by Imogen Clark
Would Leah remember her? Grace wondered. It seemed unlikely. They had met only once when Leah was barely old enough to go to school. This meant, Grace reasoned, that she could talk to Leah without any fear of the girl recognising her for who she was. Even if Melissa had told her daughter what Charles had done, there was no way she could connect Grace to it all.
None of this helped her make an actual plan, though. Grace sat in her car outside number 9 and pondered. She should have come up with something before setting off. Just loitering here was of no use to anyone.
Then the front door to number 5 opened and a young woman of around the same age as Clio stepped out. She was wearing black leggings and fake Ugg boots with a huge baggy sweatshirt that seemed to engulf her. Even though the temperature was grazing freezing and a smart wind was whipping through the telegraph wires overhead, she wasn’t wearing a coat.
This had to be Leah. Grace tried to see the self-contained little girl that she had met in the young woman she saw before her. That was almost impossible, but easier to spot was the resemblance to her father. The rangy walk, the tilt of the head, the slightly out-splayed feet. This was Charles’s daughter, Grace was sure.
But what should she do? Accosting Leah in the street was hardly appropriate and anyway, how would she start up any meaningful conversation? ‘Well, hello there. You don’t know me but I’m married to your father.’ Obviously that wasn’t an option, but then, before she’d had time to think through her options, Grace was opening the car and stepping out on to the pavement.
The wind coming in off the sea was bitter, and Grace pulled her cashmere coat a little closer to her as she set off down the street after Leah.
Grace had never followed anyone before, but she’d seen it done on the television. It seemed to involve hopping in and out of doorways and adopting a deep fascination for window displays if there were any danger of being spotted. In fact, Grace noted ironically, Charles would be much better at that kind of thing than she was. However, no sneaking about seemed necessary. Leah was showing no interest in anything around her, let alone being aware of a well-dressed middle-aged woman following twenty yards or so behind her. They walked for around fifteen minutes, along streets filled with houses like the one she had just left. Each had the twinkling lights of a Christmas tree burning brightly inside. It broke Grace’s heart that Leah would have no parents to share Christmas with. Maybe she could invite Leah to spend the day with them at the Hall, Grace thought, but in her heart she knew that that could never happen. If Leah came for Christmas, then Hector and Clio would want to know why their mother had invited a stranger to that most important of family days and the whole ghastly story would come out. Not to mention how Charles would react. No, Grace could not offer Leah any help of that sort.
They reached the little town centre, and Grace wondered whether there was a purpose to Leah’s trip. Maybe she would just buy what she needed and then walk home without any chance for Grace to talk to her.
At the top of the road stood a church. It was built in a warm caramel-coloured stone with a tiny round turret rather than a tower and, despite its proximity to the town centre, it stood in a large green space. A graveyard, thought Grace. Is that why we’re here, to visit Melissa’s grave? She shuddered at the thought, but it would make perfect sense. Melissa had only been dead two weeks. The funeral must have been very recent.
But instead of turning towards the graveyard, Leah made for the open church door, slipping quietly inside. Grace hesitated for a moment and then followed her.
Inside, the church was dark and the smell of burnt matches and furniture polish hung in the chilly air. Greenery festooned the windowsills and Grace could also detect the clean scent of pine needles. A huge tree, clearly decorated by children with handmade paper decorations, stood at the front.
Leah walked towards the altar and then sat on a pew about halfway down the aisle. There was no one else around. Grace waited to see if a vicar would appear, but no one did. Leah was just sitting there, staring straight in front of her, apparently oblivious to her surroundings. Was this the perfect opportunity to approach her? Grace wasn’t sure, but she was here now, and she hadn’t had a better idea. She followed Leah up the aisle.
With her heart in her mouth, Grace stopped walking when she reached the row where Leah was sitting. She took a deep breath.
‘Hello,’ she said as gently as she could.
Leah looked up. Her face was pale and her eyes dark and ringed with plum-coloured shadows. She wore no make-up and her hair hung heavy and unwashed.
‘I’m sorry,’ Leah replied, her eyes wide. ‘Am I in the wrong place? Should I go?’
She made to stand up, but Grace put out a reassuring hand.
‘No. Of course not. You’re absolutely fine. You can sit here as long as you need to. That’s what the church is here for. I just wanted to let you know that you weren’t on your own.’
Leah gave a single nod of her head, as if to be more animated was more than she could achieve. ‘I’ve never been in here before,’ she said. ‘But it just felt like the place I wanted to be. Does that sound weird?’
Grace shook her head. ‘No. Not at all. Sometimes a little bit of peace and quiet is exactly what we need.’
Leah slumped back down in her pew.
‘Can I join you?’ risked Grace. She had no idea what she was going to say, but if there was at least someone here for the poor girl, that might help.
Leah nodded.
‘What’s your name?’ Grace asked.
‘Leah,’ she said. ‘You?’
Grace swallowed. She had to think fast. On the ledge in front of them sat a hymn book. It said ‘Parish Church of St Paul’s’ on the cover in gold lettering.
‘Mrs Newman,’ said Grace with a confidence she didn’t feel. Paul Newman! Honestly. It was all she could do not to roll her eyes at herself.
‘Hi,’ said Leah, and then her eyes dropped back to her hands. Grace noticed that her nails were bitten and her fingertips red and sore.
‘Can I help at all?’ asked Grace as tenderly as she could.
Leah shook her head, but fat tears began to run down her cheeks and dripped from her jaw. Tentatively Grace put out a hand and touched her lightly on the thigh.
‘My mum died,’ said Leah. ‘And my dad left. And it’s Christmas. And everything is totally fucked. I don’t know what I’m going to do.’
And that was the whole, hideous mess in a nutshell. Grace would kill Charles.
‘Do you have anyone who can look after you?’ Grace asked. Maybe there were some other family members that she didn’t know about? She crossed her fingers metaphorically.
Leah shrugged. ‘I’ve got some friends,’ she said. ‘My friend’s mum has invited me for Christmas at least.’
‘That’s kind,’ said Grace, trying desperately to bite back her tears and relax the tightening in her throat so that she didn’t give away the turmoil she was feeling. ‘And are you all right financially?’ This had only just occurred to her. What would the poor child be living on?
Leah shrugged again. ‘I’ve got some savings. And I can get a job easy enough if I leave school. At least the house is mine now.’
Technically, thought Grace, it was probably hers, seeing it was her money that had paid for it. Still, the legal niceties made no odds here. There was no way she would ever throw Leah out on the street.
‘They say it gets easier to bear with time,’ said Grace. Her words sounded fatuous and empty, but she couldn’t think of a single meaningful thing that might console the girl. Her current situation was about as bleak as it got.
Leah gave her a little half-smile. ‘Someone else said that,’ she said. ‘I’m sure it must be true. And let’s face it. Things can’t get any worse.’
Another smile. The girl was a fighter, Grace would give her that.
‘Well, would it help if we met up again for a chat? Perhaps in a couple of weeks? You can tell me then whether things are improving.’
Leah was nodding and her smile broadened. She lifted her dirty hair away from her face and pulled it into a ponytail, tying it up with a band from around her wrist.
‘I’d like that,’ she said. ‘Thank you.’
49
LEAH – NOW
Clio was on a split shift at the pub and so had come for a bit of tea with me in her break before she went back to work. She was as happy as a pig in muck at the King’s Head and even prepared to work twice in one day, it seemed, if Eddie asked her nicely. He probably thought he was doing her a favour by giving her the extra shifts. I wondered what he’d think if he knew she lived in a stately home. I’d thrown together some sandwiches from bits I’d found in the fridge and we pulled two kitchen chairs out into my postage-stamp garden and positioned them so we could see the sea. The sounds of children playing in the playground over the road rang out, laughter then raucous shouts and then laughter again.
‘Has Stacey Waters been back?’ I asked, as I bit into my ham and pickle. I didn’t want to bring the incident up, but at the same time I couldn’t just pretend it hadn’t happened.
Clio shook her head.
‘I’m so sorry about all that,’ I said, focusing my attention on my sandwich. ‘You must think I’m a real scuzzer.’
‘I think no such thing,’ said Clio, her tone indignant. ‘I was proud of the way you stood up for Poppy. And you didn’t start anything with that woman. She was spoiling for a fight the moment she walked in.’
She gave me the warmest smile and I relaxed a little. Maybe she didn’t think any worse of me?
‘I’d never seen her before that night,’ Clio continued. ‘I think it was just bad luck that she happened to stumble in when you were there. I don’t think we’ll see her again. I hope not, anyway,’ she added. ‘I wasn’t planning on having to hone my security skills any time soon.’ She stretched her mouth into a twist of exaggerated fear.
‘You’re a natural,’ I laughed. ‘You should get some dark glasses and a black bomber jacket. That’s what my dad did, you know. Did I ever tell you that? He wasn’t a bouncer,’ I added before she got the wrong idea. ‘He did high-level security for rich blokes who thought they might get kidnapped.’
‘Well, it clearly doesn’t run in the blood,’ grinned Clio. ‘You were rubbish!’ Then something must have crossed her mind and she looked as if she was going to say something else.
‘What?’ I asked, but she just shook her head. ‘Well, it’s a good job you were there to defend my honour,’ I continued. ‘I’d probably have got my teeth knocked out otherwise. Wait till you tell Hector!’
Clio gave me a look of pure horror. ‘Oh, good Lord,’ she said. ‘If Hector found out that his baby sister was working in a pub and breaking up fights and generally sullying the family name, he’d have me excommunicated. Mummy would probably be quite proud, though. I thought Marlon was quite sweet, too,’ she added in a gentler voice, and she smiled and raised her eyebrows at me. ‘Didn’t you?’
I just nodded sheepishly. ‘I doubt he’ll want anything to do with me, now he’s seen the rocks I live under,’ I said. He’d left with Clio when her shift finished and so there’d been no chance for me to explain.
‘On the contrary,’ Clio said, her grin widening. ‘He never shut up about you all the way home. I think he’s well and truly smitten. I suspect that you can expect a phone call any minute asking you out on an actual date, just the two of you.’
‘Really?’ I said. I sounded like an excited child.
Clio smirked at me. ‘Can I take it from that that you’ll say yes?’
‘Maybe!’ I replied coyly.
We carried on chomping away on our sandwiches, happy in each other’s company without having to make conversation.
‘Remind me,’ said Clio after a few minutes. ‘How long have you lived in this house?’
Her question was asked casually, but her body language was anything but. Every part of her seemed tenser than it had moments before, and I was sure I felt the atmosphere between us shift a little. Clio was looking away down the street, not focusing on me at all, and she pulled at each of her fingers in turn so the joints cracked. Rarely had I been asked such a staged question, but I had no idea where she was going with it. I decided to play along for the time being. No doubt it was another of her schemes and all would become clear in due course.
‘Almost all my life,’ I replied. ‘Mum had a caravan when I was first born, but then Dad bought her the house as a wedding present when they got married. I’ve lived here ever since. I can’t imagine ever living anywhere else.’
Clio’s cheeks lost a little of their colour beneath her carefully applied blusher and she didn’t say anything for a moment or two.
‘You rarely talk about your dad,’ she said when she spoke again. ‘I feel like I know all about your mum, but your dad is still a bit of a mystery.’
‘You’re probably right,’ I replied. ‘I’m not sure I ever forgave him for abandoning us. I mean, if he hadn’t left then I’m pretty sure Mum would never have . . . well, you know. But I’m happy to answer your questions. What do you want to know?’
Clio nodded and was quiet again. She took a bite of her sandwich, chewing thoughtfully.
‘What was he like?’ she asked eventually.
I fell silent for a moment as I pulled an image of Dad into my mind’s eye. It wasn’t something I’d done much over the years since he left, but recently I’d found him popping into my head more often, although I wasn’t sure why.
‘He was tall,’ I said. ‘Handsome, too, and always smiling. I never had any doubt that he loved me, would do anything for me . . . Right up until the day he walked out on us, that is,’ I added bitterly.
I stopped for a moment, gathering my thoughts. Clio just watched me, waiting for me to speak.
‘He was such a big personality, you know, he kind of filled a room on his own. And he was fun, always up for a laugh. I used to think that he tried extra hard when he came home because he wasn’t around all the time, but now I reckon he was just like that naturally. He’d do mad, impromptu things like driving off to see the lights at Blackpool on a moment’s notice, or having a picnic on the beach in the dark. It was exciting, you know, and that kind of made up for all the time he wasn’t here.’
It had been such a long time since I’d talked about Dad. There’d been no one to tell. Poppy had asked about her grandfather once when she was little and they were doing family trees at school, but since then my past had just been shut up inside me because if I took the lid off the box of memories of Dad, that opened up my heart to Mum, and I hadn’t ever felt strong enough to tackle that. Maybe now was the time?
‘There was one thing that always made him cross, though,’ I said, as I pictured him. Clio was nodding encouragingly. ‘You couldn’t go anywhere near his hands. He was obsessed about them. I mean, they were nothing special, just big dad hands. I remember I trapped his finger in a kitchen cupboard once. I banged the door on it by accident. It wasn’t even that hard and I didn’t do it on purpose, but he went absolutely mental. You’d have thought I’d chopped it off for all the fuss he made. Funny the things you remember.’
I sighed and looked over at Clio. Her eyes were brimming with tears. God knows why. Sometimes she could be so over-sensitive about stuff. After all, this was my sob story, not hers, and it wasn’t even that sad. Dads left all the time. It was hardly unusual. Then I remembered that it hadn’t been that long since her dad had died so I decided to cut her a bit of slack.
‘You are such a soft get,’ I laughed.
Clio wiped her eyes with a handkerchief that she produced from her jeans pocket. It was always an actual handkerchief, not a tissue. That must be how they roll in posh circles.
‘I’m sure he loved you, Leah,’ Clio said quietly.
‘Yeah, probably,’ I said, rolling my eyes heavenwards. ‘He just had a funny way of showing it. I mean, what kind of a dad walks out without saying goodbye and then never gets in touch aga
in? I kept thinking he’d just stroll back in and take charge of everything and then, when he never did, I decided that it must have been my fault that he’d left. Not sure how I made that out, but you know how teenagers think – everything revolves around them, even the bad stuff. Then I was cross. And then I was really cross. Now I’m just sad, but there’s nothing I can do about it.’
Clio was just staring at me. It was kind of eerie, to be honest, so to stop her doing it I asked her about her dad.
‘What about you?’ I asked. ‘It’s not that long since your dad died. Is it getting any easier?’
I remembered how Clio had been that very first time I met her, tears never more than a blink away. She definitely seemed stronger now.
‘I think I’m getting used to it, slowly. It’s hard when someone dies just out of the blue like that. You don’t get a chance to prepare yourself. It can take a while to come to terms with, but I think I’m getting there. I used to have my dad up on a pedestal, like he could do no wrong. But no one’s perfect, are they?’
She looked right at me then, straight into my eyes, like she was trying to tell me something else, something important. Was she talking about me? Maybe Stacey told her what Craig and I had done, after all.
‘No,’ I said with a shrug. ‘I don’t suppose anyone is.’
I waited to see if she was going to say anything else. I wasn’t going to go first in case I was wrong about Stacey having told her, but she didn’t speak.
‘Well, looking on the bright side,’ I said, trying to stop things being so weird, ‘if your dad hadn’t died we would never have met, and that would have been a travesty! I’ll never forget you turning up on my doorstep like that. I had no idea what to make of you. You seemed so posh and so scared. And look at you now! Working in a pub and breaking up fights!’
Rather than smile at my joke, Clio still looked all thoughtful. ‘I was right, though,’ she said. ‘About having been to the house before.’