Snow Sisters

by Carol Lovekin

  ‘Oh, that’s unfair; I’m just saying…’

  ‘You’re saying my sister is a liar and she isn’t. You are. You’re a monster.’

  Expecting a more violent reaction, when her mother simply shrugged and raised her palms, Meredith’s words deserted her.

  ‘Even though that’s a dreadful thing to say, I’ll let it go,’ Allegra said ‘I know you’re being influenced by Verity. She’s wrong, baby, and once we’re settled you’ll be happy. I promise.’

  I’ll never be happy again.

  Meredith saw how her mother’s hand hovered over a book on Miró the man had given her, how her attention had drifted. She knew she had disappeared from Allegra’s thoughts like a leaf on the wind.

  Present

  At the lookout I stop, inhale the clear air.

  I want where I’m standing stand to be where I always stood, although I’m no longer sure where that is. The oak has sunk deeper into the ground. Tall grass and nettles sprout along its length, parts of the wood are decomposing.

  Leaning against it, I scan the horizon.

  Where does the sea end…?

  The sun is in my eyes and I can’t see properly and in any case, it’s the wrong direction.

  Go east young woman…

  My unease returns. Jabbing at my phone I try the caretaker again. There’s still no connection and I’m more isolated than ever. I tell myself I’m being an idiot.

  Moving away from the tree, this time I shade my eyes. And there it is – a sheet of silver as familiar as it’s always been. The bay is full of sky, the tide out and the sea smaller than I recall.

  Imagine if it went on forever…

  I scramble over the stile and down the ledge to the narrow strip of shingle. Slipping off my sandals, I pick my way to where the sand begins; walk slowly, letting it run between my toes. Salty air catches in my hair, I can see a group of oystercatchers at the lip of the sea and as I watch, they twirl into the air and I want to believe it is to welcome me.

  Where the dry sand meets the wet, I stop. A gentle breeze fans the beach and the waves near the shoreline are capped with foam. Crouching down beside a rock pool I see the prawns we swore were shrimps and I can hear her laughing, collecting nets and buckets.

  Let’s go prawning, Verity.

  I cast around for treasure, and almost immediately find a stone with a hole in it. I am absurdly pleased, seized by a moment of joy so acute it sends a shiver through my entire body.

  Peering through the hole, I recall the endless hours I spent here by myself or with only Meredith for company and how, for the past two decades, unless I was studying, I’ve rarely been completely alone.

  A slew of gulls careen above my head and I shade my eyes again against the sun and its glittering reflection as it catches on the water. The sea is no longer small – it’s vast and lonely and the horizon looks so far away it could be America.

  Where does it end…?

  I don’t want to think about it – about how far away she is.

  The day closes in on me like a spell. An old one I don’t want anything to do with.

  Forty-five

  The voice of Angharad’s ghost was like an infection, persistent and each night louder, as if she knew time was running out.

  You cannot trust the mothers…

  In Verity’s bed, Meredith’s woke from a vivid dream. Beside her, her sister trembled like a leaf.

  ‘You heard her too, didn’t you?’

  Verity could barely speak. She drew Meredith close. ‘I’m trying not to be scared, Meri.’

  ‘Don’t be, it’s all right, I promise.’

  The sense of Angharad’s presence was intense. Neither of them could see anything although they could both hear her, her voice low and clearer than it had ever been inside Meredith’s head.

  You cannot leave … stay with me and be my little girl…

  ‘I don’t want to go,’ Meredith tried to make her voice convincing. ‘I’m doing my…’

  The voice interrupted, sounding harsh.

  She will make you … mothers cannot be trusted … it wasn’t my time to die… what happened to my baby…?

  ‘Did you hear that?’ Meredith’s voice trembled.

  ‘Yes.’ Verity leaned out of the bed, turned on the bedside lamp and as the pool of light spread, the voice disappeared.

  ‘She wasn’t ready to die,’ Meredith said. ‘And they didn’t even allow her to bury her own baby.’ She sat up. ‘Every mother deserves to know her child’s last resting place. We have to do it tonight, Verity. It’s time.’

  In the garden, with the moon shedding a sliver of light, they stood hand in hand, as still as statues. The twig baby lay on the ground close to the wisteria. Drifts of poppies were beginning to replace the bluebells. Meredith could see them, a different shade of blue; the petals transparent, folding into the night. She thought her heart would break, certain she would never see any of the blue flowers again.

  Holding back her tears she whispered. ‘What do you do to make her come?’

  ‘Nothing,’ Verity said. ‘She just appears.’

  Her hands shaking, Meredith struck a match and lit a candle next to the twig baby. Verity’s hand touched her shoulder and Meredith stared, her mouth open, watching a figure slide through the poppies. ‘Is it her?’ A hint of rags hovered in the gloom. ‘I’m not sure, it’s a shadow. Perhaps I’m imagining it.’

  ‘No, you aren’t. Oh look, I can see her too. Look, Verity, she’s kneeling down.’

  Verity drew in a long breath. ‘Yes.’

  As they watched, at the foot of the wisteria the figure stooped as if in prayer. Her hands hovered and she touched the twig baby, stroked her cobweb hair. Her head turned, her face wretched with sorrow, and her mouth, for a shred of a second, smiled.

  Meredith let out a small gasp and Verity grabbed her hand. Tears rolled down her face, she blinked and the ghost began to disintegrate until the only thing left were feathered shreds. Then they too were gone and she was nothing more than a trace of mist vanished into the night.

  ‘Has she gone?’

  Verity shivered. ‘I think so.’

  Meredith let go of her sister’s hand and wiped her eyes on her sleeve. ‘Come on, we have to dig a grave.’

  ‘Here?’

  ‘No, in the middle on the grass, where Nain reads to us.’

  They had brought a shovel from the shed. Meredith pushed the tip of it into the earth. Softened by the rain, it yielded and the hole was soon made. She pulled a long cotton scarf from her bag – turquoise blue and scattered with silver stars. Unfolding it she laid it on the ground, placed the twig baby on it; tucked a red heart into the folds of the dress close to where the baby’s heart would have been. She rummaged in her bag for a pair of scissors and reaching for a piece of her own hair, snipped off a lock, made Verity do the same.

  ‘There ought to be something of Nain’s too,’ she said, placing the curls of hair on top of the heart.

  ‘This is her garden, remember?’ Verity smiled. ‘Her place, it’ll be enough.’

  ‘Do you think so? If Nain knew about Angharad, I think she’d want to be part of this.’

  Verity slipped her hand into the pocket of her jeans. ‘Here,’ she said, ‘will this do?’

  In the moonlight, the stone with the hole in the centre was as pale as milk.

  ‘Nain gave it to me. She found it in here. She said the hole was made by a star. I’ve been saving it for a special occasion.’

  ‘It’s perfect. Oh, Verity, are you sure?’

  ‘Of course I am.’

  Taking her best care, Meredith wrapped the twig baby in the scarf. ‘It’s going to be so cold for her. The way it was for Angharad’s real baby – buried alone, with no one to say a prayer for her.’

  ‘You don’t know that’s what happened.’

  ‘I do. You’re doing it again.’

  ‘Sorry, it’s …’

  ‘I know, but Angharad didn’t get to say goodbye to her ba
by, she didn’t know where she was buried and it was cruel. People like that wouldn’t bother with prayers. That’s what was missing and makes it so much worse. And why we have to make it right.’

  Verity put her arm around her sister’s shoulder. ‘We’ll say a prayer for her. You’re right; it’s what she’d want us to do.’

  At the edge of the garden, they heard a rustle.

  Their eyes met.

  ‘Do you think she’s still here?

  Verity nodded.

  As Meredith folded the ends of the scarf to tidy them, she said, ‘I wonder where they buried the real baby.’

  ‘Maybe she didn’t die. Maybe they lied and gave her to a family to adopt.’

  Meredith said, no, Angharad’s baby had died. ‘I know she did.’ Scooping some of the fresh earth into her hands she stared at it. ‘And a mother would know that kind of thing. Angharad did.’ It was almost dark now and deep shadows filled the space. Soil fell through her fingers, caught in the folds of the scarf where the outline of the twig hands tried to poke through. A few grains marked the place shrouding her face. ‘I can’t look, Verity. Will you do it?’

  Verity filled in the rest of the tiny grave, scooping the soil into the hole, smoothing and patting the ground flat. They covered it with small stones and leaves and flowers. Meredith said she didn’t want the place marked; she wanted the grass to grow over it so no one but them would know it was there.

  ‘I hope you approve, Angharad.’

  The garden was silent. Inside her head it was as quiet as if she had never had a dream or heard the voice of a sad ghost girl asking her if she was brave enough.

  They stood facing one another, fingers linked, lost in the moment. A white moth, drawn to the candlelight, hovered at Meredith’s shoulder. Tears welled in her eyes and she watched as it fluttered across the garden toward the wisteria.

  ‘We’ve done our best,’ she said. ‘The poppies will hide her and next year the bluebells will come back. The garden will protect her – the birds and the animals too.’ She lifted her head, glanced into the shadows. ‘Our grandmother’s magic will keep your baby safe, Angharad.’

  Verity tightened her hold on her sister’s hand. ‘You are the kindest person in the world, Meri.’

  Pulling another one of the red hearts from her bag, Meredith laid it on the earth. ‘Wherever your soul is, baby girl, it’s loved by us and the ghost of your mother will watch over you.’ She looked over her shoulder again. ‘She knows where you are now.’

  Her hands shook, tears ran down her cheeks and she gazed up at Verity. ‘Amen?’

  Verity pressed her lips together. ‘Amen.’

  A fretful gust of wind whirled through the grass, between the sleeping poppies and the fading bluebells. It rustled in the leaves of the wisteria and both girls felt it catching in their hair, stroking the skin on their faces like invisible fingers. It sighed and died to nothing and the garden settled.

  The candle blew out.

  ‘Was it her?’ Meredith whispered.

  ‘I’m not sure.’

  ‘If it was, she’s gone now, hasn’t she?’ Meredith let out a little cry. ‘I can’t bear it. What if I never hear her again?’

  ‘It means she’s at rest. Now her baby is, she can rest too.’

  ‘I don’t want her to go.’ Meredith clutched at her sister’s sleeve.

  Verity felt tears on her own face. ‘It’s okay Meri, we did it; we did what she asked.’

  ‘But don’t you see? If Angharad’s gone then it means we’ll be going too. And Allegra will have won.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Now the baby’s been buried, Angharad won’t need me. She won’t care if we leave.’

  ‘No, that’s not true. She’ll be grateful. You’ve done what she asked…’

  ‘Verity, she’s a ghost. They don’t think the way living people do.’

  ‘Perhaps.’

  ‘Definitely. In any case, Angharad hates mothers. And she’s right.’

  You cannot trust the mothers…

  She could almost see what her sister was thinking.

  ‘Don’t try and comfort me, Verity,’ she said. ‘You can’t. Angharad isn’t going to stop Allegra. Nothing will. And if we leave, it’s over. I’ll never find out what happened to her.’

  Forty-six

  Allegra sat at her dressing table unravelling her hair, and a curious despair overtook her.

  In an attempt to placate Meredith she had resolved to paint a last picture of the house. It wasn’t working. She had failed to capture the light, and once it was gone there was no reclaiming it. That was the trouble with light; it was like cloud reflected in water, constantly on the move and you had to be quick, so quick. Once she was in London she would concentrate on the new paintings – it was a departure and he was right – the new style suited her personality. And in any case, Meredith was as ungrateful as her sister.

  ‘I don’t care about your stupid painting,’ she’d said. ‘I don’t need a picture to remember it.’

  In which case, why should I bother?

  It was time for new beginnings, and she would start this one by clearing her dressing table in preparation for the move. Dropping the hairpins into a glass dish, she pulled open the bottom drawer, began dragging things out, surrounding herself with a pile of belongings she had half-forgotten she owned.

  She rolled a cigarette, found a match and lit it, inhaled and coughed, hard and too long.

  Jeez, I need to give up these things. Maybe I will, in London.

  Leaving the cigarette to burn in the ashtray, she watched the smoke curl into the gloom, turned her attention back to the drawer. Her fingers grazed a small leather box – empty, the bits of jewellery Idris had bought her gone, given away, removed.

  You left me … you said you loved me and you lied.

  Outside her window the gulls were settling into their night-time places, bickering and vying for space on the roof.

  I won’t miss you lot and your hideous noise.

  What would she miss?

  You’re a monster…

  ‘I am not a monster!’ She hurled the words into the silent room.

  She wouldn’t miss a damn thing. And the girls could like it or lump it. It was ridiculous to imagine they wouldn’t cope. Verity would fit right in at school – too clever for her own good – and so would Meredith, now she was older.

  The night before last, before he left for London, he had told her she was beautiful, that she had stolen his heart.

  If you have been told often enough you are a beauty it either turns your head or you become bored by the notion. And if you have been an artist’s model, you become blasé about your body.

  I’m not as vain as people imagine I am.

  ‘It’s irrelevant,’ she told him. ‘I want your approval, not your compliments.’

  Opinions mattered to Allegra, as much as appearances.

  And her capacity for kidding herself was endless.

  She wanted him devoted, a little bit besotted. Above all, she wanted to be loved. Lifting her head, she glanced at her reflection and then away. Her eyes reminded her of her father and she blinked away a tear.

  You would have understood, Pa, wouldn’t you?

  At the edge of her thoughts, her mother’s voice intruded.

  Selfish … you can’t control everything …what about the girls…

  She wasn’t trying to control anyone – only make sure she did her best for her family. And what did her mother know about anything anyway?

  She doesn’t care about me.And why isn’t she happier at the thought of seeing more of her only daughter?Why isn’t she pleased I’ve found someone to love me? If anyone’s selfish, it’s her.

  While she still lived at Gull House, Mared may have been a tangible comfort; now she was a thorn in Allegra’s flesh.

  She’s difficult and obstructive; always trying to force her views on me.

  Allegra didn’t do irony.

  Somewhere in the
house, Meredith’s voice called out and Verity answered. Allegra didn’t like the idea they might be planning more defiance, to sabotage her dream.

  What’s so bad about wanting the best for us?

  Her lover, with his cool eyes and hot hands, had changed everything. His desire consumed her. He was dynamic and full of ideas too; he made her feel alive. She shuddered and it felt delicious.

  They’ll come round. In any case, they don’t have any choice.

  It was the only way and for the best. Her mother had to take responsibility. If she hadn’t upped and left in the first place, Allegra reasoned, the girls wouldn’t be in this position now.

  She left me to cope when she knew I wouldn’t be able to. What kind of a mother does that?

  She stubbed out the cigarette, ran her fingers through her hair, and imagined his hands in it. Looking up at her reflection in the mirror, light caught the silvering and this time, her face, with a hint of a blush, almost embarrassed her. Her foot caught the edge of the open drawer of the dressing table.

  She kicked it shut.

  Another flutter ran through her body; this time it was less sensual and more a moment of bewilderment.

  You can’t control everything…

  Dropping her head, she leaned on her forearms and began to cry.

  My mind played tricks.

  I dreamed of my mother’s garden as a wilderness, her plants gone to seed, a sea of weeds, brambles, nettles and ivy as thick as rope, strangling the precious formality. It belonged to the beetles and bats, the foxes and mice.

  Ghost owls and crows claimed it.

  I wandered between towering plants the colour of heartbreak and old sky, past black roses with thorns like daggers.

  At the gate, my mother appeared, her mouth moving in silent agitation. When I reached for her, she turned and was gone.

  Forty-seven

  Each day they imagined Allegra might have changed her mind, only to have their hope dashed.

  Verity lay on her bed, eyes scanning the room she had known all her life. It had become ephemeral, a stage set that might be dismantled in moments: her future unwritten and uncertain. Books and posters, stones, feathers and sea-washed glass, her shoes and clothes, her records – everything could vanish on her mother’s whim. She knew herself here – anywhere else and she wouldn’t fit. She would overlap or worse, shrink. This was her life and it suited her. Any other life would belong to some other girl.