‘Laura!’
Laura stopped and dashed her sleeve across her eyes to see Marcus McCutcheon, holding a child’s hand, blocking her path.
‘I’m so sorry, I’m afraid I’m in a bit of a rush,’ she said, embarrassed she was in such a state.
‘Is everything OK?’
Does it look as though it is? ‘Yes, yes, everything’s fine,’ she said. ‘I just need to …’
‘You haven’t met my daughter, have you?’ he interrupted, gesturing to a child of about seven in a dark green school uniform, with pale blue eyes and a sprinkling of freckles. ‘She’s just been to the dentist.’
‘No fillings, I hope,’ Laura said, trying for breezy and not succeeding.
‘Laura’s parents were driving the car that killed Mummy, Yolanda,’ Marcus said to his daughter. Oh God, can this day get any worse?
‘Really?’ The girl stared up at Laura.
‘Yes. Yes, that’s right.’ Laura looked at Marcus, but his stare was more penetrating, and she averted her gaze. He was calmer than he’d been the day he came to her house. She glanced down at the child. ‘I’m so sorry about your mum.’
‘Thank you, it doesn’t get any easier,’ she said, sounding too grown-up, and Laura knew she’d been listening to her father. ‘I know they say it does. But it doesn’t.’
‘No, I don’t suppose it does.’
‘You must know what I mean – you lost your parents, didn’t you?’ She scrutinised Laura from under a neat, honey-blonde fringe. ‘That must have been horrendous. At least I still have Daddy.’ She looked up at him, smiled, and gripped his hand.
‘It’s worse for you.’ I was never close with mine.
‘I disagree. I’ve been told my pain won’t last forever, because I’m just a child; it’s harder for Daddy – for you.’
Before Laura could answer, Marcus chipped in, ‘Well, it was good to see you again. But we should get on. School beckons and all that.’ He nodded to a Victorian school with a wrought-iron fence, fifty yards away.
And as they hurried away, leaving Laura staring after them, Rachel began to cry.
Chapter 22
February 2018
Lawrence knocked on the door at eight on Monday morning, just as I was clearing away the cereal bowls, and I confess I was glad I’d dyed my hair, and splashed on a bit of make-up. I didn’t want him to fall into my arms or anything, but I needed him to think I was doing OK, even if I wasn’t.
It was the first time he’d been inside the house since he’d collected his stuff in December, despite still having a key. Normally we would do our Grace-handover on the doorstep, to avoid him coming in, but today was different. She was going away for six days, and I needed a long goodbye.
Lawrence looked casual in jeans and a black three-quarter-length jacket I’d bought him a couple of Christmases ago. I’d picked it out with such care, knowing it would suit his tall frame.
I wondered if he noticed the ornament he’d bought me for Valentine’s Day a few years back – a man and woman hugging – had gone from the mantelpiece. I’d lost my temper and smashed it against the wall the night he walked out, along with a wine glass, and a silver-framed photo of us oh so happy in Majorca. I don’t know what else I would have broken if Grace hadn’t woken and cried out.
But the truth was, Lawrence barely looked around the room, his eyes fixed on his phone as though whatever he was looking at on the screen was more interesting than me.
‘Chipmunk,’ he said, looking up as Grace came through from the dining room, dragging her Minions case over the flagstones behind her. He crouched down and hugged her for a few moments, saying, ‘Ready for Disneyland?’
‘Yep,’ she said, nodding three times, before padding towards the door. She tugged at her coat on the rack, and it fell onto her head. We both laughed, for her sake.
‘I’ll drop her back here about five on Saturday,’ he said, as I handed him her passport, his eyes falling on my case in the corner. ‘You off somewhere too?’
‘I am, yes.’
A heavy pause filled the air, as though he was trying to glean my destination. We were both flying from Heathrow, but thankfully our flights were hours apart. The thought of sitting in departures with him wasn’t an option.
‘Are you going to tell me where you’re going?’ His eyes were wide with curiosity.
I held on to my words for a few moments longer before saying, ‘Ireland. Sligo. Not that it’s any of your business.’
‘Alone?’
‘Again. None of your business.’
‘No. You’re right.’ Another pause as he locked me in a stare. ‘Well, I suppose when you start to look a bit like your passport photo, it’s time for a break.’
I glared.
‘Joke, Rach – what’s happened to your sense of humour?’
‘It left with you.’
He rolled his eyes. ‘Well, have fun in Ireland.’
‘I will. You can bank on it.’
Grace was shuffling into her coat, and he bent to help her with her toggles. ‘Bye, Mummy,’ she said, once they were done up.
‘Bye, sweetheart,’ I said, kissing her cheek. ‘Love you.’
‘Love you more.’ She reached up and grabbed Lawrence’s hand, and I felt a pang of sadness that we had to share her this way, and I knew she felt it too. He opened the front door, and they hurried down the path, Grace pulling her case over the last of the frozen snow.
‘Lawrence,’ I called after him, and he glanced back over his shoulder. ‘It is just you and Grace going, isn’t it?’
‘Of course,’ he said. ‘And we’re going to have an amazing time.’
I gave Grace a little wave as she climbed into the back seat. ‘FaceTime me on Daddy’s phone, won’t you?’
‘Yes, Mummy,’ she said.
Once they’d pulled away, I closed the door, my eyes burning with tears, but I stopped myself from crying. This was my life now. I had to accept it.
***
Five hours later, I was through customs and almost on my way to Ireland. I grabbed a pack of sandwiches and some coffee, and found a seat in departures. I didn’t mind flying, and had travelled a lot with Lawrence, but now the thought of my flight to Dublin was making me uneasy, to the point where I half-wished I’d taken up Zoe’s offer to come with me.
‘You’re far too busy at your salon,’ I’d said when she’d suggested again we could make a girlie holiday of it, even spend time in Dublin trawling the bars – maybe buy a hat with ‘I love Guinness’ on it.
‘It’s not why I’m going,’ I’d said. Any thought of a real holiday had died with everything that had happened. And, truth was, I didn’t like Guinness. ‘I need to find out about my past. It would be a complete bore for you.’
She’d finally agreed to give it a miss.
You will be fine, I told myself now as I bit into my cheese and pickle sandwich. I knew exactly where I was heading. Everything would be OK.
The call for my flight broke into my thoughts, and I rose and made my way to my gate. It felt like miles, as I hurried along a travelator, and passed several queues of people waiting to show their boarding passes. And then my tummy tipped as I spotted Lawrence and Grace showing a flight steward their boarding passes at gate twenty-three. Their flight must have been delayed.
I picked up speed, wanting to wave one more time to my precious daughter, wanting her to see me, but they were through the glass doors by the time I got there. I stopped and stared as they walked towards their plane. And that’s when I saw Lawrence place an affectionate arm on the back of a woman. I couldn’t see her face, but I could see my daughter looking up at her with a wide smile.
As they disappeared from view, I fumbled in my pocket for my phone and typed a text with shaking fingers:
I saw you, Lawrence. I bloody saw you.
Anger bubbled like lather. My head throbbed and I wanted to go home. I needed a drink. I’ll fucking kill him.
Someone bumped into me. ‘Sorry,’ she s
aid, steering her carry-on case around me. ‘But you have stopped in a stupid place.’
I opened my mouth to call after her. This woman was about to get hit with all my anger, when someone else bumped into me. I glanced over my shoulder to see a swarm of people, some pulling cases, all heading my way. I jolted into action, hurrying towards my gate, deciding going to Ireland – running away – was the best thing I could do.
***
From Dublin, I took a train from Connolly Station, and it was late by the time I picked up a hire car in Sligo Town. I’d booked a bed and breakfast just outside Sligo and was almost calm by the time I pulled up outside, too tired to hold on to my anger. Plus, I’d almost convinced myself I must have been mistaken – that the woman was a stranger, and Lawrence hadn’t lied to me, that my daughter wasn’t in Paris with him and his girlfriend. That it was just a father and daughter sharing precious moments.
After all, he’d replied to my text an hour ago:
Calm down, Rachel – you need to control that temper of yours. I have no idea what you’re talking about.
I pulled on the car handbrake, and switched off my headlights. I needed a good night’s sleep, and tomorrow I would make for Evermore Farmhouse.
It was in the early hours that I felt sure something had woken me – it was as though someone had been staring at me as I slept. I bolted upright, cold, tingly, and disorientated, but there was nobody in the darkness, just murky shadows of my past.
I switched on the lamp, and pulled myself to a sitting position, grabbing my phone to check the time. There was another notification from Facebook. I checked into my account, and my heart picked up speed. Another friend request:
Flora Phillips: CONFIRM/DELETE REQUEST
The profile picture was a nurse’s uniform, hanging on a cupboard door; the cover picture a field of daffodils.
As before, there was one status update:
Goosey Goosey Gander, where shall I wander?
Upstairs, downstairs, and in my lady’s chamber.
There I met you, Flora, and you caught me unawares,
So, I took you by the left leg and threw you down the stairs.
Chapter 23
December 2015
They can’t change their minds. They must believe all is well inside my head, so I will be more careful this time.
‘Are you sure you’re OK?’ Flora asks me, as I approach. But I know she doesn’t care – not really – and I want to scream that I’m not OK, that I’m scared of what I’m capable of. That I’m going to kill again. That I’m going to kill her. ‘You know I didn’t want this to happen,’ she goes on. ‘You can’t choose who you fall in love with. I hope we can be friends.’
‘I’m fine,’ I say, as I follow her up the stairs. It’s dimly lit, and always smells musty. It’s cold too. Nobody comes here – that’s why it was our meeting place for so long.
The stairs are steep. ‘One, two, three, four …’ I count under my breath as I follow her up, up, up. Her perfume’s strong – she’s meeting him.
She turns, as she reaches the top.
‘Wait for me,’ I call after her. ‘I need to talk to you.’
She balances on the edge of the top step in her heels. She looks nice – her hair curled.
‘Thanks for waiting,’ I say, now at her side, but I see the apprehension in her eyes as I push a tendril of her hair from her face. I so want to kiss her, but I know she doesn’t want me to. Not any more.
Before she can open her mouth to speak – to tell me not to touch her – I push.
She tumbles, smacking her head against the wall, her legs bending out of shape, as though made of twigs.
The fall breaks her neck. I know because I see a bone poking through her flesh – and the blood, there’s so much blood.
Her eyes, wide open and lifeless, stare up at me, as though asking me why. Surely she knows the answer.
‘It’s because you deserved to die, Flora,’ I say, throwing the key down on top of her, before racing away – I can’t let anyone catch me here.
Chapter 24
July 1990
‘Happy birthday, Rachel,’ Laura said, heading into the lounge with a pile of presents. She’d ordered most of the gifts from catalogues, and bought a few from the village shop. She knew she was overcompensating.
She put the gifts on the floor beside her daughter. ‘Open them, Rachel. Find out what’s inside,’ she said with a fixed smile. ‘They’re all for you. And this is for you too.’ She handed Rachel a card. One card. A three-year-old with one solitary card – how had she let that happen?
Rachel stared at the card for over five minutes. It was clear she wasn’t going to open it, or her gifts, so Laura tore away the paper, showing Rachel a doll, a teddy, a book of nursery rhymes, Mr Chimney Pot. But Rachel seemed more interested in rubbing a piece of silk ribbon between her fingers.
‘And this is Mr Snookum,’ Laura said, ripping the paper from a stuffed rabbit with a waistcoat. Rachel turned, widening her eyes, and reached out. ‘Do you like Mr Snookum?’
‘Yes,’ Rachel said, taking him and cuddling him close.
Once all the gifts were open, and the floor was littered with wrapping paper, Laura brought a cake from the kitchen, and sang happy birthday to her daughter. A flicker of a smile crossed Rachel’s lips as she watched the flames dance on the candles. Were they bonding?
‘Would you like me to read to you?’ Laura said, picking up the nursery rhyme book, and moving closer to her daughter.
And as Laura sang the rhymes, Rachel leaned her head on her mother’s lap, and for once there were no tears as she slowly drifted off to sleep.
Eventually Laura edged away, put a cushion under her daughter’s head, stroked her hair from her face, and covered her with a throw.
For some time she watched her daughter’s chest rise and fall, thinking for the first time in a while about Jude. If he hadn’t let her down, Rachel would be different. She would be different. It was his fault.
She stood up and opened the heavy sideboard, and rummaged through her photo box until she found a picture of her and Jude. She went into the kitchen and found a box of matches. With one strike, she watched Jude go up in flames, and with every flicker he was purged from her life. When his face and body had curled and melted away, she turned on the tap and extinguished the flames. Tears filled her eyes, but she didn’t sob – she’d done too much of that. She knew now it would always be her and their strange little girl, fighting to survive.
Back in the lounge, she turned on the TV, and flicked through channels mindlessly. BBC News was covering an earthquake in the Philippines where at least four hundred had tragically died. She glanced again at Rachel who was snuffling in her sleep – life could be worse, she tried to tell herself.
***
Mid-afternoon, after wrestling Rachel into her coat, Laura and her daughter set out for a walk through the woods, Laura snapping photographs as they went. She’d taken to doing paintings straight from photographs lately, enjoying putting a brush to canvas, after rarely painting for so long.
She captured a picture of a rabbit, a pied wagtail, a sand martin, and snapped studies of Rachel sitting on a log hugging Mr Snookum. Rachel had even raised another smile, seeming to enjoy the attention.
Laura had walked the woods many times now. She knew every trail, so it wasn’t accidental she ended up at Lough End Farm. And it wasn’t the first time she’d been there in the last two years, never wanting to quite let go of Dillon – always worrying about the children.
She peered through the trees, to see Dillon playing with the girls – they seemed happy, laughing as he chased them. Imogen stood at the kitchen window, but there was no sign of Tierney.
‘Mummy.’ It was Rachel.
‘Just a minute, darling,’ Laura said, flapping her hand behind her back at her daughter, not turning. ‘I just want to make sure Bridie and Caitlin are OK.’
‘There’s a squirrel,’ Rachel went on, but Laura didn’t reply,
her eyes fixed on the children. ‘Yucky squirrel,’ the child continued.
Laura finally turned. ‘Rachel? Rachel, where are you?’ she called, looking about her, but Rachel had gone.
‘Laura?’ It was Dillon, appearing through a gap in the trees. ‘Can I talk to you? It’s about Imogen.’
‘Not right now, Dillon,’ she said, taking off into the woods, bashing back the hedgerow.
He raced to her side, taller and thinner than when she last saw him, mild acne covering his cheeks, a woolly hat over his curls. He was leaving the boy he once was behind. Chasing the man he would soon become. ‘Imogen’s ill, Laura,’ he said, his tone deeper now his voice had broken.
‘I can’t do anything, Dillon. You know that. You’ve all made it perfectly clear I’m not welcome. Now leave me alone – I need to find my daughter.’
‘Rachel’s missing?’
‘She can’t have gone far. She was here a moment ago. Rachel!’ she yelled.
‘Rachel!’ Dillon joined in, his eyes darting the trees as they hurried onwards.
‘What if someone’s taken her?’ Laura cried, tears filling her eyes.
‘Why would you think that? Did you see someone?’
She shook her head, wondering why her brain had taken her to such a dreadful thought. Was it the complete isolation? ‘No,’ she said, ‘but anyone could hide in these woods. We should call the Guards.’
‘Let’s look for a bit first, Laura,’ he said, reaching out and touching her arm, as she raced through brambles – cutting her leg. ‘She could be hiding. You know she’s a bit …’
‘Troubled?’
As they reached the back of Laura’s house, they saw Rachel sitting on the patio, legs outstretched, singing a nursery rhyme.
‘Thank God!’ Laura screamed, racing towards her and picking her up. Hugging her close. For once, Rachel didn’t protest. ‘Thank God, you’re OK,’ she said, kissing her hair.
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