The Daughter's Promise (ARC)

by Sarah Clutton

  ‘Wonderful,’ she said. ‘A plan. Good.’

  Twenty-Two

  Annabelle

  As Willa walked out, Annabelle began steaming the broccoli to serve as a side to the beef. She knew Dan wouldn’t eat it, so why was she doing it? Was she a complete fool? No, no. She would eat it, and she would get all the benefits of the free radicals.

  Sylvia’s revelation about the affairs had felt like a punch to the stomach. She could still feel the hurt in her solar plexus. But what could she do? She was part of Merrivale. This was her place in the world. The ocean, the garden, the house; she’d invested every single bit of her energy – every single day of her married life – into making it her home. Without children, without anywhere else that mattered, what was out there if she left him?

  She drained the broccoli, then served up the casserole as Dan continued playing on his phone at the table.

  ‘Beef stroganoff,’ she said, putting the plate in front of him. She had chopped the mushrooms extra fine so he’d be forced to eat them in the mix. Mushrooms were full of vitamins. Important for her immune system. She had put more in than usual, and there was a good chance Dan would actually notice the flavour. Half of Sisters Cove knew by now that he’d been having an affair with Sylvia. She had been pondering this as she had chopped the extra punnet of mushrooms into the sauce. He deserved to taste the bloody things.

  He grunted, not looking up.

  ‘I’ve something important to tell you,’ said Annabelle, fiddling with her napkin.

  Dan began shovelling the beef into his mouth.

  She took a breath and closed her eyes. This was it. The beginning of a new chapter. ‘I’m Wilhelmena’s birth mother. I had her when I was sixteen. She was adopted.’

  Dan froze, his fork piled with beef hovering in mid-air.

  ‘What?’ he spluttered.

  ‘I only found out that she was my baby a few days ago, and it’s taken me a little time to work up the courage to tell you. I’m sorry,’ she said, although she didn’t feel sorry. She felt irritated and stomach-punched.

  ‘But the doctors said you couldn’t carry a baby to term.’

  ‘Well I did. Once. It wasn’t an easy birth. There were complications.’

  ‘But… I would have known,’ said Dan, perplexed.

  ‘I went away, for six months, after Sylvia left.’

  ‘But you went to boarding school. You hated it, that’s why you came back.’

  ‘Lillian told me to say that. And Dad. They thought I’d get a reputation if people knew.’

  Dan stared at her in silence. Then he said, ‘Yeah, well. You would have.’ He refilled his wine glass, and grimaced. ‘I can’t bloody believe you never told me.’ He chewed another mouthful, slowly now, and Annabelle could sense the anger rising in him. ‘Who would have thought it, huh? That prim little miss I married.’ His smile was cruel and he shook his head slowly, never taking his eyes off her. ‘Who were you sleeping with?’

  Annabelle ignored him and forked a small piece of beef into her mouth, barely tasting it. Barely breathing.

  ‘Who was the bloody father?’ demanded Dan.

  Annabelle looked down at her hands.

  ‘Have I been the laughing stock round town my whole life? A bloody cuckold? I was probably having beers at the pub back then, telling everyone I was marrying the Virgin fucking Mary, and the guys were all pissing their pants behind my back.’ He pushed his chair away from the table.

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ spluttered Annabelle, barely able to form words.

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous? When Little Miss Perfect – who bloody chased me for years, begging for me, batting her eyelashes at me, throwing her virgin self at me and promising I was the only one ever – was screwing around all that time!’ He thumped his hand on the table.

  ‘You can hardly talk!’ cried Annabelle, and she shuddered, forcing down a violent sob.

  Dan stood suddenly, his chair crashing backwards. ‘You buttoned-up bitch!’ He glared at her, then stormed off towards the veranda door and yanked it open, letting it bang behind him.

  Annabelle screamed, ‘Don’t be so cruel!’ and raced after him, pulling the screen door open. ‘I never—’

  But the next sound from Annabelle’s mouth was a loud screech as her foot connected with something hard. A stack of cartons had materialised from nowhere outside the door. She felt herself tipping, tumbling. She grabbed wildly at the top box, but it was too late. The box fell first and Annabelle’s feet were swept from beneath her, and she landed with a shocking thump on the tiles.

  For a moment, the pain in her wrist, in her whole body, silenced her. Her knees began throbbing. She pushed herself up, whimpering.

  Dan appeared.

  Jars of golden liquid had tipped out of the fallen box. One of the jars had cracked and a gooey, glistening substance was spreading over the tiles.

  ‘Ow,’ sobbed Annabelle, rubbing at her wrist.

  ‘Bloody hell,’ muttered Dan, picking up two stray jars that had rolled across the veranda.

  ‘What are these?’ cried Annabelle angrily. She sat up against the wall, the humiliation making her want to shrivel up.

  ‘Honey for the damned fete. Tippy wants to have a stall so I offered to bring them up.’

  ‘No!’ cried Annabelle. ‘You know I won’t have that dreadful dirty man coming round here. How could you, Dan?’

  ‘I’m sick of your bullshit, Annabelle! You’re such a bloody snob! He’s just a guy trying to make a buck like the rest of us. He can’t help it if he was born with half a brain!’

  Annabelle looked up at him, pleading. ‘Please, no, Dan. Don’t bully me into this. It’s my fete.’ Tears welled in her eyes.

  Dan shook his head and kicked at the broken honey jar in disgust. As he stormed off towards the shed, he called back over his shoulder. ‘If you don’t want Tippy to come to the fete, you can bloody well tell him yourself.’

  Twenty-Three

  Annabelle

  1977

  Annabelle pushed herself away from Tippy. Her head was swimming with the smell of him, the huge, disgusting size of him. Scream! she told herself. Len would wake up, wouldn’t he? But the idea of screaming, calling out even, seemed so dramatic. Don’t make such a fuss, Annabelle. Most days her mother’s voice was still warm and near. And Tippy wasn’t really doing anything. He hadn’t tried to touch her in a bad way, not really.

  The rain began to fall, a sudden crashing noise on the tin roof, and Annabelle tensed with the sound of it, the sight of it, grey and thick through the window. Water was sleeting through the open door.

  ‘Tippy, you’ve got to go home now. I need you to go outside and close the door.’ Suddenly she wondered where he lived. How far he had to go, how he would get through the rain. Then she stopped herself. Not your problem, she could hear Sylvia saying.

  Tippy stood at the edge of the little couch near the coffee table. He leaned down and picked something up. Annabelle was flicking her eyes around the room, looking for a heavy or sharp object to protect herself with. Her eyes fell on the knife block on the kitchen sink. When she looked back at Tippy, he was holding something out to her.

  ‘Snap,’ he said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Play snap wiv me. Won’t take long.’ It was a pack of playing cards. ‘My grandma plays snap wiv me. We can play.’

  Annabelle let out her breath. ‘I… Oh. Maybe another time, Tippy. It’s just that…’ She cast around for an excuse. ‘It’s just that I have to give Len his pills now, and he might get sick if I don’t give them to him on time.’ She held her breath.

  Tippy’s eyebrows drew together as he thought about this.

  ‘You like Len, don’t you, Tippy? You wouldn’t want him to get sick.’

  ‘Len’s my friend too,’ said Tippy. He put the cards back down on the table. ‘My mum will want me home for tea. She gets cross if I don’t get home for tea.’

  ‘Yes!’ said Annabelle. ‘She’s probably got your tea
ready. You’d better go.’

  ‘Got my bike out there,’ said Tippy, and he looked proud, as if this news should impress Annabelle.

  ‘Better pedal fast,’ she said, trying not to let the relief show in her voice. ‘Don’t want your tea to get cold.’

  ‘All right,’ he said, sighing sadly. ‘Bye.’ He lumbered to the door and closed it carefully behind him.

  Annabelle let out a breath. She moved to the window and watched him wheel his old bike towards the road, over the deep puddles in the driveway. He threw his huge body over the frame, wobbled a little, then set off down the lane, sitting up straight, seemingly unaware of the pouring rain. She ran to the door and flicked the latch, then sank down on the couch and covered her face with her hands, letting her breathing get back to normal.

  After a while, she got up and forced herself to finish cleaning the shoes, then she sat down again and turned the television back on and watched a game show. The light was fading fast outside now, and the rain had eased, but she could still hear a steady patter on the roof. She sat for a while longer and watched the night shadows fall. Then she stood to get a glass of milk from the fridge, and as she passed, she picked up the shoes from the kitchen bench and leaned down to put them back on her feet. She practised walking, back and forwards through the tiny kitchen, faster each time until she wobbled less on the high platform heels. She twirled and dipped, pretending she was a dancer, a model on the catwalk, a film star, sliding her hand up her thigh, across her breasts, pointing a toe, dipping her chin, fluttering her eyelashes. Soon it would be her turn. Soon.

  There was a faint flash of light through the window, and the crack of thunder that followed startled her back into reality. She should check on Len. She tiptoed into his bedroom. There was a night light on, and in the dim glow, she could see Len’s chest rising rhythmically. She inched the door closed and walked back towards the couch. As she passed the window, another bolt of lightning flashed through the night sky. She froze. In the light, she’d seen a figure. In the garden. Her heart began pounding and she stepped back from the window, aware that she was completely visible through the glass if Tippy had come back to spy on her. Had he been watching her twirl around the kitchen? Watching her run her hands across her body?

  She cringed and ducked down, crawling over to the light switch. She flicked it off, then forced herself to stand, her heart rocketing the blood through her veins. After a while, her eyes adjusted to the darkness and she crept back over to the window and peered through the corner, out onto the road. Through the rain and the blackness, she couldn’t see anything much. There were no street lights and barely any moonlight through the thick cloud cover, but she knew she had seen someone.

  There was a sudden sharp knock, knock, knock.

  Annabelle jumped. It didn’t sound like Tippy’s knock. It was confident, forceful. An adult knock.

  She crept towards the door, looked at the latch and wondered what to do.

  ‘Hello?’ she called.

  There was no response. The rain was still loud. Perhaps the person hadn’t heard her.

  ‘Hello, Dan, is that you?’ she said, louder now.

  ‘It’s Andrew. From across the road.’

  Annabelle let out a huge sigh of relief. She looked down and smoothed out her skirt, then ran her hands through her hair. Then she flicked on the light, reached for the latch and slid it back. Andrew Broadhurst stood under the porch overhang, the hood of his black raincoat sitting around his shoulders. He smiled at her, and Annabelle felt her heart give a little jump. Up close, he was crazy good-looking.

  ‘Hello,’ she said, and she stepped back instinctively, allowing him entry.

  ‘I’ve just come to see Len,’ he said. He walked in, stopping only to pull off the rain jacket and hang it on a hook, his body filling the tiny vestibule, filling Annabelle’s senses. He strode past her into the living room, leaving his jacket to drip fat raindrops onto Lillian’s shoes.

  ‘He’s asleep,’ she said. She closed the door. There was silence, and Andrew leaned down to the whisky tray and picked up a glass. He looked up at her. ‘What a shame. I often stop in for a nightcap with him.’ He smiled. ‘But if he’s asleep, why don’t you join me?’

  ‘Oh. I… I’m not… I mean…’ She stopped, trying to think over the loud beating sound in her ears. ‘I don’t really drink.’

  Andrew took a moment to sweep his eyes over the green top, the skirt, the shoes. She felt hot, flummoxed. She felt a flutter of excitement in her chest and hoped she wasn’t turning red.

  ‘You should try it.’ He poured some whisky into the other glass, much more than the nips she poured for her dad, and handed it to her. Then he turned and sat down on the couch and crossed his long legs, settling back and taking a sip of his own drink.

  Annabelle wasn’t sure what to do. Her father would tan her hide if he knew she’d taken a drink. But Andrew Broadhurst was treating her like an adult, and she liked it. She didn’t want him to think she was a stupid child who wouldn’t even have one drink with him. She didn’t want to be rude.

  She perched herself on the edge of the armchair and took a tiny sip of the whisky, noticing that her skirt had ridden up her legs. She left it. She didn’t want to look silly by pulling it down. The whisky burned her mouth and she swallowed it slowly, trying not to wince or gag. It was awful.

  Andrew smiled at her, threw back his drink in one gulp and poured himself another. ‘You’re Lillian’s friend I met in my office a while back, aren’t you?’

  Annabelle felt herself blush at the pleasure of this statement. ‘Yes, I’m Annabelle. Lillian’s gone out tonight.’

  ‘Yes, I know. She told me about the party.’ He smiled at her again, and everything in his face lit up. ‘She’s a good friend of mine too.’

  Annabelle relaxed. This man was lovely. His eyes were round dark pools, and as she took another tiny sip of the whisky, she felt a little bit hypnotised by the way he was looking at her. As if she was the loveliest thing he’d ever seen.

  ‘Sometimes Scotch tastes better with a bit of water,’ he said, looking at the large nip still in her glass. He stood and took it from her hand, letting his fingers rest gently on hers for a moment, and Annabelle’s face flushed. She felt a warm, sticky pleasure go all the way through her. He crossed to the sink and added a little water, then handed the glass back to her, looking at her expectantly. It was thoughtful, and she appreciated it.

  She took a sip as he watched, and it did taste better. She took another, larger sip, to fill the silence. He was still standing over her, and she wasn’t sure what to do. She dipped her head and took another sip. She still didn’t like it exactly, but perhaps she did like the heat, the closeness of him standing right there in front of her, though she wondered what that meant, because he was a married man. A really powerful, popular man, and she wasn’t supposed to have such feelings.

  She closed her eyes and swallowed another mouthful of whisky, letting it slide down her throat and settle in her belly. When she opened her eyes, Andrew was squatting in front of her, his face close, right there, his breath warm. Annabelle felt suddenly unsure. This had gone too far, but she was embarrassed because there was nothing she could say, so she took a large gulp of her drink, and this time she coughed with the power of it.

  Andrew chuckled, and suddenly she felt his hand patting her back, his other hand warm on her knee. ‘Poor thing. You drank it too fast.’ He began rubbing her back with slow, rhythmic motions, and Annabelle’s head was spinning, but in a nice way. The whisky was making everything a little bit blurry-edged and calm.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said. She closed her eyes and let him rub her back and wondered, distantly, if Dan would come back soon, and then he could have the drink with Andrew and she could go to bed, because suddenly she was quite tired.

  Andrew’s hand slid from her back and rested on her cheek, and she kept her eyes closed because now she knew this was bad. What if he kissed her? What if Dan walked in and found him kissing
her? Dan would be so angry with her. But she couldn’t open her mouth to speak, because she didn’t want him to look at her mouth and think about kissing it, because she could tell he liked her. She had encouraged him to like her.

  From behind her closed eyes, with a sinking feeling, Annabelle registered that his other hand was still on her knee, and then higher, on her inner thigh, and although she didn’t want to offend him, she pushed her legs together so he knew he couldn’t do that. She heard his breathing getting heavier, could feel it on her face, and she thought: keep your eyes closed, keep your eyes closed.

  All around her, Annabelle could feel the rain. It was in her ears, driving into her mind, washing around her head like a swirling field of fog. She felt his hand go higher now, and then his mouth was on her face, kissing her, then gobbling her, slithering across her teeth, heaving breath into her nose. She felt the chair recede from beneath her as he pulled her up, propelled her across the room, pushed her back against the sideboard cabinet.

  ‘You like that, don’t you?’ he was murmuring. His hand was under her top, Sylvia’s good top, and he was pulling at it, stretching it, ripping it, and Annabelle wanted to cry. She would be in so much trouble. This was her fault. Of course it was. The top was too tight on her, and Sylvia had told her the skirt was too short. And she’d drunk the whisky, and it had given him the wrong idea. He thought she was an adult. She needed to say something, to tell him she was a kid, but the words wouldn’t form.

  He was making strange panting sounds, and Annabelle opened her eyes. He was staring at her, then he grinned, and there was something distant and hard about it. She needed to speak. Tell him No! But she looked down and his pants were undone and fear froze the word in her throat, because he was pushing up her skirt, then pulling at her underpants. She told herself to scream stop! but still nothing came. She pushed her hand against his chest, but it was like a solid wall, and then his hand grasped her head. His fingers were iron prongs in her scalp, tugging at it, yanking her hair. The cabinet was digging into her back, and then suddenly she was overcome with piercing pain, which started down low but then was all the way through her, and terrible.