The Considine Curse (16 page)

Will, Chrissie and Mum laugh.

‘I think you’ve forgotten that we’re moving here,’ says Mum.

‘We could swap places. We’ll come and live here, you stay in our place in Melbourne.’

‘I couldn’t go back to Louvre House,’ says Mum.

‘I know what you mean,’ replies Aunt Chrissie.

‘Come on,’ says Will. ‘If we move into Mum’s old place, we can use some of that money to do it up. We could even afford a holiday. Remember those?’

‘It’s just so isolated,’ says Aunt Chrissie.

Uncle Will sighs, exasperated. ‘I know it’s a bit of a spooky old place but we wouldn’t be paying rent. Let’s face it, my photography only just keeps us afloat.’

Aunt Chrissie says, ‘I’d feel like she was looking down on me, judging. It was always me she blamed for failing to give her a grandchild.’

‘You gave her Madeleine,’ I say.

Aunt Chrissie picks up Madeleine and stands her up. She pulls a funny face which makes Madeleine giggle. ‘Do you know what Flora did when she came to the hospital to visit her the first time?’

‘Oh, come on, this isn’t fair,’ says Will.

Aunt Chrissie ignores him. ‘She snatched her out of my arms. It was like I wasn’t even there.’

‘She thought you were handing her over,’ he says.

‘She thought no such thing,’ she replies.

The doorbell goes and Will remembers he has a customer.

I hear a familiar dog bark before I see that his customer is the organist from the church.

‘More pictures of Mr Pickles, Mrs Mills?’ says Aunt Chrissie.

‘Poor Mr Pickles isn’t quite himself today,’ replies Mrs Mills feeding him a biscuit. ‘So this is a special treat to cheer him up, isn’t it, Mr Pickles?’

‘He does seem a bit subdued,’ says Uncle Will, raising an eyebrow at me.

‘Something gave him a terrible fright in the garden last night. He’s not the only one either. I’ve heard all sorts of stories about pets being attacked or going missing . . . And what about Farmer Dooley’s cow and those horses? The papers are saying it’s the beast of Wilderdale. It must be as old as me if so because people have been talking about it since I was a little girl. Poor Mr Pickles.’

‘Well, let’s try some photographic therapy, shall we?’ says Will, closing the door behind them.

Aunt Chrissie whispers, ‘It’s the third time this year she’s been. How many photos of the dog does she need?’

‘Aren’t you worried about all these attacks at night?’ I say. ‘This isn’t the right place to bring up Madeleine.’

‘What on earth are you talking about?” asks Mum.

‘I just mean that something killed that cow and those horses and scared Mr Pickles.’

‘Every so often these rumours appear,’ says Aunt Chrissie. ‘And the papers love putting two and two together to make five. That reminds me. Ruth said Farmer Dooley thought Oberon had something to do with the cow.’

‘He has got a big appetite, but a whole cow?’ adds Mum.

They both laugh at the joke. ‘Right, a cup of tea, I think.’ Aunt Chrissie gets up.

‘I’ll help you,’ says Mum.

‘Mariel, you’re on Madeleine watch,’ says Chrissie. ‘I’m terrified that the first thing she’ll do when she crawls is head straight for one of the big frames and get flattened by her father’s art.’

Madeleine waves her arms around excitedly.

There is a hatch through to the kitchen so I can still hear Mum and Aunt Chrissie’s conversation.

‘Do you think you will move to Louvre House then?’ asks Mum.

‘Probably. Will’s right. It makes sense really. Besides, she’s dead now. She can’t hurt me any more. Sorry to speak ill of your mum, Lynda.’

‘Don’t you worry. She was always horrible to me. It was women, I think. Maybe she felt threatened by them. I’m surprised Dee hasn’t written an entire book on her.’

The rest of the day is spent indoors. Sleet falls, washing away what’s left of the snow and creating rivers of grey sludge that run along the side of the road.

‘It’s such a shame about the weather,’ says Aunt Chrissie. ‘There are some nice walks on this side of town up into the hills.’

Once Mrs Mills has gone, Will lets me use his digital camera and I take loads of pictures of Madeleine. In the evening Aunt Chrissie makes pasta.

‘Now I should warn you that we’re vegetarians,’ she says.

‘Me too,’ I say.

‘What about Madeleine?’ asks Mum.

‘She does look tasty but I don’t think we should eat her,’ jokes Aunt Chrissie.

Everyone laughs at the joke but I don’t find it funny.

‘We haven’t decided what to do about her yet. It should probably be her choice and all the books say you shouldn’t dissuade them from eating anything to start with.’

Mum says, ‘That’s true. This one used to love chicken.’

‘Until I found out what I was eating,’ I reply.

Over dinner Will says, ‘I’m sorry we’re not taking you out to eat but we have a few financial issues until Mum’s money comes through.’

‘Don’t worry about it,’ replies Mum. ‘This is all lovely. We’re quite happy.’

Because Will and Chrissie’s flat is so small and because Madeleine needs a room of her own in order to sleep through the night, Mum and I share a sofa bed in the studio. During the night I wake up twice. The first time because Madeleine is crying. When she goes quiet, I fall straight back to sleep and for the first time in my life I dream.

It is every bit as strange as I imagined it would be. In it I relive the night I went out with Freddie, except I see it through Freddie’s eyes. I see myself walking by the canal. I see the glint of the man’s silver lighter and feel the urge to snatch it. I experience the surge of power as I push the men into the canal, then the satisfaction of catching the fox, but as I land on its back my point of view changes to that of the fox. My body aches under Freddie’s weight. I feel wordless panic and instinctive fear. I scrabble to get free but he overpowers me. I know I am about to die. I feel the snap in my neck and I awake to a voice saying, ‘Mariel, what are you doing?’

The voice isn’t part of the dream.

I wake up. It’s Mum.

‘You’re causing a draught. Close the window,’ she says irritably.

I’m standing up. I have walked to the window and opened it.

Chapter 19

Holes

The next morning we sit in the living room, playing with Madeleine. Will pokes his head through the hatch between the kitchen and the living room, making her laugh, and says, ‘What do you want to do with your last day?’

‘We’re happy to fall in with your plans,’ says Mum, answering for both of us.

‘As long as it doesn’t involve being outside,’ I add, looking out at the street below, which has all but vanished behind a mist of drizzle.

Will ducks down and reappears for Madeleine’s benefit. ‘I’ve got to go and put the finishing touches to the exhibition if you want to come to the gallery with me.’

‘Sounds lovely,’ says Mum.

On the way to the gallery Will teases Mum about her driving.

‘I suppose you are used to driving on the other side of the road,’ he says, grinning.

‘We drive on the same side in Australia,’ she replies.

‘What, the middle?’

‘At least I can drive,’ she responds.

‘That’s debatable,’ he says.

The two of them laugh and I don’t find it hard to imagine what they were like as children. He is the closest in age to her of all my uncles. I want to join in with them but I am feeling strangely distanced from everything.

Mum parks outside the gallery and we step out. We go through a door and up some stairs to the gallery where Will’s pictures are hanging in a white-walled room. He is carrying two last minute additions. ‘See if you can guess the theme,’ he says.

There are photographs of walls, trees, people and animals. There are everyday objects and ones I can’t quite make out. Some are in colour, others in black and white. There is a hole in a wall, a knot in a tree trunk, an open mouth, a rabbit caught mid-run towards its burrow.

‘I give up,’ I say.

‘Every picture has a hole at its centre,’ explains Will. ‘Some are more obvious than others.’

Now he says it I can see that each one is carefully composed to put the hole at the dead centre of the photograph. It’s really clever but Mum looks doubtful and says, ‘Holes, Will?’

‘Everywhere you go you see holes. Manholes, buttonholes, holes in walls, in the ground. But they all serve a purpose and they all tell us something about ourselves as a society,’ he replies.

‘Holes?’ she says.

They both laugh.

‘All right, so it is a bit pretentious but critics like a theme,’ he says.

I say, ‘I think they’re brilliant. This one’s great.’

I’m standing in front of a picture taken from underneath a picnic table, looking up. You can see blue sky in between the wooden slats, with a circle where the umbrella would slot in.

‘And you took them all?’ I ask.

‘All except this one.’

Will indicates the picture next to it. It is an old, tattered black-and-white photo of Grandma’s house. The photo has so many rips it looks like it would fall apart if it wasn’t for the frame. Its edges are rough and in its centre the front door to the house is open.

‘It’s Louvre House,’ I say, looking closely at the picture.

‘Yes, I found that when we were tidying up Mum’s stuff. Look carefully and you can see your grandad as a boy in the bottom right window.’

Getting up close, I see a pale white face behind the glass.

‘So the house belonged to Grandad’s side of the family,’ I say.

‘Oh yes, his side had the money,’ says Mum. ‘Dad used to joke Mum only married him for his money.’

Will bangs a nail into a wall and hangs one of the pictures he has brought with him. ‘This is one of my most recent ones.’

It’s a photo of Madeleine’s right eye. Her pupil is a black droplet in a circle of blue.

‘I wonder if her eyes will change colour,’ says Mum.

‘I don’t think they’ll change now,’ replies Will. ‘She has Chrissie’s eyes.’

‘You never know. Those Considine genes are pretty strong.’

‘Not in Madeleine, they’re not.’ He smiles and it’s clear he has more to say. He checks the picture is straight then says, ‘The thing is, Chrissie didn’t want anyone to know but I can’t see any point in hiding it now. After all, we only kept it secret in the first place because of Mum. Now she’s gone I’m not embarrassed about it. I’d rather everyone knew the truth. In fact I think the whole thing is miraculous.’ He pauses, then says, ‘Madeleine isn’t mine. I wasn’t able to have children.’

‘Who’s her father?’ asks Mum.

‘Me in every sense but biological.’

‘But whose . . .’ Mum glances at me, apparently unsure how much detail she should go into in front of me.

‘A donor,’ replies Will.

But I don’t care about how. All that matters is that Madeleine isn’t one of them. She can’t be coaxed. She can grow up to live a normal life.

‘And you haven’t told anyone?’ says Mum.

‘Not until now. You know how funny Mum could be, so we kept it from her. Now she’s gone though, I’d rather come out in the open about it but Chrissie is less sure.’

‘Yes, you need to tell the rest of the family,’ I say.

‘It’s more complicated than that, Mariel,’ says Mum in a patronising tone.

Mum has no idea how complicated it really is. If the others don’t know the truth, they will still try to coax her when she’s old enough and end up killing her. If they know she isn’t a Considine, they will leave her alone.

‘Chrissie’s scared they won’t think of her as family. Her cousins absolutely dote on her at the moment,’ says Will.

He bangs a nail into the wall and hangs the other picture he has brought with him. It is of him and Chrissie standing in front of a brick wall, hand in hand. Neither of them is smiling. There is something about the picture which makes me feel sad.

‘I can’t see the hole in this one,’ I say.

‘That was taken before we had Madeleine,’ replies Will.

Chapter 20

The Wolf Moon

Back at the flat, the first thing I do is give Madeleine a big cuddle. She dribbles on my shoulder but I don’t care. She isn’t one of them. She cannot be coaxed.

We stay in for the rest of the day. Will is clearly nervous about the show and grows more and more nervous throughout the afternoon. His tetchiness is made worse when Madeleine is sick on Chrissie’s dress just as we are supposed to be leaving.

‘I’d better change. It’ll only take a minute,’ says Chrissie.

‘It took you three hours to pick that one out,’ snaps Will.

His mood worsens when he gets a call from Uncle Harkett to say they are running late.

‘Why doesn’t Mum drive us there instead?’ I suggest.

‘We have to wait for them. Oberon and Gerald are babysitting for Madeleine,’ says Chrissie.