Shell House (29 page)

       
“She said they’d begun to stir, obviously becoming conscious from what she’d given them. She panicked for whatever reason and strangled them both with the rope and then proceeded to push them back into the cupboard. She then phoned the police and reported all of you missing. It is a very detailed account of what happened. Unfortunately we will never know why she picked you.”

       
Rebecca sat for quite some time, silently turning it all over in her head and then she suddenly remembered what she’d recalled and written in her book.

       
“Do you know something? I’d let her dog go a few weeks before that and she’d been furious with me. They kept him outside in all weathers with an old piece of rope tied tightly around his neck. I caught her beating him for barking and I hated her for it, wanted to take the stick and give her some of her own medicine. I’d bought a tin of dog food with my pocket money and fed it to him. She caught me just as I’d cut the rope from his neck and he’d run off.”

       
“Could be. I don’t think we’ll ever know why. She was a very sick woman.”

       
“You might be right it sounds churlish when I say it out loud. But I do remember when she called me over to baby sit she said it would be a way of making up for what I did. Her dog never came back you see.”

       
The whole chain of events had suddenly become clear in her mind as though a film were being played in her head. She’d never allowed herself to think about it after it had happened, she’d been so ashamed. Every time any of them had come into her head she’d hummed them away, not wanting to see or think about it all. Eventually the memories faded.

       
“I think there’s going to be a lot of things come to light now this has been uncovered.”

       
Rebecca blew her nose, her hands still shaking. “Do you know, Rosa, I would never speak ill of anyone, especially not the dead, but I hope it was worth it for her. I hope it was worth taking my life away from me and my family. She dictated my whole future. I actually hope she rots in hell. That’s an awful thing to say isn’t it?”

       
“Not under the circumstances, no. I’m not sure I’d have much compassion for her.”

       
The enormity of it all began to hit her and she started to cry again. It wasn’t what she’d been through her entire life that was hurting; it was all the years she’d lived without her family, especially her father. She didn’t regret her life because in lots of ways she was extremely privileged. She’d had a good education; she was a successful writer and ultimately a good person in spite having served a sentence for a double murder. None of that mattered to her; it was the lost years of not seeing her father, time that could never be replaced, and now it was too late. She sobbed for him and for herself.

       
Rosa went over to her and held her tight, tears escaping her own eyes.

       
“I’m sorry I asked you to leave.” She cried, blowing her nose again.

       
“Don’t mention it. It must have been such a shock.” Rosa rocked her friend, trying to comfort her. She pulled the throw from the back of the sofa and wrapped it around Rebecca’s shoulders; she was shivering so much from the news. She then went into the kitchen to make them both a strong coffee.

       
Rebecca sipped the hot drink, grateful for its bitter but soothing taste. She wondered if she was going to suddenly wake up or realise it was all just something she’d written in a book. But the still, heavy, quiet atmosphere told her it was all very real.

       
“Did Ellen’s husband know?”

       
“He does now. He’s being interviewed by the police.”

       
“What I mean is, did he always know what she’d done?”

       
“I don’t know, I really don’t. Hopefully the police will get to the bottom of it.” Rosa shifted in her seat and placed her cup on the coffee table. “I have something else to tell you.”

       
“I can’t cope with anything else, Rosa...”

       
Rosa held up her hand to silence her. “It’s nothing horrible but you need to brace yourself.”

       
Rebecca took a deep breath and leaned back into the comfort of her sofa, poised for what was to come.

       
“Your father’s solicitor has been trying to trace you for quite some time. Obviously it wasn’t straightforward, under the circumstances but he got in touch with the police in the end and they referred him to us. Well, to get straight to the point your father has left you his house and all its contents in his will.”

       
Rebecca sat forward, unsure she’d heard her correctly. “What, the Shell House?”

       
“Yes, the Shell House.”

CHAPTER THREE

        The next few months seemed to pass in a blur for Rebecca; the time moved so quickly. She was busy sorting out all her things, getting ready to move into the Shell House, a book she’d written (alongside the private one about her life) was about to be published, and her appeal was fast approaching. She didn’t seem to have time for anyone or anything else, and she was glad of the distractions because it stopped her thinking too much.

       
She couldn’t believe the news of the appeal and its details hadn’t somehow been leaked to the press. It made her feel nervous and she was constantly anticipating Rosa calling to inform her that it was all about to hit the headlines. She prayed it wouldn’t for many obvious reasons, but especially because her new book was soon to be launched.

       
Every time she ventured out she felt like she had a banner with her real name around her torso, and it made her feel as though she was in a perpetual dream where she suddenly realised she was naked.

       
She was aware over these months, of the varying emotions which flitted in and out of her mind like unsettled butterflies. And she knew that ignoring them might not be the best idea but she couldn’t help feeling like this had all happened to someone else.

       
She was tired of working through her emotions; she’d spent most of her life listening to therapists telling her to dig deeper and analyze it all. She just wanted to move forward and writing a book about it all had helped her immensely. Rightly or wrongly, she detached herself from it until it all felt like it had happened to someone else, to Gabrielle Rochester. She didn’t feel like her anymore. She was Rebecca Banford.

       
She visited the Shell House on several occasions during this time. It had felt very strange at first and almost like she was trespassing, but after a while the guilty feelings subsided.

       
She’d written to Jonathan at the surgery before her first visit, telling him of her plans, but she had heard nothing back. It had stung her that he didn’t reply, but she was fairly sure he would have read the content and this eased her conscience about going to the house. She had toyed with the idea of trying harder to find out his home address and writing to him there, or even visiting him, but she didn’t want him to feel pressured by her.

        She appreciated how difficult the whole situation must be for him after all, she’d been left their father’s house and all its contents. She knew he’d received a substantial amount of money but she was fairly sure it wouldn’t have meant anything to him, not like the house did. She had wondered at first if he would contest the will but apparently Harry had drawn it up years ago and there were many clauses set in stone that the house was to be hers. It had shocked but also warmed her that he’d organised it well before they’d been back in touch.

       
Then, some weeks later, she’d decided to write to Nancy instead, having remembered Harry telling her the name of the university she attended. It was rather a short letter explaining without going into too much detail, just in case it fell into the wrong hands. It had proved to be a more difficult task than starting a new book; she had to be so careful with what she wrote and it was almost cryptic in its content. She knew Harry had told Nancy he was in touch with her and she’d expressed an interest in meeting her. This made it slightly easier but letter writing wasn’t Rebecca’s strong point.

       
Harry’s words were confirmed because a few days later she received a letter from Nancy telling her when she’d be back from university and how much she’d like to see her. They arranged to meet at the Shell House a couple of weeks later.

       
They’d heard so much about one another from Harry that when they met it was as though they’d known each other for years.

       
Nancy was charming and full of life, just as Rebecca had imagined her to be and not far from the character she’d portrayed in her book. She was so unlike what she imagined her brother to be and, knowing what she knew about Anna from the conversations she’d had with Harry, she wondered how they’d produced such a lovely young woman.

       
She felt sad about Jonathan but tried not to dwell on it too much, being powerless to change it and not wanting to waste too much time fretting over it when she had so much else to think about.

       
She’d half hoped Nancy would bring him with her on her visit but she came alone, filled with uncomfortable excuses about his behaviour, which Rebecca had casually brushed off, not wanting her niece to worry about it.

       
All too quickly and just after her new book came out the press uncovered her identity and found out who she was. It had been inevitable with the appeal literally days away and she felt tired and nauseous from it all. Rosa kept assuring her it would all be fine but she knew she wouldn’t settle until there was a verdict.

       
She had often wondered what she would have done with the Shell House if Ellen Tailby hadn’t left a confession and she was actually guilty, as she’d always believed. She suspected she would have handed the house over to her brother. This hadn’t settled with her very well, once she’d given it some thought, because it would have gone against Harry’s wishes. Then she’d decided she’d probably sell it and donate the money to a good cause. She knew she wouldn’t move in there if her appeal was rejected, because it just wouldn’t feel right. She didn’t dwell on it too much because she was fairly sure from what she’d been told that the verdict would be positive.

       
There had been many blurry memories and muddled thoughts in her mind after Rosa had told her the news, but they became much clearer as time passed on. Eventually she began to believe she was really innocent, but she wouldn’t be completely convinced until the legal process took its course.

       
She likened it to having believed in religion all your life and then suddenly finding out God doesn’t exist, and seeing it all from a completely different perspective. She felt as though she was forcing herself to be left handed when she’d always been right.

       
There had still been that doubt in her head and she knew there had to be a trial to prove her innocence, not just to her but to everyone else.

        The trial date arrived and Rebecca was acquitted in court. It shocked her as though she hadn’t been expecting it at all. She was bombarded by journalists and was relieved a week later to move into the Shell House with the anticipation of a new life. Journalists hounded her there also, but she managed to get an injunction in place, which gave her a small amount of privacy. The freedom she now felt was as though she’d been paralysed for years and had suddenly regained the use of her limbs. She could have listened to the results of the appeal a thousand times over, she was so elated. This news inevitably, brought with it a deep sense of loss and she’d never felt so sad and yet so happy at the same time.

CHAPTER FOUR

        Rebecca pushed open the windows in the shell room with the extendable pole. The room felt like it had been closed shut for several months; the atmosphere was stagnant and musty. She began to spray and polish the glass cabinets as she felt the warm, late summer breeze flood in through the open doors and windows.

       
She paused to look around, thinking what a peculiar but pleasant attachment it was to the house because it seemed so separate from the main building. Harry had told her during one of their long telephone conversations that he thought it had been erected some time after the actual house was built and was intended for a place of worship. As she looked round now she could see why. It had its own entrance to the front, which was a large arched wooden door studded with iron. The pitched ceiling was covered in rafters reaching down to the windows which were high up the white washed walls, offering no visibility other than the ever changing sky above. It had the cool air and calmness of a chapel, and even though she wasn’t religious, she felt strangely comforted.