Something to Tell You

by Lucy Diamond

  Her mum stiffened for a moment, then she pursed her lips and hoisted her bag onto her shoulder. ‘All I’m saying,’ she went on quietly, a wounded expression on her face, ‘is that you mustn’t give up. This is your chance to follow your own dreams again, to start thinking about the life you want, rather than living around your husband.’

  Robyn had had enough of being lectured. An acrid coil of nastiness was untwisting inside her, putting words in her mouth. ‘Says you, who’s never dared do anything,’ she replied scornfully before she could stop herself. ‘Says you, who never goes out, who doesn’t have a life, who’s too scared to seek out any kind of relationship that doesn’t involve cutting someone’s hair and asking them about their holidays. What about your holidays, eh? What about your dreams? Don’t preach at me, when you’re too cowardly to do anything new!’

  As soon as she had finished saying all of these terrible things, Robyn would have given anything to spool them back inside again. There was a dreadful shocked silence when Alison looked like she’d been slapped. She opened her mouth as if she was about to retaliate in defence, then clamped it shut again and wheeled round on the spot. ‘I’ve got to go,’ she said, in a tight voice that didn’t sound like her at all.

  Robyn felt as if she might just have nominated herself as the worst daughter in the world. ‘Mum, I’m sorry,’ she started saying, following her from the room, as Alison walked briskly towards the front door. ‘I didn’t mean to – Mum!’

  But Alison was already out of the house and marching up the path to her car, nose in the air. Robyn stood in the doorway, pulling her dressing gown around her, knowing that she’d been cruel, knowing that she’d been unfair. When her mum had been such a rock to her, as well; when she’d comforted and supported Robyn through the worst few days of her life. And this is how you thank me, Alison’s body language seemed to say, hurt and stiff, as she got into the car with a slam of the door, then reversed out of the drive. Why do I bother?

  Robyn pushed the door closed with a soft click, feeling ashamed and guilty and mean. Catching sight of herself in the hall mirror – bed-hair all over the place, complexion sallow where she’d hardly left the house in the last twenty-four hours, a splotch of coffee on her pyjama top – her instinct was to turn away quickly, but she forced herself to look, to take it all in.

  Okay, she thought, eyeing her reflection. This is as bad as it gets for you. This is as low as you’re going to sink. From now on, the only way is up. Starting with heading up those stairs and having a shower, you stinking old slattern. Then you can work out how you’re going to apologize.

  ‘You all right, Mum?’ There was Sam, looking over the banister at her. She hadn’t just said all that aloud, had she?

  ‘I’m fine, sweetheart,’ she assured him with a shaky smile. ‘I’m going to have a wash and get dressed, and then let’s think of something fun to do today, you, me and Daze, all right?’

  ‘There’s that new Marvel film out,’ he said immediately, brightening. ‘We could go and watch that together.’

  ‘With popcorn!’ added Daisy, appearing beside her brother with a hopeful look on her face. She had ears like a bat, particularly when it came to the matter of potential treats.

  A film and popcorn, thought Robyn, trudging up the stairs towards them. Sitting in the darkness while superheroes slugged it out on a big screen, with explosions and special effects, and at least ninety minutes when she knew the children wouldn’t be asking difficult questions about when John was coming back. Surely even she could manage that. ‘Sounds like a plan to me,’ she replied, gratified to hear their cheers in response.

  There. The day might be saved after all. And maybe she could pick up something nice for her mum in town too, by way of making amends. She wandered into the bathroom, feeling a tiny bit more positive about the world, just as Sam said, ‘Oh – wait, though.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I just remembered: Dad said he wanted to see that film as well,’ he replied. ‘Should we wait until he’s back before we go?’

  ‘When will he be back anyway?’ Daisy asked in the next breath.

  And there it was again, the rising tide of uncertainty that kept threatening to pull her under. She gritted her teeth, wondering how long she could keep fobbing them off with vague answers. ‘Let’s go and see the film anyway,’ she replied eventually, then turned back with another smile, hoping it wasn’t too obviously fake. ‘And then if he—When he’s back, if he still wants to see it, we can all go again!’

  ‘YES!’ cried Daisy, punching the air exuberantly, although Sam looked less convinced by her answer. He narrowed his eyes a little, looking straight at Robyn with a frown of doubt. He wasn’t buying it, she thought in panic. He knew something was going on. And sooner or later he was going to seek her out, alone, and ask some blunt questions, to which she’d have to provide some honest answers without completely breaking his heart.

  But not right now. Not while she was unwashed and smarting, after the exchange with her mum, not when she hadn’t prepared how to tell him. She escaped into the bathroom and turned on the shower, knowing that it was only a matter of time.

  Bunny had taken to looking at maps recently. Wales. Cornwall. The Highlands. She scrolled through them on her phone screen, zooming in to city centres and around towns, thinking: This one? Here? Maybe that one? while waiting for some impulse within her to ring like a struck bell. Hoping for a signal – a premonition, a good feeling, anything – that would guide her next move. She’d even considered London, with its warren of roads and districts and communities. Everyone could have a fresh start in London, right?

  It wasn’t working out for her in York any more, that was for sure. Ever since the horrible, shouting man in Gloucestershire, she’d felt as if she was on borrowed time. She was hiding behind her lies, hiding behind Dave, using whatever she could find as a shield to protect herself. It made her think of history lessons at school: imagining wooden fortresses in old battles, the boom of gunpowder, the clamour of dying men. And there she was, crouching behind her increasingly flimsy shield, the hot, thick stink of sulphur and mud and metal in the air; too scared to let anyone see her real self.

  With every day that passed, she felt as if the new life she’d built for herself here as Bunny was under threat of collapse. She’d begun eating sweets in secret, stashing bags of them in her knicker drawer or handbag. She’d bailed out of her last two gym sessions with excuses about coming down with a cold and feeling lethargic. And it was becoming harder to resist temptation, to walk past chip shops without diving in for a hot salty bagful, to stop herself hacking off great lumps of cheese to post into her mouth while cooking, to recognize when she was full and put her cutlery down.

  Go away, Rachel. Go away, spineless weak Rachel. You can’t come back.

  This wasn’t a sustainable way to live. In hindsight, she should have come clean with Dave right from the start, told him: This is me, take me or leave me. This is what you’re getting into, if you want to be with me. Here’s what you should know.

  But now it was too late to have that conversation. Telling him the truth now, because she was worried she’d be caught out, was weak and would only make everything worse. So she’d slip away from him instead, she had decided: write a brief note of apology, get in her car and take of somewhere new. Start over. Try and get it right next time. He seemed distracted by the news he’d had about John that morning, she figured. He’d get over her soon enough.

  Dave deserved better than her anyway. Look at him, how delighted he was that his parents seemed to have sorted out their differences and were coming home together from Madeira, the second honeymoon finally completed! He believed in true love and sailing off into the sunset with someone, and it was only right that he should find an uncomplicated woman who could give him everything he wanted from life, a woman free from baggage and police interviews and prison-contained ex-husbands.

  And so, while Dave went off to the airport on Sunday to welcome home the s
econd-honeymooners, Bunny looked around the quiet house one last time, took a deep resigned breath and decided to make her move. She didn’t have much to pack – a sports bag or two of clothes, a few pieces of jewellery, the card from Chloe, her make-up and toiletries. Her cardboard doppelgänger could stay, she decided scornfully, folding the huge, sad figure in half and treading it down, before stuffing it into the recycling box.

  Dave, you’re the loveliest man in the world and the best thing that ever happened to me, she wrote on a piece of paper, feeling tears starting to gather in her eyes at the thought of him coming back and finding her gone:

  But the truth is, you’re too good for me – and if you knew what I’d done, you’d probably think the same, too. Someone better is out there for you, someone worthy of you. I hope you’re happy together. But I’m going now and you won’t see me again. I’m sorry to let you down. Love—

  She started to form the B for Bunny, but it felt like one last lie to him, when she was trying to be honest. She thought about writing ‘Me’ instead, but then realized that signing off ‘Love Me’ might sound like a command, rather than a closure. A big kiss – that would have to do. Her brain felt too strange and sad and churned up to deliberate over the details any longer.

  Bags in the car, she posted her door keys through the letterbox, hearing them drop to the mat there, but then was paralysed with doubt and second thoughts. Was she making the right decision? Was it too late for her to change her mind? Oh, talk about pathetic, she couldn’t even do a bunk properly, she thought miserably to herself, turning on her heel and getting into her car just as the rain began. And where was she going to go? She didn’t even have a plan in place. This was the most shambolic running-away attempt ever. Hopeless! Just like she was hopeless at everything.

  Tears leaked from her eyes as she started driving towards the ring-road, the wipers flicking back and forth as the rain hammered down, deciding on impulse that she’d head north and just see where she got to. Despite today’s thunderstorm, it was summer; there would be jobs going at hotels and bars in every big city or tourist place, she figured. Something cash-in-hand, where she wouldn’t need a reference, somewhere bustling and busy where she wouldn’t be asked too many difficult questions. And if the job turned out to be boring and repetitive, and if whichever cheap place she found to stay was grotty and grimy, then she’d just have to suck it up, because it would be her own stupid fault and all she deserved anyway.

  Oh God, she thought, suddenly despairing at the enormity of yet another new start when she already felt so worthless. Could she do it? Was it even worth trying?

  By the time she’d reached the ring-road, the rain was really coming down in sheets: water drumming on the car roof and spraying against the windscreen, great wide pools already appearing on the tarmac. Inside the car she was still crying, the tears coursing down her cheeks, despite her efforts to dash them away on her sleeve. And then, maybe it was the wet road, or this brief lapse in concentration, maybe it was even her having given up and no longer caring, but suddenly her wheels went skidding beneath her and the car swerved across the next lane. There was the sound of urgent hooting and, with a thud of alarm, she saw that another car was barrelling down towards her. Horns blared. Rain thundered. She hauled at the steering wheel, she pumped at the brake, she heard herself giving a scream of fright.

  And then everything went black.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  So here she was again, Paula thought, walking through the car park towards the entrance of the terminal. Round Two of ‘Airport Cross Your Fingers’ – although this time, at least, she was pretty sure Jeanie would actually be on the flight home, accompanied by Harry, seeing as they’d both already texted her that morning to say they had checked in and were on their way. Paula wasn’t one to tempt fate, but it seemed as if the stand-off between her parents might finally be over, and she was looking forward to putting the turbulent events of recent weeks firmly behind them. Not that the saga was completely resolved, mind, what with the Frankie situation still ongoing, but one thing at a time, eh?

  The airport was busy as she entered, with people queuing back from the check-in counters and harassed-looking staff attempting to direct them. Over in the Arrivals area, Paula spotted Dave already waiting there, checking the screen for information, takeaway coffee cup in hand. ‘Hi,’ she said, going over and giving him a hug. ‘Long time no see. How are you? We must sort out a pub night sometime, I feel like I haven’t caught up with you properly for ages.’

  ‘I know, same,’ said Dave. ‘Although I take it you’ve heard about John, have you? I’m not sure he’ll be coming to any family get-togethers in the near future. Sounds like he’s lost the plot.’

  ‘John? What do you mean?’ asked Paula. She’d never had a reply from her text to him the other day, come to think of it. ‘What’s going on?’

  Dave looked pained. He had a big, pink face, Dave, just verging on being a bit moon-shaped, and it sagged now, as he filled her in on the news. ‘Uggh, it’s really awful. Stephen went round the other night to see John and he wasn’t there – but apparently John had told Robyn that he was out with him, Stephen, I mean. So Robyn was confused and Steve had to make up an excuse on the spot, just in case this was John organizing some big secret surprise for Robyn or something . . .’

  ‘I’m guessing it was not a big, secret surprise for Robyn,’ Paula put in, heart sinking. ‘Not a nice one anyway.’

  ‘No. Because when Stephen actually caught up with him on the phone last night, John told him he’s been having a fling with this woman – she’s twenty-two, can you believe it, one of his students, and they’ve both gone off to Edinburgh!’

  ‘Edinburgh? What the hell . . . ?’ Paula stared at him in shock. ‘And she’s twenty-two? You’re kidding me.’

  ‘God, I wish I was. Stephen’s gone up there now, got the train this morning; he’s hoping to talk some sense into John. Get him to come home and face up to his responsibilities.’

  ‘And apologize to his poor bloody wife,’ Paula finished, stunned by this news. She thought of Robyn’s sweet, shy face and felt a terrible stab of guilt that she hadn’t got round to calling her recently. Robyn was devoted to John! She absolutely worshipped the ground he walked on. Her whole world must have fallen apart in the last week. ‘Bloody hell, Dave, I can’t believe this.’ She shook her head. ‘What’s got into him?’

  ‘Search me,’ said Dave grimly. ‘Horrible, isn’t it? I only heard about it myself today.’ He pulled a face. ‘First Dad, now John – it’s like the family’s falling apart this summer.’

  ‘Don’t say that,’ Paula replied automatically. She hated the thought of the family fragmenting and breaking down. She never wanted that to happen! ‘Look, their flight’s landed,’ she said, seeing that the screen nearest them had updated. ‘I guess today isn’t the day to tell Mum and Dad about John, do you agree? We can save that little bombshell at least until they’ve had a chance to unpack.’

  ‘Definitely,’ Dave said. ‘Mum’s going to go nuts. We definitely need to get her out of the airport before we break the news, otherwise she’ll be straight on the next flight to Edinburgh to dish out one of her special bollockings.’

  Paula snorted. ‘Sounds about right,’ she said. ‘Hey, by the way,’ she added, remembering her own recent discoveries, ‘do you want to see some more pictures of our mystery sister?’ She rummaged in her bag to retrieve her tablet and flicked it on. ‘I didn’t tell you, did I, but my friend Fliss recognized her, and I’ve found a way to get in touch.’ She told him the story, then showed him Frankie’s website and some of her artwork samples. ‘I’ve left a message with her agent, but I haven’t heard anything back yet. I hope we didn’t put her off last time. She sounds great.’

  ‘Bloody hell, she’s good, isn’t she?’ Dave said, flipping through the pictures of her work. ‘Living in London with a journalist . . . Christ, she’ll be disappointed when she finds out how boring us lot are,’ he joked.

&
nbsp; ‘Speak for yourself!’ Paula retorted, pretending to be offended, and then they both laughed, but it sounded hollow to her ears. The family’s falling apart this summer, Dave had said, and with her parents having so recently faltered, and now John breaking away, that left her, as the next-eldest, feeling responsible for pulling them all back together. She hoped she wouldn’t be making things worse now by getting in touch with their half-sister.

  A few minutes later she looked up to see her mum and dad coming through the Arrivals door, tanned and smiling and – yes! – holding hands. ‘Oh, wow: here they are. That was quick!’ she cried, stuffing her iPad back in her bag and feeling a surge of relief at the sight of them.

  ‘Over here!’ Dave called, waving an arm above his head.

  ‘Look how brown Mum is,’ Paula exclaimed. ‘Whoa, and check out that hairdo,’ she added in a lower voice. She’d noticed that something had happened to her mother’s hair in the selfie picture her dad had texted, but hadn’t been able to make out the full effect until now. Was it unkind to say that it was a really bad haircut? This wasn’t Mum going through some crisis of her own, was it?

  Paula hastily rearranged her features into a smile as her parents looked round and caught sight of them there. ‘Hi,’ she cried. ‘Welcome back!’

  ‘Oh, darling,’ Jeanie said, hurrying over and throwing her arms around her. She was wearing a new perfume, one Paula didn’t recognize, with a pastel-pink top and pale cropped trousers that showed off her tan. It was almost like hugging a stranger for a moment, somebody else’s mum. Except for the fact that then Jeanie was clucking apologetically about ignoring her on the phone all those times.

  ‘Oh, Mum,’ Paula said in response, assuring her that it didn’t matter and there was no harm done. ‘Did you have a lovely holiday, though?’ she asked, trying to move on to something cheerier. ‘The longest holiday ever!’