The Unmaking of Ellie Rook Episode 59

Dad sums up the situation in an instant and surges forward to take my mother in his arms. I swear he’s weeping into her neck, but all I can see are her huge, stricken eyes. A deer awaiting the final bullet. I pray that Lorraine sees it too.

He holds her away from him, gazing down into her unresponsive face. “Imelda, my love. We’ve been so worried about you.

“Me, Ellie, River – we were beside ourselves. Whatever’s gone wrong, whatever made you do this, we can work it out.”

I’m speechless, and again Lorraine takes charge. “Imelda, would you like to speak to me in private?”

Dad turns to Lorraine, an arm about his wife’s shoulders. “No need. She’s home, thank God.

“I think it’s fair to say her mental health hasn’t been the best of late, eh, Imelda? That old black dog.”

He makes a sympathetic face and my mother nods. She actually nods.

“Depression,” she agrees. “I’ve suffered for years. I’m so sorry for all the trouble I’ve caused.”

Note of panic

Dad gives her a hearty squeeze, and as Lorraine goes to speak, he launches into full hospitality mode, silencing her with his bonhomie.

“Ellie, tea and sandwiches, there’s a good girl. How about we chat over a nice spot of lunch, PC Sampson? River, open a tin of salmon.

“I know we face this whole issue of wasting police time, and I fully intend to make reparation for that...”

There’s a note of panic in his camaraderie, and as he waffles on, I catch my mother’s eye.

How could she not speak up for herself when she had the chance?

How can she let him put such a spin on things? It feels like a betrayal.

Her face gives nothing away, and all my hopes of rescue begin to recede. I’m drowning in fear.

I seem to be watching everything from a distance. PC Sampson is collecting her things together, preparing to leave, as my father smooths her way with false words.

She doesn’t look happy about it, and inwardly I’m pleading with her to stay. Don’t leave us.

The power has shifted back to mum, but she’s scared to use it, and without her cooperation, we’re all in limbo.

There are goodbyes: dad, pumping the police officer’s hand as if it’s the most normal thing in the world; my mother’s cracked whisper; Lorraine’s strained “I’ll be in touch”.

I get myself to the door first and manage to catch her eye on the way out, willing her to read my distress signals.

Outside, the yard is deserted, the grabber standing idle. Everyone’s gone home, although I wasn’t aware of them leaving.

No white van, no lilac Mini, just PC Sampson’s squad car and dad’s Range Rover, parked arrogantly across three spaces.

And hitched to the back of it – Shelby’s caravan.

Hidden meaning

I go weak. I stare at it, searching the battered exterior for hidden meaning. Shelby’s caravan, spattered with mud from the road, ferns trailing from the tow bar.

Lorraine has clocked it too, but she has no point of reference.

My father is a scrap dealer. She has no way of knowing whether this is out of the ordinary.

Is she even aware of what happened up in the hills, of the vicious attack that put a man in hospital?

Seconds tick by. She has to walk past the caravan to get to her car, and I can see her taking it all in, mentally documenting its details to share with her colleagues down at the station.

She checks the rear of the vehicle, but the registration plates have long since been removed.

As she unlocks her car and moves to open the door, the faint flick of a heavy velvet curtain catches my eye, and the merest suggestion of a face framed in the caravan window.

My sharp intake of breath attracts her attention. “I’m going to log the details of my visit, Ellie,” she says, regarding me closely.

“I’ll call back in a couple of days, unless...” I stand there, unable to move, unable to speak, conscious of the converging problems: PC Sampson, unwilling to leave; Shelby, hidden in the caravan; dad, behind me, closing in.

Words form themselves in my head and dissipate just as quickly. It’s pointless. My body sags, too weary to fight. Lorraine will leave, and we will return to being Rooks, the family from the scrappie that the authorities can’t touch.

As Lorraine gets into her car and starts the engine, Shelby’s face swims into view again.

His eyes are pleading, but I can’t decipher the specifics. Help me? Run? Save yourself ? My father’s arm snakes around my shoulders as the squad car motors off.

“Look who we found in Aberdeen!” He raps his knuckles on the window and Shelby draws back.

Turmoil

I surge forward to open the door, but the chain and the padlock are in place. Shelby is locked in, and I can guess who has the key.

“But he walked out of the hospital. He was staying with a mate.”

My father chuckles. The sound makes the hair rise on the back of my neck.

“Turns out we have the same mates! It’s a small world, eh? Ah, here’s the rest of the family!”

He opens his other arm expansively. Mum is there, clinging to River’s arm. She wasn’t expecting to see the caravan, and I can see the turmoil behind her expression.

We all know that dad always has an ace up his sleeve. And then she spots Shelby, or he spots her.

It’s a mutual thing. I can feel them drawing together. Shelby comes close to the window and mum sleepwalks right up to him.

She puts her fingers to the glass, and so does he. His are bandaged and broken.

How could she not speak up for herself? How can she let him put such a spin on things? It feels like a betrayal.

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