She abandoned the drink and padded towards the window, barely able to see into the darkness – just a reflection of the room and her still-willowy shape. She would be isolated here, in this ridiculous house she’d inherited, along with far too much money. She would sell soon – once she felt she could move on with her life.
Thoughts of Jude swam into her head. ‘There’s been an accident,’ she’d told him three weeks ago. And when he took her into his arms, she’d buried her head in his shoulder, breathing in the smell of his Brut aftershave, and Consulate cigarettes. She’d hoped at that moment he’d changed his mind. That he would put her and their unborn child before his law degree, before his monstrous parents. That he would care enough to stay.
‘They’re in intensive care,’ she’d gone on. ‘Will you come to Sligo with me? I need you, Jude.’
He’d pulled away, his grey eyes cold – the shock of finding out a few days before that he would be a father still reflecting on his handsome face. He looked too young to be a parent, but then she was young too.
‘You know I can’t, Laura. I’m sorry. Please think about a termination.’ He’d said it so softly, that the word termination didn’t sound so bad. But the truth was, she was already attached to the baby growing inside her – even if it was only the size of a peanut. This would be her and Jude’s child.
She’d cried as he pulled on his jacket, and dragged his woollen hat over his dark curls. And with a final, ‘I’m so sorry,’ he opened the door, and disappeared into the night.
Controlling her desire to race after him, she’d dashed up the stairs to her rented room, flopped onto her bed, and cried into the early hours.
The following morning, her holdall slung over her shoulder, she headed for Connolly Station, and boarded a train for the three-hour journey to Sligo.
She’d told no one she was pregnant. Not that there was anyone to tell. The people she’d rented with had never been close, and although she had friends at university in her first year, falling for Jude meant she’d let them slip away. Even before uni, growing up in her parents’ isolated house meant she’d had few friends – and part of her liked it that way.
As the train rattled along the tracks, she placed her hands on her stomach, imagining her child with Jude’s curls and cute nose, rather than her straw-like hair and sharp features. But it would have her blue eyes – an amazing child that Jude wouldn’t be able to resist, once he’d had time to reflect. He would love their baby. They would be happy. The three of them.
‘Your mother’s gone,’ the nurse had told her when she reached the hospital. ‘I’m so sorry for your loss.’
A crushing numbness took over. She’ll never love me now. Her eyes ached, but no tears came. She’d dreamt that one day she would be close to her mother – that they might even become friends. It had been a ludicrous dream.
The nurse touched her arm gently. ‘Would you like to see your father?’ she said, after a few moments. ‘Although I must warn you, he’s in a poor way.’
The week that followed had been long and painful. Her father was attached to drips, and the beeps of the monitor penetrated Laura’s head, making it ache. He had been an arrogant man – so vain. Yet now he was swollen and bruised, and she cursed the wicked thought that invaded her head, as she sat by his side. You deserve this.
But still she visited each day, waiting for it all to be over.
‘Why?’ she asked him on day five, a question that spanned so much. But he never woke.
Why did you always drive so fast? Had it been for Mum? Her mother had loved the wind in her hair, as he treated back roads like racetracks.
Laura had been told the woman coming the other way had died instantly. That the child strapped in the back had survived. A child lost her mother because of you.
It was on the seventh day she asked, ‘Why didn’t you want me?’ A tear finally rolled down her cheek, and she imagined for a moment that he squeezed her hand – that he was saying he was sorry. But there was no way he could have. He’d died ten minutes earlier.
And now, Laura stood in her parents’ house, her hair damp from a shower and loose about her shoulders, her feet bare on the cold wooden floor. She knew she wouldn’t go back to university – to the room her parents had paid for. It was time for her to get off the merry-go-round of life, pause time until she had the strength to climb back on – and what better place to come to terms with her parents’ death, her pregnancy, and Jude letting her down, than here in this isolated house in the middle of nowhere?
The phone blasted, bringing her out of her reverie, and she raced to pick it up.
‘Jude,’ she said, twirling the phone cord around her fingers. He was the only one she’d given her parents’ number to.
‘It’s Abi.’
Laura froze. She’d been friendly with Abi in her first year, but she didn’t need her right now.
‘I just wondered if you’re OK,’ Abi went on. ‘Jude told me about your parents. He gave me this number – I hope you don’t mind me calling.’
‘I’m fine, Abi. Honestly. I just need some time out, that’s all.’
‘Well, give me a call, won’t you, if you need anything. I can come up and see you at the weekend, if you’d like me to.’
‘No.’ It came out too sharp. Abi was a good person. ‘Sorry. It’s just I’m fine. I don’t need anyone right now.’
‘Well, OK then. But you know where I am …’
‘I do. Thanks.’
Laura ended the call. The only person she needed right now was Jude.
She cupped her hand over her eyes, and peered through the window, and into the woods, her nose touching the glass. The lake where she’d swum as a child was visible through the glade. There had been some happy moments, hadn’t there?
She narrowed her eyes. Someone was out there, by a distant tree. She blinked. She was tired, imagining things. The area had been deserted when she first arrived, and the nearest life a farm half a mile away. It was the shadows – the shapes of the hedgerow playing tricks.
She lowered the blind and spun round, her eyes skittering around the room. An oil painting of her parents filled the wall above the fireplace. That would have to go. In fact she would bag up most of their stuff and give it to charity. Her father would die again if he knew.
She grabbed her holdall and climbed the twisting staircase, and then stood in the doorway of her old room for the first time in two years. When she’d gone off to the University of Dublin to study art, she’d never looked back, never called – not once. Deep sadness consumed her.
She padded into the room, lifting books from the shelves. They were all educational – no Noddy or Famous Five. Her parents had expected so much of her. It was probably for the best they’d never known about the baby – that she’d made the decision to drop out of university.
Laura had begged her parents for a toy rabbit when she was a child, like Jenny’s at school. ‘Babyish,’ her father had said. She’d been seven at the time.
My child will have toys – all the toys they desire.
She flopped onto the bed, eyes wide and looking at the ceiling, imagining her parents’ awful accident on Devil’s Corner – and how the poor woman had died. Had it been instant? Had the little girl in the back seat witnessed it, or had she been sleeping? How would such a young child cope without her mother?
She felt suddenly cold, and pulled the duvet over her. She curled into a tight ball, cradling her knees.
‘We’ll be OK, little one,’ she told her unborn child, her eyes growing heavy. ‘When Daddy comes, everything will be all right.’
Chapter 5
February 2018
‘It’s a bit weird, that’s all.’ I stared at the kettle, urging it to boil, feeling cross with myself for making too much of the friend request, and for showing it to Angela. ‘I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about. Just someone having a joke.’
‘Jokes are meant to be funny, Rachel. Aren’t they?’ Angela heaved herself onto the
kitchen stool, and rested her elbows on the breakfast bar, gazing my way.
She’d moved in next door about a year ago, and we’d hit it off immediately. I liked to think it was because we both liked Imagine Dragons and drinking rhubarb gin, but sometimes wondered if it was more than that. She was around my mum’s age. Was I looking for a replacement mother figure, or perhaps a gran for Grace? I certainly couldn’t rely on Lawrence’s parents to fill that role; they’d started a new life in Australia before I met him, and he rarely spoke to them.
I swallowed a lump in my throat, guilt rising that I would ever consider replacing my mother, and I attempted to bat down memories of the last time I’d visited her. ‘What a delightful little girl,’ Mum had said, as Grace sat in the communal lounge with her colouring book and crayons, pausing every now and then to suck orange juice through a straw. ‘Is she yours?’
It was those kinds of moments that held the most regret. Regret that I hadn’t made more of the second chance I’d been given when Mum had a heart attack ten years ago. I’d promised myself at the time that I would make the most of every moment – and I did, for a while, visiting her often. But then I met Lawrence, and worked long hours in Kensington, and later we had Grace. Weeks sometimes turned into months. I should have called her more, visited more, especially as she would never have travelled to London.
‘Well, I still think you should take the request seriously, Rachel,’ Angela continued, cutting into my thoughts.
I bit back tears. ‘I’m sure it’s nothing.’
‘It’s pretty odd, if you ask me. Do you think it’s connected to the call-in at the TV studio?’
Well, I do now. ‘Why the hell would it be?’
She shrugged. ‘Hey, keep your hair on, I just wondered, that’s all. Have you tried searching for this David Green on the Internet?’
‘Yes.’ I spooned coffee into mugs, refusing to catch her eye. ‘Last night, but the name is far too common. There are millions of results on Google.’ I’d even searched random LinkedIn profiles, Twitter, and Instagram to see if I could find him, with no luck.
‘Did you add Mandan Road and Sligo to your search?’
I nodded. ‘Still nothing.’ I felt a wave of anxiety wash over me. Sometimes, like now, Angela drove me crazy with her worrying. ‘Anyway, lots of people get requests from strangers,’ I went on, needing her to back up that theory, not raise more concerns.
‘None for me!’ She held up her hand as I rammed a teaspoon into the sugar bowl. ‘I need to lose a couple of stone.’
I splashed scalding water into the mugs, and handed her a steaming sugar-free coffee. ‘But you look great,’ I said, controlling my desire to ask her to leave.
She tweaked my cheek. ‘You’re such a sweetie.’
‘I mean it.’ I did. Her weight had yo-yoed since I’d known her. Sometimes, like now, she was curvy, and looked great in jeans and a flowing, funky top – the kind my mum loved. Other times, she looked too thin. Today, her highlighted hair fell in layers to her shoulders, and her pleasant round face carried a smile. ‘Are you going anywhere nice?’ I asked, realising she was more made-up than usual.
‘Another attempt at meeting Mr Right, this time for lunch – hopefully in liquid form.’ She rolled her eyes. She’d signed up to a dating agency she’d seen advertised on TV, but so far it had been a disaster. ‘It’s costing a fortune to meet idiots and bores, quite frankly. Let me tell you, Rachel, chivalry is dead. I’ve paid my own way every single time.’
‘That’s the way it’s done these days,’ I said, with a smile.
She blew on her coffee, and took a delicate sip. She’d told me before how she’d taken early retirement, and recently she’d felt a bit lost. ‘I just want someone to share my evenings with, Rachel. Is that too much to ask?’ she’d said. ‘It’s lonely spending twenty-four hours a day in your own company.’
Now she glanced over her shoulder, and into my lounge: a square room with an original fireplace I adored. Toys were put away in the wicker chest, and I’d straightened the cushions and throws, put the books on the crammed shelf in height order, and dashed the hoover over the grey carpet. I was grateful the room looked tidy. Angela’s house was always spotless. Not that she judged me.
‘I’m guessing Lawrence has Grace?’ she said.
‘Mmm. They won’t be back until Sunday evening, so I’m hoping to drive down to see my mum shortly. I prefer not to take Grace any more.’ Another stab of guilt – what about the times Mum recognised her? ‘It hurts … you know,’ I went on. ‘When Mum doesn’t know us.’ Sharp tears prodded my eyes, and I took a deep breath. I’d done far too much crying.
Angela reached over and patted my arm. ‘I know, sweetie,’ she said, her voice soft and warm. ‘I know.’
***
Dream Meadows Residential Care Home was deep in the Suffolk countryside, and my mother seemed happy there, as far as I could tell.
I parked and headed into the front entrance, spotting Margo, a care assistant with a permanent smile and short silver-grey hair.
‘Are you looking for your mum, dear?’ she asked breezily, hurrying across the reception area. She’d taken a shine to my mother, and Mum liked her too. ‘She was sleeping when I last put my head round her door. Go up. She’s had a busy day today, but she’ll be delighted to see you.’ She went on her way, straightening her navy tunic over her midriff, as I climbed the stairs.
Mum’s was a cosy room: a single bed, and a wardrobe and chest of drawers in antique pine. The surfaces were filled with framed photos jostling for space with trinkets Mum had asked me to bring from her house.
She was asleep on the bed, a duvet with lilac butterflies pulled over her, her breathing shallow. I stepped towards the window, and dragged back the thin curtains that matched the quilt cover.
Fields extended for miles – sheep and cows no bigger than ants dotted in the distance, and I imagined Mum painting the scene.
She stirred behind me, and I went over and perched on the edge of the bed near her head, watching her sleep, my body tensing as I pretended she was fine. Her quiet breaths were rapid, her eyes moving under closed lids. What are you dreaming about, Mum? Is it the times we spent together when I was young? Trips to Southwold – eating chips – flying kites – walking along the beach?
Should I wake her?
As though sensing me, her eyes flickered and opened. ‘Rachel,’ she said, and my heart sang. It was a good day. Thank God it’s a good day.
She pulled herself to a sitting position and leaned her head against the wall behind her. She was wearing a faded orange kaftan dress that was creased from sleep. I remembered her wearing it when I was young, yet it still fitted perfectly; she’d never gained weight over the years. I remembered visiting her house a few years ago, and trying to get her to throw a few things out. She’d been horrified when I suggested the dress should go, clutching it to her like a security blanket.
Now she pulled her plait over her shoulder, reminding me of a character from a Brontë novel.
‘It’s so lovely to see you, darling,’ she said, burying her fists into her eyes and rubbing them, childlike. She leaned forward, and I took her into my arms and hugged her close, breathing her in.
‘Where’s Grace?’ she said, when I released her.
‘She’s with Lawrence.’ I hadn’t told her we’d broken up. Not yet. I wanted to save her from that. ‘Are you getting up? We could go for a walk in the grounds. It’s cold but bright.’
‘Yes. Yes, let’s do that.’ She swung her legs round, and a furry toy rabbit in a waistcoat fell to the floor.
I picked it up. ‘Mr Snookum,’ I said, placing a kiss on his head. ‘I haven’t seen you for years.’ I thought he was in my attic.
She took him from me, and began fiddling with his ears. ‘I gave him to you when you were little, remember?’
‘Yes,’ I said, raising a brow. ‘I didn’t realise you had him.’
She placed the love-worn rabbit on her pillow, and covered hi
s small body with the duvet, so just his head poked out. Then she slipped her bare feet into canvas shoes.
‘Will you be warm enough? It’s been snowing.’
‘In summer?’
‘It’s winter, Mum. You’ll be cold.’
‘Of course I won’t,’ she said, standing and pulling on a long, thick cardigan that brushed against her ankles. ‘Let’s go,’ she said, and I followed her from the room, closing the door behind me.
We strolled around the grounds for about half an hour, our arms linked as we pointed out crocuses and snowdrops pushing their way through the cold earth. We talked about art – her favourite subject, and how different areas in the grounds would make beautiful paintings. Bare trees lined up against a pale sky in the distance with a hint of sunlight glowing around the branches, caught her attention. ‘I’ll paint those,’ she said.
‘I love you, Mum,’ I said, resting my head on her shoulder, wanting to capture the lucid moment – a second of clarity amongst her sea of confusion. I wanted to bottle it so I could drink it in whenever I felt down. I couldn’t bear that I was losing her, and battled down tears.
‘Love you more, Rachel,’ she said, as I brushed my cheek with the back of my hand. ‘You’re not crying, are you?’
‘No, no, of course not,’ I said, breathing deeply.
‘Is this because Lawrence left you?’
I shook my head. How did she know? We stopped and stared at each other for several moments, her blue eyes shimmering. She took hold of my wrist, her hand freezing. And there it was, that look. I was losing her again. ‘There are things you should know about the past, Rachel,’ she said. ‘Before I go.’
‘Where are you going, Mum?’
‘Laura.’ Margo was dashing across the grass towards us, a little breathless. ‘It’s time for your heart tablets, love.’
To my frustration, Mum released her grip on my arm. ‘I don’t want to take them. They’re poison,’ she said, as Margo took her arm and led her away.
Our conversation was over for the day.
Tell the Truth Page 3