Fault Line: JOURNEYS INTO THE HEARTLAND, #3

By Marina Gerrard

An incident in the supermarket triggers a memory so vivid Eleanor cannot do anything else but scream. It was that or die.

Then there is the sound of dripping and the faces in the mirror that are hers and yet not.

Something was happening to her but she did not have a clue why.

Can she get to the reason behind it all?

Eleanor has started on the arduous task of clearing the stuff that is bunging up her attic, her own and her recently deceased mother's. It turns out the attic stores more than rubbish. The sorting process also reveals the fault line of bullying and intimidation that runs right through four generations of mothers and daughters, including her own.

She has to suffer through the projected memories of them all before she can lay the past to rest. While she's at it, she also manages to clear her husband out of her life.

Fault Line is the third and last book in a miniseries of three psychological thrillers on the theme of recovery from trauma.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Marina Gerrard
• Release date: Apr 30, 2019
• ISBN: 9781386939924

Book preview

I. SOMETHING HAPPENING

Eleanor

---

‘Put it there,’ she said, ‘put it there’, and purred.

She put it there.

‘Now watch me swing this thing.’

She watched.

The axe as it rose. The arc it made through the air. The downward swing. The cleanliness of the chop. The little flip that landed the hand on the floor.

Her eyes widened.

‘There,’ she said. ‘There. That will teach you.’

A scream rose in her throat. Hot and searing.

‘Not to do that.’

The axe rose.

‘Ever again.’

And came down.

The scream stuck right where it was. Not a sound came out. And yet it continued to rise, swelling, building, looking for a way out when there was none. Still it rose, filling her body, filling her soul, burning her, from the inside out, on and on beyond endurance.

But not a sound came out. There was no sound. Only silence. Vast and deep and awful.

And then she heard something dripping.

It was only a tiny sound. Such a tiny sound. Hardly a sound at all and yet it was enough. A flame of agony ripped through her. Her throat unblocked, her mouth unhinged, the scream spilled out. There was nothing she could do. It just kept on coming. There was nothing she could do to stop it. There was no thought of stopping it. There was no stopping it.

She had to scream.

It was that or die.

---

Something slapped her in the face. Hard. The scream cut off. Just like that. Her mouth snapped shut. The noise folded in on itself and everything went silent. If a pin had dropped she would have heard it, except it did not. Yet something did. A sound. Small, tiny, seemingly insignificant, soundless yet there. Dropping. Into the silence. A little flat, dead sound. Dropping into the silence. Great, flat, ocean of silence. Little dead, flat sound. Dropping. Just that.

‘And the world had changed forever’, she said, her voice cracking.

She became aware of people then. Lots of people. Staring at her. From a distance. Wary distance. Miffed look in their eyes. She could not blame them. In her mind she was staring too. At herself as she must have been. Screaming. Mouth hanging open, black gaping hole, steady stream of sound spewing forth, like lava. Letting rip. No reason why. Not a single reason why. Nothing to scream about. Not a single thing.

No.

And yet she was, she had been.

Screaming.

She didn’t know how she could have done that. Embarrass herself like that. In public and all. She felt the heat rising in her face. Her cheek throbbed. Without volition her hand came up and nursed it.

‘I heard something dripping,’ she whispered. Saying it brought tears to her eyes, but she did not know why. She dropped her hand and stood, not knowing what to do. The whole thing was beyond her.

---

In the distance the sound of a forklift truck hefting crates and laughter from those who had not heard or had not been disturbed. It came and went.

Around her nobody moved. Nobody spoke. Everyone stared. As if waiting for something, someone, to make sense of it all. She was too. Waiting.

Nothing came. In the end reality clicked back into place of its own accord and she found herself gripping the handles of a shopping basket that had nothing in it. It told her nothing but at least she knew where she was. Supermarket. Dairy lane. Shopping for desserts.

Desserts.

She looked at the rows and rows of glossy cartons on either side of her. They held no appeal but she picked one anyway and turned, coming face to face with the now restive crowd. As if on cue an elderly man stepped forward, grabbed her by the hand and shook it enthusiastically. She winced. The whole of her hurt, with a slow, burning intensity.

‘Now that’s what I’ve always wanted to do,’ the man said, his bluff, hearty voice grating on her ear.

‘Scream at the top of my lungs in a busy supermarket, then carry on shopping and leave them all guessing. Way to go, lady. Way to go.’

The man chuckled to himself, patted her on the shoulder, retrieved his trolley and wheeled it down the aisle.

His voice broke through her stupefaction and that of the crowd.

‘Fancy that,’ a woman said. ‘Fancy that’, and tutted.

Within moments the crowd dispersed, leaving her alone with herself. Slowly, painfully she walked on, trying to ignore the askance looks and outright stares, on to the till and out.

---

Outside the sun shone, the wind blew. It was a fresh May morning. All was well with the world but not with her. She hurt.

Gingerly she picked her way over to a bench in a nearby park and sat down. Leaves rustled, water rippled in the sunlight. A fountain sprayed glistening drops in all directions. The colours of spring seemed extraordinarily vibrant. She had to shade her eyes. Even the breeze was too much.

A sense of utter desolation swept over her, so much in contrast with the world around her she wanted to cry, but she could not. Cry me a river, scream me a hurricane. She did not know what for. Her eyes followed the spray but they saw nothing. She sat and let the desolation and the pain breathe in and out through her pores. It was all she could do.

---

‘Did it help?’

The voice was soft and wove itself into her trance as if it belonged there. She did not answer it. She had no answers. Her mind was blank.

‘Did it help, then?’ the voice insisted.

‘Help?’ She could not relate the word to anything she knew. She knew nothing. Could not think of anything to say.

‘Screaming like that. Did it help? Did it help you, at all?’

The voice was in her ear. She turned her head and looked at the woman sitting beside her.

Not knowing what to say she said nothing.

‘That was you in the supermarket just now, wasn’t it?’

The eyes that looked at her were soft and friendly but they did not look away and they demanded an answer.

She nodded.

‘Did it help, then, screaming like that, top of your voice, supermarket, middle of a crowd, everyone there, no one to miss the scene, all that, did it help?’

‘No,’ she said. ‘No,’ and shook her head. Then: ‘I don’t know.’

‘I hurt,’ she said. ‘But I don’t know why,’ she added and tears began to gather.

She looked back at the fountain playing in the sunlight.

‘I screamed. There was nothing else could I do. But I don’t know why. I just don’t know.’

Suddenly the tears ran down and words came tumbling out.

‘It came on like diarrhoea. One moment I was fine, the next I was not. Far from it. Anything but. And that is saying nothing.’

‘There I was, in the supermarket, minding my own business, as per usual, looking forward to filling the shopping basket with my favourite desserts, as per usual, when suddenly, suddenly there was this pain. Not just any old pain but something with capital letters. Like a fire. Burning me. I felt like digging my nails in and ripping my skin off. Deeper and deeper until I got to the heart of it and ripped that too to bits. I just had to scream. Had to.’

She gulped and wiped away the tears.

‘I didn’t know it was going to happen but it did. I don’t know where it came from but suddenly it was there. And there was nothing I could do but scream. It was totally, utterly embarrassing. It was the worst moment of my life. And that is saying something.’

She hugged herself. ‘There’s nothing wrong with me and yet I hurt. I . . . hurt. I have no idea why.’

‘You heard something dripping?’ the woman suggested.

Instantly more tears brimmed.

‘That’s right,’ she said. ‘That’s right. I did. I still do. There is nothing to hear but I hear something dripping. I don’t know what or where. It makes me want to cry but I don’t know what for.’

She wiped at the tears but they would not stop.

‘I don’t know what I did to deserve this.’

‘There is a reason,’ the woman said, getting up. ‘There always is with this kind of thing. You need to go and look for it. The reason. The one that puts it all in perspective. Do that and you do more than enough.’

‘But, but, where, what-’ she stumbled over the words.

The woman put her hand up and stopped her.

‘Just look for it. It’ll come to you when you’re ready,’ she said and walked away.

Eleanor sat rooted and watched the woman disappear in the distance. She slowly shook her head from side to side. It was beyond her. The entire day was beyond her. And yet there had been nothing special about it. Nothing to write home about. Certainly nothing to scream about. And now . . . She didn’t know. She just did not know.

The sun dipped behind a cloud. She shivered.

She had better get herself back. It might be spring but it certainly wasn’t summer yet.

She sat on. She could not get herself to move.

After a while the sun came back out but it failed to warm her. Something had been lost that could not be retrieved. It had gone forever. It filled her with a sadness that seemed to have no end. After a long while she picked up her shopping bag and dragged herself home. With her came the sound of something dripping.

---

By the time she came home the pain and the sense of loss had retreated into a dull, distant ache and the shock had worn off. She felt tired and depressed. She dropped her coat and bag on the table in the living room. The sun had just rounded the house and sent a shaft of multi-coloured rays through the large bay window at the back. It was the feature of the house she loved the most and she had shifted the furniture around and around to give it its full due. She had done the walls in a soft magnolia that made the room feel warm and comforting any time of the day.

Comfort. Something she could do with right now.

She switched on the coffee machine that stood ready for just such a moment and selected her favourite piece of music. Within seconds the fragrance of coffee and the music mingled with the sunlight on the thick woven carpet, creating the perfect atmosphere. She snuggled deep into the capacious easy chair, wrapping the atmosphere around her like a blanket and waited for the coffee to filter through.

She waited for comfort to come.

It did not.

What came was the sensation of tears rolling quietly down her face, together with the sound of something other than coffee filtering quietly, persistently through into her mind. In spite of the sun that now flooded the room her skin puckered into tight little goose pimples. It triggered the hurt. She felt the need to scream beginning to build.

She jumped up and switched the music off. It was no use. She’d better-

The phone rang.

‘Hi El, how’s tricks, have you settled in by now. We’ve just come off the plane, but I had to phone you. We had a marvellous time. Sun, sea, palm trees, the lot. We’ve been that lazy. I’m sure you must be jealous, poor you, what with moving and all that. But we did go and see that lovely little church up on the hill that you mentioned. So peaceful. So-’

The voice of her best friend Josie gushed over her in all its enthusiasm. She let it run its course. She could not take in what was being said, let alone respond to it.

She took the phone away from her ear and looked at it still spilling out sound. She could not relate to any of it. After a while the stream dried up till it produced only an intermittent, rising squeak. She put the phone back to her ear.

‘El? El? Are you there? Eleanor?

‘Yes, yes, of course I’m here,’ she managed. ‘Couldn’t get a word in edgeways, could I.’

‘Oh El, I’m sorry. I know I got a bit carried away,’ Josie said contritely.

‘That’s alright. Just don’t do it again,’ Eleanor chuckled with a touch of her old humour.

‘Hey,’ Josie said, ‘you know me, chuck. Now let’s hear it from your end.’

‘What is there to say,’ she said. ‘I moved out. I moved in. All the boxes are unpacked. Everything’s in its place. This morning I went out to do the shopping. So basically life’s returning to normal.’

There was a moment’s silence when neither of them spoke.

In the silence she could hear something dripping that was not coffee. With it came a stab of loss so immediate and acute it brought tears to her eyes. She gasped.

‘Hey.’ Josie’s voice sounded concerned. ‘Is there something you’re not telling me?’

She wiped away the tears.

‘Hey! Eleanor to earth. Are you still with us?!’

‘Yes, yes. No, no. Not at all,’ she said, distracted. ‘I heard something dripping,’ she said. ‘Thought I heard. It’s most probably nothing. To worry. About.’

Her body once more felt as if it were set on fire. The scream was right there, in her throat, ready to explode. She hugged herself. It was all she could do to control herself, control it.

‘Kiddo, you don’t sound like yourself. Do you want me to come over? I can be there in-’

‘Don’t bother,’ she grated, holding down the scream, holding it, holding, ‘I don’t need-’

Instantly realising how ungrateful she must sound, she bit down on the scream and hastened to soften the message.

‘Thanks, Josie, that’s very sweet of you but no, that won’t be necessary. I’m all right. I can manage. It’s just-’

The sense of loss overwhelmed her. For a second her mind blanked and she lost what she was going to say. She groped her way back.

‘Sorry, Jose, I think I’m feeling a bit worn. I’ve probably overdone it. You know how it is. It’s all been one mad rush. I think I’ll take a few days off and relax. Pamper myself. Go to the seaside. That sort of thing.’

‘Too right,’ Josie said, ‘I’m sure you’ve had to work very hard to get it all in order. I’m that peeved I couldn’t come and give you a hand, but there you are. Can’t wait to see what you’ve done to the place. We’re still on, for Sunday week, aren’t we?’

She wrapped her arms around herself and the phone. The hurt was almost too much to bear. Another moment of blankness occurred. It erased the present. She-

‘Eleanor? El, for chrissakes, will you answer me?!’ The urgency in Josie’s voice pulled her back.

‘Sorry, sorry. I’m a bit distracted. Of course we’re still on. Of course. You can help me with the-’

Again she could not continue.

‘El’. Josie was beginning to sound indignant as well as worried.

‘-garden,’ she finished. ‘I’ve got some ideas but you’re the one with green fingers and I could do with some advice.’

‘Hey,’ Josie said eagerly. ‘I’m really looking forward to that.’

‘Me too, Jose, me too. It’ll be great to see you again. Catch up on all the news. See you Sunday week, then, OK?’ she said and cut the connection. As soon as she did that the phone call dropped out of memory. It had never been.

It would never be again.

Her heart contracted. A shoot of pain almost brought her to her knees. In its wake came the terrible sense of desolation she had felt before.

The dripping became more pronounced. It mingled with the tears that seemed to have a life of their own.

One by one they dropped.

Dripped.

On and on and on. No hope of it ever stopping. No reason why it should or shouldn’t. None that she could see. None at all. It didn’t matter, either one way or the other. It never would, ever again. That was the way it was.

She wiped at the tears and poured herself a cup of coffee. It tasted like nothing. She threw it back in the pot and looked around the room. Nothing had changed. All the familiar landmarks were there. Everything felt the same. Only she did not. She felt strange, disconnected. As if she did not belong.

The desolation deepened. She did not know what to do with herself.

Then the sunlight winked out. One moment it was there, dappling the carpet, then it was gone, leaving her alone, without comfort, in a place that was no longer home. She had no home.

Out of nowhere a giant hand reached inside her, grabbed her heart and squeezed. A gasping hurt shot in all directions. She curled up, wrapping herself around herself to ward off the pain, tighter and tighter, until the pain had gone and she felt nothing at all. The dripping stopped and so did the tears.

---

She found herself on the floor, curled up in a foetal position, no recollection of how she had come to be there. Or why. She felt battered and bruised. The inside of her head was pulsing. Her throat was tight. Her chest hurt. And she was cold. So cold she knew she would never ever be warm again. A trickle of saliva dribbled down her chin. There was nothing she could do about it. She could not get herself to move. She could not get herself to do anything.

Her eyes were shut tight. The darkness was a comfort. She didn’t want to see. Didn’t want to know. Anything. It was easier that way.

And so she lay there without moving, mouth hanging open, allowing the breath to flow in and out.

In and out.

In.

And out.

For the longest time.

Eventually she stopped drifting. She had to. She had to go to the loo. Her bladder was fit to burst. She opened her eyes.

Getting up was an effort. She was stiff as a board. She dragged herself to the toilet and back.

Slowly she got her muscles back in working order.

She didn’t know what she had done to get this stiff. Hell, all she’d done was go shopping.

She cast a passing glance at the time. Three o’clock. She did a double take.

Three o’clock? That couldn’t be so. She had only just come in. She clearly remembered dropping her bag and coat. It couldn’t be any later than eleven. The sun had only just angled into the room. She looked at the sunlight hitting the opposite wall.

And now it was three. Four hours! She must have nodded off. And all she had done was go shopping! Next time she’d take the flipping car if this was what it did to her. Irritated with herself she shrugged the whole thing off.

She’d better get on with putting the shopping away, seeing as it was getting late. She hoped her supper hadn’t defrosted in the meantime. She opened the bag and frowned. There was only one item in it. A carton of strawberry yoghurt. She took the carton out and stared at it. She looked inside the bag again. It was empty. There was nothing in it. She felt around inside. Nothing. There was no other shopping. Only the yoghurt. Strawberry at that. She didn’t even like yoghurt. Hated strawberries. Couldn’t for the life of her imagine why-

Shaking her head she put the carton back and went to the kitchen to check on the rest of her shopping.

She opened the fridge and froze. There was