by Graham West
“That is it, my child,” he said, buckling himself. “It is for God to work His miracle now. I shall return tomorrow and I shall expect obedience, my child.”
With that, he left the room. I heard the door close, his footsteps on the stairs. When I knew I was alone, I began to sob, but no one came. There was blood on my legs, a throbbing pain in my groin. I cleaned myself with a wet cloth and sat at my desk, staring out across the sun-bathed lawns. I breathed deeply, imagining the scent of fresh meadow in the air beyond my window.
Sarah visited and found me in a state of great distress but I could not bring myself to tell her what had happened. As darkness fell, I took to my bed and lay motionless, imagining myself walking in the grounds, stopping to look at the flowers that my father tended. But the events of the afternoon weighed heavily, and I could still smell the reverend on my skin, recalling the pain as he bore down on me. I prayed that night. I prayed that I was with child, for the thought of him taking me once more tormented my soul.
I returned the diary to the other volumes and flopped back into my chair. Amelia, an able writer, had caught little of the horror she had endured, but I felt it. The pain, the loneliness and the betrayal of her ordeal gripped my heart, and I felt my spirit become as one with hers. The room was cold again, and my groin ached. I smelled old cloth and mothballs, fused with a faint aroma of stale perspiration, and as I closed my eyes, I was there in that attic. I began to sob.
The garden was in darkness as I wandered out into the chill of the evening air. I shuddered, again suddenly feeling that I wasn’t alone. I peered through the gloom. Something—someone—moved. I instinctively took several steps forward and then I saw her.
The girl knelt, her hands resting on her knees. I took another step forward. The girl rocked gently, staring down at her clasped hands. “Father?” she whispered. “Is that you? Is that you?”
I froze. “Jenny? But how? How?”
I moved forward and suddenly I was there, standing over the girl. It wasn’t Jenny. She was too slight—too small. Amelia looked up, her face ravaged by time, rotting flesh falling from bone. I screamed. “What do you want? Where is my Jenny?
The girl stared at me, unblinking. “My child will return to you,” she replied, in a voice that echoed in my head.
“When? When?” I hissed. “When will she return?”
Amelia did not reply, looking back down at her hands as the remaining flesh fell from the bones and the skeleton crumbled into the earth.
I woke several hours later, my whole body weak and drained. My mobile rang. It was Josie.
“Where the hell have you been?” she said, “I’ve been ringing for hours!”
I checked my watch. It was nine.
“I’m just checking you’re okay,” she continued before I had a chance to tell her I’d taken a nap. It was more than that, of course, but I needed to talk face-to-face, so I told Jo I’d head over to The Keys for a beer. Josie sounded pleased.
“Want me to come with you to the hospital tomorrow?” she asked. “We could grab some food after, if that’s okay?” That was when I realised I’d not eaten that day. I slept little that night, unable to erase the image of Amelia’s face from my mind.
I was glad of Jo’s company as we made our way to the hospital. Jenny lay, her body almost motionless, her mind in Amelia’s world. I knew it, but could tell no one how. I had seen those eyes looking up into mine as I’d held her in that attic room, as I’d wandered into the garden in my dreams.
***
The water looks so dark. I long to record these last moments just as I have faithfully chronicled my existence in the hope that one day someone will read them and pray for my soul…
***
My daughter’s eyelids flickered. Josie pulled on my arm. “Come on, Jen!” she whispered. “We’re waiting…”
Yet I knew. She wasn’t going to return. Not yet.
***
The water reaches my knees, and I feel my feet sinking further into the mud. It is as if some unknown force is pulling me down, and I know with each step I may be plunged beneath the depths and into my grave. The Reverend Allington will rest under a headstone bearing his name, and I shall lie beneath the water, where no one will find me. Not yet. One day, maybe. A belief in God has been instilled within me, but right now, I cannot concern myself with anything other than the need to flee from this life. I take another step.
I am up to my waist now. It surprises me how quickly my body becomes accustomed to the cold. The lake—my escape from the hatred of those who would gladly cast me into hell fire with their own hands. The discomfort as I surrender my life to the water is nothing compared to the pain that awaits me if I choose to remain. I will not be missed. The doctor who took my child from me with such a cold heart will certify that the reverend died suddenly and the causes will be unknown. Men of God were called by their maker, not taken by the hand of a mad woman. I knew this. I knew also that my child would grow unaware that her mother lay at the bottom of a lake, her bones stripped of flesh by time, slowly sinking beneath the mud. I took another step forward.
***
Josie slipped her arm through mine as we crossed the car park at Tammy’s. We had already decided on a healthy burger with fries—ninety-nine percent prime beef and one hundred percent potato.
“I’m taking it easy on the salt, how about…” Josie squeezed my arm, pulling me to a stop. Her eyes were fixed on the car park entrance, where a red Fiat pulled in.
I broke free from Josie’s arm and headed in the direction of the car, my walk turning into a run.
“Rob! Leave it! You promised!”
I had. But my need to know overcame my cowardice. I had barely started my sprint before the Fiat screeched to a halt, reversed and spun away through the exit. We watched as the car disappeared down the road. Josie looked at me.
“Well, I don’t think there’s any doubt now, is there?”
I shrugged.
Josie shook her head. “That was really dumb, Rob,” she said angrily. “We need to get the registration and report it, leave it to the police!”
“Next time,” I said. “Whoever it is doesn’t stalk people for a living. They’re not clever enough.”
If I’d not been so hungry, Tammy’s would have been a waste of time, but I cleared my plate and downed two cups of coffee while relating the tale of Amelia’s rape. Josie listened in silence as I found myself repeating the story almost word for word. I could see the sloping handwriting, seemingly unaffected by the harrowing ordeal of its author.
When we were done, our stomachs full and our hearts heavy, we left Tammy’s, checking for red Fiats on the way.
“Looks like they’re giving us some space,” Josie said as we drove away. “But next time, hun, have your phone ready. Don’t try anything stupid. Just take a photo, okay?”
I nodded.
Josie wasn’t convinced. “Promise?”
“I promise.”
I slept well that night. No dreams. At least, none that I remembered.
***
I awoke to the first frost of the year. The summer was drawing to a close and the Met Office predicted a harsh winter. The big freeze would probably hit late January and last well into February, with the south expecting several inches of snow. It was a good time to be a northerner.
I looked out of the window, wishing that Mr. Whirl hadn’t pulled up with his happy-clappy music and enticed my little girl to buy one of his chocolate chip cornets.
The covering of frost did little to dress the stage of my little girl’s murder. She should have been here with me, chattering away and asking when it was going to snow, but the house was silent. I switched on the TV and turned up the volume, but it failed to kill the emptiness. I drank coffee and tried to muster some kind of interest in what the newsreader was telling me, but nothing mattered.
I leaned back and closed my eyes, hoping that a short nap might help, but my escape was interrupted by a knock on the front door. Expec
ting a charity worker or a salesman, I was ready with my best you’ve called at a really bad time face, which Elizabeth reckoned would have Freddie Kruger cowering in fear. But instead of a badge-wearing fundraiser, I was confronted by an attractive teenage girl. Her face was vaguely familiar.
“Are you Robert Adams?” she asked.
I looked past her, my attention drawn to the car which pulled away from my driveway and moved slowly down the road. It was a red Fiat.
The girl studied me hard as the car disappeared out of view.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I can explain.”
We stood peering at each other; she seemed as curious about me as I was about her.
“I’m sorry, but who are you? What do you want?”
“My name is Kayla,” she replied. “Can I come in?”
I knew the dangers. It wasn’t a good idea to invite a teenage girl into your home—particularly one who just arrives on your doorstep unannounced. But curiosity got the better of me and I stood aside.
“Thank you,” she said as I closed the door behind her. The girl studied everything, the photographs, the paintings, the ornaments. It was as if they were all saying something to her—about me, about my life.
We sat facing each other on opposite sides of the room. Kayla looked uncomfortable, like a kid at her first job interview, fiddling with the tassel on her fleece.
“I take it that you’re the one who’s been following me for the past few days?” I began.
Kayla blushed. “I’m sorry. It’s my auntie, it’s her car and she’s not very good at conducting covert operations,” she replied with a nervous giggle.
I smiled, deciding it was best to let her do the talking.
Kayla shifted awkwardly, and her eyes filled. “Oh, God!” she whispered, fighting the tears. “I’ve practised my lines over and over again. I’ve imagined the whole conversation. I’ve had dreams—nightmares.” A tear trickled down her cheek. “And now I’m here…”
I stared at her and suddenly remembered. “You were in the café,” I said. “A few weeks back. Sitting in the corner?”
Kayla nodded, wiping away another tear. “The girl you were with? Was that your daughter?”
“Her name’s Jenny,” I replied.
It was almost a groan of resignation that escaped Kayla’s lips. “This is all a mistake. I shouldn’t be here. I’m so sorry!”
There was no way I was letting her go now, not without an explanation. “You’ve put a lot of effort into seeking me out. You might as well tell me what this is about.”
The girl looked at me, her face stained with tears. “My name’s Kayla,” she said. “Kayla Ingram. You knew my mother.”
I stared at her. “Melissa? Melissa is your mother?”
Kayla nodded. “And you’re my father.”
I felt a pounding beneath my ribcage. But I’m Jenny’s father.
Jenny! I wondered where she was.
***
I can hear the birds calling to each other. I’m not sure how long I have been standing in the water. The voice of my father in my mind… He calls my name. I take another step. I feel my feet sinking into the mud. Time means nothing now. I take another step, and the water covers my shoulders. The cold rises, my head is aching. I can no longer hear the voices. Does he no longer seek me? Did he think I would never venture into the woodland—the place he would bring me? The place he would teach me about the flowers and the trees, the frogs and the spiders? Am I alone again? One more step. Just one more…
***
The young girl peered at me through her tears as I tried to gather my thoughts. My mind raced. I didn’t want to believe her. I wanted this whole thing to be some kind of hoax. A mistake. Yet I knew it wasn’t.
“She told me all about you. About the…fling.”
So that’s what it was? A fling? A fling that had delivered a daughter.
Kayla was studying my reactions. “She told me how you wanted to marry her. How she ran away because she was scared of commitment. That was just the way she was. She never settled, but she said she never felt for anyone the way she felt about you.”
My head was full of questions, unformed and racing around my mind. I couldn’t find the words. My whole body felt cold and my hands shook.
“She found out she was pregnant six weeks after she quit her job at the hairdressers. She went to live with her sister in London, and that’s where I was born. Then we moved to Ireland and mum set up her own hairdressing business. She wanted to tell you about me but thought you’d be better off without her.”
“You live in Ireland?”
Kayla shook her head. “No, we moved back to London.”
Kayla’s eyes filled again. “It was the worst thing we ever did!”
“Oh? Why?”
Another tear tripped down her cheek. “It just was!” Kayla paused, wiping at her face with the back of her hand. “My mum got cancer. She wanted me to go looking for you after she’d gone.”
“She died?”
Kayla nodded. “She wrote me a letter to give you. I went to live with my auntie—the one with the Fiat—and that’s how it started.” Kayla allowed herself a brief smile.
“You have the letter?”
Kayla nodded and pulled an envelope from her pocket. It was sealed. “I haven’t read it,” she said.
My heart quickened as I recalled the girl who had broken my heart seventeen years ago. It was still fresh. Time had not dimmed the memory.
Dear Rob,
If you are reading this then our daughter has found you. She’s beautiful, isn’t she? I am so sorry that our brief affair came to such an acrimonious end. I wasn’t ready to settle down, and I could never have given you the life you wanted. I hope you see that you already had that life. I would have taken that from you and we both would have been unhappy. That is why I never told you about Kayla. I wanted you to repair your marriage.
Rob, she is a strong girl so if she has no place in your life, please be honest with her. I realise this will have come as a shock, and Kayla will understand this. I have told her that you are a good man and would have willingly given her the home she has always wanted. I did love you, Rob, and if I had settled with anyone, it would have been you. I’m trusting that you will learn to love Kayla as I am sure she will learn to love you.
Melissa x
I looked up to see Kayla waiting patiently. “If you don’t want to know me, it’s okay, I’ll understand—honestly. This is a big thing and you already have a daughter and…”
I wanted to reassure her but I couldn’t dismiss the doubt in my mind. “I just need to be sure, Kayla. I need to be sure that you really are my daughter.”
Kayla’s face fell.
“I’m sorry. That sounds awful. But what if your mother was seeing someone else—besides me? What if she thought I would make a better father than the other bloke?”
I felt as if I had just slapped her hard across the face. She looked stunned. “My mother never slept with another man,” she snapped, “There was never anyone after you!”
“What? In sixteen years?”
Kayla nodded. “She always talked about you. There was no one else.”
I’d always imagined that Melissa would have enticed another man into her bed within weeks of leaving me, never believing for a moment that the time we’d spent together had meant anything more than another fling. How wrong I had been.
“If you want a test then that’s fine by me,” Kayla said. “I’ll understand.”
I shook my head, even though a part of me thought it wouldn’t be such a bad idea. I was still coming to terms with the fact that Jenny wasn’t mine, and if Kayla was going to become a part of my life, I didn’t want to find out that she wasn’t mine either.
We exchanged numbers, and when I looked out of the window, I saw the red Fiat parked up outside. We hugged awkwardly, and I watched as the car pulled away. My phone flashed several seconds later. It was a text message.
Thanks, Dad. Le
t me know if you want to see me again xx
***
The painkillers didn’t touch the headache which had developed into something closer to a migraine, and by the time I reached Jenny’s bedside that evening, I felt physically sick. “You have a sister,” I whispered, “and I have another daughter.”
I almost expected Jenny to open her eyes, jolted back to life by the news that her family was growing, week by week. A half brother and a stepsister. But she didn’t stir.
I couldn’t face Josie or Sebastian and took to my bed with my head still throbbing. Melissa was right; Kayla was a beautiful girl and seemed smart, too. Any man would be proud to be her father, but her timing couldn’t have been worse. I drifted in and out of sleep all night, unable to clear my mind and wondering if maybe I should have called Josie and talked the whole thing out.
By morning, it was clearly my best option, and I headed over to The Keys.
Josie’s bright and breezy greeting lifted me out of the haze that had settled on my mind. Unable to focus on anything, I’d poured myself a coffee, turned on the TV and watched the news team trawling through the events of the previous day without hearing a word. They were nothing more than talking heads spouting words that meant nothing. They were voices. Just voices with nothing to say. I’m not sure Josie knew what was in store when she asked me if there was any news.
“I’ll tell you when you’ve made me a coffee,” I told her, managing to find a space on which I could sit on a couch covered in clothes and discarded soft drink boxes.
“I’m gonna have a real good clear-out today,” she said. “Just throw those things on the floor.”
I did.
Josie grinned. “You look beat up, hun. Not slept again?”
I shook my head.
“No news on Jenny, I presume?”
Again, I shook my head, but tears suddenly started to form in my eyes.
Lou popped in to say hello before hastily disappearing; dealing with emotions was not his strong point.