Page 34 of The Tapes
‘But when would she have left it there?’
‘I don’t know. Apparently, fingerprints can stay on something a long time. It could’ve been a while back.’
Faith thinks on this for a second and I know what’s coming. ‘So maybe I did see her…?’
‘I don’t think that’s possible, love.’
Faith blows a small raspberry with her lips to say that she’s not convinced – except I don’t know what to feel, either.
Somehow, without much of a conversation, we end up in the garage together, filling bin bags with junk. It’s the first time anyone’s helped – and there’s a few moments of bonding as we laugh about the state of the things Dad kept. There are eight fly swatters, a box of rusting springs, a flattened rugby ball that has a slash in the side. Faith talks about the plans for her course’s overseas trip, dropping unsubtle hints that she’d like a few new outfits – but it’s nice to have a conversation that doesn’t have me second-guessing myself. We fill so many bags that there are too many for the car and, for the first time since I started, it feels as if there’s been some progress made in clearing the space.
There are even odd minutes here and there in which I switch off from Mum’s tapes. Where I enjoy being a mother, and marvel at how grounded my daughter is.
Faith finds an old calendar from 1996 and asks why ‘milk due’ is written every other Monday. I tell her we used to have a person deliver milk each day and we’d pay cash every couple of weeks. My daughter is baffled by this and we go throughthe rest of the months together. As well as milk deliveries, ‘Eve badminton’ is written in a series of squares from the start of the year until Easter.
It’s another memory that had been lost. ‘I had badminton lessons twice a week,’ I say, remembering.
‘Does that mean you were good?’ Faith asks.
‘I doubt it.’
Except, as I think about those sessions at the leisure centre, the shuttlecocks stuck high in the webbing of the wall, the way most of us could barely get the damned thing over the net, I realise it wasn’t my choice to go. It was the time mentioned on the tape, where Dad had left and I was living alone with Mum. She told me I had to get a hobby, so she’d have time to do things around the house. That’s why I spent around three months playing badminton badly.
Which means this calendar includes the three months or so that Dad had walked out on us to live with someone named Harriet.
But now I have a year and month, one more thing occurs. I’ve spent the day reading on and off about the Earring Killer. There were peaks and troughs of attacks: short bursts of a few kills in a row, and then years of nothing.
And the Earring Killer’s first murder happened at the exact time Dad had moved out.
THURSDAY
SIXTEEN
I stop on the way into work to talk to Dina for a minute. She looks tired but I don’t say as much. She’s waiting for Owen to get in and annoyed that he’s late. In the office itself, I find Mark sitting in my chair. The company owner is going through the drawers of my desk and doesn’t stop when I walk in. He barely even looks up.
‘Why have you got so many staples?’ he asks.
‘What do you mean?’
He picks up a box of staples and places it on the desk between us. ‘You’ve got about thirty of these.’
I’m baffled for a moment, partially because it’s so early but also because I don’t think I’ve ever given stationery a second thought.
‘I think they all came as a bulk thing,’ I say. ‘I don’t think I ordered them.’
He seems unconvinced but returns the box to my drawer and then leans back in my seat. ‘What time do you call this?’ he asks.
I look up to the clock above the desk, confused by the question. My day doesn’t start for another three minutes, so I’m early.
And then I remember he asked me to come in fifteen minutes ahead of time for a chat.
‘I’m so sorry,’ I say. ‘I’ve got a lot on with Dad. It’s his funeral tomorrow.’
Mark nods along but his gaze is narrow. ‘How were the police yesterday?’ he asks, although it doesn’t sound like a friendly enquiry.
‘It’s complicated,’ I say. ‘My daughter found a gun in the woods the day before. She’s underage, so they needed to talk to me.’
Mark’s still nodding but it’s with a clenched jaw and awe-need-to-talkface. ‘I’ve been meaning to have this conversation for a couple of weeks,’ he says. ‘It’s never been a good time what with your, uh… issues and everything.’
