Snow Sisters

by Carol Lovekin

  She’d met them – his contacts – with their imitation leather jackets and coarse language. They filled the flat with their maleness and innuendo, and bottles of placatory gin. No one owned a gallery; they hung around the fringes of an art world they saw as an opportunity, uninterested in art for art’s sake.

  They were interested in making money and getting wasted.

  When their snake eyes ignored her paintings, and she looked to him for validation, the man changed the subject. When they told jokes at her expense, he laughed and told her she was imagining things.

  ‘Don’t stress, baby, these things take time,’ he said. ‘And nothing works without money. Talk to your mother again about the house. Or a loan, she owns two properties for fuck’s sake.’

  She wasn’t comfortable with the kind of language he was beginning to use. And when she tried to explain there was no money – Gethin owned the London apartment and Mared couldn’t be persuaded to sell Gull House – she watched the passion in his eyes change colour.

  It was the mistake too many of Allegra’s casual lovers had made – the assumption of wealth. Gull House played its outwardly grand role well. Old things made with attention to detail give off an air of prosperity and greedy people are the easiest to hoodwink.

  Love, or what passed for it, had followed Allegra all her adult life, the way the smoke from her liquorice cigarettes did. She moved like a murmuration, first this way then that, pausing, forging ahead, never properly still. And in her wake they came, seduced by her and then by what they imagined she might own.

  He left her to paint, he said, and went about his business.

  Most people only saw what was obvious. When it came to painting, in Wales Allegra had seen beyond the normal colours of water and sky and stone; she’d seen the loveliness beneath the surface, hints and tints, gold-flecked and luminous as butterfly wings. In London, it wasn’t there. When she tried to paint, the new, garish colours looked wrong. Bird droppings smeared the skylight making the room dark.

  ‘What am I supposed to paint,’ she asked him, ‘if I can’t see the sky?’

  Allegra talked a lot about being in control of the events in her life when in fact she was imprisoned by them. Sitting in a dingy flat she hadn’t bargained for she thought about the nature of a bargain. It was, she had assumed, an agreement, a thing one person did for the other. Surrounded by paintings she was beginning to despise, she feared she was in control of nothing. The empty room closed in on her and her fear.

  Being abandoned had always been Allegra’s greatest terror.

  And it was happening again.

  The season changed, the way seasons do.

  Through the trees a keen wind blew the first hint of snow. I soon realised nature was not the friend I thought and because there was no one to talk to, forgot how to speak. I had no strength left, no will. Weak and starving I succumbed to a fever. I cried pitifully at first; then with such a depth of anger it washed away the fever, and any kindness from my heart until the only thing left was a desire to survive until I found her.

  Months of foul food in the asylum had trained my stomach and although I was accustomed to hunger, eventually, I became too weak to move.

  And always, the longing for her, an ache that refused to leave me.

  Death took my baby’s breath; the scent of it was in the air and the soil, and in the scrap of blanket. It wrapped itself into me and I embraced it. The wretched part of me gave in; floated up, found the spaces and places to cling to and wait in.

  Your heart, child, is as big as the moon.

  I have not abandoned you… I followed you because you are brave enough… Prestn

  Present

  The early bluebells make patches of the grass look as if they’ve turned to water.

  Mared’s garden will soon be filled with them. I hesitate and change my mind. In front of me the wood looks denser than I remember, as if, like the garden, it has drawn itself in, become less visible. It is lovely and forlorn, thick with wild-branched trees, dark and whispering.

  Follow me…

  In my hand, the ripped envelope crackles like a dead leaf. Not wanting to damage the moth, I fold the envelope and slide it into my bag. Stepping toward the trees, I sense the wood waiting to gather me in. The silence is muted and overlaying it I hear the sound of the sea.

  Next time I go to the wood, I’ll listen for it…

  My foot catches in a root and I place my hand on the trunk of a tree to steady myself. There is still no apparent path and I hesitate.

  Second stone on the right…

  I can’t see it, can’t see a thing I recognise. It is wilderness woodland with no directions. Only the green makes sense, the intensity of it catches in my throat.

  And then I do see something – a tree with a cleft where Meredith left offerings for the Fae, and caught on a twig, a scrap of torn cloth. It reminds me of summer leaves and I loosen it, clutch it in my hand.

  I walk in a little further, my footsteps vanishing behind me.

  Fifty-seven

  Verity hadn’t asked to be part of Angharad’s story.

  Her sister had other ideas. Meredith’s imagination possessed wings; it could sweep you up like an unexpected midsummer wind. Certain the ghost of Angharad wasn’t done with her, Meredith said she’d begun to hear her voice again, and Verity was once again drawn into her sister’s obsession.

  The bedroom they shared was barely big enough for both of them. If Verity missed the privacy of her old room, and the sound of the sea, she consoled herself with the thought that for Meredith it was probably far worse.

  ‘Meri, it’s over, you know it is. I’m not being horrible; I don’t think Angharad’s here anymore, that’s all. We did our best.’

  They were getting ready for school.

  Meredith stamped round the room.

  ‘You’ve broken your promise,’ she said. ‘You told me we were in this together.’

  Verity, with homework to contend with, refused to bite.

  ‘I still believe you, Meri. You’re the one being stroppy and giving me a hard time.’

  ‘That’s not fair.’

  It wasn’t and Verity swallowed her irritation. ‘Okay, but it’s over, and you have to accept it.’

  ‘You’re a hypocrite; you’re only saying it to shut me up. You can go to hell.’

  ‘You don’t mean that.’

  ‘I mean everything I say. How can you not hate it here? Even the birds are different. I don’t understand their songs.’

  Outside the window, Verity could see the trees in the square, brown birds littering the branches.

  ‘You just have to listen harder.’

  ‘Oh shut up, Verity, you aren’t helping.’ She snatched up a pair of patterned leggings from the floor.

  Meredith no longer pretended to wear school uniform. She threw on an oversized jumper so many sizes too big it reached her knees, and the green Dr Martens boots she’d persuaded her mother to buy in return for a trip to the cinema. Rings Verity hadn’t seen before littered her fingers.

  ‘You look quite cool,’ Verity said, attempting to make things right, ignoring Meredith’s bitten nails.

  How do I make it the way it was?

  Meredith rammed a rose-coloured beret over her wild hair and sneered. ‘I look unapproachable, which is the idea.’

  Verity pulled on her school skirt and blouse, began brushing her hair and although she missed Meredith so much it made her heart ache, she knew she couldn’t afford to allow her to make a bad situation worse. She knew when your old life disappeared the only thing to do was make a new one.

  ‘If you aren’t going to school – and I know you aren’t – I’ve got a free period this afternoon. Why don’t we go somewhere?’

  Without expecting to, Verity had begun to find London fascinating. Walking or travelling by bus, at first she found herself excitingly lost, jumping off wherever the fancy took her, discovering bookshops and parks, libraries, cafes and alleyways leading to broad s
treets full of the sort of shops she had never imagined. Through their doors came the kind of music that made her blood sing.

  ‘Come with me, Meri,’ she said. ‘Bits of London are wonderful and not in the least bit frightening.’

  ‘Who says I’m scared? And you have no idea what I do or where I go.’

  ‘So why don’t we swap notes then?’

  ‘Because I don’t trust you.’

  If she meant her words to be brutal she was successful.

  Verity tried not to look as shocked as she felt.

  ‘If you really cared about me, Verity, you’d listen to me instead of trying to create some fake friendship that ended the day you agreed to go to school.’

  ‘I wanted to go to school. I always did.’

  ‘Which makes you a liar as well as a traitor.’

  ‘White lies, Meri, the kind you’re always saying are fibs, so I wouldn’t upset you.’

  ‘I’m not upset, Verity, I told you, there isn’t a word for the way I feel.’

  ‘You know we have to go to school.’

  Meredith glared. ‘But not like this. Not here!’

  ‘No. I didn’t plan it like this either, but…’

  ‘Fuck but.’

  ‘Meredith!’

  ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to swear at you. I’m not the one lying though. Not this time.’

  ‘So you admit you sometimes do?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  Verity smiled and sighed. ‘I don’t know what to say.’

  ‘I don’t want you to say anything!’

  ‘All right, I’ll listen then. Tell me.’

  ‘There’s nothing to tell, except she’s back.’ A tear bloomed in Meredith’s eye. ‘I can hear her. She told me death took her baby’s breath, and she gave up. I think it means she died.’

  Verity pressed her hand to her chest, her voice dropped to a whisper. ‘You heard her say that?’

  ‘She found a place to wait – for me – she says she hasn’t left.’

  Verity’s heart skipped too many beats. She wanted to tell her sister she believed her. All she said was, ‘I’m sorry.’

  Meredith shrugged. ‘It doesn’t matter. I’ve been in this by myself from the beginning. You’ve never cared about Angharad, not the way I do. And now you have your precious school…’

  ‘How dare you say I didn’t care? I saw her remember! I saw her first!’ Verity snatched back her apology. ‘If you weren’t so busy being a brat maybe I’d be more inclined to listen to you.’

  Meredith’s face drained of what little colour it had and she burst into tears. ‘I can’t bear it, Verity. I don’t know who I am anymore. It’s like you’ve left me behind, she hates me, Nain is always with Gethin and if I don’t have Angharad, who am I supposed to believe in? I’ve lost everyone.’

  ‘You haven’t lost me, Meri. I’m trying to make sense of things too. We do this stuff differently.’

  ‘You promise?’

  ‘Always. I believe you – if you say Angharad’s here, then I believe you. And you can tell me anything.’

  Meredith gulped and sniffed.

  ‘And though I know it doesn’t look that way,’ Verity went on, ‘Allegra does love you – she loves us both. She just loves him more right now. It won’t last, Meri, we’ll get her back.’

  Meredith crossed the road to the square. The leaves on the birch trees were turning to gold, spiralling in the light air, looking for a place to be.

  She wondered if, when winter came, it would snow. Sweeping leaves off the bench she wrapped herself in her misery. This kind of being alone stung, as cold as icicles, sharp enough to hurt her. She watched the London birds, listened to their songs and her heart longed for the sound of gulls and the smell of snow.

  Fifty-eight

  Although she was one of her earliest obsessions, Meredith dropped her mother as if she were nothing more than a redundant bus ticket.

  She found Allegra out, and it was as if the proverbial light bulb lit up.

  They were expected to spend weekends with their mother, ostensibly to give Mared a break. In reality, it was to make Allegra look like a responsible parent and, Verity suspected, to keep her company.

  She persuaded Meredith to go. ‘It won’t hurt you and she’s—’

  ‘She’s in the process of being dumped.’

  The man periodically absented himself.

  ‘He has things to do,’ Allegra said waving away their enquiries. She chain-smoked now and her cough was worse.

  They both hated the flat. Situated over a junk shop, in spite of a large skylight, it struck them as depressingly sleazy: two pokey rooms furnished with what the owner of the shop couldn’t sell, plus a tiny kitchen and bathroom. A destitute smell of stale milk, cigarettes and sex permeated the place.

  After only a few visits, Meredith refused to go again.

  ‘She can’t make me.’ She refused to use her mother’s name.

  Allegra tried everything, from bribes to entreaties.

  Meredith missed the way things once were too much to allow her mother to make amends.

  She accepted the Dr Martens boots with a shrug.

  (More fool you.)

  ‘Please, darling, can’t you see how much I miss you?’

  Meredith remembered the way her mother had looked when the man came into a room at Gull House, how her attention had snapped away like an elastic band.

  ‘You’re pathetic. I will never forgive you.’

  Concerned about how much her mother was drinking, Verity confided in Mared.

  ‘Is it him? Is he making her drink more?’

  ‘Maybe, to be honest, cariad, it’s an old addiction.’

  ‘You mean because of Idris.’

  Mared sighed. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Do I need to worry about it?’

  ‘They always drank a lot. It was him got her into it but she didn’t take much encouraging. And when have you known her not to drink?’

  ‘I guess.’

  ‘Don’t overthink it, Verity. It gives her courage.’

  It’s making her ill.

  Verity didn’t say this and her grandmother didn’t say what was on her mind either.

  ‘Do you think she still loves Idris?’

  ‘Addiction’s a hard thing to shake.’

  ‘She never takes the pearl ring off does she?’

  ‘Pearls are for tears, lovely,’ Mared said. ‘What did she expect? She tells the world she won’t forgive him, yet she can’t let go.’

  ‘You always manage to make me feel sorry for her.’

  ‘Good. She’s your mother, and however it looks, she loves you.’

  To Verity her mother’s kind of love was incidental and conditional.

  ‘It’s a waste to love someone who doesn’t love you back.’

  ‘That’s as maybe, cariad, the trouble is, Allegra’s heart is her weakness; it’s where she keeps her truth.’

  Verity thought about her mother’s imperfect heart, locked into an impossible version of reality.

  ‘Love makes mischief, Verity. You keep your eye open for its tricks.’

  For a moment, Verity felt her own heart speed up.

  ‘I told you before,’ Mared said. ‘I was always a bit scared of your mam.’

  ‘You aren’t scared of anyone!’

  Mared laughed and her spectacles wobbled on her nose. ‘She was a holy terror when she was little, and as for discipline, well… Forget it. In Allegra’s world, she was always right and from the start my instinct was never to cross her.’

  ‘Even though you’re sometimes quite strict with us?’

  ‘Am I?’

  ‘A bit.’

  Mared laughed again and said it was different with grandchildren. ‘You get a second chance to get it right.’ She stroked Verity’s hair, told her she was a good girl and it was easy to be kind to her and her sister. ‘Your mother took over – I can’t explain it – not in a way that makes any sense.’

  Verity didn’t need an explana
tion; she had the evidence of her own eyes.

  ‘Allegra’s problem is she didn’t fall out of love enough with Idris to fall in love with anyone else.’

  ‘She seems pretty loved up with this one.’

  Her grandmother made a rude noise. ‘It’s something, bach, I promise you, it isn’t love.’

  Verity did her best to persuade Allegra to come to the apartment in the square.

  ‘Nain misses you.’

  ‘We both know that isn’t true.’

  From time to time Allegra acquiesced; it was the only way she was able to see Meredith. Her daughter had other ideas and all too often, even if no one mentioned her mother was coming, Meredith wouldn’t be there.

  ‘You reap what you sow,’ Mared said.

  ‘And you can’t wait for it to go wrong, can you? Still trying to ill-wish me, Mam?’

  Allegra raged and most of the time Mared fielded the verbal blows as if they were thistledown.

  It wasn’t always easy.

  One evening, after Allegra brought her back to the apartment, Verity overheard an argument. Hovering in the hallway, she listened to her mother’s plaintive whine.

  ‘It’s a pile of stone no one cares about.’

  ‘It’s a pile of stone you don’t care about. Shame on you, Allegra for asking me again. Your children love Gull House, it’s their inheritance. My physical body may be here, my heart’s still in my home.’

  When Allegra stormed out of the house, Mared turned to Verity as if she had known all the time she was there.

  Her voice was alive with passion. ‘Remember this day, cariad. And my promise: under no circumstances will I ever sell your inheritance.’

  Fifty-nine

  After only one term, Verity decided to leave school.

  It was 1980; she was sixteen. Her life may have changed, her ambition hadn’t and she had a plan.

  You should consider librarianship … you could do a lot worse.

  Encouraged by her grandmother, she signed up for college. It was the first step on the road to university. She didn’t tell Meredith, suppressed the guilt and told herself it made no difference.

  She’s hardly ever at school anyway.

  Verity finally turned into who she was. She bought her own copy of the book Miss Jenkins had introduced her too, and more besides.