Marta was my closest neighbor – not a close friend, but we did manage to smile and say Hi to each other in the street, and sometimes she would come round to my house to borrow a cup of sugar or a couple of eggs . I didn’t really know very much about her,; she seemed to be normal enough, going off to work about the same time as I did. Coming home with bags of shopping at about the same time as me. Nothing out of the ordinary, really.
I worked up in the city so had to take a bus into town, but I think Marta worked locally in one of the big shops, so we didn’t travel together. I suppose that’s why we weren’t all that close. She had her life and I had mine. Kids? No, I don’t think so. Never saw any, anyway. Married, couldn’t tell you, didn’t see any regular men in and out. Me, kids? oh yes, I’ve got three of the little b…..s, oops shouldn’t say that, should I. The old man doesn’t like me to swear.
What happened? Well, it’s like this. You know I said I didn’t know her that well. Apart from her coming round on the odd occasion……………. You know, to borrow bits and pieces. I imagine she could have been baking or something when she wanted the sugar or the eggs. It’s pretty common round here that people borrow off other neighbours, saves having to drag back into town , you see.
Anyway, this time when she came round , she said she had to go away for a few days so would I have the key, pop round and pick up her post and water the plants, that sort of thing. Yes, I suppose I was surprised that she asked me, but she said it was an emergency and she had to go . Did she tell me what the emergency was? No… , I did ask her, but she just said she’d had a phone call from a friend, and had to go. Well, of course I said Yes. You would, wouldn’t you? It’s no skin off my nose, just to run round there in a day or two to water some plants. So she goes back to her place and comes back with the keys.
The next thing I know, she ‘s off down the street with a suitcase in one hand and this funny little umbrella in the other, handbag slung over her shoulder. I suppose she thought it was going to be wet wherever it was she was going. Did she look alright? Yes, a bit worried looking I suppose, but that’s to be expected, if it’s an emergency, like, isn’t it?
I put the keys in the windowsill and decided I would go round today; I couldn’t see any point in going there just after she had gone. Plants aren’t going to die from lack of water in just one day, now are they?
Well, I got the kids off to school, and decided to go round there this morning before I went to work . Yes, it was a bit early, but it’s better to do any spare jobs in the morning before I go to work, once I get home and the kids are there, I have to do dinner, and get them to do their homework and stuff – that’s not so easy, either.!
Anyway, off they go, and off I go. Locked my front door and away down the street. I was all dressed up for work…….. you know - high heels and a suit, hair all done, makeup on, so that all I had to do was go into her house, pick up the post, water the plants, then straight off to catch the bus.
I had the keys in my hand when I go to the front door of Marta’s house, so that I could get straight in. No, she didn’t have an alarm system – in our street! Don’t be silly, none of us have got anything worth stealing!
Got the keys in the door, and opened it………………… oh my god, what a stench. I had no idea what was stinking like that, so I went in a bit further. Perhaps Marta had left some uncooked meat out – that’s all I could think of would make that smell.
Went into the kitchen…………… you never saw such a mess – it looked like a slaughterhouse. Blood all up the walls, and ……………….. well, a thing on the floor. No, I didn’t get any closer. I’m afraid I backed out of there so fast my feet didn’t even touch the ground. I’m sure I was screaming my head off, but between that and throwing up, I have no idea what I was doing. That’s when I got on the mobile phone and called you ……………….
***
Day 11:
I was going to kill my kids.
Ok, not literally, but still. Some days I just feel like walking out of that door and never coming back. Four kids is a lot to handle. Especially, when your husband spends most of his time stitching people up and is never home to help.
Technically, I only have three; the eldest, Renee, is my husband’s from a previous marriage. As far as I’m concerned, she is as much my child as the others, having raised her since she was four.
It was a shame about her mother though. I hadn’t wanted to tell her at first. Ten year olds shouldn’t know their mother is a drug addict facing jail. Kids should be kids for as long as possible. Having been forced to grow up far too quickly, I was determined to let them keep their innocence for as long as possible and if that meant enduring some of their louder games then so be it.
I didn’t normally mind it, liking the way their laughs echoed through the townhouse Will, my husband, had recently inherited. Sometimes, if I wasn’t too busy, I’d join in. Not today though.
It was Thursday, the day I had to meet my deadlines. It was also bound to be the day that everything went wrong.
Last week, as I had struggled to finish my weekly column, Ethan and Mia, my three year old twins, had decided to give our Labrador a makeover. Trying to simultaneously apologise to your editor and wipe nail varnish from the dog’s paws was not a task I wanted to repeat, especially since he had already traipsed it through the house while trying to hide from the toddlers.
Thankfully, I had been up half the night with the youngest who refused to quiet unless I was in the rocking chair beside her crib. Although it meant that what little sleep I had was cramped and uncomfortable, it had given me the opportunity to quickly scrawl the last few paragraphs of my article the night before. All that was left to do was email it and I was free.
I was beginning to think that letting the kids play cowboys wasn’t such a great idea however, since Ethan had been desperately trying to lasso me for the past hour.
Just as I was ready to scream, I heard the door opening and a familiar voice calling out.
“Hey Marta,” I called, a large smile forming on my face.
Marta, a kind elderly lady who lived next door, was a life savior. She pulled two sweets from the weatherworn brown bag she carried everywhere and the twins were quiet. Just like that. I had no idea how she did it but it was a trick I was desperate to learn.
“I came to ask a favour Ellen dear. My son’s a bit under the weather at the moment so I was going to go stay with him for a few days but I was just wondering if you could keep an eye on the house while I’m gone.”
She really was the sweetest woman I had ever met. Her son, who was probably in his forties by now, caught a cold and she dropped everything to help him out. Sadness deep within my chest, I remembered my own mother. She had been nothing like Marta; she was a cold woman, a distant one. That wasn’t the kind of mother a child needed.
“Of course I will,’ I told her, my smile suddenly forced as I accepted her key, “you take care.”
It wasn’t until Saturday that I spotted the key buried under a mound of drawings that I remembered my promise. Feeling guilty that I had forgotten, I left the kids with their father, who was home for once, and scurried over.
The house looked the same as it had the countless other times I had visited it. it was like walking into a parallel universe; everything was tidy and ordered, not a discarded sock in sight. I doubted the house had even been messy when her children lived with her. Marta seemed more likely to be the perfect mother than, well, me. I knew I should be a bit more disciplined with my kids but I couldn’t bare to. The way their bottom lips quivered when they knew they were in trouble, it broke my heart.
Absentmindedly, I filled a jug and began watering the many plants she kept. Flowers never lasted long in my house. Between the dog and the kids, they were trampled on the floor within seconds.
As I made my way past the bedroom, I saw it. The familiar glint of metal caught my eye as I edged closer. On hands and knees, I reached under the bed reaching for it, curious. If I had known what it was, I would have ran then.
But I didn’t.
I grasped it, drawing it from the shadows.
A shout escaped my lips as I dropped it, scooting away.
I had never seen one in real life before but somehow, I recognized it straight away.
Why would she have one? She was a sweet old lady; what was she scared of?
Everyone had secrets- I knew that - but this?
Why did Marta have a gun?
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