by J. A. Baker
‘I can see you’ve suffered enough for a hundred people, lovey. Doesn’t give you the right to hurt other people though, does it? Put the knife down and we can start again. We can chat about what’s going on here and nobody will get hurt or injured.’
I am beyond surprised at Trish’s mediation skills. Is this what years of abuse does to a person? Arms them with strategies to get out of harmful situations? I desperately hope she can win Celia over but am riddled with doubt. How can you ever reason with a sick mind?
‘You know nothing about my suffering,’ Celia barks back. ‘And as for your son… you managed to bring up a right charmer there, didn’t you? Hopping in and out of bed with as many women as he can, treating them as commodities, toying with their feelings. Treating them like pieces of SHIT!’
My flesh crawls, goosebumps prickling me. Celia has slept with Gareth? Christ almighty, he didn’t waste much time, did he? A thousand questions gnaw away at me: did he see me with Celia at some point and do it to get back at me? Or was it the other way around? Celia is perverse enough to do something like that for sure, especially since she’s taken on my traits. Does she actually think she is an extension of me? Dear God, what has she turned into?
I have total admiration for my mother’s composed demeanour as Celia’s words spew out of her. She is in full flow, anger and venom pouring forth and showing no sign of subsiding.
‘And have you any idea of why she has come here to find you?’ Celia jabs at my back with the knife. I remain as still as I can, too terrified to move in case the blade slips or she simply decides to drive it home into my flesh because her anger has gotten the better of her. I fear we are veering frighteningly close to that point but can’t think of a way to drag her back from it.
‘I’d like you to tell me why, Celia. I’m sorry my son has hurt you, I really am. He’s had a tough time of it but that doesn’t excuse what he has done. Eva and I haven’t really had time to chat but I’d very much like to hear what you’ve got to say for sure. Shall we all go back into the living room and talk? It’s more comfortable in there, don’t you think?’
And with that, my mother turns and walks away leaving me with Celia and her anger and that knife. I close my eyes and pray that for once, Celia sees reason. I am not a religious person but I pray for all I’m worth that these few seconds aren’t my last.
I open them again and hold my breath.
28
Celia
‘Move!’
Celia pushes the knife further into Eva’s spine, jabbing at her to go forwards, to follow the older woman back to where they came from. It’s too damn small in this kitchen anyway. She needs more space to help her think. Her mind is cluttered and she can’t seem to formulate her thoughts any more. It’s like wading through treacle just putting everything in order in her mind. Fucking men and their pathetic primeval urges, blackening her good name. And then she has Eva to think about, and her family secrets. Why didn’t Eva tell her she had a brother? This whole thing is so bloody confusing, Celia can’t get her head around it all.
Something suddenly spikes into her brain making her hot and unsteady. She needs to sit down. She pushes Eva onto the sofa and sits next to her, the knife placed at Eva’s chest. Celia presses it further, feeling it split the fabric of Eva’s sweater. It’s a pity she has to do this at all. If Eva had been any kind of friend and kept her up to speed about what was going on in her life, then none of this would be happening.
‘You set me up!’ The words feel thick in her mouth, as if her tongue is made of wool. ‘All this time you knew you had a brother and you got him to sleep with me to make me look like a fool!’
She watches Eva’s eyes widen. She shakes her head and Celia has to use every ounce of self-restraint to not bring her hand up and slap her stupid little face. How dare she act as if she knows nothing about this whole thing? How dare she?
‘Don’t insult my intelligence, Eva! You’ve used me and hurt me from the very start; not keeping in touch, moving away from me, trying to ignore me! What do you think I am? Some sort of lapdog who will come running whenever you call me? I call the shots round here, okay? I am the one who looks after you. Not the other way around!’
‘I’m sorry, Celia. I’m so, so sorry. I never meant to hurt you, but I swear I knew nothing about you and Gareth! You have to believe me. I would never do anything like that. You’re my best friend.’ Eva’s face is pale, and her face is wet and streaked with mascara.
Celia stops at her words. She can’t work out whether Eva means it or not. They are best friends, aren’t they? Or at least they used to be. Everything suddenly feels muddled and out of balance like the world has moved off its axis and there has been some sort of time slip. She wants to believe her, she really does, but everything is so difficult to understand.
A voice punctures her thoughts, making her shiver. ‘You don’t mind if I sit here next to you, do you, my love?’
Celia turns her head to see Eva’s mother perched on the sofa next to her. Celia can feel the heat radiating from her body. She stares at the pink slippers, noticing how ugly they are, and then raises her eyes to stare at this woman’s face, thinking how dark her hair is and how ruddy her complexion is. The contrast is so stark she wants to laugh. Eva’s mother looks ridiculous. Why can’t older people just let age do its thing instead of trying to battle it by colouring their hair to conceal the grey? She is pathetic, this old bitch, pretending to be some sort of wise old woman when they all know she is no more than a wizened old hag.
‘That’s it, dearie. Let’s just have a chat, shall we?’
Celia watches her mouth move and tries to stay focused on what is happening around her. She gives the knife another little push and hears a whimper coming from Eva. This is going to be difficult. She has to remain calm and in control. They’re trying to trick her again. She can feel it. One more thrust of the knife will show them who’s in charge, then they might take notice of what she has to say.
‘That’s a beautiful bracelet you’re wearing there. It looks just like Eva’s. You’re very alike you two, aren’t you? Same hair, same sort of clothes. Where did you get it from? It’s just so lovely.’
‘Greta gave them to us.’ Celia hears Eva’s voice, brittle and childlike. She sounds so far away but she isn’t, is she? She is here, next to her speaking. Celia can even feel her hot breath on her neck as Eva carries on talking. ‘She bought them for us when we lived with her in York. Do you remember that day, Celia? Trish is right. We’re alike you and I, aren’t we?’
Celia is finding it hard to breathe properly. Her lungs don’t seem to be working and she feels dizzy as she tries to ignore the memory that is pushing its way into her brain.
‘You broke mine,’ Celia says quietly. ‘You ripped all my charms off and I had to get it fixed years later.’
She feels tears build and swallows them down. She is sure that’s what happened. Things are vague, the facts and timeline of that day hard to put in order, but her heart is telling her that something unpleasant took place on that visit and it wasn’t her fault. It must have been Eva who broke it. Celia would never do such a terrible thing. She’s a good girl. She isn’t the horrible child her mother used to tell her she was. She always did her best and tried so hard to do the right thing. It’s just that there were times when she would get so upset and angry and everything would go black, and then afterwards she couldn’t remember things too well. But she was a nice child. Always well behaved. Always a good girl.
Eva speaks again, her voice strained. ‘I’m not sure that’s exactly what happened but it was a lot of years ago and if I can—'
‘Shut up!’ Celia surprises herself by how loud her voice is and how it seems to fill the entire room. She almost giggles. The words just exploded right out of her. This is power. This is how it feels to be completely in control. And she likes it. It makes her feel alive. Fire is raging in her stomach, pushing through her veins.
She holds the handle tight and presses it
a little bit more, feeling it lodge into something soft. There’s a scream and an animalistic cry from somewhere close by. She ignores it. Nothing is going to distract her. She’s the boss here. She knows it, they know it. She should have done this a long time ago to get Eva back on her side. Sometimes this is what people need to get them into line.
‘A long time ago, I did an awful thing.’
Celia listens to the voice of the older lady, wondering where this is leading to. She doesn’t have any time for sob stories. All she wants is the truth. All she really wants is Eva. Always has.
‘I had a child and I let them take it away from me. I needed help, I know that now, but I was young – younger than you are, lovey – and I let it happen. What we need to remember is, it’s never too late to ask for help. We can help you, my love. Me and Eva here, who is in pain and bleeding, we can help you. Even though you’ve hurt her, she will still help you, won’t you, Eva?’
There is movement and a muffled sob coming from somewhere close by. Celia breathes hard. More tricks? She can‘t be sure. What if she falls for it and they let her down? All her life people have let her down; her parents, teachers, social workers, every foster parent she has ever lived with. They all gave up on her and cast her aside, taking no notice of her feelings, never once asking her how she felt. Eva is all she has left. Celia doesn’t think she could bear it if the only person she has left in the whole world lies to her. But then, if she doesn’t believe Eva, what is the point of her life? Eva is all she’s got, and if she no longer has her, then there is no reason for living.
‘You’re lying. You’re lying!’ Another gasp from next to her as she presses the blade further in again. A lovely tingling sensation settles in her belly as she feels more skin give way under her pressure.
‘Come on, Celia. We can help you. Please put the knife down.’ Trish’s voice is quiet and gentle and echoes softly past her. Celia imagines it as a trail of wispy clouds, circling around the room, wrapping themselves over their bodies, soft as silk, binding them all together like a small tight-knit family.
The smooth handle of the knife wobbles about in her grasp. It feels light as if it’s made of air. She could do it. She could just let go and it would simply float away from her and then she and Eva could leave. They could go back to York together, be the children they once were. Everything will be perfect.
And then she thinks of Gareth; sees his face close to hers, feels his hot breath on her naked body, thinks about his hands roaming over her flesh, and she wants to vomit.
Righting herself and sitting up straight, she tenses her jaw and closes her hand tightly around the knife, unable to believe that they almost had her there. She was so close to letting them win, so close to putting the knife down and forgiving them. And then she remembered that this whole thing is one big set-up. Eva, her mother and that bastard brother of hers; they are all in on it together. Toxic, that’s what they are. One huge, rotting mound of toxic waste that needs disposing of.
And she is just the person to do it.
29
Gareth
Gareth clips his bag closed. He tosses the empty miniature bottles of hotel shampoo and shower gel into the bin and glances around the room. Not much to check for. He travelled light and will return home the same way.
He glances at his watch and zips up his jacket, tugging at the collar to keep it upright. Plenty of time yet before his train leaves. He can check out of here and find somewhere in town to eat. He may even celebrate with an early beer. He reaches up and traces his hand over his face. Or maybe not. He’s been drinking too much lately and needs to cut down. It’s made him do things he’s not proud of, things he would never have thought himself capable of. He can have a coffee and enjoy the buzz from the caffeine instead. As far as he knows, nobody has ever become aggressive and got into a fight after drinking too many cups of coffee.
He steps outside his room and stares around. Nobody there. Good. He doesn’t fancy bumping into Celia. He’s feeling pretty fragile and hasn’t the stomach for any hassle today. All he wants to do is to get home.
Clutching the key, he heads downstairs to the reception area, hoping that there isn’t a queue. The longer he hangs around this place, the greater the chances are of bumping into her. He slides his key across to the waiting receptionist, sees her taking in the scar and bruises on his face and thanks her. He does actually mean it. Things feel different. He feels different, lighter and free, as if a huge weight has been lifted off him. Despite looking as if he has been ten rounds with a heavyweight, he feels better than he has in weeks.
He tightens the straps of his recently purchased backpack and strides outside. He feels a sudden compulsion to go up to the abbey. He hasn’t been up there for years. Not since he was a kid. It’ll do him good to blow off the cobwebs. His legs will probably give up on him after the run through town but he’s determined to give it a go. He can use this as the turning point of his life; exercise more and drink less. Fewer takeaways and a healthier diet. Why not? He’s determined to salvage something positive from this hideous mess. He couldn’t have gone on as he was, with it eating away at him. This whole torrid escapade has helped clear his head, given him a firm footing again and got him back on track.
Taking a deep breath, Gareth feels the cold air dragging into his lungs and savours the sensation as it balloons in his chest, chilling his abdomen, cleansing him.
He sets off at a lick, enjoying the burn in his calves and thighs. It’s a good feeling. It means he’s alive. Sometimes you have to get kicked and feel the pain just to remind you that you’re not actually dead.
He smiles, aware that he very possibly looks idiotic, but he doesn’t stop. He isn’t sure if it’s because he has severed all ties with his mother or the fact that he let Eva know just how angry he was, how fucking outraged he felt by her behaviour. Either way, the whole thing has been cathartic and it wouldn’t have happened if he hadn’t knocked that old guy down in the street. Had it not been for that awful incident, he would still be in London chewing over this sorry mess and feeling as if he still wanted to kill Eva. Everything happens for a reason, doesn’t it? That medic, her words; they all led him here, to this moment in time, and for that he will always be grateful.
As soon as he gets back home, he’ll contact the hospital and make sure the old man is on the mend. He should have done it before now but with everything that’s happened, Gareth hasn’t given the poor old guy a second thought. But he will do it. He has no idea which hospital they would have taken him to but he can soon find out. It shouldn’t be too difficult with all the information and news that is bandied about on social media, and if he doesn’t see anything on there then he will just ring all the hospitals in the area until he finds him. He owes the poor old man that much.
The sea is calm and the sky a long stretch of pale blue with a tiny scattering of cotton-wool clouds as he continues his walk into the main part of town. Life suddenly feels very good indeed. He will get some food, go and see the abbey and catch his train back home. Everything is great. Life is about as perfect as it can be.
30
Trish
Trish does her best to stay calm even though her head feels as if a bomb has gone off in there and her chest is so tight she can hardly breathe. What’s wrong with this woman? She is completely insane and should be sectioned. For a second back there, Trish could have sworn her resolve was weakening but then out of the blue she upped her game. She looked as if somebody had injected her with a shot of steroids and she had grown ten inches, her entire frame widening, her madness stretching as far as the eye can see.
She has no idea who this woman even is. She has no desire to know either. Whether she is a friend of Eva’s or Gareth’s is neither here nor there. She just wants her gone, out of her house, and locked up somewhere secure.
She tries again to make her see sense, to plead with her to put the knife down. It’s such a large blade, a hefty weapon with a serrated edge that flashes and glints with ev
ery movement, casting sinister shapes on the adjacent wall. If Trish leans back slightly she can see Eva’s pale face, see the tremble of her body, the red of her blood as it gathers and spreads out over her abdomen. Celia has it pushed into her chest just above her right breast and has jabbed her hard. Trish has no idea how far the blade has gone in but prays it’s not too far. If it weren’t such a lethal weapon she would have made a lunge at her, grabbed it out of her hand and pinned her to the ground, but it’s too big a risk. One second too slow and it would slice Eva open like she was a pat of butter.
‘Celia,’ Trish says as softly and evenly as she can, ‘I’m begging you, please don’t hurt her. You don’t want to get into trouble now, do you? Imagine a lovely clever woman like you in prison. That’s not what you want, is it? They’re awful places they are, full of nasty mean people. They’re not like you in there. You would hate it. All you need to do is put the knife down.’
‘Down?’ Celia shrieks.
Trish sucks in her breath and watches in slow motion as Celia swings around and points the blade under Trish’s chin, tracing it down to the softest part of her throat and resting it there, the cold of the metal sending an icy chill across her skin.
She tries to look over to Eva to tell her to run, but she is locked into position, the sharpness of the knife keeping her in place, holding her hostage. She wants to scream to Eva to get out of here, to forget about Trish’s current predicament and focus only on saving herself, but she can’t seem to move. Even breathing is a struggle. Everything has slowed down. She can’t think straight any more with that huge knife pushing at her neck.