Where The Story Starts

by Imogen Clark

  I heard Clio suck her breath in as if she was going to start to sob, and I turned to look at her. Her eyes were shining with tears. I gave her a wry half-smile to show her that it was okay really, and that it was all a long time ago. She tried, unsuccessfully, to smile back. One of her tears leaked out and trickled down her cheek. I was okay, though I couldn’t quite believe that I was able to talk about it in such a matter-of-fact manner. But maybe that was the best way to deal with it, by making light and pretending that it had all happened to someone else.

  I kept going. ‘So when Mum died I was left here on my own, just me. Leah Allen versus The World. I didn’t know what to do or where to go. I had a bit of money – not much, just my savings and what there was lying around. Mum had a stash under her mattress for a rainy day, which I took, and I had the house. But that was it. Some of Mum’s friends clubbed together to help me with the funeral – they did the food for afterwards and that kind of thing – but then one by one they all drifted back to their own lives. I just floundered.’

  Clio shook her head in disbelief. Her mouth kept falling open slightly as she listened, as if she couldn’t take in what I was saying. Then she’d recover herself, and I’d tell her something that was worse than the last thing.

  ‘The year after that I met Poppy’s dad,’ I continued. ‘Like I said before, he wasn’t up to much. He had no job because he’d barely been to school, so no one would give him one. He made a bit of cash dealing drugs and he nicked what he couldn’t pay for. He was smart, though, and he had charisma. People wanted to be round him, you know, so when he started paying attention to me I was kind of flattered. I was beyond making good choices for myself at that point. He was nice to me and that was all I cared about. No matter what he did, I just stuck around. Looking back, I can see that I only hung around with him because I’d lost sight of what was important. I was in bits, really, after everything that had happened, and I couldn’t see a way of clawing my way out. I knew Craig was bad for me, but I couldn’t cut myself free because without him I’d have had nothing, and I couldn’t bear that. Even though I knew I was running with the wrong crowd, I thought it was better than the alternative. But then I fell pregnant when I was twenty and Craig got sent down, so that was that. I was on my own again and I just had to make it work for Poppy’s sake if nothing else. So I started to build myself back up from rock bottom, one brick at a time.’

  ‘That’s so awful,’ said Clio, her mouth open and her eyes wide. She rested a hand gently on my arm but it didn’t bother me like it usually did if people came too close. In fact, it felt good to have someone touch me. ‘Was there no one you could turn to?’

  ‘There was this one woman. Mrs Newman. She was so kind to me. I met her in the church in town. I don’t even know what I was doing there – it’s not like I’m religious or anything – but it was quiet and safe and the door was open. I just wandered in, not really knowing what I’d find, and sat down to think.

  ‘Mrs Newman came and just sat next to me. She didn’t speak. I don’t think I even noticed her to start with. And then she just said, “Can I help?” That was all.’

  I could feel a lump forming in my throat now and my voice was thicker than it had been before. A tap was dripping in the kitchen. Its regular pulse, as the bullets of water hit the stainless steel, mimicked the rapid beat of my heart. It seemed to urge me on. I swallowed hard, knowing that I needed to get the words out before I started to cry.

  ‘No one had been kind to me or asked me if I needed anything for such a long time. I think I’d fallen off people’s radars. And it was before I had Poppy to focus on. I was just going through the motions really, just barely existing.

  ‘So I told Mrs Newman everything, about Dad leaving us and then Mum dying and me being all on my own, and she just listened. She was such a great listener, I remember that, and somehow just saying it all out loud made it feel less scary. She never told me what to do or judged me in any way. She’d make suggestions sometimes, practical things, you know. I mean, a month before I’d been a schoolgirl, and now I was having to cope on my own. I knew nothing. You say that I’m independent, Clio, but really, I had no option. I’ve had to be, but it was hard, finding my feet. Mrs Newman just made it all a little bit easier. And I saw her often in the early days. We arranged to meet in the church every couple of weeks and I’d tell her how I’d been getting on and she’d listen to me, and gradually, things began to improve.’

  Clio was crying openly now, tears rolling down her cheeks. She wiped them away with a handkerchief that she pulled out of her pocket. The tip of her nose had gone red and her mascara had run in little black watery streaks. I was glad, because seeing her like that made me want to laugh, and that made the story less difficult to tell. I was through the worst bit now and I’d got there without crying, which made me feel proud of myself.

  ‘After I met Noah’s dad,’ I continued, ‘I decided that I didn’t need help any more. I was on top of my life. I had two kids and a partner by then, and just about enough money with bits of cash-in-hand work and my benefits, and I didn’t have much time to spare. So I stopped going to our meetings in the church. I missed Mrs Newman to start with, and I felt bad because I’d never really said thank you for all she’d done, but life was busy and I just kind of moved on. Once, when Noah was about two, I went back to the church to look for her, but she wasn’t there. I asked the vicar about her, but he said they didn’t have a counsellor in church apart from him, and he didn’t recognise the name Newman. Maybe he was new or something? I don’t know. Anyway, I never did get the chance to thank her.’

  I took a deep breath and realised that I was all right. In fact, it felt good to have told Clio. If this was going to be a proper friendship like I hoped, then it was important to have all my cards on the table from the very beginning. After all, I had nothing to be ashamed of – well, apart from that one thing with Craig. Apart from that I’d done nothing wrong, and I didn’t have to tell her about the Craig thing.

  ‘So that’s my life in a nutshell,’ I said chirpily to lift the melancholy mood. ‘Things are good for me right now, and I’m glad you can see that, Clio, but don’t be thinking that my life’s always been like this. I’ve had to work bloody hard to get here.’

  Clio’s eyes were full of tears again.

  ‘And you can give over with the waterworks,’ I said. ‘I’m not a bloody charity case, you know!’

  Clio shook her head and smiled warmly. ‘You are such a special person, Leah,’ she said, wiping her tears away yet again. ‘You’ve worked so hard for what you have. And it shows, you know, that determination of yours. It shines out of you like a beacon.’

  ‘Don’t be daft,’ I said.

  I had no idea what Clio was talking about. I was just doing the best I could and always looking for the bright side if there was one to be found, just like anyone would. Except maybe it wasn’t really like anyone would. Maybe I had done well to get where I was.

  ‘That’s why I envy you,’ she explained. ‘Look at me. Privileged, silver spoon, the whole kit and caboodle. I’ve never had to work for anything in my entire life. It has all just been handed straight to me. There’s been no struggling or worrying or wondering how I’ll pay a bill. I am so lucky. I know that.’

  What did she want me to say? As far as I could see that was all true. I just shrugged.

  ‘But it’s all so empty and pointless,’ she continued. ‘If I fell off the planet tomorrow, almost no one would notice.’

  I opened my mouth to protest but she raised her hand to silence me. ‘And there’s no sign of anything improving, either. When Mummy dies, Hector will inherit the title and I will either have to hang around with him playing lord of the manor, or I’ll move out. And then what? I can’t imagine living on my own. What would I do all day? I don’t even have any proper friends, not ones who like me for me, anyway. They’re only interested in things that I don’t care about – clothes and shoes and who has which new car. I get on better with Marlon t
han I do with most of my so-called friends.’

  Clio looked at me, imploring me to see things from her point of view. This was a pivotal moment, I knew. She had opened herself up dangerously wide and was now hoping that I was sensitive enough to see things the way she did. If she’d miscalculated, then I’d just scoff at her lament, assuming that if you had money there was nothing else to worry about.

  She hadn’t miscalculated. From what I’d seen so far, Clio’s analysis of her own life looked spot on. Those vacuous photos on Facebook, her beautiful, empty house with no food in the fridge, the way she had attached herself to me and the kids so quickly – not that I minded that part. I mean, I really liked Clio, but still. It all pointed to an empty life.

  ‘Well, you’ve got me now,’ I said, raising an eyebrow. ‘Your empty and pointless days are behind you! Maybe we could swap lives for a couple of weeks, see how you get on doing your own housework.’

  Clio flinched. Had I gone too far? I really hadn’t meant to upset her and now, thinking that I might have done, I realised how much I wanted her to stick around.

  But then she grinned. ‘Touché,’ she said, and I grinned back.

  I stood up, anxious to move on from this confessional and get things back to something lighter.

  ‘I’d better go and see if Poppy is getting ready for bed,’ I said. ‘If I leave her to her own devices she’ll still be up at midnight! Back in a minute.’

  Clio nodded, but then, just as I reached the door, she said, ‘Thanks, Leah.’

  ‘What for?’ I asked.

  ‘For telling me all those personal things about your mum and dad.’

  I shrugged like it was nothing, although we both knew that it was very far from being nothing.

  ‘And for being my friend,’ she added.

  ‘Oh, don’t be so soft,’ I said. ‘But if you set me up on any more blind dates you can consider our friendship terminated!’

  ‘Something tells me I won’t have to do it again,’ replied Clio with an expression that I could only describe as sly.

  33

  GRACE – THEN

  Grace had always been inquisitive. Even as a child, she had been the one with her eye to the keyhole, her shoulder to a locked door, trying to discover what was hidden just out of sight. ‘Curiosity killed the cat,’ Mrs Finn had warned her, but Grace wanted to know what colour the cat was and how exactly it might meet its maker.

  She was no different now. It was six years since Charles had told her about his half-brother, and whilst Charles had not really mentioned Ray since, other than to say that he believed all was well, Grace had remained intrigued. Was Ray happy in his new house? Had he managed to keep on the straight and narrow or was he, even now, planning his next heist? Grace visualised a house, the walls papered in the tissue-thin blueprints of a bank, the positions of all the CCTV cameras clearly marked and an escape route drawn in red. She knew this was unlikely. Even if Ray was still embroiled in his life of crime, he would probably be a little bit more discreet about his intentions. In any case, she was still curious as to how his life was unfolding.

  Grace also wondered about the house itself. Charles had bought it, but she was certain that it would have been money that she brought to the marriage that had paid for it. Surely she was entitled to a little look at her investment? It was only fair.

  Now the children were both at school during the day, Grace was far less busy than she had been. She would have time, she calculated, to drop Hector and Clio off in the morning, drive to Whitley Bay, locate the house and still be waiting at the school gate when the children bounded back out. All she wanted was to have a peek, to see the house that they owned and then come back home with her curiosity sated. Where was the harm in that?

  Grace dressed with care. She didn’t want to look out of place or draw any attention to herself. She picked out plain clothes in dark, conservative colours, nothing extravagant or unusual. She wasn’t intending to speak to anyone, but she didn’t want to provoke comment either. And she would go in the Volvo, not the Mercedes. Grace didn’t know much about Whitley Bay except what she saw on the news. The place looked to be a bit on its uppers, a mecca for stag and hen parties and, if the local news was to be believed, many a night out there ended up in a fight. She could only imagine Ray’s financial position, but if she turned up looking like the lady of the manor she might turn a few unwelcome heads.

  Grace considered briefly whether she should tell Charles what she was up to. She generally shared most things with him – wasn’t that what you did in a marriage? – and he would listen to her attentively and make some light-hearted comment in response. Her husband never took life terribly seriously. It was one of the things she loved most about him. However, on this occasion she thought she might keep her escapade to herself. It was a shame – Charles would probably enjoy the espionage element. It was the kind of thing that he read about in those spy books that he devoured, and she could just picture herself telling him the story, with suitably spy-like embellishments to make him laugh. That said, she felt a certain sensitivity surrounding the subject of Ray as far as Charles was concerned. If ever she raised the subject of his half-brother, Charles would close the conversation down. Even though she had tried to make him feel less awkward about Ray’s colourful past, it was obvious that Charles believed he had fulfilled his obligations to his half-brother by buying the house and wanted nothing further to do with him. All things considered, it would probably be better to tell Charles what she had done after the event, rather than before.

  In any case, he was away with the orchestra just then. Some concerts down south somewhere. She couldn’t remember the exact details, but she wouldn’t be speaking to him unless he rang from a convenient payphone. No, the trip would be fine, she decided. She would go and be back before anyone missed her and no one need know where she had been.

  Grace kissed the children goodbye in the school playground as usual and watched them go in, their little straw hats bobbing up and down in the crowd of other little straw hats. Then she went back to the car and set off for the coast.

  She had already located the street in Whitley Bay on the battered AA atlas that lived in the boot of the car. It looked pretty easy to find, just a turning left off the main coast road once you got into the town. How hard could it be? Grace had butterflies at the cloak-and-daggeriness of it all, and she smiled at herself in the rear-view mirror as she started the engine.

  It was a sharp morning. The children had entertained themselves blowing plumes of dragon’s breath into the chilly air. Now she turned the car heater up to full, shivering slightly until it altered the ambient temperature. She wasn’t sure whether she was shivering because of the cold or her nerves.

  The road under her wheels glowed white from the salt, and the recent snow, whilst gone from the tarmac, still sat heavily on the verges and fields. Grace liked winter, relishing the sense that the countryside was sleeping, preparing itself for what was to come; and as she drove, she admired the hills. She really did live in a beautiful part of the world.

  The journey didn’t take long, and soon she was pulling into Ray’s street. She was looking for number 5, she knew. All those years ago, when the deeds were delivered to the Hall, Grace had made it her business to note down the address before Charles had a chance to squirrel the papers away. She had suggested they send the deeds to the family solicitor to store with the other important paperwork and Charles had nodded non-committally, but when she made enquiries with the solicitor’s clerk some weeks later, no deeds had been received by them. They must be tucked away in Charles’s office somewhere, she assumed.

  Number 5 was the third house up from the sea. It was a tiny little place with just three windows and a door, and was painted a rich red with cream woodwork. It was quaint – just the ticket for a person living on their own. Grace, having lived in Hartsford Hall all her life, had often fantasised about what it might be like to live somewhere where you couldn’t get lost, where the rooms didn’t ech
o as you walked through them, that was cosy. This was exactly the kind of place. Yes, it would be odd having other people living so very close to you – just on the other side of the wall, in fact – but Grace thought she could probably get used to that. Other people managed it perfectly well, so why wouldn’t she? This house, whilst not being exactly what she had pictured herself in when imagining her other life, would do perfectly for future fantasies, and she drank in the details of the architecture, such as it was, so that she could retrieve them from her mind’s eye again later.

  At the front there was a handkerchief-sized garden, a concrete path and a little wrought iron gate. It was completely lovely and Grace felt proud that even though Charles had shrouded the whole transaction in a veil of secrecy, he had managed to buy such a presentable house. No doubt Ray was very happy here, she thought.

  Well, she had seen it now, and her curiosity was sated. She should probably just turn round and head back home, mission accomplished. There wasn’t even any need to get out of the car really, although maybe a brisk walk on the beach would be nice before she left. She should have brought some wellington boots.

  Grace was about to get out of the car and head down to the seashore when she spotted a woman trundling up the street. She was dragging an old-fashioned shopping trolley behind her. Grace had assumed that only old ladies used those, but she supposed that if you didn’t have a car one would be very handy. With her other hand the woman held on to a small child wrapped up so well against the cold that Grace couldn’t work out if it was a girl or a boy. Grace smiled to herself. The child looked about the same height as Clio, although he/she wasn’t at school, so maybe was just tall for its age.