Secrets of the Tides

by Hannah Richell

  ‘I know.’ Dora reaches out and takes her father’s hand in hers.

  ‘One of my biggest regrets is that your mother and I couldn’t make our marriage work. I was so in love with her. Perhaps one of the cruellest things I did, unintentionally, was try to possess her by putting a ring on her finger. But then I suppose we were just kids really, and that’s what you did in those days. But you and Dan are different. I can see that.’

  ‘Are we? Are we really different, Dad? Because that’s something I worry about. I know things were bad after Alfie died – really bad – but I always hoped you and Mum would make it through. It was a shock when you left,’ she admits.

  ‘Yes, I suppose it was, although Cassie had left us by then, and you weren’t far behind her. There seemed to be very little point us both pretending, rattling around in that great big house, both of us miserable.’

  ‘I can understand that,’ agrees Dora.

  ‘You know, after Alfie disappeared we were tortured with so many unanswered questions and grief. So much grief. We were shattered; too broken to heal. Whenever we did try to console one another, it only seemed to make things worse. We hadn’t just lost the ability to communicate, we’d lost the respect too; the gulf between us was just too great. We were tearing each other apart.’

  Dora is surprised to hear her father speaking so openly. They’ve never had a conversation like this. She stays silent, hoping he will continue.

  ‘I blame myself. Your mother never wanted to move to Clifftops. I should have listened to her, but I was so selfish, so one-eyed about it all. I forgot to listen to her, to truly understand what it was she needed. The house took over. It began to consume me. I was so concerned about doing right by it. I wanted to look after it exactly how my parents had, to make it a focus, our pride and joy. But I got it so wrong. In the end it wasn’t just the roof over our heads – it became the towering wall that stood between us as well. You must have felt it too, being there with us, towards the end?’

  Dora nods. She remembers what it had been like.

  ‘You know, it’s been a relief to be free of it. Shrugging off the responsibility of it all was very liberating.’ He looks around the living room, as if seeing his surroundings properly for the very first time. ‘Oh I know this new house isn’t what you all expect of me. Between you and me,’ he adds conspiratorially, ‘I could do without the smelly candles and the fluffy toilet seat warmer.’

  Dora can’t help but smile.

  ‘But it’s what makes Violet happy, and seeing her happy brings me pleasure now, in a way I hadn’t thought possible after Alfie.’

  ‘We all still miss him so much, don’t we? Even after all this time.’

  ‘Yes,’ agrees Richard.

  Dora takes a deep breath. ‘There’s something I have to ask you, Dad. I need you to be honest.’

  ‘Of course, poppet.’ His clear blue eyes stare straight back at her.

  ‘Do you blame me, Dad? You know, for what happened that day?’

  Richard looks at her. He blinks and then shakes his head vigorously. ‘Oh my dear girl, you don’t honestly think it was your fault, do you?’

  Dora doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t want to influence whatever he is going to say next.

  ‘Dora, it was an accident; a terrible, tragic accident. It wasn’t anyone’s fault. God knows, I’ve tried to place the blame over the years . . . on myself . . . on your mother . . . even, God forgive me, for one wild moment on Cassie, her being the eldest of you girls. I hated myself for that.’ He stares her in the eye. ‘But never you; I never blamed you.’

  Dora shakes her head. ‘I don’t understand. It was as much my fault as Cassie’s. Alfie must have followed me out of the Crag that day. I never saw him. I should have been more careful. I should have returned sooner.’

  ‘No! The blame never lay with either of you girls. You were both just kids. Besides,’ he adds quietly, ‘I’ve learnt over the years that it’s no good looking for someone to blame. It’s not going to bring him back, is it?’

  She shakes her head. It’s obvious there’s still something he won’t share, something he still won’t tell her, but she doesn’t push and Richard remains silent. Eventually he looks up at her. ‘There’s more, isn’t there?’

  She shrugs. ‘I’m feeling a bit lost, to be honest. I’m scared that Dan and I might not make it. And perhaps more than that, I’m scared of losing him – him or the baby. I don’t believe I deserve this happiness in my life and I honestly can’t go through it all again.’

  Richard nods. ‘I understand. I didn’t believe I deserved happiness either, not after Alfie. The few times I found myself smiling, enjoying a meal, sharing a laugh with someone, it always left me wracked with guilt. But then Violet and I grew close. It was after I’d left your mother . . . a good while after. We bumped into each other in London. I’d just finished work and she was up in town on some mammoth shopping spree.’ He gives a low chuckle. ‘I remember it was in the food hall in Selfridges. I couldn’t see who it was at first. She called out to me by the oyster bar and all I could see were these bright red shoes poking out from beneath a mountain of bags.’

  Dora smiles. That sounds about right.

  ‘We had a glass of wine . . . spent an hour or so chatting and I only realised as we were saying goodbye that I had smiled more in that one hour than in the whole time following Alfie combined.’ He pauses for a moment. ‘I’m afraid there are no guarantees in life. It pains me to say it, but I can’t promise you that life won’t bring suffering your way again. But answer me this, Dora: what do we do, stop living, stop trying, because we’re afraid of getting hurt? Yes, life doesn’t always turn out how we think it’s going to. Yes, it can hurt us – almost destroy us, but I know now that we can heal too. We can get stronger. We can find happiness from the most unexpected of places . . . with the most unexpected of people.’

  Dora swallows and both father and daughter remain still for a moment, both obviously struggling with their emotions.

  ‘It was Violet who helped me take a chance again,’ he says eventually. ‘She has been my saviour. She’s such a warm, jolly soul. She doesn’t let me take myself too seriously. And perhaps, most importantly, I’ve really learnt from my mistakes. I listen to her. I respect her. I love her passion for her work . . . her desire to enjoy the best in life . . . her ability to see the best in people. I’ve even learned to appreciate her love of towering high heels, no matter how many times she steps on my toes! I know how lucky I am to have a second chance. Perhaps Dan and this baby is your chance now, Dora?’

  Dora nods and they sit together in silence a while longer, until Richard speaks again.

  ‘You know, it’s the distance between us all now that I blame myself for most.’

  Dora looks up in surprise. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You. Cassie. Perhaps I could have held things together more after we lost Alfie. I was lost in my grief, but I see now I should have tried harder, for you girls. I certainly missed all the signs with Cassie.’ He sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose. ‘Then I got caught up with Violet and the last thing I wanted to do was force my relationship with her on you girls. To be honest, I wasn’t sure how you would take it. I worried it would be yet another thing to cause upset for you both. Perhaps that was cowardly of me, but I chose to take a back seat for a while. I always hoped you might find your way back to me though . . . and to each other.’ He thinks for a moment. ‘You know, it saddens me to see you girls still so distant. Have you had any contact with Cass?’

  Dora shakes her head. ‘Not really.’ How does she explain it to him? How can she tell him about the one time she tracked Cassie down? How she had stood outside a grotty north London café watching through the fogged-up windows as her sister flitted between the tables, delivering coffees and fry-ups to a crowd of hungry night-shifters; about how she had just been screwing up her courage to enter the café when she saw her sister smile at something one of the customers had said, a warm, easy smi
le that had stretched across her face and transformed her back to the Cassie she remembered of old. It had been the sight of her standing there amidst the tables and chairs, a steaming coffee pot in one hand, looking so at ease with the world, that had finally demolished any desire Dora had felt to confront her sister. Instead she had scuttled back to the Underground without so much as a backwards glance. It was clear Cassie didn’t need her in her life. She wasn’t the depressed, suicidal creature she’d been imagining in her dreams. For all the trauma and tragedy, it seemed as though Cassie had moved on just fine without her.

  That had been the last time Dora had tried to make contact with Cassie, although her sister had reached out to her over the years. Every year on Dora’s birthday a card would arrive – a bland floral tribute simply signed ‘with love, Cassie’. There was never any message, never any kisses, until, just once, on Dora’s twenty-first, the card arrived with a mobile phone number scrawled next to Cassie’s name.

  Dora had considered calling. She’d kept the card for several months, turning it over and over in her hands, wondering whether to take the plunge. But she never had. Even on those particularly lonely nights, the ones when she’d found herself home alone with nothing but a bottle of wine for company, when the nostalgia and grief had really set in, even then she’d managed to restrain herself. For she only had to recall the pain she’d felt after Cassie had run away, after she had tried to end her life, or conjure up the image of Cassie standing there in that café, her white teeth shining under the glare of the strip lights as if she didn’t have a care in the world, to remind her that there really was no point. Cassie had made her choice a long time ago and they were travelling different paths now.

  Dora swallows. She knows she doesn’t have the words to tell her father how she feels about Cassie, but she is intrigued about her sister nonetheless. ‘Have you seen her recently?’ she asks.

  Richard nods. ‘Violet and I saw her about six months ago. She seemed good. She’s in Oxford now . . . has landed on her feet with a job of sorts. It’s an interesting set-up.’ He pauses. ‘I know she’d like to see you . . .’ He leaves the suggestion hanging in the air, but he doesn’t push it. ‘Look, Dora,’ he continues finally, ‘I can understand your fears. I’ve spent enough of my life wishing I had protected you kids a little more, protected myself a little better. But then would I have had the happy times I enjoyed with you, and your mother . . . and now with Violet? I think you have to give of yourself. I think you have to take a few risks. What’s that saying: “A life lived in fear is a life half lived”?’

  Dora nods. It makes sense in the cold light of day.

  ‘You know, Panda, I really don’t have the answers, but what I do know is that you can spend far too much of your life on the unimportant things: the big house, the stressful job, the perfect family and all the traditions and expectations that go along with it. But when all is said and done, that isn’t what’s important. It’s taken me a long time to learn it, but I know now that it’s the people you hold in your heart, and how you treat them, that’s what’s most important. So you hold onto Dan, and your baby. Hold on tight, and whatever you do, don’t let them go. Hold tight, my girl.’

  Dora nods again. She can’t reply; his words have affected her deeply. She thinks of all the things her father has unintentionally lost from his life: his son, his wife, his home – even she and Cassie are absent to an extent. They are all gone. And yet here is her father, sitting here in his unexpected new life, learning from his mistakes, appreciating Violet and the things he holds most dear.

  She reaches out for his hand and squeezes it tightly and they sit there in the lounge like that; just sitting, silently; holding on tight.

  Eventually Dan returns. He holds a tray of champagne flutes before him, and is laughing at something Violet has just said. He seems oblivious to the charged emotion in the room.

  ‘Well, here we are, folks,’ he announces. ‘Champagne for us . . . and sparkling water for the one “with child”.’ He hands Dora her glass with a flourish.

  Violet bustles in behind him with the open bottle of Champagne. ‘We must have a toast. Richard, will you do the honours?’

  ‘Of course.’ Richard stands and raises his glass. He clears his throat and looks across at Dora before speaking. ‘To a new life . . . and to full lives, lived without fear.’

  Violet throws him a gentle smile and they all clink glasses and pretend not to notice Richard’s watering eyes as they sip at their drinks.

  ‘Now, there’s a lovely roast in the kitchen that needs carving,’ Violet chirrups. ‘Which of these fine alpha males is going to do the honours? Dan?’

  ‘It’d be my pleasure.’

  ‘Wonderful. Why don’t you and Dora go on ahead and I’ll just tidy up in here a bit.’

  They take the hint, and as they leave the room Dora turns to see Violet fussing over her father. She is adjusting his shirt collar and murmuring something intently in his ear until a mischievous smile breaks out across her father’s face. He leans in to brush Violet’s cheek with his lips, and then, seeing Dora watching them from the doorway, gives her the slightest of winks over the top of Violet’s blond curls. Dora turns from the room, a smile upon her face.

  It’s a relief when the atmosphere over lunch grows lighter and more jovial. Violet sets about her combined roles of hostess and comedienne in earnest and they have soon left behind the heavy mood from earlier. Richard cracks a stream of corny jokes over dessert and Dan has them all in stitches as he re-enacts an awkward meeting with a famous artist he has long admired. It seems none of them want to dwell on gloomier matters.

  They leave just as it is getting dark outside. As they pull out of the driveway Dora turns to give a final wave. She sees her father and Violet standing outside the house. Richard has his arm slung around Violet’s shoulders as she gazes up into his eyes adoringly. Dora smiles and turns back to Dan, putting her hand over his on the gear stick. ‘You were right, you know.’

  Dan nods knowingly. ‘I’m always right.’ He pauses as he indicates left. ‘But what specifically was I right about this time?’

  ‘Violet. She’s really good for Dad.’

  He nods and Dora leans back into her seat and watches as a green blur of hedgerows passes outside her window. A life half lived. It resonates deeply. Since Alfie disappeared she knows they have all been guilty of living stilted, half-lives, in their own different ways. Her father hasn’t given her all the answers, but it has made her realise where she needs to go next.

  As the hedges turn to street lamps and her eyes finally close, succumbing to the hypnotic haze of a hundred orange cats’ eyes speeding towards her out of the darkness, there is one face that continues to drift in and out of her consciousness.

  Cassie.

  It is time for her to see Cassie.

  HELEN

  Nine Years Earlier

  Later, after the dust had settled, the irony would not escape Helen that her marriage had finally ended at the exact same moment the rest of the world prepared to turn the page on a shiny new chapter.

  It was millennium eve. The whole country was in the final, frenzied preparations for the party of the century but as Helen woke that morning she could think of nothing more pressing than boiling the kettle for a cup of tea, throwing some muesli into a bowl and perhaps turning up the central heating a degree or two. Cassie was still an absent figure, closeted away in London, incommunicado. Dora was away for the weekend at a friend’s house. She and Richard had no plans to celebrate and she knew their evening would pass quietly with a bottle of wine and the television volume on low as they watched the loud razzle-dazzle celebrations beamed from various destinations around the globe. It was fine by her.

  She padded downstairs and across the draughty hall, pulling her dressing gown around her body as she moved towards the kitchen. It was as she passed the open door to the living room that something off-kilter nudged gently at the corners of her mind. She nearly didn’t stop; but a sixth
sense told her brain what her eyes had failed to process. Slowly, she retraced her steps and stood at the open doorway looking in.

  Tobias’s painting of the gloomy seascape still hung in its usual place on the wall, housed within its gilt-edged frame. Everything was perfect – untouched – except for a series of violent slashes that had ripped the canvas apart and exposed the shocking whiteness of the wall behind. It looked as though someone had taken a Stanley knife and set to it with a fury.

  Helen felt her legs start to give way.

  She moved forwards and sat on an arm of the sofa, surveying the damage more closely. The remnants looked like some expensive installation piece. It wouldn’t have looked out of place hanging on the walls of a modern gallery. She could almost hear the critics gushing in extravagant hyperbole about its symbolism and the artist’s bold, ironic statement. Only this was no art gallery. And the only statement being made, while undeniably symbolic, was one of anger, not irony. There was only one possible explanation.

  Richard knew.

  He had discovered the affair.

  Helen gripped at the arm of the sofa. It had been two years since the affair ended. Two years since Alfie’s funeral when they’d lowered an empty coffin into the ground and they had said farewell to their son. She’d expected the guilt to fade with time, but she still woke every morning, unable to forgive herself for her failings as a wife and mother, unable to look at herself in the mirror with anything other than disgust and self-hatred reflected in her eyes.

  She sat for a moment longer, surveying the damage to the painting, reluctant to move and unwilling to face the conflict she knew awaited her. But as she sat, and as the storm of emotion began to settle in her mind, she was surprised to find that amongst the guilt and fear lay the glimmer of something sweeter, the nub of something that she realised she could only call relief. She was about to be exposed; her sordid secrets were about to come tumbling out and once they were out there, spoken and made real, she wouldn’t have to lie or hide again. Whatever the outcome, it was time to face it, all of it, head on.