by Beth Moran
Scarlett laughed so hard she was sick.
Her lawyer, a black-belt nutcracker who took no prisoners, spent three consecutive afternoons with Scarlett ensuring everything was exactly as she wanted it, and would remain that way. Scarlett refused to discuss those arrangements, but it was a pretty safe bet we would not be calling Fisher’s recommended removal firm any time soon.
March flew by, taken up with untangling the myriad complications that inevitably accompany serious illness. The low season was over. The Peace and Pigs had pitches booked, caravans filled, and the workload began to creep up. Grace concentrated on her last couple of months at school. Valerie needed time to be with Scarlett. Even though Samuel had taken over the livestock, we still needed help. I invited Jake back. That was not a fun phone call. For the first time in weeks I had to work hard at my mute busters. I really, really wanted to spend the spring and summer avoiding him again, ducking behind tents and dodging round trees.
Instead, I breathed out, dropped my shoulders, breathed in, opened my mouth and said, “Hi.”
He said hello back, and that was that. Sober, still in counselling, knocked for six by Scarlett’s diagnosis, he wasted no time crawling on bended knees, and I felt grateful for that. I had no emotional energy spare to deal with trying to assuage his guilt. We were professional, with occasional forays into friendliness, and I was overwhelmed with relief that I could finally manage my own life as well as a brilliant and beautiful holiday park.
The 22nd March was the Sunday before the Easter bank holiday weekend. Scarlett insisted Valerie spend the day with her mum, knowing it would be the first time since she had been in hospital. When Amanda drove Valerie home that evening, Reuben was waiting. He strode over toward the car before Valerie even had a chance to get out, and held the passenger door open, preventing the car from driving off again.
“Amanda.”
“What are you doing? Let go of my car. I’ve got places to be.”
“We’re going to have a chat first. Come and sit down.”
Her face pinched, Amanda switched off the engine and got out. She locked the car and came to stand by the wrought-iron table and chairs outside Valerie’s van.
“What?”
“Not here. Scarlett’s sleeping.” Reuben led her to a picnic bench twenty or so metres away. I followed him, with Amanda huffing along behind.
When she sat down, Reuben leaned on the table and bent his head close to hers. “What are you playing at, Amanda?”
She glanced quickly at me before narrowing her eyes straight at Reuben. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“We can do this now, or with the police.”
She laughed. “Ooh! Listen to him, playing the big man! I told you: I don’t know what you’re on about.”
Reuben took out one of the notes from his jacket pocket and held it up. Amanda still smiled, but her snake eyes glittered green like toxic slime.
“Did you really think you could do all this and no one would see you? Not even once?”
The smile disappeared. “What do you want?”
“I want to know what you’re hiding. Why don’t you want Marion asking questions about Daniel Miller?”
Amanda stood up to go. As she stepped away from the bench, Reuben blocked her.
“What do you know about my brother’s death? You were there that night. What happened, Amanda, that you want so desperately to keep hidden?”
Something in her snapped at the mention of Henry. Clenching her fists, Amanda thrust her face in Reuben’s. She bared her teeth, and when she spoke her voice was a snarl.
“Your brother died. That’s what happened. We were eighteen years old and I saw my best friend smash to pieces. His body twisted and broken on the ground. Maybe – ” she jabbed her finger at me – “I don’t want her bringing that up again just to satisfy her curiosity. Maybe she would be better off going back home instead of finding out just what her dad was doing on top of that roof that meant he had to scarper and never come back.”
She turned to look at me. Saliva frothed in the corners of her mouth and her skin was mottled purple. “Some secrets are better left that way. Some secrets you would sleep easier not knowing. The truth ain’t pretty here, love. You keep your nice happy memories of your precious daddy. Do us all a favour and go home.”
She pushed past Reuben and stumbled back to her car. I lowered myself carefully onto the bench. The world seemed to be shifting under my feet and I needed to grip the table to keep upright. Reuben pushed my head down between my knees until the clanging noise had stopped.
“She meant that Da had something to do with it – with the accident.”
“She’s a lying cow who’ll say anything to get what she wants. Come for dinner tomorrow night. Let’s see what Mum and Dad have to say.”
“Well, this is nice.” Ginger sounded as if she wasn’t quite sure. She slid in beside Archie at the kitchen table while Reuben lifted a baked salmon out of the oven and placed it next to a tray of roasted vegetables. “Where’s Sunny?” She glanced anxiously at the kitchen door. “Won’t he and Katarina be joining us?”
“They’re putting the kids to bed.” Reuben began dishing up the fish.
“So what’s all this about, then?” Archie furrowed his brow. “My girl, Reuben hasn’t got you pregnant, has he?”
I dropped my knife on the floor, which gave me a precious few seconds to hide under the table scrabbling about for it. Lucy chuffed at me from her spot in front of the stove. I shook my head, warning her not to give me away.
“Not that we would mind, of course,” Ginger interrupted. “It’s just that things might be a bit awkward with Fisher and Olivia if you haven’t ended things properly with Erica first. They are expecting Erica to be the next Lady Hatherstone. It all makes such good sense, with them owning the land next door. I think Fisher had some sort of grand plan for expanding the holiday park. He’ll be terribly disappointed.”
“What?” Even from underneath the table I could hear Reuben’s gritted teeth. How long could I stay there before it started to look weird? “What grand plan? Anyway, Marion is not pregnant. Or if she is, it’s nothing to do with me.”
“Oh. Well, make sure you break things off gently with Erica anyway. I know you’ve had your ups and downs lately but she is a lovely girl, Reuben. We brought you up better than to mess women about.”
Lucy’s tongue was hanging out. She was laughing at me.
“There is nothing going on between me and Marion. That’s not why I invited her here.”
“Really? Nothing going on?” I could hear the incredulity in Archie’s voice, picture him grinning. “I know that look and it always means trouble.”
I sidled back onto my chair. Reuben handed his father a plate. “Can we eat first?”
Archie shook his head. “What? Make awkward small talk while we shovel down our salmon as fast as possible to get to the good bit? No. You talk, we’ll eat. Then you can eat while we digest both news and dinner.”
I told Archie and Ginger how my father had died leaving a mystery regarding his English past and his family, and that a photo had led me to Sherwood Forest.
“I’ve been asking around, but so far I’ve only hit dead ends. I still don’t know where Da lived, who his parents were or why he left. But Reuben thought you might be able to help me. We think you probably knew him.”
Ginger and Archie were eagerly leaning forwards across the table, salmon forgotten.
“Well, tell us what you know. Who is it? And why do you think we would know the chap?”
I looked at Reuben. He cleared his throat. “Because he was friends with Henry.”
The atmosphere dropped like a stone plummeting into a ravine. They sat back, Archie absent-mindedly picking up his knife and fork. Ginger closed her eyes, took a deep breath and dabbed at her lip with a napkin.
“Daniel.” Her voice was quiet but clear. The consummate lady.
“Yes.” I took the picture from my bag and offered it to her acros
s the table. Archie was the first one to cry.
I pushed my chair back. “I’ll make some coffee.”
“No.” Reuben stood up. “I’ll do it.”
I ate some food, although every mouthful was dry and tasteless and stuck halfway down my oesophagus. Ginger stirred a heaped spoonful of sugar into her coffee, downed it in one, and seemed ready to talk.
“You’re Daniel’s girl. I should have seen it. You look just like him.”
I’d misread her; she wasn’t ready. It took a good while longer and three of Archie’s monogrammed handkerchiefs before we could resume the conversation, now sitting in the drawing room.
“I’m sorry.” Ginger wiped her nose. “Daniel wasn’t just Henry’s friend. He was a son to us. His parents were our housekeeper and groundsman. They lived in the gatekeeper’s cottage. Henry and Daniel grew up inseparable. When Henry had a hard time settling in at school, and then we had the robbery, we thought that could be the answer – send Daniel to school with him. We thought it would help.”
“I’m sorry. What robbery?”
“The one where… surely Daniel told you? We were away, in Switzerland. Somebody broke in and Daniel’s parents interrupted them.”
“What happened?” My mind felt numb, everything seemed to be in slow motion.
“They were shot.”
How could the loss of something you never had hurt so much? I didn’t want to hear any more.
“The boys found them. They were fourteen. We decided it would be best for Henry to go back to school, to get away, have some normality; but that would leave Daniel here alone. So Daniel went with him.”
No wonder he never talked about his past.
“So you paid for him to go to boarding school with Henry? And he stayed here in the holidays?”
“He was going to be a lawyer.” The tears were streaming again. Archie said nothing, his body hunched over as if he could feel the shot that had killed my grandparents.
“Daniel?”
Ginger nodded. “They both had a place at Oxford, starting that September. We were so proud. Our boys.”
The Christmas tree flashed into my mind. Our boys did these.
“And then Daniel was with Henry, at the accident?” I felt bile hit the back of my throat.
Ginger nodded. “It has taken many, many years for us to be able to forgive ourselves for what happened. Archie told you what it did to him. That we hadn’t seen it coming, read the signs. That after everything we didn’t know our son at all.” She pressed one hand against her heart, as if that could prevent it from splintering apart again. “And that, after everything, Daniel had to see it. We thought he was all right. Henry. That he had left it in the past.”
“I don’t understand. What do you mean? How could it have been your fault?”
Archie lifted his head. He looked like an old, old man.
“Henry committed suicide, Marion. Your father tried to stop him. And when Daniel failed, he couldn’t bear it. So we lost not one son, but two.”
Throughout the Easter weekend, the Peace and Pigs was filled to capacity. Samuel took Scarlett away from the chaos to spend her hotel spa voucher. She had become visibly weaker, especially on her left side, and her short-term memory grew increasingly worse. The day or the time, what she had planned that day or what medication she had to take – all such data were chewed up by the brain monster as quickly as she took them in. Grace, increasingly frustrated and upset by her mother’s constant interruptions to ask what was going on, filled the blue van with sticky notes on every surface: Today is Thursday. Take four blue pills with your breakfast. The district nurse is coming today. Valerie is at college. Tell Grace if you want to go out.
The only way that Valerie and Grace could cope was to carry on as normally as they could, as best they could. They had days when they cried, screamed and threw plates, and others when they laughed, did each other’s hair and talked about boys. We worked hard to ensure they could still go out, get their work done and do all the other stuff teenage girls do, but Scarlett was dying before their eyes and neither of them had another parent prepared to take on the job of fierce, selfless, unconditional loving that Scarlett had done so well.
Scarlett’s brother, Dr Drew, flew over for a few days after she came back from her break. He wanted Grace to live with him in the States after Scarlett had died. Grace considered it, but didn’t want to leave Valerie. Dr Drew said that Valerie could come too, they had room. Grace still dithered, uncertain. I knew something was up, so I lured her over with the promise of coffee cake.
“Have you thought any more about going to stay with Drew?”
“Yes, I’ve thought about it.” She picked her hair. Bored teenager preparing to be nagged.
“I thought you loved it there. Wouldn’t it be a great experience, spending some time in America?”
“What, just hopping on a plane and starting a new life as if Mum had never existed?”
“No. Taking time out to heal and grieve with people who loved her too. And when you’re ready, getting on with your life. You know your mum would be furious to think you were using her as an excuse to miss out on a great opportunity.”
Grace squinted at me through her black fringe. “What if I have a great opportunity here?”
“At the Peace and Pigs? I thought you couldn’t wait to get away from this dump.”
“Not here. In the UK.”
I could hear something in her voice. A tiny tremble.
“And? What kind of opportunity?”
A tiny smile.
“Grace!” I thwacked her over the head with a cushion, knocking her hair out of her fingers.
It all came out in one breath. “The London College of Fashion has offered me a place on their course in footwear design. It’s a proper degree course. The London College of Fashion! People come from all over the world to train there. It’s really hard to get in.”
Grace looked at me. Underneath and in between and alongside the shiny hoops and black make-up I could see hope and fear and excitement and anguish. An eighteen-year-old girl living her worst nightmare and her wildest dream.
“Get your shoes.”
We packed Grace’s favourite four pairs into boxes and carried them across to the blue caravan. It was early evening, and we found Scarlett asleep on the sofa, curled up under a patchwork throw. I touched her shoulder and she opened her eyes.
“Hey, Scarlett.”
She needed help to sit up, and I fetched her a cup of tea to give her time to straighten her hair and reorientate herself.
“Here you go, Scarlett. Grace has something to show you.”
“What? Did you get a tattoo? Please let it be tasteful and timeless, not trashy.”
“No, she didn’t get a tattoo!”
Grace ducked her head and blushed, one hand automatically gripping a spot on her shoulder.
“Well. Anyway. That’s not what I was talking about. Grace, show your mum.”
Grace, tight with nerves, fumbled to open the first box. She took out a pair of delicate, dusky pink sandals, with six-inch heels so slender that Scarlett would have been the only woman I knew able to walk in them. Along every silky strap she had added tiny silver-grey roses, each one only half a centimetre in diameter, and placed a crystal bead in the centre of each flower. At the tip of the strap nearest to the end, where the little toe would sit, a hummingbird perched, crafted from the same fabric as the roses. Simple, elegant, feminine, they looked a million dollars.
“Oh, Grace, honey!” Scarlett picked one up and examined it. “These are so beautiful. But they must have cost a small fortune. Tell me you didn’t pay for these!”
She shook her head. “No.”
“Well now, you didn’t steal them, did ya? Somebody gave you shoes like this? If it was Josh then he’s an even better catch than I thought.”
Grace couldn’t answer.
“She made them.”
Scarlett looked at me, her mind unable to keep up. “What?”
<
br /> “From a cheap pair of plain sandals. She unpicked the straps and resewed them in a different position, then covered them in the pink fabric and made the roses. And the bird, see, at the front.”
Scarlett leaned over to Grace, reaching out to tuck her fringe behind her ear, a gesture that would normally have Grace jerk her head away in impatience. This evening she simply lifted her hand and pressed her mother’s fingers tightly to the side of her head, holding them there.
I took the lids off the other boxes, tidied away the empty cups and left. When I glanced back from the end of the path, I could still see the outline of Scarlett’s arm, reaching out across the expanse of teenage independence, stroking her daughter’s hair.
Drew’s flight left for the States the following day. He held on to his big sister for a long time as Samuel loaded his luggage into the truck.
“I wish I could stay.”
Scarlett shook her head, gently wiping his eyes with her thumbs. “I bet you do. No wife wantin’ the lawn mowed, the dishes done and her feet rubbed while you listen to her tell you about her day. No kids wakin’ you up at the crack of dawn and hollerin’ and fightin’ and makin’ your head spin until the sun goes down. No hormonal women needin’ examinin’, or seventy-two-hour labours to wade through. Of course you wish you could stay.” She smiled. “But your family needs you, honey. Life goes on. This time together was precious, and I’ll think on it often, as will you. I am so grateful to have had you. My brother. And that you were willin’ to offer your home to Grace, and to Valerie too? Well. Even though they won’t be needin’ it just now, it gives my soul peace. You couldn’t have given me anythin’ more.”
Drew openly wept now. “You know I meant it, Scarlett. We would love to have them. And the offer stays open. I’ll come over whenever I can, and they can visit me. I’ll always be there for them, Scarlett. Anything they need.” He turned to Grace, already sitting in the back seat of Samuel’s truck, ready to accompany her uncle to the airport. “Anything, Grace. Just call. Or skype. And not just when you need something, either. Call me anyway. And email. Facebook. Whatever it is you kids do these days.”