‘Well, I’m Maxen. And if you want my advice, don’t let your sister ruin your life,’ he called after her. ‘Don’t give her that power. Once she has it, you’ll never escape.’
*
A bus drew up at the shelter and Ava jumped onto it. It was empty, apart from an old lady talking to a cat in a crate. ‘We’re nearly there, sweetie,’ she was saying to the mewing feline, her voice too loud as if the cat was deaf. ‘We’ll soon be home.’
As the bus pulled away, Ava slid down in the seat. Perhaps Maxen was right. She needed to find herself – her own life – to move out from under her sister’s shadow. Grow up and get as far away from Bostagel as she could.
She was the youngest of three children, and often felt like the runt of the litter. Never quite belonging. Wishing she’d been born into another family – a family who cared about each other and didn’t spend most of their time arguing.
When she was ten, she’d dreamed of having a brand new mum who baked lemon drizzle cake, and a dad who made everyone laugh, and a golden retriever called Butler, that they walked every day. Ava’s life was a long way from her fantasy. Her mum was cold and unreachable, and her father had taken off just after Ava was born. Gail told her once that it was her fault they no longer had their dad with them – that she was the reason their mum was miserable most of the time.
The bus rocked and jolted on its way, and she looked through the window at the sea spreading endlessly. A flock of oystercatchers had gathered on the rocks and beach, wading through the shallow waves, dipping orange beaks into the sand for food.
Unexpected rain speckled the window like tears, blurring the view. That wouldn’t please the holidaymakers. Ava rested her head on the glass and closed her eyes, imagining the fun Gail and her friends would be having in the arcades, wishing she was there too.
Chapter 3
ROSE
Now
I get up from the sofa and straighten the cushions and tartan throw. Willow’s call has unsettled me, and as I go over her words, trying to make sense of them, a shiver runs through my body.
I pad towards the window and pull back the curtains to let the sun fill the room once more. The small square of grass looks patchy. It hasn’t rained for some time and the plants are wilting. Our house is a new-build, and like most new-builds we haven’t got much garden to worry about. I feel guilty that I’ve neglected such a small area, but I never seem to have the time.
In fact, I’d been looking forward to the days stretched ahead of me once school closed for the summer. I’m fully aware it won’t be a complete break, as there are still lots of things to do that involve the school, but I’d seen it as time out; time to breathe and make up my mind if my school headship is exactly what I want from life.
I’d hoped for plenty of time to work on the garden too, time to paint the staircase, and buy curtains for Becky’s room. I’d hoped to go swimming, read more, and get in touch with old friends. But now my head is consumed with thoughts of going to Cornwall. A strange little laugh escapes me at the absurdity of driving all that way to see Willow, when she should come straight home.
Sudden memories of Willow storming out of Darlington House a month ago, without looking back, fill my head. The raised voices that day. Willow’s pale face as she opened the study door and ran out in tears, leaving Eleanor alone, her shoulders rising and falling in sobs.
Later, I tried talking to Eleanor, to Dad too, but they said together, as though they’d rehearsed it, that it was something and nothing. You know Willow.
I pick up my mobile, and head into the hallway where I pull on my black, low-heeled shoes I’d worn all day at the school and grab my keys.
‘I’m heading out, Becky,’ I call up the stairs, trying to make myself heard above my daughter’s music. ‘Back soon.’
She appears on the landing in black straight-leg jeans and a baggy, grey T-shirt. Her tightly curled black hair hangs to her shoulders. In some ways she reminds me of myself at almost fifteen. Thin and tall, a little awkward in her own skin. But she hasn’t inherited my youthful acne, or my lank, lifeless hair that still needs far too much product to make it even remotely bouncy. Her smooth, unblemished dark complexion and hair are like her father’s, her eyes as brown and appealing as his. There’s no doubt she’s inherited my ex-husband’s looks.
‘Where are you going?’ she says, nibbling her nails. She does that when she’s bored or anxious or just trying to annoy me.
I fiddle with my keys. I want to tell her about Willow later, when my partner Aaron gets home. I intend to call a family meeting, like the day the hamster looked to be on his last legs, or when I got the headship at Mandalay Primary. There will be a small window before Aaron flies out again, and that’s when I’m aiming for.
‘I’m popping over to see Grandpa and Eleanor. I thought we might grab a takeaway later, when Aaron gets home.’
‘Chinese?’ she says with a smile, the glint of her braces telling me she will soon have perfectly shaped teeth.
‘If you like.’ I turn and reach for the door latch, but her heavy footfalls on the stairs behind me tell me I’m going to have company.
‘Wait up!’ she calls. ‘I’m coming with you.’ I sigh as she thumps down on her bottom at the foot of the stairs and pulls her Doc Martens over mismatched socks. I have to turn away. Socks that don’t match unnerve me. ‘I haven’t seen Grandpa and Eleanor for ages,’ she goes on, getting to her feet with the aid of the banister.
She opens the door and I follow her onto the cobbled drive, slipping on my sunglasses.
We’re halfway to Darlington House when I say, ‘Can you look up from your phone for a second, sweetheart?’ I glance at her out of the corner of my eye.
‘Let me answer Tamsyn first, Mum,’ she says. She’s slumped in the passenger seat, thumbs racing over the screen. ‘George dumped her, and she’s thinking of eating her bodyweight in salted caramel ice cream.’ She looks up at me, and with a serious tone says, ‘I can’t let her do it. I don’t want her to get as fat as me.’
‘Why would you even say that? You’re perfect, darling.’ She is. Too thin if anything, and I worry about how she sees herself. Worry that Willow has been her role model for too long.
Moments later she drops her phone into her lap. ‘So, what’s up, Mother?’
‘It’s just, well … Willow called,’ I say, deciding to come straight to the point.
‘Oh my God. Is she OK?’
‘I think so, but—’
‘That’s amazing,’ she cuts in. ‘Is she coming home? Can we see her? Oh, please say we can see her.’ She presses her palms together as though praying. She adores Willow. ‘Please.’
I note how accepting she is. No questions about why Willow hasn’t been in touch for a month. But then she’s like the rest of us. We all know Willow.
‘She’s staying in Cornwall. I’m going down to see her at the weekend.’
‘O-M-G! That’s the best news ever. I can’t wait to see her. It will make the time go quicker until America.’
I still have doubts about her going to the US alone in a few weeks’ time. Her dad is directing a film out there and has invited her over. At first my motherly instincts kicked in. I wanted her to stay at home where she’s safe, and I know Aaron has doubts too. But then he can be a bit overprotective at times. Eventually I agreed she could go, knowing how much she adores her dad. And he’s a good man. He’ll take care of her.
‘The thing is, Becky,’ I say as we make our way down the motorway, ‘I thought I’d go and see Willow alone. Maybe you could stay with Grandpa and Eleanor.’
‘What? Why?’ She folds her arms across her chest, and her glare burns my cheek.
‘Because it will be easier, that’s all.’
‘How? How will it be easier? I can’t believe you would just dump me.’
‘I’m not dumping you.’ I glance at her, but she’s flicked her gaze to the front window, her face set in a scowl.
‘Then let me come,’
she says. ‘Or give me one good reason why not.’
I can’t. My head spins as I indicate and turn left.
‘Stop!’ Becky yells, and I slam my foot on the brake, almost hitting the car in front.
‘Jeez, Mother, it looks as if you pretty much need me to come to keep an eye on you.’
I’m losing the battle. And the truth is I want to spend time with her. ‘OK,’ I say.
‘OK?’
‘You can come.’
‘Fab!’
‘Hang on though, there’s something you need to know first.’ I think out my next words carefully. ‘The thing is, Willow sounded worried about something. I don’t know how she’ll be when we get there.’
Her phone pings, and she picks it up, and reads the screen. ‘For God’s sake, has Tamsyn any idea how many calories there are in three tubs of ice cream?’
I’ve lost her once more.
Chapter 4
AVA
1998
It had become a habit, following Gail and her friends to the arcade. Watching them flirt with boys – laugh – have fun. Although Ava only ever stayed long enough for the thump of the music to get under her skin, for the games machines – clunking and whizzing and flashing coloured lights – to heighten her senses.
Despite Maxen’s advice, she was still hiding – too self-conscious, her self-esteem low, getting her thrills from watching Gail enjoy life. Wishing she was like her.
It was September, and the holiday season had dialled down a notch ready for winter – the arcade seemed empty compared to previous months, and there weren’t so many places to hide. Gail had left school after her final exams in May, but, so far, she’d made no attempt to get a job. ‘She worked so hard on her exams,’ Mum had said. ‘She needs some time out.’
Ava had left school too, with no qualifications. ‘You need to get a job, Ava,’ Mum had said. ‘Pay your way.’
Today she watched from behind a slot machine, ‘Candle in the Wind’ playing loud through the speakers as she sipped cola from a plastic cup. Suddenly Gail looked in her direction and she stepped backwards, bashing into someone. She spun round to see a handsome lad of around eighteen, with cold blue eyes and tousled dark hair.
‘Christ!’ he said, brushing cola from his black leather jacket. He had a confident air about him, his jaw set tight. ‘Watch where you’re fucking going next time! Idiot!’
‘Sorry,’ she said, as he pushed past her, almost knocking her over as he headed towards her sister.
‘Hey, beautiful,’ he said as he flung an arm around Gail’s shoulders, and she planted a kiss on his cheek.
‘His name’s Rory Thompson.’ It was Maxen, appearing beside her. She’d seen him about, but he hadn’t spoken to her since that day in the café two years ago. ‘He’s going out with your sister,’ he said. ‘Did you know?’
Ava shook her head. Gail hadn’t mentioned him, but then she never told her anything anymore.
Maxen’s eyes were fixed on the couple, who were now kissing as though they were in a blockbuster movie. ‘He gets his looks from his Italian mother,’ he said. ‘He’s rich too, just inherited three international IT companies and several properties from his father who kicked it a couple of months back.’
She stared up at Maxen – at the splattering of acne across his pale cheeks, the way he was huddled into his khaki jacket, various badges pinned to the pockets.
‘And now he’s going out with your sister,’ he said.
She clenched her fists. Why did everything good happen to Gail?
‘Why are you telling me all this?’ she said. But she didn’t wait for an answer – she turned and rushed from the arcade and out into the dull grey day.
She hurried along Cliff Road, eventually turning a corner towards the sea, and shuffled a packet of cigarettes from her denim jacket pocket.
The cliff edge was deserted, apart from a teenager with his back to her looking out to sea, his hands in black trouser pockets. She dropped down on a bench and stared at him as she lit a cigarette. He turned as though sensing her there. She vaguely recognised him from school – although he hadn’t been in any of her classes. He looked somehow wrong in a creased white shirt that had clearly been taken straight from the packet, and a black tie.
‘Hey,’ he said, raking his fingers through white-blonde hair. ‘Couldn’t spare one of those, could you?’
She threw him the packet, and he took one and threw it back. ‘Got a light?’ he said, approaching. She handed him her lighter as he sat down beside her. He smelt of cheap aftershave.
He dragged on the cigarette and blew smoke circles upwards. ‘My mum died,’ he said after some moments. ‘I’ve just been to her funeral. Carried the coffin. Life’s shit, don’t you think?’
‘I’m so sorry,’ was all she could think to say.
‘Me too.’ He sniffed, looking up and into her eyes. ‘You look a bit like one of those china dolls,’ he said. ‘My mum used to have one. It freaked the life out of me when I was little.’
‘Oh …’ She touched her face.
He laughed. ‘You’re all right. I didn’t mean you’re freaky or nothing. Just pale and fragile, and your hair’s all curly and that.’ He smiled. ‘Do I know you?’
She shrugged. ‘I think we went to the same school.’
‘Yeah, that’s it. And you live in Bostagel, don’t you?’
She nodded. ‘Ocean View Cottage.’
‘Yeah, I thought I’d seen you about. I live in Cranberry Close.’ Another sniff.
‘How did your mum die? If you don’t mind me asking.’
‘Fucking cancer,’ he said. ‘She’d been ill for ages. We all knew it was terminal, but it was still a shock, you know.’
She met his blue, watery eyes. Her family was useless, but at least they were alive. ‘I’m so sorry.’
‘Cheers for that.’ He turned from her gaze. Kicked a stone. ‘Dad’s taken it bad. She was his rock – mine too.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ she said again. She felt an urge to lean over and hug him, but beat it down.
They sat for a while, looking out. The sea and sky were the same shade of grey. It was impossible to tell where one ended and the other began. Boats bobbed on the waves and a feeling of peace washed over Ava, and her stomach twisted as she looked at the lad, and quickly looked away again. She liked him.
Nearby seagulls wailed, breaking the quiet.
‘What’s your name?’ he said, and she turned back to see his eyes were fixed on her.
‘Ava.’
‘Nice – suits you. I’m Justin.’ He rose. ‘Well, Ava, I’d better get back to the wake. Dad’s been necking the spirits, so I need to keep an eye on him. I reckon he’s full of grief and guilt and shit.’ He threw the cigarette to the ground and pummelled it with his trainer. ‘Maybe I’ll see you in the village sometime.’
‘I hope so,’ she said, as he walked away, hands deep in his pockets, shoulders hunched, not looking back.
Chapter 5
AVA
1999
Ava stared at the ceiling, eyes wide. She hadn’t slept for two nights. Not since she bought the pregnancy test on Thursday. Not since it told her she was having Justin’s baby.
It had been a weak moment – that night they went back to Cranberry Close when Justin’s dad was out. She hadn’t meant for things to go so far.
‘She’s seeing Justin Havers, Mum.’ It was Gail’s voice – her tone high-pitched, carrying up the stairs. Ava sat up. She’d kept her relationship with Justin from her mum for almost four months, knowing she would disapprove of him. Think he wasn’t good enough. How the hell had Gail found out?
‘Ian Havers’ son?’ Jeannette cried.
‘Aha. That’s the one. Talk about scraping the barrel.’
‘Oh my God, no.’ Jeannette’s voice was high and tense. ‘She can’t go out with him. For goodness’ sake, that girl will be the death of me. Whatever is she thinking?’
Ava dived from her bed, and raced down the
stairs in her pyjamas to where Jeannette and Gail sat in the lounge drinking coffee. They looked up.
‘I love him,’ Ava blurted from the doorway.
‘You have no idea what love is, Ava. You’re only seventeen,’ her mother cried, slamming down her mug. ‘And Ian Havers’ son of all people – sometimes I think you go out of your way to upset me.’ She sniffed, pulled a tissue from her sleeve, and dabbed her nose.
Ava stepped into the room and sat down on the chair, glaring at her mum and sister. She took a deep breath and blurted, ‘I’m pregnant.’
Jeannette gasped and covered her mouth with her hands.
‘Jesus, Ava,’ Gail said. ‘Just when I thought you couldn’t stoop any lower.’
‘You failed all your exams, you smoke, you drink …’ Jeannette released the slide clipping her fair hair back, as though it might relieve her tension. ‘And now you’re pregnant,’ she continued. ‘You’ll have an abortion. There’s no doubt about that. I’ll book you in privately. And don’t for goodness’ sake tell anyone.’
‘No!’ Ava yelled.
‘No?’
‘I’m keeping the baby. I know when I tell Justin he’ll be pleased, and we can move in together.’
‘Ava, for Christ’s sake stop being so naïve,’ Gail said. ‘He’s seventeen. And not only that, he’s a total loser. I saw him with one of the Bristow brothers the other day, and they’re a bad lot – into drugs and joyriding and—’
‘You’re lying,’ Ava cried.
‘No, Ava, I’m not lying. And a baby will ruin your life. Think of your future, you must have an abortion.’ She sounded almost kind. ‘Rory could get you a little job in admin where I work.’ She leaned forward and placed her hand on Ava’s. ‘Let me talk to him.’
‘No!’ Ava snatched her hand away. ‘I’m going to be a mum, and I’ll live with Justin. He’s not into drugs. He’s going to be a singer, and we’ll be rich one day.’
‘A singer?’ Jeannette laughed, a hard, fake laugh.
‘He’s got a great voice, Mum.’ He had. He’d even written a song for her.
Traces of Her: An utterly gripping psychological thriller with a twist you'll never see coming Page 2