Skylarks

by Karen Gregory

  There’s others too. I sigh and hit block. I don’t get it, why people have to be that way. And it’s hard not to take it personally. Jamie and Deal seem to think it’s almost a good thing. ‘It shows we’re getting somewhere, people are taking notice,’ Deal said the other day, when he came over for tea. ‘And it’s naive to think you can make an omelette without smashing a few eggs. We’ve just got to give out more than we get.’

  I wonder who the eggs are in Deal’s scenario. He’s not exactly likely to get rape threats, is he? And he talks about smashing stuff a bit too much for my liking, these days.

  But I refuse to get down about it. I lie back and listen to the birds’ songs merging in this brilliant symphony, and for a second it doesn’t matter. Even if it doesn’t work, even though the thought of having to move somewhere, leave this house – which might not be a contender for some posh magazine shoot like Annabel’s, but is our home – sends little shooting fingers of worry right through me. Somehow, knowing I’m in love and that Annabel loves me back makes me think I can tackle anything.

  Besides, this morning I am an optimism machine. It’s flooding through me in the shower, at breakfast where I smile so many times Jack starts to look around like maybe there’s something funny in the room he’s missing, biking on the way to the library with the sun already warm on the back of my neck. And I know it is going to work. I can feel it somehow, in the same way I do out on the Downs with Annabel.

  Not that life can be beautiful.

  But that it already is.

  I’m hoping Annabel gets in early so we can sneak off to the store cupboard before Mrs H arrives. She didn’t reply to my text this morning, but I can see a car I’m assuming is hers, although it’s a Jag. Maybe she had to borrow one of her parents’ for some reason. Then I realise Mrs H’s car is also here.

  I check my phone: 8.30 a.m. Why’s everyone so early?

  Everyone except me, it seems.

  I chain up the bike, taking care to lean it carefully so it doesn’t get scratched, and go up the steps.

  My key won’t turn in the lock. Someone must’ve left theirs in the other side.

  I peer through the glass, but can’t see around the corner. I think I can hear voices though, or at least Mrs H’s, sounding a bit urgent for her, coming through one of the windows.

  I give the door a sharp rap and the voice inside stops.

  Still, no one comes out. I knock again and call out, ‘Annie? Mrs Hendry? It’s Joni.’

  The only sound is a bird wittering overhead.

  I take a few paces back down the steps, aiming to go around the side and peer in through the window, and then the door opens suddenly.

  I look up, already about to exclaim, ‘You left the key in,’ when I stop.

  Looking down at me, framed in the doorway in his dark suit and wearing an even darker expression, is Annabel’s dad.

  ‘Oh! Hi. Is Annie – I mean Annabel – in there?’ I say. I’ve crossed my arms over my chest. It doesn’t take Einstein to realise something’s up.

  Then Mrs H appears.

  There’s an awkward silence. I can’t make out the expression on her face. She looks mainly … disappointed.

  ‘You’re early,’ she says, and is it me or is that a wobble in her voice? Annabel’s dad is still looking at me and I have to crane my neck back to meet his eyes.

  I slowly move mine to stare at Mrs H. ‘… What’s up?’

  ‘I think we should do this inside –’ Mrs H begins, but Annabel’s dad makes a small movement and she stops.

  ‘Do what? Where’s Annabel? Is she OK?’ There’s a strange sense of dread flooding through me now. I run up the steps, but Annabel’s dad is blocking the door; I’d have to barge right past him to get through. I stop. I still have to tip my head back to get a proper look at him.

  Then I realise he’s waiting. Not for me, but for Mrs H. And she twists her hands together and takes a breath, and then in a firmer voice says, ‘I’m afraid I need to let you go.’

  I squint at her. For a mad second, I’m about to ask, ‘Go where?’ but then I realise what she means. I just about get out an, ‘Oh.’

  There’s another pause as I hold Mrs H’s eyes, my heart racing, pushing blood up to my face, and then she looks away.

  My voice comes out louder now. ‘Why?’ I’m not looking at her any more, I’m looking at Annabel’s dad. He stares right back and the expression on his face is trying to make me about three foot tall. And I get it suddenly. ‘You know, don’t you?’

  His nose wrinkles slightly before he says, ‘Mrs Hendry has terminated your employment with immediate effect. You should leave.’ He adds a curt, ‘Thank you.’ And he’s actually turning on his heel, glancing over at Mrs H as if to say, ‘Follow me,’ like she’s one of his lackeys, which I guess she is, and I can’t believe he thinks that’s it.

  ‘I don’t fucking think so.’ I say it loud enough to startle some birds pecking at the ground nearby. They shoot up with a panicked flap of their wings. ‘Where’s Annabel? Is she here?’

  Annabel’s dad turns back, his top lip curling. His voice is danger-zone quiet. ‘It’s in your best interests to leave now. Before I take things further.’

  ‘Take what further? What are you talking about?’ I’m shouting now.

  Mrs H is looking between us and I can see in the way she’s got her lips pinched together, the corners turned down, that she doesn’t understand exactly what’s going on. That she feels bad, but not enough to stand up to Annabel’s dad. She’s not going to fight for me.

  He nods to the bike chained up. ‘That, for one thing. I believe you have been extorting things from my daughter.’

  ‘What? You know that’s bollocks. Is she here? I want to speak to her.’ I’m still shouting and now I yell, ‘Annabel!’

  ‘I’m warning you, I could call the police about this. You people – don’t think I don’t know what you’re up to.’

  Then I see Annabel in the doorway behind him.

  She looks pale, like she hasn’t slept.

  She’s also having trouble meeting my eyes.

  The pounding in my ears seems to get louder, then fades down, like I’m in the centre of this massive bubble of silence, because somehow the fact that she can’t look at me is already telling me what I need to know, but I have to try anyway.

  ‘Annabel … Annie. What …?’ I take another breath and Mrs H says, ‘Perhaps we should all go inside?’ but that makes me flare up again.

  ‘Why?’ I shout. ‘You think it’s shameful too, being gay? Because it’s not. Jesus, we’re in the twenty-first century here. It’s not a crime. How can you stand there and let him tell you what to do? And you?’ I look at Annabel and this time she meets my eyes. ‘Why can’t you see …’ I trail off because there’s a look on her face, a sort of pleading mixed with horror, and my stomach twists. I go brighter red as it dawns on me I’ve just outed her for sure and no matter how angry I might be, there’s no excuse for that. It’s not my thing to tell.

  ‘God, Annie, I’m sor–’

  ‘I can assure you, I am not homophobic in the slightest. I’m surprised Annabel didn’t tell you her aunt is happily married. To a woman. I was her best man.’ Annabel’s dad is speaking clearly, his voice clipped, driving each word home.

  I stare at him, then back at Annabel.

  ‘Then … why does it –’ I’m cut off by his scornful laughter.

  ‘Don’t play that game. I told you, I know. You’ve been trying to use my daughter against me. It’s not going to work, I can assure you of that. The estate sale will continue as planned. Your pathetic scheme has failed. Now, I’m telling you one more time to leave.’

  I feel like someone’s sucked all the blood out of me. ‘The estate? What –’

  I stop, because I suddenly understand the look on Annabel’s face.

  Realisation comes over me like my skin’s turning inside out.

  She was never worried about being with a girl.

  She w
as worried about being with the wrong sort of girl.

  With me.

  ‘Oh my God.’ I say it really quietly. Then I look at Annabel. ‘Did you know?’ She shakes her head as though she’s unable to speak.

  There’s that white bubble of silence all around again, like I’m about to faint. I wait to fall.

  But I don’t. I’m still standing there, so small. And I can’t feel anything.

  ‘Joni.’ One word, but I can’t bear to hear her voice, see the apology that means nothing, in her eyes.

  It does one thing though. It loosens up my feet and I’m whirling down the stairs, tripping at the bottom. I crash to my knees, but I barely feel it because I’m up again and I can’t hear a thing except the sound of my breath and my feet hitting the pavement as I start to run.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  I don’t look where I’m going. I just run, on and on, like maybe if I keep moving I can stop the shadow that’s trying to catch me, because inside there’s this terrible feeling like parts of me are falling away and will never come back.

  Eventually, I realise I’m on the bridleway, high up on the Downs.

  I stop, finally. Seems even I can’t keep going forever. As soon as I do, I realise how much pain I’m in: my breath burns in my chest, my feet are blistered. My hand throbs and I open it to see I’m holding the library key Mrs H gave me, that I’ve been gripping it all the way here, so tight it hurts to open my fingers. When I do, there’s a white welt running across my palm.

  I stare at the blank blue sky. There’s a strong wind up here. It feels vicious, blurring my eyes. And that feeling is still building, the pressure getting unbearable, and I know I can’t outrun it any more.

  With a sudden movement I draw back my arm and throw the key as hard as I can. It bounces and lies glinting in the sun, and maybe it’s that or I just can’t hold on any more but suddenly I’m screaming. My legs give way and I pound the grass with my fists, as every word and look comes back. I punch my rage and humiliation into the ground, as though they might set off earthquakes. The earth could crack apart and send this whole beautiful, horrible town plunging into the gap, for all I care right now.

  Because it’s only ever beautiful for some people, not the ones like me.

  I remember all the times I thought I could hope for things, how I believed in Annabel and how much we loved each other. How I felt like a giant with her. The memories keep coming and they won’t stop, and I’m shaking with it. Then it comes, finally. The thing the running and the anger were trying to hold off.

  Pain. So much I don’t think I can stand it.

  This wail comes out of me. It goes on and on. I feel the sun burning my neck and I suddenly get why people say it beats down on you.

  I think about my job at the library, how the little bit I was doing to keep our family afloat has gone. Jack’ll never get his school trip now. About the buyout and the bitter taste in my throat, knowing Annabel’s dad is behind it all. The fear that no matter how hard we fight, we’ll never be big enough to win against him.

  I think about Annabel, the gap between us we could never close now.

  And I start to cry.

  A long time later, I sit up. The day has gone on without me.

  I’m so tired. I push myself to my feet, wincing as every muscle in my body screams, and slowly begin to limp home.

  It must be late afternoon by the time I get to my house, if the light is anything to go by, but I’m too tired to even get my phone out and check. My face is dry now and everything feels oddly numb, like something is hardening inside me.

  I open the front door and take a deep breath before I go in. I don’t know how I’m going to bear telling anyone what’s happened. I don’t even know if I can speak.

  ‘Joni? Is that you?’

  Mum’s not supposed to be home today. A pulse of fear goes through me.

  They’re all in the kitchen: Mum, Dad, Jamie and Jack.

  ‘We’ve been calling,’ Jamie says and his face is pinched, angry.

  For a second I want to turn and run again because I can’t face anything else, not today, but I’m too exhausted. Instead I sit at the table and put my head in my hands.

  ‘Joni? Are you OK? Jack, get the kettle on, love.’ Mum’s voice seems to come from a distance. I hear Jack’s chair scape back. Then Mum says, ‘You’ve already seen?’

  I raise my head slowly and she frowns as she takes in my face. Then I look at the thing Jamie’s waving under my nose.

  It’s a newspaper. I recognise the Guardian logo and a weird detached part of me is still able to think Jamie must’ve bought it, because Dad only reads the Daily Mail, even though as far as I can tell, the Mail basically hates people like us.

  Just like Annabel’s dad.

  I blink and try to focus on the article.

  Right next to a huge picture of Douglas Lattimer and a headline that screams Tory MP Evicts His Own Constituents is a picture of me at the march.

  I scan the first few sentences, then jerk my head up. ‘Lattimer has shares in White Light? No wonder he wouldn’t help us.’ My voice sounds dull.

  ‘There’s more, Joni. I’m sorry,’ Jamie says.

  But I already know what I’m about to read.

  The scandal doesn’t end there. The Guardian can exclusively reveal that White Light Holdings is in fact the public face of a shell company, LCA, owned by Edward Huntington. Huntington, a former hedge fund manager and prominent local resident, prides himself on a reputation for philanthropy. Clearly his charitable works only extend to certain elements of the local population.

  I don’t read any further. I drop the paper on the table and put my head back in my hands. Mum puts her arms around me. ‘I’m sorry, love, I know this must be a shock. I’m sure Annabel didn’t know …’ She trails off.

  ‘She knows.’ I laugh, but it’s bitter in my ears.

  ‘You need to see this too.’ Jamie pushes something else into my hand. And after everything that’s happened today, it really shouldn’t feel like a fist to the guts, yet somehow it still does.

  It’s an eviction notice.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  We sit at the table for a long time. Mum and Dad want to have A Talk with us all, explain what might happen. Jamie’s going on about the campaign.

  ‘It’s gone national now. Look at the feeds, and the petition. We can still fight this. We’ve got people on our side,’ he’s saying, but Mum and Dad aren’t convinced.

  ‘Even so, son, it’s not going to be soon enough for us,’ Dad says.

  He’s been quiet throughout and now I see how defeated he is.

  ‘You can’t give up now, we’re just getting started. I’m telling you –’

  But we don’t hear what Jamie has to say, because Dad’s reached his limit. He slams away from the table and he’s shaking with rage. ‘It’s time to get real, Jamie. They’ve had it all worked out, right from the beginning. Your campaign’s just been prolonging the inevitable. There’s no way to win. Not against that scum. There never was, never will be.’

  He stomps out the back door, crashing it behind him. It sounds like he’s smashing up the garden furniture out there, like the pain of what’s happening has overtaken anything his back’s giving him. No one speaks for a minute and then Mum says, ‘Get the tea going,’ to Jamie, and, ‘You two go and do some homework,’ to me and Jack. She disappears into the garden.

  I escape upstairs, because some of Dad’s helpless rage has reignited my own.

  I need to call Annabel.

  My hands are shaking as I get out my phone. There’s several missed calls and a string of texts from Kelly. You’re in the papers! Then, Oh shit, just read about A’s dad. Did you know? Did SHE know? Are you OK? And, Joni? Call me. And finally, Joni???? Xxxxx.

  Nothing from Annabel.

  She answers as I’m on the point of hanging up. ‘Joni?’ Her voice sounds muted, like she’s exhausted too.

  ‘Yeah, it’s me.’

  There’s
a silence. I try to keep my voice steady as I say, ‘I know you didn’t know before last night …’

  At the same time Annabel says, ‘I wanted to speak to you. I feel terrible …’

  We both stop. Then I say, ‘You go.’

  I can hear Annabel breathing at the other end, almost feel her hesitation as she tries to find the words. ‘I’m so sorry. I didn’t know his company owned White Light, I swear.’ I think she’s crying. ‘When I tried to tell him about the campaign and ask if he could help, he just started shouting. He’d already seen your picture in the paper. It was like lighting a match the second I mentioned your name. He thinks you only got to know me because of the campaign, that you’re some sort of – I don’t know, a spy or something. That you never – that you made up your feelings. But I know you didn’t.’

  There’s a hint of uncertainty in her voice that sends white heat through me. ‘How can you even think … Jesus, Annabel.’

  ‘He threatened all sorts of things if I didn’t … I know I should have stood up to him, but I’m not … I’m not brave like you … And he’s my father,’ she lets out a sob, but I can’t feel for her.

  ‘We got an eviction notice today,’ I say.

  ‘What? I – I don’t know what to say.’

  I’m finding it hard to speak, but I make myself. ‘I thought I knew who you were. Who I was. But it turns out I was worrying about the wrong thing. See, I kind of get why your dad was so worried. Wouldn’t exactly look great in the papers, me and you together. And maybe someone like him would believe all that crap about me. Screwing people’s the way he operates, isn’t it? Why shouldn’t he think everyone else is doing the same? But what about you? You were worried he’d find out about us way before last night.’

  ‘No, I –’

  ‘Stop lying. All this time I was thinking you were scared of coming out, but it wasn’t that at all, was it? No, you were worried I wasn’t going to be good enough for your precious daddy. Not good enough for you. Well, I guess you made your choice. But you know what? I’ve realised something. You’re not good enough for me.’