cracks in the flags, and laying them out in a neat and tidy row. He called out to his father, who was reading The Lancet on a camp bed under Uncle Jack’s tree:
‘Robert Kennedy’s dead.’
Eleanor’s hand went to her mouth. Her father lowered the magazine just briefly before continuing to read. Eleanor shuddered as Lucian let the side gate bang on his way to the river, whistling a tune on one note. She got to her feet and wandered aimlessly around the side of the house to the meadow.
She walked to the centre and stood in the long grass looking up at the blue cloudless sky, her cheeks warmed by the sun. The handsome Senator in the suit, with brushed hair and squeaky shoes, did not exist any more. Two wasps crawled busily over a rotten apple by her foot. Now the man with the crack in his chin would never save her from drowning.
Eleanor understood with a profundity beyond her nearly nine years that she was truly alone. After that afternoon on the 6th June 1968, this recognition never left her.
Five
O n the following Saturday morning, when Alice had been missing for three days, Eleanor had finished a clandestine bowl of cornflakes and was creeping back upstairs when she heard voices coming from the dining room.
She ran nimbly down again. The door was slightly open. This was unusual; another change since Alice went was that doors were mostly shut. Since they had been coming to the White House, Isabel had railed at the creaking doors and windows, left to swing to and fro despite her constant requests to keep them closed, for draughts, she insisted, were definitely responsible for her headaches. After Alice, the White House was quiet.
Eleanor peered in. Her father sat in his chair at the head of the table ready waiting for food. Her mother craned over him from behind perhaps straightening his napkin. Although this in itself was odd, what astonished Eleanor was the way her mother was talking. She was half speaking, half singing like she did with Crawford and her favourite men friends.
‘It’s boring, darling but it’ll soon be over. Like Richard said, it’s routine. I think myself that she could simply be trapped in a cupboard here in the house, those children were getting everywhere, I even poked about in the chest freezer.’ She gave a strange laugh.
‘What would he do?’
Eleanor squinted at her father through the space made by the hinges, as he indicated Judge Henry behind him.
‘Oh, Mark!’ (Eleanor wished her Dad hadn’t mentioned the Judge. It wasn’t the way to get her Mum’s sympathy.) ‘He’d get rid of these damned police, for a start. He was their boss, wasn’t he?’ Eleanor shut her eyes, but her father only made a mewing noise and put his head in his hands.
Her parents had been closeted in the living room most of the morning, watching Robert Kennedy’s funeral on the television. This must have upset her Dad who had lost his twin.
There was a scraping step at the front door and a massive silhouette filled the frosted glass panels. Now accomplished at deception, Eleanor bolted back to the kitchen, then marched out again with stamping steps, before running full tilt up the stairs as someone gave three loud knocks which caused the loft door on the top landing to swing open and smash against the wall. The bangs got quieter and quieter like the ball bearings in a cat’s cradle. She knew that now her Dad would never fix the catch and her Mum would be even more cross.
Then Eleanor realised what had really upset her Dad. Chief Inspector Richard Hall had told her mother at the end of their talk yesterday that the police wanted to search the house in case Alice had hidden in a childish prank as he called it. He told her that they had already searched Alice’s house and found nothing. Although he kept saying ‘Mrs Ramsay’, he looked at Eleanor, so that when her mother said she supposed it must be done, Eleanor nodded heartily in agreement. She was Mrs Ramsay. She wished Gina had
‘Robert Kennedy’s dead.’
Eleanor’s hand went to her mouth. Her father lowered the magazine just briefly before continuing to read. Eleanor shuddered as Lucian let the side gate bang on his way to the river, whistling a tune on one note. She got to her feet and wandered aimlessly around the side of the house to the meadow.
She walked to the centre and stood in the long grass looking up at the blue cloudless sky, her cheeks warmed by the sun. The handsome Senator in the suit, with brushed hair and squeaky shoes, did not exist any more. Two wasps crawled busily over a rotten apple by her foot. Now the man with the crack in his chin would never save her from drowning.
Eleanor understood with a profundity beyond her nearly nine years that she was truly alone. After that afternoon on the 6th June 1968, this recognition never left her.
Five
O n the following Saturday morning, when Alice had been missing for three days, Eleanor had finished a clandestine bowl of cornflakes and was creeping back upstairs when she heard voices coming from the dining room.
She ran nimbly down again. The door was slightly open. This was unusual; another change since Alice went was that doors were mostly shut. Since they had been coming to the White House, Isabel had railed at the creaking doors and windows, left to swing to and fro despite her constant requests to keep them closed, for draughts, she insisted, were definitely responsible for her headaches. After Alice, the White House was quiet.
Eleanor peered in. Her father sat in his chair at the head of the table ready waiting for food. Her mother craned over him from behind perhaps straightening his napkin. Although this in itself was odd, what astonished Eleanor was the way her mother was talking. She was half speaking, half singing like she did with Crawford and her favourite men friends.
‘It’s boring, darling but it’ll soon be over. Like Richard said, it’s routine. I think myself that she could simply be trapped in a cupboard here in the house, those children were getting everywhere, I even poked about in the chest freezer.’ She gave a strange laugh.
‘What would he do?’
Eleanor squinted at her father through the space made by the hinges, as he indicated Judge Henry behind him.
‘Oh, Mark!’ (Eleanor wished her Dad hadn’t mentioned the Judge. It wasn’t the way to get her Mum’s sympathy.) ‘He’d get rid of these damned police, for a start. He was their boss, wasn’t he?’ Eleanor shut her eyes, but her father only made a mewing noise and put his head in his hands.
Her parents had been closeted in the living room most of the morning, watching Robert Kennedy’s funeral on the television. This must have upset her Dad who had lost his twin.
There was a scraping step at the front door and a massive silhouette filled the frosted glass panels. Now accomplished at deception, Eleanor bolted back to the kitchen, then marched out again with stamping steps, before running full tilt up the stairs as someone gave three loud knocks which caused the loft door on the top landing to swing open and smash against the wall. The bangs got quieter and quieter like the ball bearings in a cat’s cradle. She knew that now her Dad would never fix the catch and her Mum would be even more cross.
Then Eleanor realised what had really upset her Dad. Chief Inspector Richard Hall had told her mother at the end of their talk yesterday that the police wanted to search the house in case Alice had hidden in a childish prank as he called it. He told her that they had already searched Alice’s house and found nothing. Although he kept saying ‘Mrs Ramsay’, he looked at Eleanor, so that when her mother said she supposed it must be done, Eleanor nodded heartily in agreement. She was Mrs Ramsay. She wished Gina had
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