Laura studied the boy, shocked something so awful could be happening – was he telling the truth? He’d never mentioned anything like it before.
‘I swear on my sisters’ lives it’s true,’ he said, as though he knew what she was thinking.
Laura’s mind spun. ‘Shall I come over?’
‘Jaysus and all his angels, no.’ Dillon narrowed his eyes, and wiped away the blood on his knee with his sleeve. ‘You can’t come to the farmhouse, Laura.’ He shot to his feet. ‘If Da or Ma find out I’ve been talking …’ He looked towards her, fear in his eyes. ‘There’s nothing you can do, anyway. I once called the Guards on Da, because Ma said he hit her. But Ma wouldn’t let them in. Denied it, and they just believed her. Never came back. I just needed to tell someone, Laura, but there’s nothing you can do. Promise you won’t do anything.’
‘OK, I won’t. I promise. Sit, please, Dillon,’ she said. ‘Tell me more about the wildlife.’
A sudden stir in the trees seemed to unsettle him. ‘I’d best get going,’ he said, and before she could say another word, he made a bolt for it, and it wasn’t long before he was out of sight.
Laura edged forward on her bottom, and dangled her bare feet in the clear, cold water, as a swan drifted by. Ten minutes passed in a daze, as she thought about Dillon, Caitlin, and Bridie. Were the children OK? Did Dillon even go to school? He’d told her he did, but she couldn’t be sure – he was often about during the day. Should she try to find out more about the children’s life at home? Introduce herself as their neighbour, perhaps?
It was almost seven, and she knew she would need to move fast if she wanted to get to the farm and back before dark. She dried her feet on the grass, slipped them into flip-flops, and grabbed her hessian bag.
It was dusk by the time she found the farm, a dilapidated two-storey farmhouse. A couple of run-down sheds stood nearby, and a small apple tree grew near the lake, near a moored rowing boat. She remained a good distance away, obscured by trees, watching as a small, dark-haired woman of around her own age gathered towelling diapers from a makeshift washing line. Hens darted around her feet, almost toppling her over, as she folded the diapers into a wicker basket.
Laura wanted to go over, introduce herself, but her legs refused to move; the woman looked stern, unapproachable, and anyway, she’d promised Dillon. As she watched on, the last of the sun went down, coating distant trees like liquid gold. The woman wedged the basket onto her hip, just as the front door was flung open, and a little girl toddled out, her head full of dark curls – one of the braces of her red dungarees was undone, flapping about as she moved.
‘Bridie!’ It was Dillon, following her out. He lifted her up and swung her round and round, and the little girl giggled.
From what Laura could see, they seemed happy enough – a normal family. A little rough around the edges, but she knew that much.
The woman looked about her, and ushered Dillon, with the girl tucked under his arm, inside, as though she sensed a storm coming. Moments later the door slammed behind them. If it hadn’t been for the hens scurrying about, pecking the ground, it would have felt as though nobody lived there at all.
The sun had dipped behind the horizon, and Laura hitched her bag further onto her shoulder, and turned for home. But as she stepped forward a searing pain made her tense. She grabbed her stomach, and bent over.
‘You spying?’ It was a male voice some distance away.
Laura stood upright, and looked about her, the pain easing.
‘I asked you a question,’ came the voice.
‘I was just out walking. I live about half a mile away,’ she called, trying to pick out the man in the darkness.
‘Lough End Farm is private property,’ he called. ‘You’re trespassing.’
‘Yes, sorry. I’ll be on my way.’
‘What’s your name?’
‘Laura. Laura Hogan.’
‘The daughter of that couple who died at Devil’s Corner? I heard you’d moved in.’
She shuffled. ‘I should get back.’
‘I’m Tierney O’Brian.’ He was still out of view, although his shape was moving towards her through the darkness, tall and broad – still too far away to make out his features. ‘Just keep away from here in future.’
‘Yes, yes, of course.’ She dashed into the woods, another pain gripping her, as though someone had grabbed her around the middle and squeezed. She stopped, crying out, and grabbed a tree branch.
‘You OK?’ she heard Tierney call out, his footfalls approaching.
‘Fine,’ she called. Surely it isn’t a contraction, not this early.
She sucked in a breath, and hurried through the darkness, nerves jangling, Dillon’s words about Bridie being locked in a cupboard still in her head.
She picked up speed, weaving in and out of the trees, a sudden movement of a low-flying bat causing her to cry out. What the hell was wrong with her?
Relieved to see the welcoming porch light of her house, she fumbled with her key. Once inside, she pulled the bolt across and leaned against the door. The family at the farm looked perfectly happy, didn’t they? She could stop worrying about the children, couldn’t she?
Another painful contraction ripped across her stomach.
‘Oh God, no,’ she cried, as she slid to the floor in agony, her waters breaking.
Chapter 11
February 2018
I arrived at Dream Meadows Care Home at two o’clock. Mum was in the communal lounge, a peaceful place looking out over the grounds.
I made my way through the people dotted about on chairs and sofas, reading, sleeping, or doing crossword puzzles, and sat down beside her.
Her blonde hair, not a trace of grey, hung loose and damp, from a recent shower I suspected. She looked younger than her years. Pretty in a flowing purple top with a ruffled hem, that I’d bought her for Christmas, over navy leggings, and a pair of fluffy slippers.
‘Mum,’ I said, taking hold of her hand, and she looked up, her eyes wide and vacant. I knew before she said a word that she didn’t know who I was.
‘Hello,’ she said, locking her eyes on mine. ‘I’m Laura Hogan. Do I know you?’ The question always stung. But before I could answer, my mother continued, ‘My daughter’s at school at the moment – she’s very clever. She came to see me this morning.’
I sighed inside. ‘Can I get you a drink?’ I said, trying to control the usual surge of tears burning behind my eyes. ‘Coffee?’
‘Are you my carer?’ She looked about her. ‘Where’s Margo today? I like Margo.’
‘I’m not your carer, Mum. It’s me. Rachel.’ I swallowed a lump rising in my throat. I had to keep from crying, for her sake.
‘I don’t want any …’ She stopped, and tapped her knee with her free hand, as though she was sending Morse code to her brain. ‘I don’t want any brown hot water … thank you. I’ve had several cups already. It keeps me awake at night.’
I squeezed her hand, wanting to ask her what she’d wanted to say the last time I was here, ask her about Mr Snookum, show her the painting, but what good would it do?
‘I love you,’ I whispered.
‘Love you more,’ she said, eyes still closed.
‘It’s still you and me against the world, Mum. It always will be.’
Her eyes flickered and opened, and she broke into a smile. ‘Would you get me a coffee, please? My daughter might come later, and I want to be awake when she does.’
For an hour I sat by her side, reading aloud Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, one of her favourite books. It was far easier to read than attempt to talk, and the words of Lewis Carroll seemed fitting somehow. My mother had disappeared down a rabbit hole and into another world, just like Alice.
Finally, I got up to leave, and kissed her cheek. I pulled on my coat, and as I tucked my hand in my pocket, I felt the picture, and questions darted around my head. Should I show it to her? Would she recognise the farmhouse? Would her older memories be easier to
reach? I didn’t want to upset her, but desperately needed to know. I pulled it out, unfolded it, and placed it on her knees. ‘I wondered if you remember this place, Mum?’
She looked down, and her eyes filled with tears, as she ran shaking fingers over the black clouds and down the creases. ‘Rachel added the clouds.’
‘Did I?’ I couldn’t remember.
She stared at the picture for some time before a sudden desperate sob came from deep inside her. ‘The cuts,’ she cried. ‘They were the same size. They should have been different, you see. I should have said something.’
I reached over, folded the picture, and stuffed it back in my pocket, as Margo rushed over to comfort her, pulling her into a hug.
‘Mum,’ I said. ‘Mum, tell me what’s wrong. What is it you wanted to tell me last time I was here?’
But as quickly as her tears came, they stopped. She pulled away from Margo, and her eyes, vacant once more, focused on the window.
It was time for me to leave.
***
Snow fell thick and fast on the journey home, settling on the grass verges, and I began to panic that I wouldn’t get back in time for Lawrence bringing Grace home, but thankfully I skidded to a stop outside my house the same time as he did.
‘Mummy,’ Grace called once he’d unstrapped her from the car seat, and plonked her down on the snow-covered pavement.
‘Hello, my lovely girl,’ I said, crouching and holding out my arms. She padded across the snow towards me, wrapped in her winter coat, a wool hat with a fur pom-pom covering dark curls. She’d inherited her hair from Lawrence, although he kept his short these days.
I took her into my arms and squeezed, breathing her in. ‘I’ve missed you so much.’
‘I’ve missed you more,’ she said, as I released her. She looked up at the dark sky, and a snowflake landed on her nose. ‘Can we build a snowman?’ she said, eyes back on me.
‘Maybe later,’ I said.
She crouched down, and began scooping snow into her gloved hands, singing ‘Do you want to build a snowman?’ from Frozen at the top of her voice.
Lawrence approached, tall, slim, and handsome, in a smart jacket with jeans and a green woollen hat with an oversized pom-pom. I glanced at the car. Someone was sitting in the passenger seat. Farrah?
‘I got your text,’ he said, folding his arms.
‘Yes, well, I was angry.’ I looked up at him and stuffed my hands in my pockets, conscious I looked a mess. ‘You should have talked to me before introducing fucking Farrah to our daughter.’ I never swore much, and it always sounded a bit lame – silly – like I was a child trying out the word for the first time.
‘Don’t be pathetic, Rachel.’ He’d said that to me a lot in the weeks leading up to our breakup. ‘Her name’s Farrah Bright.’
‘Of course it is.’
He glanced over his shoulder at Grace. ‘Listen, I think it’s only fair you should know.’ He paused for a moment. ‘The thing is …’ He scratched his eyebrow. ‘The truth is, I’ve been seeing Farrah for over a year now, and we’re pretty serious. I’m sorry, Rach …’
‘A year?’ I cut in. ‘Jeez, Lawrence, how could you?’ I felt my chin wobble. ‘You were seeing her when we were together?’ My stomach heaved. I’d had no idea.
‘Not seriously.’
‘Well, that’s OK then,’ I spat.
‘I’m sorry.’ He tried to take hold of my hand, but I dodged his, my arms flapping like helicopter propellers as I smacked the cold air, and skidded around on the ice like Bambi.
‘I didn’t want to hurt you,’ he said, catching my elbow.
‘Well, that didn’t work out for you. Just leave me alone,’ I cried, snatching my elbow away, and storming past him, almost slipping again as I fumbled for my keys – desperate to get inside before tears came. ‘Grace, come on, lovely girl.’
‘Farrah adores Grace,’ he called after me. ‘She can’t have kids, so …’
I turned, glaring at the car. The woman faced forward, a fur-lined hood obscuring my view of her. I wanted to rush over, bang on the glass, scream that she could have Lawrence with knobs on, but Grace belonged to me. ‘Keep her away from Grace,’ I said calmly.
I opened the front door, and Grace ran to my side. ‘Wave to Daddy,’ I said, trying hard not to show her how angry I was.
‘Bye, Daddy,’ she called, waving.
‘Bye, chipmunk,’ he called back, and it took all of my willpower not to pick up a clump of snow and chuck it at his stupid shiny black car.
Chapter 12
October 1987
Laura stood in the dense darkness at the water’s edge rocking Rachel, hoping the night air would send her daughter to sleep.
‘Shh, please,’ she whispered, but Rachel continued to yell – a piercing sound, like an incessant dentist drill inside Laura’s head, screwing with her mind, twisting her thoughts so they were no longer recognisable as her own.
She couldn’t see her baby’s face, but knew it would be red and blotchy, coated with tears and snot, because it always was. It always is.
The birth had been problematic – a bad start. Laura’s hopes that the anger she felt towards Jude would dissipate once she held her child in her arms hadn’t happened. Rachel had been premature, with respiratory distress syndrome and severe jaundice. She’d been kept in intensive care for almost a month, and Laura had struggled to bond with her. In fact, she felt nothing. Was she no better than her own parents?
Now Rachel was three months old. The midwife and health visitor were long gone, leaving her to it, believing she was OK. She’d somehow convinced them of that.
She had nobody to turn to. If she’d only kept in contact with the other students at university – accepted Abi’s offer of help when she’d called. But it was too late now they’d gone their own ways. In fact, the only people she saw were those behind shop counters, or old ladies who cooed at the child, telling Laura how beautiful her daughter was. She wished she could see what they saw. The consuming guilt was unimaginable.
But she still saw Dillon sometimes – Dillon who’d put up with her tears, and her weirdness. How had it happened that her only friend was a teenage boy?
He hadn’t mentioned his family since July, and Laura sometimes felt she should ask, but she was struggling so much with her daughter, she wasn’t sure she could take on his problems too.
Laura squeezed the child to her. ‘Shh! Shh! Please stop crying,’ she said, moving towards the lake. Once there she looked down, her eyes adjusting to the shimmering water, like tar beneath her. ‘I’m so tired,’ she said, stepping closer still, so close that her toes curled over the edge, and the earth crumbled. If she jumped it would put them both out of their misery.
As though sensing her mother’s thoughts, Rachel stopped crying, and drifted off to sleep. Laura looked down at her daughter. This little thing with soft, downy hair, and blue eyes, was an innocent victim of a heartless man and a desperate woman. She hadn’t asked to be born.
Laura laid the child, wrapped in a thick blanket, on the ground, and fell down next to her. They would sleep outside tonight.
***
The sun was rising in a cloudless sky when Dillon woke Laura.
‘What the feck are you doing out here?’ he said, nudging her with his foot as though she was a corpse. He knelt down and picked up the baby. ‘What you up to, mischief?’ he said to Rachel, touching the child’s bare feet that poked from under the blanket. ‘Jaysus, your tootsies are freezing.’
He stared at Laura, who was clambering to her feet with the aid of a tree. She ran her fingers through her greasy hair, catching them in tangles, blinking to adjust her eyes to the daylight. ‘God, what’s the time?’ she said.
‘About eight – you been out here all night?’ He jiggled Rachel up and down, humming ‘Hush a bye baby’ as the baby attempted to consume her fist.
‘Not all night,’ she said, avoiding meeting his eye. ‘Let’s go in – Rachel will be hungry.’
&
nbsp; Inside, Dillon gave Rachel her bottle, the baby’s hand gripping his little finger as she gulped down the milk, making contented noises. ‘You need to see someone, Laura,’ he said, sounding far too grown-up for his years. ‘You’re always crying, and so is this little one. It’s not right. Do you even wash?’
‘You’re a fine one to talk,’ Laura said, pushing a pile of newspapers and some dirty mugs across the table, and plonking down a coffee and a can of cola. She sat down beside him.
‘I don’t know who to turn to, Dillon.’ Her eyes filled with tears. She couldn’t keep burdening a thirteen-year-old kid – it wasn’t fair. ‘I can’t manage; I know that, but the thought of busybodies interfering – maybe even taking Rachel away – doesn’t bear thinking about.’
‘I could ask me ma to help?’
Laura stiffened. The woman who allowed a child to be put in a cupboard? ‘No, I’ll be OK,’ she said. ‘I’ll make an appointment at the doctor’s. Honestly.’
‘But Ma would be company for you.’
Laura didn’t want anyone in her home, finding fault, judging her. And to get involved with Dillon’s family worried her. Tierney O’Brian had left her with a cold feeling in the pit of her stomach.
‘She could come here when Da’s working,’ Dillon continued, looking about him at the half-drunk bottles with milk curdling at the bottom, the used diapers that smelt awful, mugs, glasses … the hellhole she lived in. ‘Ma could help tidy up a bit. She’s good at keeping things clean.’
Laura looked at Dillon, scruffy and grimy, as ever. She snatched up her mug of coffee and took a gulp. It burned her tongue. ‘I’m fine, Dillon,’ she said, her eyes on Rachel now sleeping in his arms.
‘But she’s used to three kids, Laura. She took me on, and that couldn’t have been easy.’
‘Took you on?’
He rubbed his hand across his mouth, as though he was unsure of the words he wanted to say. ‘Imogen ain’t me real ma,’ he said eventually. ‘She just likes me to call her that. I don’t mind so much now, but at first it felt wrong.’ He placed a tender kiss on Rachel’s head.
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