FIVE
After a fitful sleep, Nina awoke before dawn. The boys still safely in bed, she tied her hair up with a square scarf and headed down to the basement to tape together cardboard boxes. She brought them upstairs, slowly filling them with ornaments and lamps from her bedroom as quietly as she could, packing stealthily, without any clue as to where she would next be setting up home.
I need to rent somewhere, anywhere. I’ve probably got enough cash for a few weeks’ rent on something basic, and I need to get a job. But first, you have to pack stuff up, Nina, pack it away and keep it safe . . .
She reached her hand to the back of the drawer in her bedside cabinet and stopped suddenly. She pulled out the fragile gold-coloured matchbox and stared at the words ‘Tordenskjold tœndstikker’ still visible on the aged container, along with a faded picture of a rather grand-looking admiral on the lid.
There were only a couple of clear memories that stood out in her mind. In one – she could only have been a young three, making it not long before her mother died – she was standing by a window, and there was snow on the ground outside, the image framed in her mind by the heavy red-and-white-checked curtains. Her mum had placed a marble in the palm of her hand; she heard her voice clearly and could picture the embroidered edge of her smocked blouse. ‘This is a little world, Nina.’ Nina had run her fingers over the cool glass, marvelling at the shiny round thing with the blue wispy wave captured in its centre. ‘And if ever the real world feels too big or too scary, remember that it is nothing more than a little ball travelling through space and it fits right into the palm of your hand, and the more courage you have, the braver you are when facing it, the easier it is to conquer!’
Nina carefully pushed the little cardboard insert, taking the marble out of the small box, rolling it between her thumb and forefinger before closing her palm around the cool glass.
‘Oh, Mum. I don’t think the world has ever felt so big or scary to me as it does right now. I’m going to take each day as it comes and not think too far ahead. As for conquering it? I think that might be a little way off.’ She kissed the little glass orb and placed it carefully in its cotton wool nest before closing the matchbox and placing it in the soft, navy-coloured handbag she was now using.
She made breakfast for the boys and drove them to school. Every moment she thought it might be appropriate to tell them what was happening, like during the ride that morning, she lost her nerve. She wanted to preserve their happiness for as long as she was physically able.
Back home she spent the day in limbo, packing up the study and starting on the sitting room before retreating to her bed and lying there, stealing minutes of sleep from the thoughts, ideas and fears that crowded her mind. It was like a hundred people were all shouting at her, all at once, each of the belief that the louder they shouted, the more chance they had of being heard. The reality was that no one thought was distinct, and all were part of the wall of noise that blocked anything coherent. She imagined screaming at Finn, and then trying to tell the boys of their situation in a way that would not damage the memory of their dad. It was an impossible position. And one she could barely reconcile. It felt easier, if not vital, to shut down and nap in the grubby bed where her husband’s shape lingered. Before she knew it, it was school collection time and once again she was forced from her refuge.
She met Declan, and the two of them walked along Milsom Street alone; George’s mum was dropping Connor at home after their rugby match on the outskirts of town. Declan was long overdue for a haircut, and it was important that things like this were not allowed to slip, important that she kept up the standard for her boys. Usually they went to the fancy salon where she had been a regular for years and where her curly blonde locks were kept in tiptop condition from regular trims and treatments. Her visits there were as much a social activity as they were about keeping her unruly tresses in good shape. She had liked to sit anonymously in the leather chair and listen to the hubbub of gossip all around her. She had cash in her purse, but now knew how important it was to keep hold of it. Today she was taking Declan to a barber for the first time, where his cut would be a fraction of the cost.
‘So what are we going to do for the holiday, Mum?’ Declan asked. Shop windows screamed of discounts, and the stores all seemed to feature soft wool products and warm lighting, trying to draw people in during the lull between Christmas and Easter. One sign read ‘Winter’s nearly done! Look towards spring!’ but she could see no sunshine in sight.
‘I don’t know yet, darling,’ she said as lightly as she could. Forget the holiday, she didn’t know where they were going to live! How they were going to live! The realisation shattered her thoughts like a pick to the brain. ‘It doesn’t really matter, does it? We’ll have fun no matter what.’
Her phone buzzed in her pocket. Connor. A barrage of screams and shouts instantly sent her heart rate soaring.
‘Mum!’ he yelled. She heard the panic in his voice and her stomach leapt into her throat, was he hurt? In danger? It was a split second of pure agony until he spoke again. ‘There are men in the house! I thought they were burglars, they rushed in behind me and I told them I’d call the police, but they just laughed. Where are you? I don’t know what to do! I . . .’
‘Connor, take a deep breath! Take a deep breath, darling.’ Grabbing Declan’s hand, she began to run up the street towards the car park, cursing the fact that she had not been there when he got home. Oh, God help me. I thought I had longer. ‘Don’t go near the men. Go and sit in the garden or the driveway – I’m on my way.’
‘They’re . . . They’re taking our stuff, Mum! What’s going on?’ His voice was shrill and childlike.
‘I’ll be there as soon as I can. Just hang on, Con. I’m coming!’ she shouted, ignoring the stares of passers-by who started at the woman yelling and dragging her bewildered eleven-year-old by the hand as she ran back up the street she had only just sauntered down.
Nina ran towards the car and after making sure Declan was buckled up, jumped in, slamming the door and trying twice to secure her seat belt before managing to connect the metal end with the slot. Her fingers shook on the steering wheel and she cursed and yelled ‘Come on! Come on! Dammit!’ at every red light that made the fourteen-minute journey feel like a lifetime. Declan sat in wide-eyed shock on the back seat.
‘What’s happened, Mummy?’ he whispered.
‘I think there’s a mix-up at home. Don’t worry, I’ll sort it out.’ She tried out a look of reassurance in the rearview mirror.
Nina pulled the car through the gate and came to a screeching halt on the gravel driveway, parking behind a large battered lorry with the tailgate lifted and a ramp lowered to the ground. Connor stood to the left of the front door with his school bag and blazer in a heap by his feet and his fingers in his hair as he paced back and forth with a look of utter anguish on his face. Declan started crying. The fear and misery were infectious.
‘Listen to me, Declan. I need you to do exactly as I tell you.’ She spoke sharply. ‘I need you to be a big boy and stay here quietly in the car, until I come and fetch you. I’ll put the radio on and I will be back. Okay?’ She tried to hide the desperation from her voice as she pushed the button, filling the space with the tuneful chorus of an upbeat pop song; its incongruence to the situation was maddening.
‘Okay,’ he managed, pushing his glasses up his nose before wriggling back in his seat and sitting up straight, as if his life depended on it.
Nina jumped from the driver’s seat and ran to Connor, placing her arms around his tense form and trying to maintain eye contact. ‘Listen to me, Connor, it’s okay!’ she said, trying to sound convincing.
‘What’s going on? What’s happening, Mum?’ He looked and sounded like the little boy he had been only a heartbeat ago, when all manner of things from bumps in the night to shapes in the garden frightened him straight into her arms.
She released her grip and stared at him, knowing that time was of the essence. Panic swam through her veins, but this time there was no daddy around to cushion the blows with a witty retort or the promise of a treat. She had to take control. ‘Things are a bit of a mess. Dad had some problems with the business and we have been struggling to pay the bills.’ She levelled with him. ‘I think this might be connected with that. In fact, I know it is.’
Connor shook his head; she could see that he was in shock and this small explanation made little or no sense.
‘I didn’t mean to let them in.’ He pointed towards the house. ‘They were here on the drive when I arrived home,’ he gasped, his eyes darting towards the truck. ‘And they had this paper, they waved it at me, saying something about court. I didn’t know what to do!’
‘This is not your fault. It’s not your fault.’ She tried to reassure him. ‘I’ll go inside now and talk to the men and get to the bottom of it. You go and wait with Declan in the car and—’
‘No. I’m coming in with you. You are not going in there on your own.’
She squeezed her son’s arm, torn between the rush of love at the boy showing how grown-up he could be, and angry at the fact that he had to. Nina pushed through the door and headed into the grand hallway. She caught sight of dirty footprints on the marble and felt a strange sensation. These muddy marks of invasion had served to do something that nothing else had managed, not since she and Finn had first walked through the door all those years ago: they made her want to be somewhere else.
‘The owner of the property?’ A short, fat, balding man in a padded waistcoat strolled from the kitchen and asked the question in a casual, presumptuous manner, as if on a sales call. She stared at him and then looked through to the kitchen, her kitchen, where two very large men with big meaty arms and shaved heads and wearing thick, heavy anoraks seemed to be packing up her small appliances.
They leaned over the counter-tops, reaching up into her cupboards, their unfamiliar fingers delving into the neat, clean, organised spaces. Their eyes darted about, searching among her possessions. She shuddered with revulsion, knowing the room would forever be tainted by the invasion – not that she would be here to remember, and this realisation only heightened her anguish.
One of the men caught her eye and didn’t look away, his stare a challenge, with none of the awkwardness she might have expected him to feel. If anything, he looked triumphant, as if he were teaching her a lesson. She felt her skin shiver into goosebumps. The other man unplugged a food processor and placed it in a cardboard box, already full of other appliances.
‘Yes,’ she finally answered, ‘I am the owner of the property.’
The man stepped forward with his clipboard and a stubby pencil held between his grubby fingers on which he wore two very large, weighty gold rings. She smelled the sweat and grime that sat on his skin in a greasy sheen.
‘My name is Mr Ludlow and I am here today representing the company Mackintosh and Vooght.’
‘Yes.’ She pictured the letters in the drawer, saw the red stamp with their words of warning. Connor took a step closer to her and she was grateful. She had always felt better able to cope when someone else was in close proximity: her mum, dad, Tiggy, Finn . . . Mr Ludlow spoke in a monotonous, well-rehearsed, slightly irritated manner, as though this was business as usual, just another job, which of course, for him, it was.
‘Mr Finn McCarrick was served with notice to attend the original court hearing on February the fifteenth last year, which he failed to attend. He was then summoned to a second hearing held on March the fifteenth, which he also failed to attend and then finally having failed to turn up to his third and final hearing on April the fifth, the court made the judgement in absentia and appointed my company to act in our capacity as bailiffs to retrieve goods to the value of the full amount owing to Mackintosh and Vooght. We are exercising that duty today and can confirm we did not enter your property with force.’
‘He didn’t turn up? Not once?’ She momentarily forgot Connor was close by.
‘Not once. Hence our visit today.’ The man placed his palm on his chest and bowed his head obsequiously. She couldn’t have hated anyone more.
‘I didn’t mean to let them in. They walked past me when I put the key in the door,’ Connor reminded her. She nodded without taking her eyes off the little man.
He continued. ‘We will today be removing goods to cover the cost of the debt, plus the court fees and our services. Is that quite clear?’ He breathed through his nose and she heard a faint whistle of a dirty nose.
‘Are you allowed to do this?’
He gave a wide smile, revealing coffee-coloured teeth. ‘Oh yes, all legal and above board.’ Apparently he welcomed questions like this – a chance for him to give the many practised responses he knew by heart, as if this were a game.
‘But I live here with my kids! You can’t just come in and take things from my kitchen! I demand that you stop!’
‘I would take the matter up with Mr McCarrick.’
Connor balled his fingers into a fist. Nina reached for his arm and shook her head. ‘It’s okay, Connor.’ She tried to keep the tremor from her voice and looked again at the men who grabbed rarely used bouquets of silver cutlery from presentation drawers, dropping them like clanking confetti into cardboard boxes.
‘I do not want you and these men in my house!’ She stood her ground.
‘My advice?’ Mr Ludlow sniffed. ‘Would be to stand back and let the boys get on with their job. That makes it easier for everyone.’ He walked towards the front door and shouted back at her, without turning his head, ‘I will be cataloguing everything we remove and you will of course be given a receipt.’
‘I didn’t mean to let them in,’ Connor repeated, his breath coming in short bursts.
‘Connor, this is not your fault.’ She tried again to reassure him. ‘I’m going to call the police!’ she shouted.
‘Yep.’ The man lifted his clipboard in a jovial acknowledgement, as if this too were par for the course.
She felt Connor’s eyes on her as she spoke to the person on the line, who asked if she had been physically threatened.
‘No.’
‘Did they force entry into the property?’
‘No.’
She ended the call, despondent. It was a court matter and the bailiffs were acting legitimately. She felt utterly powerless and wondered not for the first time why people thought it was okay to treat her this way – first Finn, now these men – as if she weren’t worthy of consultation, as if she had no voice.
Connor stared at her with his chest heaving.
‘Listen to me, Connor. They are only taking things, stuff. It doesn’t matter, not really,’ she managed. ‘What’s important is that we keep things as normal as possible for Declan. We don’t want him frightened,’ she whispered, and just like that she made her eldest son an ally, an equal. This realisation was quickly followed by a wave of guilt. ‘I know this is a terrible, terrible day, but soon it will be tomorrow and we will move on, go forward.’
Connor gave a brief nod, his eyes wide.
One of the burly men walked out the door with a box full of kitchen equipment and put it next to the lorry. Mr Ludlow licked the end of the pencil and jotted a note, cataloguing the items onto a sheet designed for the purpose. Nina walked up to him to try again. ‘I understand that you are only doing your job.’ she said.
‘That’s good,’ he acknowledged, and carried on scribbling furiously.
She concentrated on keeping the wobble from her voice. Her throat felt as if it was full of razor blades, such was the effort of breathing and not howling. ‘But is there anything I can do to stop this? My boys have just lost their dad. He died,’ she clarified, ‘and I just need a bit of time . . .’
Mr Ludlow smiled and cocked his head to one side. ‘All we need is the outstanding amount settled in full and we will return these items and be on our way.’
‘How . . . how much do we owe you?’ She swallowed.
‘Sixty-four thousand, seven hundred and eighty-two pounds and forty-three pence.’
Nina pictured the Post-it note stuck to the side of Finn’s computer. ‘Mac 64500’: not in fact a computer reference – it was ‘Mac’ short for ‘Mackintosh’, and the amount, over sixty-four thousand pounds. She had no words. It seemed that everywhere she turned she faced an avalanche of debt that was coming at her quicker than she could take a breath. ‘For fuck’s sake!’ she muttered under her breath, twisting her wedding ring, trying to take comfort from the small band of gold given in love and binding her forever to Finn McCarrick. ‘For richer or poorer. You were not supposed to run out on me, Finn! You bastard,’ she whispered.
Mr Ludlow had resumed his scribbling. ‘Your expensive watch, and the rings on your fingers are exempt because they are on your person, but any other jewellery found in the premises will be taken.’
She pictured the boxes she had already packed up, the jewellery nestled inside along with ornaments and other electronica. With a plan forming, she ran inside and up the stairs, and tucked one of the boxes under her arm. She ran down and past Mr Ludlow, who coughed loudly. Nina stood with her shoulders back, and tried to sound authoritative. ‘These things aren’t mine. They are things I’ve been looking after for a friend. So I’m going to put them to one side.’
‘I’m afraid it doesn’t quite work like that.’ Mr Ludlow sucked his teeth. ‘You’d be surprised at the things people say to try and hide the good stuff, and trust me, we have heard them all. Not that I am suggesting that you are being anything other than honest.’ He smiled. ‘Best thing you can do is explain the situation to your friend and if they can produce a legitimate receipt or record or ownership, we can of course return those items to them. This will all be explained in the literature I shall leave with you.’
‘But that’s ridiculous! I have told you they aren’t mine, you can’t take them!’
‘I’m afraid we can, Mrs McCarrick.’
She became aware of someone touching her arm and looked down to see Declan patting her.
‘Declan! I told you to stay in the car!’ She shouted louder than she had intended.
‘I did stay there, Mum, for a bit, but I got scared and I am worried about you and Connor.’ He looked up at her wide-eyed. ‘Why are they taking our things?’
‘We owe them some money, darling.’ She couldn’t think of a lie quick enough and as her energy diminished, the truth felt like the best thing. She placed the boxes on the driveway.
‘Why don’t you just give them the money?’
‘Because I don’t have it. But everything is going to be okay. I promise.’ She wondered how often she could regurgitate this phrase without screaming.
A sudden yell made them both look towards the front door. Connor stumbled from the house. His expression was one she had never seen; he looked bewildered as he tried to hold on to his laptop, tussling with a heavyset man who sneered at the boy who was trying to hang on to this one thing. ‘That’s mine!’ he yelled, his voice hoarse. ‘Tell them, Mum! It’s got everything on it! Everything, all my photos, everything!’
The sight sent a bolt of anger through her very being. How dare they treat her son this way, especially when he was already grieving?
‘For God’s sake, let him keep his laptop! What kind of people are you? He needs it and it’s got photos of him and his dad on it. Please!’ she urged Mr Ludlow.
He looked at the boy and then at her, before letting his eyes sweep over their grand, solid home. ‘Here’s the thing, Mrs McCarrick. Rules is rules. You and your husband failed to attend the court despite the hearing being scheduled three times, and as I explained, we are now at liberty to enter your home and take goods to the value of the amount owed, unless you can pay the amount in full.’
‘You know I can’t!’ she shouted. ‘Take all of my possessions, furniture, anything, but please let the kids keep their laptops and their things. Please!’
‘I’m afraid it doesn’t quite work like that.’ The little man shook his head. ‘The time to negotiate is in front of the judge where you failed to turn up. Put it in the lorry.’ He nodded at the laptop and then at the big man holding it on one side.
Connor let the slim silver laptop slide through his fingers. He took a deep breath and yelled, ‘You can’t do this! These are our things! How am I going to do my schoolwork? I’ve got projects on there that I need to hand in next term!’
‘You won’t be at that school next term, Connor!’ Nina blurted, instantly regretting it. ‘We can’t afford the fees. You have to leave. I am sorry! I am so sorry!’ All her consideration over the last couple of days, and instead it all came out in this rushed, unconsidered outburst that tumbled from her mouth in an unguarded moment. She knew it was as damaging as it was shocking.
There was a beat of silence while the news settled in the boys’ minds. Declan began to whimper as Connor sank down onto his knees on the gravel and held his chest, struggling to catch a breath. ‘What the fuck is going on?’ he screamed. ‘What the fuck is happening?’
‘Connor!’ She walked over to him and laid her hand on his back. ‘Listen to me. We will find a way. It’ll be fine. We will get through this. It’s only things, just stuff . . .’
He looked up at her, his expression tortured. ‘How can you keep saying that? Do you think it makes things better? Because it doesn’t! It’s not going to be fine, is it, Mum? I don’t think anything is going to be fine ever again. And it’s not “just stuff”. They are packing up our life and taking it away, bit by bit.’ He placed his hands on his thighs and closed his eyes as he took deep breaths.
‘Actually, on reflection, you are right. If you need the laptop for educational purposes, then it is exempt,’ Mr Ludlow interrupted, before handing Connor back the laptop. The boy stared at him, unable to thank him.
Declan clung to her. She could feel his small body shaking. ‘I want my dad,’ he whispered. ‘I want my dad.’
‘Well Dad’s not here, is he? You’ve got me, Declan! That’s it, just me!’ Nina yelled, then instantly felt aghast at the look of horror on her son’s face. He released his grip on her and let his arms fall to his sides, sobbing openly.
Nina sought the words that might offer comfort, remove the harm she’d done. But how could she explain to her kids the struggle to reconcile the man they loved and missed, the man who might be able to get them out of the situation and who always had a plan, with the man who had led them into this mess and left her to pick up the pieces?
She shepherded the boys inside as dusk descended. They sat at the breakfast bar, watching as the men tramped from room to room, over the beautiful oak flooring and onto the pale carpets in their heavy, dirty shoes. The men went upstairs, returning almost immediately with a television set. They made the trip over and over, with tablets in their arms and watches taken from Finn’s bedside cabinet. They got into a rhythm, handing the smaller items to Mr Ludlow, who made a note with his pencil, loading the bigger things up onto the van. One of the men smiled at her.
‘Don’t you smile at me! How dare you? Do you take pleasure from your work? What kind of person comes into a home and takes possessions from children?’ she spat. The man continued to smile. Nina felt impotent and exhausted. It was an effort to remain upright. ‘Are you hungry?’ she whispered to her sons, suddenly aware they hadn’t eaten. They both shook their heads. She was relieved, unsure how she would have managed in the kitchen with what remained of their plates and cutlery.
‘I didn’t know what to do, Mum,’ Connor explained. ‘They sort of rushed at the door and I only opened it because I wanted to get inside.’
‘Connor, you have to stop going over it. I have told you it’s not your fault!’ she snapped again. ‘They would have got in anyway. I’d have let them in. It’s not your fault. And over-analysing it will not help anyone.’
He stared at her with his eyes blazing. Two men sidled past the open doorway, carrying a leather chair between them.
Nina closed her eyes, unable to watch the parade of their belongings, things she and Finn had chosen together, worked for and kept in their home, the fabric of their lives being unstitched piece by piece. The trouser press, digital radio, foot spa, the oversized lamps from the sitting room, her dinner service, which had been on display in the dining room, pictures from the walls, the wireless telephone from the study and three of her designer handbags from the front hallway. The garage yielded similar booty, including the family’s bikes. Finally one of the men walked into the kitchen and asked for her car keys.
‘My car keys? You have to be kidding me,’ she said with incredulity. It hadn’t occurred to her that they might take the car.
The man nodded and cracked his knuckles.
‘I need to empty it.’ She exchanged a look with Connor and went out to the front drive, removing the handbag she had forgotten about from the boot and her make-up bag from the console.
‘I will be taking the bag.’ Mr Ludlow fixed his beady, piggy eyes on the Mulberry badge.
‘But it’s—’ she began.
‘I know,’ he interrupted her. ‘Of great sentimental value, I’m sure, but you already have one handbag on your person and this one has value.’ Nina handed over the empty bag. She had been going to say, ‘It’s full of vomit,’ but he had cut her short. Let him find out the hard way.
She made her way back into the kitchen and sat next to Connor.
‘Are you okay?’
He gave a single, brief nod, his mouth set in a thin line. His laptop rested under his palm, as if he were afraid to lose contact with it.
Darkness drew in. ‘I know!’ She banged the table top. ‘Let’s play a game.’
‘I don’t want to play a game,’ Connor snapped.
‘Well, this is not about what we want, this is about staying focused.’ She thought it best to distract the kids from the events going on outside of the kitchen door.
‘Okay, I’ll start.’ She nudged Declan, who looked like he was a million miles away. ‘We have to go through the alphabet, taking turns to think of an appropriate lettered answer for our topic. So, let’s start with countries. A, America! Your turn Dec.’
‘B, Belgium.’ His voice was small.
‘I don’t want to play.’ Connor stared at her.
‘You just got a strike, two more and you are out!’ she yelled. ‘Try again. C,’ she prompted.
‘C, Colombia,’ he snarled.
‘Bravo! Colombia! My turn. D, Denmark.’
Declan tapped the table, ‘E . . .’ He wrinkled his nose. ‘I can’t think of one.’
She and Connor stared at him. ‘Okay, here’s a clue, Dec. You live there.’ She winked.
‘Egypt!’ he yelled.
Nina’s laughter, in spite of the dire circumstances, was genuine. Her tears quickly pooled; she wiped them away with her hand. ‘Oh, Dec. I love you so much. Egypt! I wish we did live in bloody Egypt, far away from Mr Ludlow and his horrible helpers.’
Even Connor had a slight smile on his lips. ‘Egypt!’ he muttered as he shook his head.
An hour later she made her way out to the front of the house to check on progress. She heard Mr Ludlow shouting ‘Back her up!’ as one of the men reversed the lorry to the tuneless beep that accompanied the manoeuvre. He put on the brakes and jumped down from the cab to help his colleagues load the desks and the velvet sofas from the cinema room, along with three or four large mirrors.
Nina pictured strolling through The Lanes in Brighton and coming across the antique shop, pulling a reluctant Finn through the door and leaving with their beautiful mirror, paid for and waiting to be shipped to their stunning new home. She felt like she should cry, but was too numb, too shattered to produce tears.
Mr Ludlow gave her a leaflet, along with some flimsy duplicate yellow sheets – an inventory listing all the items they had removed – before doffing an invisible cap at her and shutting the front door behind him. She listened as the man driving her car over-revved the engine. It made her wince.
She and the boys sat in silence. They looked around at the opened cupboards and disturbed drawers, the spaces on the floor where the dining chairs had sat and the bare counter-tops, stripped of all the things that made this room the heart of the house.
‘I think we should lock the doors and windows and all sleep together in my room, like we used to when you were little, Con, and Dec was a baby and Dad was away.’ She tried to make it sound like an adventure. ‘What do you think?’ she managed, thinking that the warm, safe space was the haven they needed. Connor nodded; with his laptop under his arm, he climbed down from the stool at the breakfast bar, one of two seats deemed either too insignificant in value to take or overlooked by the men who had ransacked their home.
‘But first, we are going scavenging! Let’s split up and take a room each and gather anything we can find that we can carry, and bring it in here to be packaged up. I’m sure those monsters must have missed some things. Who’s up for it?’
The kids, buoyed up at the thought of the activity, ran from the room. Nina leaned on the wall and closed her eyes briefly, trying to steady her pulse. ‘Okay,’ she called out, ‘I’m going to take the dining room!’
Their efforts gathered together a surprising haul: a carriage clock that had been secreted behind a wall of books, a chunky, vintage brass ink well and a silver letter opener, side tables, a large painting from the downstairs cloakroom, and any number of books. Nina ran her fingers over the objects and felt a slight lift to her spirits that these things would be salvaged from the greasy paws of the bailiffs.
They went from room to room together, checking the windows and locking the doors, doing their best to ignore the bare walls, mantels and shelves now devoid of their ornaments, and the wall lights hanging over chunks of bare plaster where paintings had hung only an hour before. She simply drew the curtains, as if she could keep the world at bay, as if the damage had not already been done.
The devastation upstairs was harder to take. Bedrooms and studies were usually such private domains that to see the drawers emptied, wardrobes opened, beds pulled away from the walls and the dusty squares where computers and radios used to sit was truly awful.
Declan went to his mum’s room while Connor went into his room. The sound he made was one that she would never, ever forget. It was part whimper, part sob, and it was the call of the wounded. ‘Oh no!’ he called out. ‘Oh no, no, no!’ he cried without restraint. The sight of his refuge, his personal space, so invaded was clearly hard for him to take. Nina rushed to comfort him.
‘Connor,’ she began, taking a step towards him.
‘Don’t touch me!’ he snarled. His lips narrowed and his arm muscles tensed. ‘I hate you! Don’t you dare tell me it’s going to be okay, don’t you dare! I hate you! How could you do this to us? How could Dad do this to us?’
His words hit her like punches. ‘Do you know what, Connor? I know you are angry and hurting, but guess what? I am angry and hurting too! None of this is my choice, none of it. And this feels like the time to remind you that I had no idea of the state we were in, none at all! You think this is fun for me? Watching everything we have built over the years be dismantled in hours? It’s a living nightmare!’ She felt a now familiar flash of anger towards Finn: if only he had told her, given her a chance to make a plan. ‘And to be honest, over the last few days, I am wondering who got the roughest deal. At least Dad had the full picture, but it’s me left here to deal with all this shit!’ She kicked the wall.
‘Are you saying you would have preferred to die too?’
Her son’s words stopped her in her tracks.
‘No. No, of course not.’ She stared at her boy, remembering it was her job to try to protect him, and not allow Finn’s memory to be tarnished, knowing Connor’s own self-esteem in part relied on it. ‘I’m sure Dad did all he could to protect us for as long as possible.’
‘But he wasn’t protecting us, was he? He was lying to us! God, he was even suggesting we go to the Maldives for a holiday – how was he going to pull that off?’
‘Maybe he had a plan. I honestly don’t know.’ She shrugged, her words insipid to her ears.
‘Yep, he always had a plan.’ Connor squeezed his eyes shut. It killed her to see her son’s hero lose his cape. Connor opened his eyes and took a sharp breath. ‘Mum?’ He swallowed. ‘You don’t think he . . . ?’ He paused.
The two exchanged a knowing look. The unspoken words ricocheted around the walls like stray bullets.
‘I think we have to plough on, doing the very best we can for Declan. He’s been through enough,’ she whispered.
‘What about me, Mum? What about what I have been through, what I am still going through?’
‘Yes, of course, you too. But don’t think you have the monopoly on hurt and disruption around here, because you don’t.’ It had felt better when thinking of him as an ally, but he wasn’t, he was her fifteen-year-old son. ‘I am so aware of how this has affected you and I wish with every fibre of my being that you weren’t going through it, that none of us were. It’s terrible for us all. And honestly, Connor, having those men in our home has felt like losing your dad all over again . . .’ She let this trail; there was no value in reminding him of the horror when it was still so raw.
‘I feel like I’m going to fall over, I feel like the world is spinning.’ Connor exhaled.
‘Because it is, Con, it is. And all we can do is hold on tight.’ She pictured her precious little marble nestling in the base of her handbag.
Nina crept into her bedroom, restoring drawers that had been pulled wide and shutting the wardrobe doors. She took the blankets and duvets and made a den on the thick carpet in front of the wide window that gave a beautiful view of the full moon that hung overhead. There was plenty of room for the three of them to sleep as they slumped down on the floor.
‘It’s like a camping trip,’ Declan managed, with a hint of enthusiasm that Nina envied.
She kissed his forehead. ‘Yep. That’s what we are doing tonight, Dec, camping here on the floor, all of us together.’
‘I liked it when Dad took us camping in Wales, and that goat came into our tent and Daddy screamed.’ All were quiet for a second or so, picturing that day.
‘Mummy?’
‘Yes, love?’ she whispered, her vocal cords taut with fatigue.
‘Did you speak to Dad before he died? Did . . . did he say anything to you?’ he asked.
She shook her head. ‘No, darling. He was already gone by the time I got to the hospital.’ She gulped as the images of those moments came rushing back. Nina pictured the sheet-wrapped body on the trolley, remembered the iron smell of his blood that hung pungently in the air. When she lifted the sheet from his face, she saw the spread of purple bruise that swelled under his right eye, across his forehead and over the bridge of his nose. This man didn’t look like her husband, not really. He looked like he had been in a fight. A fight that he had lost. She had gripped the clear plastic bag in her hand that contained his watch, wallet, wedding and signet rings. It crinkled loudly as she bent over and touched her lips to his cool cheek.
‘I don’t want him to be dead, Mum. I want it to be how it was and I want all our things put back where they are supposed to be.’ Declan spoke loudly now as his tears raced down his face, his chest heaving.
All she could do was hold him.
‘I miss my dad!’ Declan sobbed, ‘I want him back. I don’t like it now, Mum. I want my dad.’ He cried as he fell against her.
She looked over at Connor, who stared, dry-eyed, up into the night sky.