The Wrong Boy

by Cathy Ace

It’s going to be wonderful – we’ll be a proper family at lunch, and I’ll be everybody’s princess. Mam made such a fuss about Dad joining us, but she’s wrong. It’ll all be lovely. And I suppose today’s as good a day to do it as any other.

  Of course, I disagree that Easter Sunday is so significant, but it’s really quite typical of that church lot to get it all wrong – they say Christ rose after three days, but they also say he died on Good Friday and rose on Easter Sunday. Anyone can see that’s not right. If anything it would be Easter Monday he rose. That should be the special day.

  I’m glad to be back here, in my special place, beneath the Devil’s Table, looking out at the dragon, seeing the world awash with color and vibrations. It’s going to be a unique day.

  Another first.

  I saw a hare on my way along the path. She shot past me. So fast. Sleek. Beautiful. They’re very sensible to sleep aboveground, watching the stars, enjoying the fresh air. I’d do that too, if I could. And they’re so fortunate that they can go to the other side whenever they want, it’s just that we can’t see them do it. They’re true messengers; like canaries, they try to tell us when things are getting bad for us. They aren’t as numerous as they once were, and we should wonder why that is. And people should be really worried about that myxomatosis that’s killing them off over on the east coast of England. That’s terrible, that is. It must be a warning. The same thing with the bees. And the sparrows. But no one seems to care.

  I care. I care about lots of things no one else cares about. I care about this place. I saw some people up here yesterday afternoon, when everyone was squashed into the pub. I know they didn’t see it as I do, alive in so many ways.

  Some people in the village really do know what it’s like, but they only whisper about it, because they understand its power.

  For me? It’s the place I’ve come to since I was young. My other home. Maybe even my proper home. And now, as I look down to the beach, I can see my other place of power. The part of the beach I told them about in court. The part of the beach where everyone from the village – and even visitors – will look, and think of us.

  Aled and Sadie. My Romeo, and the beach.

  We’ll be together forever, now.

  Betty

  Betty noticed that Helen’s eyes were pink and her voice sounded husky when she thanked them for coming. ‘Sadie’s gone for one of her walks, so we’re alone. Come up to our kitchen, we can have a pot of tea. It’s much better than the pub. Too many windows there – I keep thinking he’s outside, looking in at me.’

  Betty had told Evan she would take the lead in their conversation with Helen, knowing he would understand. She spoke as gently as she could, aware this was a delicate moment.

  With tea on the table, they sat opposite Helen.

  ‘You can say whatever you want, Helen. Evan and I will listen, and we’ll do what we can to help.’

  Helen’s expression told Betty she understood the gravity of what she was about to do. She began, her voice faltering now and again as she spoke. ‘It really started when Sadie was a baby. Up until then we were fine.’ She looked guilty and shook her head. ‘Well, I thought we were, but I suppose we weren’t really. I know that now. However, it was Sadie coming along that seemed to change Bob significantly. Maybe I didn’t give him as much attention as I had before, but Sadie was a bit . . . well, needy, I suppose you could say. She’d take every bit of attention I could give her, and still want more. Hardly slept at all. Cried a lot. Drove him to distraction. That’s when he starting staying away for extra nights on his trips.’

  Betty wanted to build a picture of the man she knew almost nothing about. ‘So he traveled – on business?’

  Helen nodded. ‘Rep for a pharmaceutical company. When we met at uni, he knew that was what he wanted to do. I admired him for his focus, and he got a job right away. We lived in London for a bit, then moved to Slough. Not so bad for coming back here for visits. Just along the M4. But we didn’t come often. I was glad to have a bit of a break from here. Young and ambitious back then, I was.’

  ‘What did you study?’ asked Betty.

  ‘Archeology.’ Betty suspected her surprise, and maybe Evan’s delight, had shown when Helen added, ‘I know, you’d never think it of me, would you? But I loved it. It made me feel so connected to the lives of those who had gone before. Growing up here got me hooked. I used to look at those cairns and megaliths up on the hillside, and the other Neolithic sites over at Parc le Breos in Parkmill and up on Cefn Bryn, and wonder about the lives of the people who had built them.’

  Betty noticed a spark in Helen’s eyes she’d never seen before; she told herself to not read too much into it, but it was worth noting. ‘You didn’t follow your passion into the field after university?’ She was as interested in watching Helen answer almost as much as hearing what she had to say.

  Helen shook her head. ‘You need to stay within the academic world to thrive in it, because there are so few other opportunities. And Bob needed to move to Slough for the job he’d got, so that was that, really.’

  Helen stared at her tea as she added, ‘I didn’t mind giving it up at the time. Bob and I had become very close at uni, and I never really socialized with the people I studied with, so I felt most complete when I was with him. It was only later, after the divorce, that I realized what I’d lost, what I’d left behind. But even now, when I have the time, I still read about archeological investigations and finds; I’m not a complete numbskull when it comes to keeping up with it all. I hope I passed my love for ancient times on to Sadie – it was important to me, though I don’t think she became particularly enamored of it. She’ll be doing her A level in History next year, when all this tragedy and upheaval is behind us – but that’s more about dates and documents than the stuff I enjoyed . . . I felt history, I wasn’t big on memorizing lists of data.’

  Betty asked, ‘And you and Bob moved here before you’d had Sadie, because your father died and you came to help out at the pub, is that right?’

  Helen agreed. ‘And I never left. I meant to, but Mum needed me, and she needed the pub. It was the only life she’d ever known, you see. Bob agreed he’d travel from here, and it all went okay – until Sadie, like I said. In fact, it was still not too bad when she was in her cot. Because she cried such a lot I had the cot in the bedroom with me, and Bob used the room at the end of the hall – the one that’s Sadie’s room now. Then, when she was old enough to sleep in a bed, she had that room and Bob and I shared my room, our room, again. But it was . . . difficult.’

  Betty took one of the Welsh cakes she was offered. She knew she had to push ahead. ‘Do you think you can tell me about what happened when it was bad?’

  Helen looked past her, and Evan. She blushed.

  Betty’s heart went out to her. She understood how difficult this was for the woman.

  Helen licked her dry lips. ‘No, not all of it. I don’t want to, and it doesn’t really matter. Thinking about the details of it just makes me angry – with myself. First it was the sex – he wanted it, I didn’t.’

  She leaned in, glanced at Evan and said quietly, ‘Sadie’s was a difficult birth. She came so fast, I ended up delivering her in the pub. Couldn’t even get upstairs. No doctor, until after she was out. Just the women of the village to help me. Always in a hurry, that girl was, even then.’

  Betty was taken aback when Helen threw back her head and laughed, then began to cry.

  Eventually Helen wiped her eyes and said, ‘My mother blamed me for her being cut to ribbons when I was born. Most of her infirmities were my fault, apparently. As I uttered those words just now, I heard her speaking through my mouth. I would never say any of this to Sadie – I don’t want her to feel the weight of the guilt my mother used to heap upon me every day. However, as I said, sex wasn’t pleasant for me after Sadie was born. But Bob insisted. Forcefully.’

  Helen nibbled her lip. ‘I know we live in the twenty-first century, but, honestly, the idea that a wife co
uld deny her husband sex didn’t come naturally to me. I’ve never had friends, you see – not the sort I could talk to about all of this, anyway. It wasn’t until I started seeing what other people wrote in some chat rooms that I realized I had been raped, over and over again, by my own husband. It never occurred to me I could turn to anyone to help me say no, and have him hear it, and take notice.’

  Betty spoke gently. ‘That’s when we first met, I think. But you weren’t able to tell me any of this.’

  Helen looked helpless. ‘No, I’m sorry, I couldn’t. I thought there was something wrong with me, you see? He was always telling me I wasn’t normal, and I believed him.’

  It was a story Betty had heard too many times, and it still had the power to make her angry.

  Tears rolled down Helen’s chapped cheeks as she confessed, ‘He knew I didn’t want Mum to guess what was going on, and that I wouldn’t make a noise to disturb Sadie; he took advantage of that. I wasn’t as strong – emotionally or physically – back then as I am now, so I would tell him no, he’d beat me, and he’d take me anyway. No publicly visible bruises, of course. Except maybe once or twice.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Helen. No one deserves that,’ said Betty gently.

  Helen appeared to gather herself. ‘I left him once. Took Sadie, of course. He was away for work, and I caught the bus to Cardiff. We stayed at a little B & B in Cathays. Nice people. They thought we were on holiday. I made the mistake of phoning Mum, just to make sure she didn’t worry. I did it from Cardiff station. He found us. Mum heard an announcement when I was on the phone, then he just went from place to place with our photos until someone in the library told him where we were. I used to take Sadie to the library there – she always loved books.’

  ‘So you came back.’

  Helen sniffed. ‘We came back. He threatened to tell people I was a bad mother, to take Sadie away from me. He did well at work, and really had people fooled. Everyone would have believed him, not me. But I was more determined to end it after that, and I hoped he might get tired of all the fighting. It took a while.’

  ‘Your divorce?’

  ‘Believe it or not, he found someone new. Someone he said he could be happy with. He welcomed the divorce. You know, when I found out about his new woman I wondered if I should tell her what he was like – but I had to save myself, and Sadie, you see, so I didn’t say anything. I feel bad about that now. I allowed the divorce to be an easy one, no blame, no fault, no mention of everything he’d put me through, just to get it over with. Though I insisted he couldn’t have any unsupervised visits with Sadie. He signed all the papers without a fuss. I just hope he didn’t do the same to his new woman as he did to me.’

  ‘You had your peace?’

  Helen shook her head. Betty noticed she was picking at the sides of her nails. ‘There were phone calls – which went on for months. And he would turn up out of the blue, standing outside the pub, staring at me. Then, for no apparent reason, it stopped. Until now. It started with that card. A Valentines card – like we were still a couple. Do you think he did the same to her as he did to me? Do you think she’s managed to get rid of him, and that’s why he’s come back?’

  ‘Do you?’

  Helen’s eyes blazed. ‘Betty, I don’t know. Please don’t treat me like I’m your client, just asking me the same questions I’m asking you. I need advice. I need some practical help. This man will be in my home in a couple of hours, and I have to face him – just feet away from the bedroom where he raped me for years on end. How do you think that makes me feel? How can I deal with it? What can I do to stop it?’

  Betty was wounded by the savagery of Helen’s tone. Evan squeezed her leg under the table.

  ‘Only me, Mam. Aled’s here too,’ called Sadie, the door below slamming shut.

  ‘I’m up here with some friends,’ called Helen shakily.

  ‘Oh.’ Sadie sounded surprised. ‘Okay then, Aled will have a coffee in the pub kitchen. I’ll be up in a minute.’

  Betty had to act fast. ‘Have you spoken to Sadie about any of this?’

  Helen shook her head. ‘I wanted to protect her, not traumatize her.’

  ‘You have to tell her about it, Helen. She needs to understand why her father being in the same room as you is not healthy for you,’ pressed Betty.

  ‘I can’t,’ croaked Helen, just as her daughter entered the kitchen.

  ‘Mam – what’s the matter? What can’t you do?’ She glowered at Betty. ‘What have you said to upset Mam? You know she’s already very low because of Nan dying. Why are you here anyway? And you? You’re one of the policemen who tried to have Aled put in prison forever. You’re not welcome here.’

  Helen blew her nose. ‘Sadie, you have no right to say that. Betty and Evan are my guests. You’ll be polite. My roof, my rules.’

  Betty was stunned when Sadie hissed angrily, ‘Oh listen to you, Mam – just like Nan. That’s what she used to say to us all the time, wasn’t it? Well, I took it from her then, but I’m not taking it from you now. I’m almost an adult and I’ll do as I please.’

  Betty watched Helen, wondering how she’d respond; would she crumble, or rally?

  Helen reacted as though she’d been slapped in the face; her eyes were wide, her mouth open. She stared at her daughter in shock, and dismay. Her feeling of betrayal was tangible for Betty. The room fell silent.

  ‘You invited your father here for lunch,’ said Helen quietly. ‘I won’t have him under this roof. Not ever again.’

  ‘You’ve no right to stop me seeing him. He’s my blood,’ said Sadie indignantly. ‘You’ve tried to stop us being a family all these years. Well, he and I have been getting together for months, I see him quite often in fact, and he’s very happy to have finally met Aled. We’re all going to have lunch and be nice to each other. So there.’

  Betty grabbed for Evan’s hand, out of sight, waiting.

  ‘You have no idea what you’re asking of me, Sadie.’ Helen’s voice trembled.

  ‘What, to have lunch with the man you threw out of here all those years ago? The man you’ve tried to keep me from seeing? My father. That can’t be so difficult.’

  Helen stared into Betty’s eyes. In them, Betty saw true despair and shame. Then resolve.

  ‘Betty, Evan – I wonder if you’d mind letting me and Sadie have a few minutes together. Alone. Maybe Aled could make a coffee for you downstairs.’

  Betty and Evan stood. Before they left the room Betty felt compelled to say, ‘Sadie, your mum’s in a fragile state – please be respectful of her.’

  As she turned to leave she heard Sadie snort. It wasn’t a pleasant sound.

  Halfway down the stairs she whispered to Evan, ‘You go on. It’ll be a good chance for you to get the measure of Aled. I want to hear what I can.’

  Evan hissed, ‘You can’t listen to them, it’s private.’

  ‘This isn’t a client relationship. I don’t like the sound of how Sadie’s treating her mother. I think it’s important for me to get the full picture.’

  Evan puffed out his cheeks with what Betty judged to be an ‘on your own head be it’ expression on his face.

  She squatted down on a stair that didn’t seem to creak too much.

  Helen

  ‘This is one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do in my life, Sadie.’ Helen’s voice sounded muffled inside her head. She’d cried so much since the previous day even her ears were blocked up. ‘I don’t know where to begin.’

  ‘You threw Dad out after you had a nervous breakdown. Start there, if you like. Or tell me about how me being a naughty child made you have a nervous breakdown. That would be okay too.’

  Helen was astonished at the coldness in Sadie’s voice. She stuttered, ‘I . . . I never had a nervous breakdown. And certainly not because you were a naughty child. You weren’t. You had a fair pair of lungs on you as a baby, but I loved you more than I loved myself. I did everything for you, and because of you I allowed myself to be . . . wait, wh
at makes you think I had a nervous breakdown?’

  ‘Dad told me. He said you abandoned me here one day and took yourself off to Cardiff. He was terrified about what you might do to yourself. He came and found you and saved you.’ Sadie spoke with the certainty of youth.

  ‘I did go to Cardiff, but I took you with me. I was going to start a new life there for the both of us, away from your father. I would never have left you, Sadie. You were . . . you are my life. You were about three. Don’t you remember us visiting the library there? You loved it. We went every day for a week. We used to picnic in the cemetery beside it, listening to the birds. There was a nice librarian there who let you take one of the toys with you at the end of our first day. You kept it. You’ve probably still got Mrs Hare around the place somewhere – you wouldn’t go anywhere without her until you were about six or seven. It’s why I hunted for ages to find a hare-shaped mould to make your birthday blancmange. All the other children had rabbit-shaped ones. You were really quite particular about the difference.’

  Sadie screwed up her face. Her voice was hesitant. ‘Mrs Hare? You’re making it up.’

  For a moment, Helen wondered if she’d dreamed it all – the library, the stuffed toy. ‘Come on, I bet you’ve still got her somewhere,’ she said, moving away from the table, ‘let’s look now.’ She headed toward Sadie’s bedroom; her daughter was wrong-footed, and scampered after her.

  ‘You’re not going into my room, Mam. It’s private.’

  ‘My roof, my rules,’ shouted Helen, her mind racing through the details of her time away from Bob, in the capital city. She hadn’t imagined it. She hadn’t dreamed it. It was all real. She still had the weakness in her left arm.

  ‘No, Mam,’ screamed Sadie.

  Helen was having none of it. Flinging open the door to her daughter’s room she didn’t care that it was a complete mess. She pulled open Sadie’s wardrobe, expecting to have to hunt about in the mounds of discarded old plimsoles, scarves, and winter tights with holes in them to find the toy, but she didn’t.