by Wendy Clarke
‘You mean it’s happening now? Today?’
‘It’s how it has to be, Ria.’
It was at that moment, Ria knew that her life was going to change forever.
Thirty-Two
Beth
Life had settled into a comfortable routine for Beth. After school, David would pick her up in Windermere and take her with him to wherever it was he would be photographing that day. She would sit and draw and he would roam the area for interesting shots to take.
Not wanting them to know what she was really doing, she would tell her parents she was staying late at after-school prep club to revise, or that she was going to a friend’s house to study. Any guilt she felt soon disappearing as she saw the faded green camper van parked at the end of the road.
Beth had persuaded David that it might be better if they meet in secret. That they tell no one they were seeing each other. He’d been unsure at first, uncomfortable with the idea of deceiving her parents, but, anticipating this, she had used his own argument against him. People wouldn’t understand. They’d talk. He didn’t want that, did he? Reluctantly, he’d agreed and they’d fallen into a pattern of seeing each other most days.
‘You look happy.’ David’s voice broke into her thoughts.
‘That’s because I am.’
‘Will I see you tomorrow?’ He shifted in his seat. All afternoon he had seemed distracted. Out of sorts. They’d been to Temple Quarry again and were now parked up at the entrance to the campsite, the place Beth liked him to drop her so she could walk the last few hundred yards home without being seen.
‘Not tomorrow. Maybe Friday.’ She really needed to get some revision done. ‘I’ll text you.’
‘Friday would be good.’ David tapped his fingers on the steering wheel and stared out of the windscreen. His mood was unsettling.
Beth stroked the golden hairs on his forearm. ‘Is something wrong?’
‘Yes and no.’
She felt her stomach tighten. ‘I’m not sure I like the sound of that. Maybe I should have the no part first.’
‘The no part is easy.’ He took his hand off the steering wheel and placed it on her own, which was resting in her lap. ‘I’ve fallen for you big time.’
Beth’s heart sang. She’d been waiting to hear him say something like that. ‘But that’s a good thing, right?’
‘Not when it makes you feel like crap. There’s no easy way to put this, Beth. I’ll be leaving Church Langdon in a week or two. I’ve got another assignment down in Cornwall.’
She felt numb. ‘Cornwall. But that’s…’
‘Miles away, I know. All the time we were at Temple Quarry I’ve been wondering how to tell you.’
‘How long will you be there for?’
‘As long as it takes.’
‘And then you’ll come back?’ Beth knew she was grasping at straws.
David ran his thumb across the back of her knuckles. ‘I’ve got to be honest with you, Beth. I could be anywhere after that. It’s my job. You knew that when you met me.’
She had known it and yet, somehow, she had conveniently forgotten it during the weeks they had been together. It was easier to believe they would live happily ever after.
‘It won’t be so bad. You’ll have left college soon. The world will be your oyster. Which uni did you say you were going to?’
Beth squirmed in her seat. She hated having to lie to him. It seemed that was all she was doing nowadays – lying to the people she cared for the most. ‘I didn’t say. I thought I’d have a year off. Time to think about what I really want to do.’
David looked relieved. ‘There you are, then. That will make it easier to hook up.’
‘Hook up?’ The expression sounded so casual… so temporary.
Picking up her hand, he kissed it. ‘You know what I mean.’
A well of sadness had opened up inside her, but she wasn’t going to let him see it. ‘Yes, I know exactly what you mean. Look, I’ve got to go. I’ll see you on Friday.’
Without kissing him goodbye, Beth opened the door to the camper and jumped down. As she walked to her house, she didn’t look back, scared that her face would mirror the emptiness she was feeling inside.
* * *
When she got home, she saw her mum’s car in the shared parking bay. It would mean she’d have to change. Quickly, she ducked round the side of the terrace and unzipped her bag. Dragging out her maroon jumper, she forced it over her head. Her skirt was more difficult. Taking off her walking boots, she leant against the wall of the house for balance, then pulled the skirt on over her jeans before wriggling out of them. Her black school shoes were next. It was a ritual she went through most days, and she was only thankful it hadn’t rained in that time.
Shoving her clothes into her bag, she let herself in. She stopped in the lobby and listened. Ever since her mum had had that turn in Graham Hargreaves’ shop, it was impossible to know what mood she’d find her in. Some days she’d be waiting in the sitting room for Beth, wanting to know about her day and what she’d been up to, but on others, she’d be in her studio and wouldn’t come out until well after dark. On those days, her dad would come home and look in the fridge before attempting to rustle up something from the little there was in there.
Today, her mum was neither in the living room nor the workshop. Dropping her bag at the bottom of the stairs, Beth went to look for her. Her own bedroom door was closed but her parents’ door stood open. Popping her head round the door, Beth saw that it was empty.
‘Mum?’
The sound of a toilet flushing was her answer. She waited, expecting her to come out, but she didn’t. Instead, there was the metallic clink of the wastepaper bin closing, then the sound of a tap running. It wasn’t this that surprised her though, it was the unmistakeable sound of her mother crying.
‘Mum?’ Her own voice was quiet. Childlike. Memories bubbled. A bed with a beige duvet cover. A lamp above her head with a fringe that cast spider legs of shadow onto the wall behind it. She’d been afraid of that shadow; she remembered that. There’d been the drone of traffic outside the window. Another sound too. Someone next to her in the bed, crying into their pillow. Her mother… She was sure of that now.
What was this place she was remembering? It wasn’t Carlisle. There, she’d had her own small bed with an Ariel duvet cover and a bedside table with a white anglepoise lamp on it. As she lay in bed, she’d liked to reach out and bend it, this way and that, until her mum told her to stop. No. It wasn’t there.
As the lock on the bathroom slid back, Beth ducked into her room. She sat on her bed and waited until she heard footsteps on the landing and the click as her parents’ bedroom door closed. There was nothing else until she heard the clunk of wood on wood. What was she doing?
Hovering outside the door, Beth wondered if she should go in and ask her what the matter was. What had made her cry as though her heart would break. She’d heard her cry before, but not like that… and it frightened her. Raising her hand to the door, she hesitated, then dropped it again, unsure. What if she didn’t like the answer?
As she went back downstairs, the family pictures on the wall above the handrail blurred with her tears. She’d wanted to tell her mum about David. Tell her that she’d fallen in love with him and how he was going to be moving on. She’d wanted to feel the warmth and comfort of her mum’s arms as she pulled her into a hug. Hear her voice telling her that everything was going to be okay. For things to be as they once were. Before David had said those things. Before she’d heard her mum crying and a thread of memory had loosened. But it wasn’t going to happen. There was something going on that she didn’t understand. Beth stood in the middle of the small living room, feeling as if she was in a boat set adrift on the sea with no one to captain it.
Pressing her knuckles into her eye sockets, she tried to blank her mind. Scared of what other memories might unravel if she pulled that thread.
Thirty-Three
Ria
The h
otel room was small, the double bed taking up most of the floor space. The plain-clothed officer who had driven them there had told Ria it was the best he could do at short notice. That had been three weeks ago. Now, she was waiting for the next move to a temporary flat in another town further away. It was there that she would be able to build up her story so that when the final move came, she would legitimately be able to say it was where she had come from.
Outside the window, Ria could hear the rush-hour traffic, a soft drone through the double glazing. It was oppressive in the room. She hadn’t worked out how to turn down the radiators and the window only opened a few centimetres. Pressing her hands against the window, she looked out at the cars that circled the roundabout. There was a small business park off one of the interchanges, and behind one of the straggly trees, she could see the black and orange sign of a Halfords.
On the other side of the roundabout was the cheap and cheerful carvery she and Lily had gone to on their second night. A meal bought with the cash Colin had given her. Colin Peterson was the witness protection officer who had been assigned to her. Her ‘handler’. It was he who had brought round the document to sign, and he who had explained how things would be from now on. He’d been kind and patient in the face of her distress, bringing a bag of toys for Lily and some books for Ria. Her laptop too. Any links with her past eradicated in just the click of a ballpoint pen.
Ria looked at the blue holdall she’d brought with her. Hidden underneath the nylon-covered cardboard that gave the base of the bag its rigidity, were things that Colin knew nothing about. Things she had grabbed in a desperate bid to cling to the life she was being torn from. If he knew about them, they would be removed and destroyed. She couldn’t bear the thought of that.
A strand of hair had escaped from the towel she’d wrapped around her newly washed hair. It dripped down her back, soaking into her blouse. She looked at Lily, wondering what her daughter would say when she plucked up the courage to take the towel off. The little girl lay on her stomach on the double bed, her Pocahontas doll, with its shiny black hair and fringed dress, clutched in her hand. She was dancing her up and down the coverlet.
‘All right, darling?’
Lily looked up. ‘When are we going home? When can I see Nanny and Gramps?’
Ria turned back to the window and leant her forehead against the glass, desperate to find the words that would help her daughter understand that they’d never be going home. That she’d never see her grandparents again. It was impossible.
With a last look at the slow-moving traffic, Ria went over to Lily, the loose headboard banging against the wall as she sat down next to her on the bed. The coverlet was beige, the same as the curtains and the rather worn carpet. There was nothing to make this hotel room stand out from any other except for the matching lamps on the walls either side of the bed, whose fringes cast black spider legs of shadow when the main light was off. The room mirrored how her own life would be from now on. Anonymous.
She brushed her daughter’s fair hair from her face. ‘This is exciting, Lily. We’re going on an adventure. Just you and me.’
‘Like Dora the Explorer?’
‘Yes, just like Dora the Explorer.’
‘Then we’ll go back to Nanny’s.’
‘We don’t want to go back too soon or we’ll have nothing exciting to tell her.’
Despite her brave words, Ria was struggling. With nothing to anchor her to her past, she felt weightless. The night they’d left London, they’d driven for half an hour to a rendezvous point with another car. Then they had driven for another three hours. Lily had fallen asleep almost immediately, but Ria had sat, wide-eyed, as the familiar roads had turned unfamiliar and then they were on a motorway heading North. The driver had said little and she’d been glad. There were no words that could take away the weight of sadness inside her chest. The guilt at leaving her mum and dad without a word.
The following day, Colin had handed her a sheet of writing paper. She could write to her parents and explain why she’d left so suddenly… She and Lily needed a holiday – time to plan the new chapter of their life away from memories of Gareth. She knew they wouldn’t believe it, though; would be unable to accept that their daughter had left like a thief in the night without saying goodbye. But there was nothing else she could do. It was her only way of contacting them and Colin would make sure they got it. Her mobile phone had been taken when she was at the police station, DI Dayton explaining how the mobile network was the easiest way to trace someone, but she was glad she couldn’t speak to them. She would never have been able to keep it together if she had.
There was a knock on the door and Ria went to open it. Colin stood in the corridor, a bag over his shoulder and an apologetic smile on his face. She wasn’t surprised to see him: he was the only person who had visited her since the day she’d arrived.
He looked at her towel-covered head. ‘Is this a good time?’
It was a strange thing to say in this place, where one hour was the same as the next. Where her days were spent reading and playing games – counting down the hours until they could close the curtains on the dismal scene outside and go to bed. Sometimes, when the four walls got too much for her, they’d leave the hotel and walk around the block, past the garage with its small shop, where she would buy essentials, and on to the scrap of green space with its swings and red dog bin. Despite the change of scene, she didn’t like these outings. Afraid she’d be recognised, even though she was nearly two hundred miles from home.
‘Come in,’ she said, standing back. It would be nice to have some adult company for a change.
Colin nodded and stepped into the room. He was a pleasant-looking man, his hair greying even though he could only be in his forties. Despite his serious eyes, he had a nice smile and a casual manner that put her at ease.
He squeezed her shoulder, then looked over at Lily. ‘Hi, Munchkin. I’ve brought you a comic. Do you like animals?’
Lily didn’t answer. Since they’d left London, she’d spoken little. It was hardly surprising when her whole world had been turned upside down.
‘Well, just in case you do, I got you this.’
He placed a copy of Animals and You onto the bed beside her and Ria was relieved when Lily took her thumb out of her mouth and pulled it closer. It was a little old for a four-year-old, but she appreciated his kindness.
‘Look, Lily. It’s got cats in it.’ Reaching out, she ran a hand down her daughter’s thick hair. ‘You like cats, don’t you?’
Lily nodded and put her thumb back into her mouth. It was a habit Ria thought she’d grown out of.
‘I’ll read you some of it before bedtime. Maybe one day, we’ll have a cat of our own.’
It was a wild promise, but it had the right response. Lily widened her eyes. ‘Really?’
‘Really… and I’ll even let you name him.’
‘Or her,’ Colin said, with a laugh. ‘And remember, I am a witness to that.’ The choice of words was unfortunate and the smile left his face.
Feeling sorry for him, Ria carried on. ‘Then it seems we’d better find a place that will accept kittens or I won’t be winning Mother of the Year any time soon.’
Colin looked relieved. ‘I’ll see what I can do.’
Ria picked up the kettle. ‘Now you’re here, do you fancy a drink?’
‘I wouldn’t mind. Here, I’ll do it.’ Taking the kettle from her, he went into the bathroom. There was the clunk of plastic against china and then the sound of running water. When he came back out, flipping the lid of the kettle back down, he was smiling.
‘I see you did what I suggested.’
Ria knew he’d seen the empty bottle she’d left on the side of the bath, and the box with its photograph of a woman with a bright smile and wavy blonde hair. As she’d waited for the liquid to do its job, she’d been reminded of another bathroom. Another wait. Only that one had been fraught with tension. Gareth had told her he hadn’t wanted another baby. If only s
he’d believed him.
Despite a thorough rinsing, the ammonia smell from her hair was still with her. She touched the towel. ‘I haven’t looked at it yet.’
‘You’ll soon get used to it. When you’re ready, I’ll need to take a photograph for the new passport.’
Flicking the switch on the kettle, Colin tore the top of the coffee sachet with his teeth and emptied it into one of the functional white mugs before repeating the process with the other. His easy manner, in these strange circumstances, made Ria wonder if he had a wife… children, even. He never talked about himself, and it was clear he didn’t like to mix work and personal life. She couldn’t blame him, but sometimes it would be nice to talk about something other than a future she could barely comprehend.
‘Today is an important day, Ria.’ Colin handed her the mug of coffee. ‘It’s my job to make it as easy for you as I can.’
Bending to the bag he’d left on the floor, he pulled out a large padded envelope.
‘What’s in there?’
Colin looked at her, running his finger under the sealed edge. ‘It’s your new life.’
With his elbow, he pushed aside a basket containing a shoe-shine kit, some nail files in a cellophane pack and a packet of needles and thread, then emptied the contents of the envelope onto the shiny veneered surface.
Ria moved closer. She stared at the bank card and cheque book that lay there. The sheaf of bank statements, and the medical cards. Picking up the cheque book, she smoothed its cover.
‘Go on.’
With trembling fingers, she lifted the dark blue cover and looked at the name of the bank. Lloyds TSB – she’d never banked there. It wasn’t this, or the unknown account number that made her heart miss a beat, though. It was the name printed at the bottom. Even though she knew it was ridiculous, she’d somehow been expecting to see her own name written there. Instead, there was the name of someone else. The person she was to become.