I told her about the scrapbook and Ben. Our drinks got cold.
Eventually she dabbed her eyes. ‘I’m sorry. So sorry. I wanted to tell you, Elizabeth, once your mum and dad had died, really I did.’
‘But you didn’t.’
‘To be honest, I was so angry about their deaths. I blamed you for their move to Devon and therefore blamed you for what happened. It’s ludicrous and unfair looking back.’ She fiddled with the hem of her blouse. ‘And I’m struggling right now. You should know everything but at the same time it’s not my news to tell. What if I’m being disloyal by explaining things your parents never wanted you to know?’
I pulled Dad’s letter out of my rucksack. ‘Does this help? It got lost at George’s office. I didn’t receive it until recently.’
She read it and her eyes filled. ‘He wanted you to know.’
‘Did you know about the Strachans? They supposedly haunt the cottage. And this terrible thing he talks of…?’
‘I’ll start from the beginning.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Your parents, they struggled for years to get pregnant. Anne endured several rounds of IVF before they finally conceived Rose.’
‘I didn’t know.’
‘Anne had polycystic ovary syndrome. She worried you and Rose might somehow inherit the condition and seemed almost scared to talk about it, as if that would act as a jinx and you’d struggle to have children too. That was the Anne after Rose’s accident – before that, well, I’m sure she’d have been open about it when you both grew up, but after Rose, Anne changed. Both of your parents did.’
Poor Mum. And Dad.
‘I just assumed they’d wanted to travel and concentrate on their careers before having kids.’
‘They did go on trips but for as long as I can remember – even when she was a little girl – Anne spoke about wanting to be a mother. Your dad too – he had a very happy childhood and it had always been part of his plan to be a parent. They started trying as soon as they got married. It brought their relationship under a huge amount of strain and they agreed to separate for a while.’
‘Separate?’
She nodded. ‘Both half-heartedly dated a couple of people during this time. Of course, I knew they’d always get back together. They were like a lock and key – neither felt their life served a purpose without the other. Anne rarely laughed and Lawrence contacted me now and again asking how she was. But then, your mum met someone briefly.’
‘What?’
‘An American called Cooper.’
My upright, prim mother? ‘They went out together?’
‘Hardly. He was visiting from overseas and was some sort of bigwig in the insurance industry. You have to understand, your mum was in a fragile mental state at the moment, mourning the loss of yet another potential pregnancy – and the future of her marriage seemed up in the air. Anne told me it was just a one-night stand and,’ Aunt Fiona took a mouthful of tea, ‘Anne got pregnant. She couldn’t believe it.
‘She was so happy, Lizzie. Glowing, when she talked about the baby. Yet this was mixed with moments of real sadness. She didn’t want to be with Cooper. She was still deeply in love with your father.’
‘Was the baby Rose?’
‘Yes and Cooper wanted to be a big part of her life. However, he was single and travelled the world with work. When Lawrence heard about the pregnancy, he went to see your mum straightaway. They couldn’t deny that their feelings for each other, if anything, had got stronger. He wanted to bring up Rose as his own and the prospect of a child, at last, helped heal the wounds between them.’
‘So what about this Cooper?’
‘He wasn’t happy but agreed it was the best thing for his child. He visited whenever he could. They sent him photos and Rose was told she had two dads.’
I thought back to the drawing in the scrapbook Ben and I had found – the picture, drawn by a child, of a family with two daughters, one woman and two men.
‘I met Cooper once. He seemed a decent sort.’
We sat in silence for a few moments.
‘Was I conceived by IVF?’ I asked eventually.
‘No, Anne couldn’t face any more treatment and she and Lawrence were over the moon when she got pregnant again naturally. It was as if having a child took the pressure off – perhaps that helped.’ She took another sip of tea, even though it was cold, looking more relaxed than when she’d come in. ‘They didn’t want you to grow up in the city so they bought Streamside Cottage when you were just about to start school and Rose was in Year One. They hadn’t liked her old school’s location, right by a main road. Leafton Primary seemed idyllic.’ Aunt Fiona told me how they struggled to balance commuting and living in the village but were determined to make it work. ‘They used to ask a woman called Trish to babysit.’
‘I’ve spoken to her. She blames herself for what happened.’
‘She shouldn’t, Elizabeth. Trish told your parents several times they should have a fence built around the stream. Years later your dad told me they never blamed her, they blamed themselves. He and Anne had always been so busy and kept putting it off and that hot summer after your year in Reception, they didn’t want it ruined by having workmen in the garden. They promised themselves they’d get the fence built in the autumn.’
‘Why did they leave so quickly? No one in the village knows what happened apart from her. How come it wasn’t in the local papers?’
My aunt shrugged. ‘Your parents had lots of contacts in the business community – journalists and judges included. I imagine your dad must have pulled a few strings.’
We sat quietly and finished our cake but I found it increasingly difficult to swallow. I pushed away my plate. ‘You sit here talking about Rose as if it’s the most normal thing in the world. I only found out about her yesterday. Mum and Dad had no right to hide her from me. You and Uncle Jack should have told me when they died – it wasn’t your secret to keep.’ I stood up and paced the room. ‘It’s not fair.’ My throat hurt. ‘I always wanted a sibling. You and Mum were so close. I could have had that as well.’
I stood and looked out of the window, onto the busy road. My sister never learnt to drive, had never been kissed. She never did a job she felt passionate about. Most of all, it wasn’t fair for her. ‘Mum and Dad should have been more careful.’ The words burst out.
‘Have you never made a mistake? One you spent years wishing you could take back? Because if you haven’t already, believe me, it’s just a matter of time.’
I turned to face my aunt.
‘Whether we like it or not, that’s life, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘Making errors and learning from them.’
‘Is that what her death was to Mum and Dad? Simply an error?’
Aunt Fiona frowned. ‘Who said anything about Rose dying?’
38
Now
George C Reiger Jr had to receive permission from Disney for the tattooing of their copyrighted character images onto his skin. He’s had over 1000 done
‘She’s alive?’ I managed to say.
‘Yes. Elizabeth, sorry.’ She ran a hand through her bobbed hair, messing it up. ‘Of course you would assume…’
Everything went black for a second.
Footsteps. I opened my eyes. Aunt Fiona was sitting closer with a glass of water.
‘Sip this,’ she said, gently. ‘You’ve had a shock.’
My eyes watered. I couldn’t ever remember her speaking to me in such a soft tone.
I glugged back the water. ‘Please, go on.’
‘Rose was badly injured and there was some damage to her brain,’ she said, ‘but she healed well and it only left her with slight memory loss and some confusion. It could have been so much worse.’
‘So where is she? Why didn’t Mum and Dad bring her up? Did Social Services get involved? It was an accident, surely—’
‘No. Cooper… Lawrence said he’d never seen anger like it. He caught the first flight over when he heard what happened. What with Anne’s fr
agile mental state after the accident he declared she was an unfit mother. Cooper was married by then and no longer travelled with work. He insisted Anne could never look after two children properly and was prepared to fight her in court for custody. Your mother just wasn’t up for the battle, even though she and Lawrence were heartbroken at the thought of Rose moving to America.’
‘Cooper must have been a stranger to her. Poor Rose must have been so frightened.’
Aunt Fiona shook her head. ‘She was especially confused during the first weeks of her recovery – I think this helped her accept Cooper becoming her main carer. He and your parents agreed to weekly phone calls and he sent photos but that proved distressing for you, and Rose didn’t really understand about having another family in England. In the end the adults decided it was better for both of you if such regular contact ended and Rose had more of a clean break. Just occasionally Cooper sent over pictures.’
‘I’d love to see one.’
‘I carry one around, along with snaps in my purse of Anne.’ Her face reddened. ‘It sounds silly but I- I think my sister would like that.’ She reached for her bag. I sat upright and brushed hair out of my face. Aunt Fiona passed over the photograph.
‘She looks just like me,’ I stuttered, gazing at the bow on her top lip and those green eyes. I studied every centimetre of the shot of a woman in her twenties, the jeans and pretty top, and the tabby cat she was holding. I thought about the reflection of the girl in the mirror I’d played with in my memories. Now she was staring back at me. Oh she was taller and older but the smile was the same, the eyes full of cheekiness, the caring side shown by the gentle way she held the cat.
‘Why, why would Mum and Dad hold onto the cottage all these years?’
‘Your parents knew the ghost story about the Strachans and used to laugh about it before the accident. But your mum had always been interested in the unexplained and she took an interest in astrology during the teenage years and also joined a society that debated conspiracy theories at school. Your sister’s brush with death and the guilt she felt over it triggered an obsession about the witch and her son. She truly believed the house was haunted and didn’t want to risk you living there. She agreed with Cooper’s sentiment that she must be an unfit mother and worried your life would also come to a tragic end. It destroyed Lawrence to see her like that. He just wanted to do anything he could to make her despair stop.’ She sighed. ‘That’s why he’d agreed immediately to never live there again. Anne ended up in a psychiatric ward. It was a chaotic time for your parents. Your dad managed to find a place to rent in London, as a temporary measure. They wanted to sell the cottage but what with everything going on, I think it was just easier for them to leave it in the hands of the agency and I persuaded them to consider letting it out. Otherwise it would have gone to rack and ruin and they’d never have been able to sell it. Your dad had to take time off work to visit your mum and you came to stay with me and Uncle Jack for a few months.’
‘I did?’
‘Jack loved having you to stay. It made me feel guilty because I never wanted kids. He knew that when we married and said it didn’t bother him but seeing you and Jack together made me realise he lied. I guess…’ She swallowed. ‘I’m sorry, Elizabeth, I bore a grudge against you for that.’
That explained the lack of warmth I’d always sensed over the years. She never used to ask me about school. Birthday cards never had love or kisses. Uncle Jack would include me in conversations when we visited but my aunt kept me on the periphery.
‘Seeing as we’re being open about everything, was there a reason you didn’t want children, if you don’t mind me asking?’
‘Presumably Anne told you about our dad – your grandfather?’
‘Yes. My grandmother died when you were seven. My mum was four. I got the impression he managed the best he could.’
Aunt Fiona snorted. ‘If that means cavorting with other women and going to the pub when we were in bed, then yes. I practically brought up my little sister; she was more like a daughter to me and I protected her from the worst of it.’
‘Mum always said you were such a support when she was small. You read to her at night, made her snacks, sorted out bullies… She considered you invincible.’
Her eyes glistened. ‘Anne was more delicate and I soon learnt what a burden it would be to have children. Growing up I worried about my little sister the whole time. It put me off wanting to become a mum.’
‘It must have been difficult.’
‘You have no idea. Dad’s girlfriends could be almost as selfish as him. It was such a relief when my sister married your father. He is… was such a good man. But I still prayed she’d never get pregnant, that they’d never want children. When she did that was it, I felt helpless, I couldn’t protect her from what I knew was coming… that lifelong, unconditional concern for someone you love to bits. I knew eventually she’d get hurt and then she did, firstly when Rose nearly died and then the estrangement with you. I tried to pick up the pieces but…’ Her voice caught. ‘Each time they never fitted back together quite like before. There were always gaps left in her that filled with sadness.’
‘I’m sorry. Sorry for you too. We’ve all been hurt in this,’ I said.
‘Your Mum always meant the best for you. Both your parents did.’
‘But they only ever made me feel as if they didn’t believe I could be strong and capable. It feels as if they didn’t trust me enough to tell me about Rose.’ I reminded her about how they took over my school life, shadowing my homework and setting revision timetables. How they were so controlling over my diet and insisted I was vegetarian. How I wasn’t allowed out late – they assumed I’d get drunk and lose control, and vetted any potential boyfriend, plus ignored my desire to study art instead of maths. I threw my hands in the air. ‘And they never gave Ash a chance. He’s a great bloke. You’d all have liked him. I know me dropping out of university was a huge thing but I was twenty – an adult capable of thinking things through logically. I told them how I’d thought about finances and worked out paying for living costs and my flat.’
‘All these years I believed they just thought me weak and useless. It’s only recently I’ve started to question this theory.’
‘Oh Elizabeth. Every time we spoke on the phone, when you were younger, Anne would rave about your latest achievements or how well you handled yourself. It thrilled her to see you maturing. She spoke proudly about your kindness. She often told me stories of how you helped classmates. She and Lawrence were so very proud.’ My aunt took off her glasses. ‘It was never about not trusting you. It was all about protection. You meant so much, perhaps too much to them.’
‘But why this exaggerated need to protect me? They must have seen something in me to cause that. What happened with Rose – it was an accident. They weren’t even there.’
‘You’ve got to remember, they lost pregnancy after pregnancy trying to conceive, and then they lost Rose. They thought you were strong, intelligent, and often spoke of how they knew you were going to achieve great things, but for as long as they could, both were determined to do everything to keep you safe.’
‘It wasn’t because I was a disappointment…’ My throat hurt. ‘… and lacking in some way?’
‘Quite the opposite,’ she said, firmly.
We sat in silence for a moment.
‘For so long with the years of unsuccessful IVF they – especially your mum – felt overwhelmed by a sense of failure, and then when Rose almost died, they felt they’d let her down too.’
I thought back to the argument at the party… the smashed cut-glass rose…
‘… and then they felt they’d failed you. That’s why it hit them so hard when you dropped out of university.’
Aunt Fiona talked about how they blamed themselves and decided they were useless parents. How they were angry at first about me dropping my studies but really saw breaking contact as the ultimate act of protection. I listened as my aunt explained how
Mum convinced herself my life would be much better off without her and Dad in it. She said they always talked about Rose’s accident as a terrible thing that they could have avoided if they were better parents; and about not telling me about a living sister as a terrible thing they should have remedied.’
Dad’s letter.
I tried to speak but my throat felt choked.
My life with them began to make sense, like the last turns of a Rubik’s cube aligning and matching up the jumbled squares. Like my mother’s face on my first day of high school… the sadness I’d detected when she looked at other families. She must have been thinking of Rose. Then there was my parents’ dislike of the countryside and how Dad would turn off any television programmes to do with rural living; how Mum got upset once when I’d jokingly asked if she wanted to be buried or cremated. Dad had got so cross. And those days during every summer, when Mum would go quiet and need time to herself – that must have been around the date of the near-drowning. And how they were so strict about me getting swimming lessons…
Aunt Fiona’s words reminded me of Jill’s when she talked of her parents cutting her off because they felt their daughter’s pregnancy meant they had failed. I remembered what an overwhelming sense of failure I experienced when Taz went missing.
Without looking at Aunt Fiona I reached out my hand. Hers met mine. We squeezed each other’s fingers tight.
39
22 years ago
In Ancient China the Weeping Willow represented immortality
We got home from our picnic in the forest with circles of ice cream around our mouths. We’d stopped to buy some on the way home. Me and Rose had strawberry and Mummy and Daddy had mint. I didn’t like that because it tasted of toothpaste. We went into the back garden and Rose, me and Mummy collapsed on the lawn. Daddy fetched a funny looking knife from the shed and said something about a surprise before disappearing through the branches of the weeping willow.
Summer Secrets at Streamside Cottage Page 23