady Cadence, but each time this happened Ella doped her tea with tranquillizers. The GP never questioned the constant repeat prescriptions. When Ella visited him to discuss it, he said it was all very sad, and he was not surprised poor Mrs Ford suffered from depression so severely. Ella should try to get her to go out. He could refer her for psychiatric help, if Ella wanted, but there was likely to be a long waiting list.

‘Oh, I don’t think she needs that,’ said Ella, terrified. ‘But the tranquillizers do help quite a lot. I’m very careful that she doesn’t get dependent on them.’

The doctor said that was important, wrote the prescription, and was relieved that there was a caring intelligent daughter to cope with poor Mrs Ford, whose condition did not really fall into any NHS pigeonhole.

The business studies course was nearing its end when Ella went home one afternoon and found her mother huddled on the settee, her face twisted with pain, moaning.

‘What’s wrong?’ said Ella, hanging up her coat on the back of the door. It would be annoying if her mother decided to be ill tonight because it was Derek’s last day at school before he started in the local council offices with his accountancy career. They were going to have a small celebration.

‘Pain – stomach,’ said Ella’s mother. ‘Dreadful. Can you call a doctor?’

Ella sat down and studied her mother thoughtfully. She looked quite ill – she was flushed and her eyes were bloodshot. A bowl stood on the floor near her. ‘I was sick earlier,’ said Brenda, seeing Ella look towards this. ‘I thought I might be sick again and not get to the sink this time.’ A fresh spasm of pain twisted her again and she hunched over, gasping.

‘I think it’s appendicitis,’ she said, when the spasm eased a bit. ‘The pain’s in the right place for it.’

Appendicitis. That was something that was easily dealt with, providing it was caught in time, Ella knew that. But what if it were not caught in time? A sudden image of what it might be like if Mum were not here glinted tantalizingly. No more living on a knife-edge, worrying if her mother would start talking again about confessing to murder. No more lying to the GP to get extra tranquillizers, and surreptitiously stirring them into cups of tea. She would be safe for ever – safe in this little house, because she was eighteen, about to finish her business course and get a job.

She said, ‘How long have you been like this?’ These days Mum was always still in bed when Ella went to school, so she seldom saw her until the evening.

‘Felt a bit seedy yesterday. Didn’t want to worry you, though. Then last night the pain started… It’s been getting stronger since breakfast. I’m fairly sure—’ She broke off to deal with another wave of pain. ‘I’m fairly sure it is appendicitis,’ she said after a few moments. ‘So you need to get a doctor – ambulance.’

‘Yes, of course.’ The cottage did not have a phone. Brenda had often said they should have one, but Ella had always discouraged it because she was frightened that while she was at school her mother might suddenly ring the police and tell them about Lady Cadence’s death. She said, ‘I’ll go down to the callbox and phone the surgery.’

‘Quicker to ask next door,’ said Mum. ‘Now they’re on the phone they won’t mind.’

‘They’re away,’ said Ella at once. ‘Don’t you remember? But it won’t take me long to go down to the callbox. D’you want anything while I’m gone?’

‘No—’

‘You’d better have a hot-water bottle,’ said Ella. ‘And aspirin.’

The kettle took a long time to boil on the old-fashioned stove. Ella watched it and thought if this house really did belong to her, she would try to make a smart shining kitchen with a modern cooker. She took her time about filling the bottle, then dissolved two aspirin in water. After that she fetched a blanket from the airing cupboard. Mum seemed feverish, she said, and you had to keep warm when you were feverish. By this time it was after six, which meant the surgery would be closed.

‘I’ll go down to the phone box now,’ said Ella.

Phone boxes were notoriously unreliable. Even in a law-abiding place like Upper Bramley they were occasionally vandalized, and even if they were not, they were often out of order. People said it was a sad joke how you could never find a phone box that was working.

The phone box on the corner looked all right, but the receiver cord was very frayed. Ella had brought change with her and she dialled Derek to explain she might not be able to meet him because her mother was poorly. No, it was nothing very serious, she thought, but she was going to ask the doctor to come out, just to be sure.

‘Can I help at all?’ said Derek, clearly a bit nervous at being confronted with illness, but obviously aware that it was polite to ask.