The Unmaking of Ellie Rook Episode 58

Iglance at Lorraine. “Yes, my mother. You see... it’s complicated.” “Mmm.” “The thing is...” I avoid her eyes and focus on my fingers, picking at the last stubborn remnants of Beach Gold. “My mother had a reason to disappear.”

I can sense Lorraine’s sudden tension. I can see tomorrow’s headlines in the Gazette: local mother endures years of hell.

I’m betraying my mother, my family. All our dysfunctional bits are going to be on display like animal parts in a butcher’s window.

“She suffered years of emotional and physical abuse at the hands of my father. My brother and me, we witnessed it all, but she never spoke up and we didn’t either.”

I swallow, and it sounds loud, even to me. Lorraine leans in closer. There’s a softening about her eyes.

“It’s okay, Ellie. Go on.”

“We’ve never been a family for letting folk in, and I guess I thought we just had to live with it, until she phoned me one day, saying that she just wanted to disappear.

Hesitation

“She had it all planned. I tried to get her help, I really did, but she thought... she thought this was her only option.” “Did she fear for her life, Ellie?” I hesitate. She isn’t writing this down, and she seems to sense my hesitation. “This is just between us at this stage. It’s all right – just tell me the truth in your own words.”

“Yes. She thought my father would kill her.” Best not to complicate things with Shelby.

“Is that how it seemed to you?”

I nod wordlessly. Have I signed the king’s death warrant?

We sit in silence for a beat or two, as Lorraine deliberates on her choice of words.

“So, just to be clear, your mother faked her death and you and your brother have been covering it up?

“And your brother is 15, 16 years old?” “Not quite 16.”

“Mmm. And where is your mother now, Ellie?”

My eyes stray to the ceiling. Slowly, understanding dawns on her face, and she indicates upwards.

“You hid her in the house? In the attic?” “In my bedroom.”

A ghost of a smile. “That’s... novel. You didn’t think your father would look there?” “Not in my bedroom, no.”

“Does she know you’ve contacted me?” “No.”

“I’m sure she’s very afraid, but the thing is, she must disclose the abuse herself, in order for me to get her the appropriate help. Do you understand?

“Faking your own death isn’t a crime, provided there are no financial or criminal factors involved.”

“It isn’t?” I grasp this fragile flicker of hope. “She was driven to it. My father, he once locked her in the boot of a car, and some nights she used to sleep in my bed to get away from him.

“I don’t know what went on, but I remember once he came in and dragged her out of bed by the hair.

“I was only about 10 or 11 years old, and I tried to hang on to her. We were both crying but he was stronger. She told me to stay in my room.

Aftermath

“My whole childhood was about closed doors and raised voices and... the aftermath. I suppose I only ever saw the aftermath.

“My mother’s white face and red eyes. And my father – always so bloody normal, like nothing could touch him.”

I press my hands to the panicky rise and fall of my belly. I’m breathless.

I don’t think I’ve ever uttered such a monologue in my entire life.

I feel light and shaky, like a breath of wind will send me floating to the ceiling.

Lorraine sighs, as if her life is full of such incidents, and I suppose it is.

“That’s the real issue here, Ellie. Domestic abuse is a criminal offence. If your mother wishes to press charges, we can make this stop.”

Behind me, the hall door creaks, and I spin around. Mum’s standing there.

I don’t know how long she’s been out in the hall listening, but she doesn’t seem surprised to find me deep in conversation with a cop. She is blank-faced and silent. Lorraine rises from her seat. “Imelda, Ellie’s been very brave and told me about what’s been happening, but I’d like to hear it from you. Maybe you could pop the kettle on, Ellie?”

I jump up, glad to have someone else taking charge.

For the first time since Shelby held me to his heart, I feel safe.

I could have reached out like this at any time, and we would have been rescued. So much wasted time. Tears prickle my eyes.

PC Sampson, with her leaflets and her razor-sharp grasp of the situation, is going to find a way through this.

I go about the whole tea-making business with one eye on my mother’s face. She doesn’t look like someone who intends on sitting down and drinking with the enemy.

I realise with cold dread that she’s wearing her coat and boots.

“I’m sorry for wasting your time,” Mum says eventually. “I was having a bad day and I just wanted to disappear.

“I’m sure you’ve felt the same. You just want to leave the world behind for a short while.”

Expression

I jump up, glad to have someone else taking charge. For the first time since Shelby held me to his heart, I feel safe

I drop the teabags and turn to face her. Lorraine is standing with her back to me and I can’t see her expression.

However, her blonde ponytail is nodding subtly, even though I’m sure she’s never experienced anything of the kind. “Mum...”

I’m just about to plead, to coax the right words out of her, when the back door flies open, admitting a shaft of cold air and the shuffling of work boots.

After all my listening for the king’s return, I missed it.

My father assesses the scene as River closes the door.

A frozen tableau of women: his missing wife, a police officer and the daughter he doesn’t trust.

Boom.

More tomorrow.

Copyright Sandra Ireland 2019, extracted from The Unmaking of Ellie Rook, published by Polygon, an imprint of Birlinn Ltd, at £8.99.