I Dare You. Sam Carrington

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      ‘Take your time,’ the officer said. His wide eyes told her that he didn’t mean it. He was leaning forward, waiting like an impatient child who wanted their Christmas gift, and wanted it now. She took a deep breath and said the words in her head first; she wanted to get them right. Then she spoke out loud. ‘I saw him lift her up, into the truck. And then he got in too and screeched off down the road – the one going out of Mapledon. She … she shouldn’t have got in.’ The tears strangled her voice box and the words were high-pitched. ‘I don’t know why she got in. I don’t know why she left me.’

       Chapter Seven

       2019

       Anna

       Saturday 13th July

      In keeping with the rest of the house, outside and in, Anna’s old bedroom had also remained unchanged. It was as though she’d stepped into a time warp and it unnerved her – especially in the dark shadows her old Pierrot lamp cast. The ancient springs in the single mattress did little to help: digging into her hip bones if she lay on her side; displacing her spine if she lay on her back. She hadn’t settled for hours. Now, as her body refused to bounce youth-like from the bed, she thought it went some way to explaining why her back was so prone to aches and pains now, as an adult. How had she ever put up with this? The floor would’ve given better comfort.

      Not stopping to inspect any of her childhood belongings, Anna stretched – her spine giving a loud, satisfying crack – and gingerly made her way downstairs to the kitchen fridge. She needed coffee. Her stomach contracted as she sniffed the milk. She pulled the carton away from her nose with such force some of the putrid contents spilled over.

      ‘Oh, my God!’ She went quickly to the sink and turned on the tap. With her forearm pressed against her nostrils, she watched as the sour, lumpy liquid glugged down the plughole. Looking at the now empty carton she noted the use-by date was four days ago.

      ‘Mum, your milk is off!’ Anna shouted. She checked the fridge for fresh milk, but there was none. There wasn’t much of anything. She slammed the fridge door. No coffee to bring her to life first thing was tantamount to hell and she’d never make it through the day. The next hour even. Especially here.

      ‘Oh, sorry, love.’ Muriel came into the kitchen, her slippers scuffing over the lino. ‘Forgot to get a new carton.’

      ‘Forgot? But it’s been out of date for days – haven’t you been having cereal, or drinks?’

      ‘Oh, I just hadn’t got around to getting to the shop, been using the tin of Marvel I had in the cupboard for cups of tea.’

      ‘You’ve been using powdered milk instead of getting fresh? When did you last use Marvel? I didn’t even know they still made it.’

      ‘Don’t be silly, dear, of course they do.’

      Anna was half-tempted to check the cupboard, see if the tin was also out of date, but was afraid she’d find that it was a decade out, not just days.

      ‘I’ll take you up the shop, then.’

      ‘Oh, you don’t need me, do you? You remember where it is, surely?’ Muriel slumped down onto the chair at the dining table.

      ‘You all right, Mum? You don’t look like you’ve slept.’

      ‘I look like this every morning. You wouldn’t know, would you?’

      Anna let the comment slide; she couldn’t exactly argue otherwise.

      ‘Do you want to make me a list?’ Anna offered. It occurred to her that her mum might not be taking good enough care of herself – or certainly not eating well, going by her gaunt appearance. Guilt tugged at her conscience; she’d always assumed Muriel was okay living alone in Mapledon – she’d kept it together well after Anna’s father upped and left when she was just eleven. She was fit and healthy, had good friends. But Anna now wondered if that was what she’d wanted to think. It was easier to believe than the alternative. Anything to avoid coming back to this village.

      ‘Yes, that would be good, thank you.’ Muriel’s voice lifted; her face brightened.

      ‘When did you go out last?’ Anna frowned. Her mother’s reaction to her offer to go to the shop for her seemed far too enthusiastic. The doll’s head on the door was only yesterday – had other things been going on prior to that to cause her to fear leaving the house?

      Muriel waved an arm dismissively. ‘Oh, I can’t remember – only a couple of days ago. Now, the notepad is in the top drawer of the dresser, love.’ Muriel pointed towards the lounge.

      ‘Right,’ Anna said.

      While in the drawer retrieving the notepad, Anna had a rummage. She wasn’t sure what she was even looking for, but she had a niggling feeling. It was filled with old utility bills – thankfully none were red – and old letters. She picked up one of the yellowing envelopes. Black scrawling handwriting covered the front with little room left for the stamp. She squinted, trying to make out the postmark and date.

      ‘Got it?’ Muriel appeared in the doorway, her voice making Anna jump. She dropped the letter back in the drawer and slid it shut.

      ‘Yep. Got a pen?’ Anna straightened, hoping her mother hadn’t spotted her nosing through the drawer. Going back into the kitchen she gave Muriel the pad and waited for her to write the list. Her mum’s hands were shaky, the writing spiky and jagged. When she finished, Anna read it through to make sure she could decipher it.

      ‘Here you go.’ Muriel pushed a small, purple felt purse into Anna’s hand. ‘The cash is in there. Should be enough. Get yourself what you need too, won’t you?’

      Anna squeezed the childish-looking purse. It didn’t feel very full. She swallowed down another surge of guilt, avoiding direct eye contact with her mother. For years she’d stayed away from here. From her mum. She’d had her reasons, but now she questioned them.

      Sitting in the car, Anna checked the purse. A single five-pound note. The list Muriel had written would cost at least twenty; maybe her mind wasn’t as sharp as it once had been. She hoped it wasn’t anything serious, like dementia. It’s not like Anna would’ve noticed the early warning signs. She’d have to talk to Muriel’s neighbours, see if they had any concerns.

      Before setting off, Anna made a phone call.

      ‘Hey, darling girl. Sorry not to have made it home last night. You okay at your dad’s?’

      ‘Why are you staying with Nanna? Are you coming home now?’ Her voice quivered.

      This, together with Carrie’s avoidance of the question, made Anna’s heart beat harder. James was a good dad, she had never doubted that, but she knew Carrie got anxious when there was a change in her routine. She’d got used to staying with her dad every other weekend, knew what to expect and when. Clearly, she didn’t care for this current disruption.

      ‘Nanna’s not feeling too good СКАЧАТЬ