The Name I Call Myself

by Beth Moran

  “Faith? Come in out of the rain.”

  “Urhh. Right.” More than a little disconcerted, I staggered through the door into Dylan’s man cave.

  “Are you okay to wait here for a couple of seconds?” I nodded as he disappeared into the main house, leaving me stood in the tiny entrance hall dripping rain onto the wooden floor. The stairs were to my right, steps piled high with books, papers, a jar of nails, a hammer, a sports bag, and various other clutter. Judging by the slamming and rattling sounds, I guessed Dylan was trying to make the place presentable. Given some of the places I had lived in during my younger, scarier days, I really wasn’t bothered about the mess. I was however in need of a moment to compose myself following the sweeping off my feet thing, let alone what had led up to it.

  And after our previous argument, now I had ended up here, alone with Dylan in his house, the storm raging all around us.

  I was wearing Dylan’s clothes! His clothes!

  A pair of bunched-up tracksuit bottoms and a navy sweatshirt with a furry inside. They smelled of pine trees.

  Oh dear. I had been doing so well.

  He handed me a mug of steaming hot chocolate. I took a tentative sip, pretending that the warmth oozing through my insides was purely down to the drink. We sat down on opposite sides of his breakfast bar.

  While my clothes dried, I recounted what had happened.

  “I can’t think of anyone asking about you, or about someone with red hair. I would have remembered that because of the guy at HCC.”

  “He wasn’t asking for Faith.”

  “No? Who was he asking for?”

  I took a deep breath. Remembering that little girl, the person I used to be, her hopes and fears, her confusion, and the terrible things she grew to understand. Remembering how it sounded on her lips, what it meant – the name my mother gave me. The name I used to call myself. The name Kane knew me by.

  Pressing my hands against my eyes, I offered the most precious part of my past to this man who made me feel so treacherously safe. Opened myself up to him in a way we both knew crossed a line.

  “My name was Rachel.”

  Dylan went very, very still. He got up and carefully placed his mug in the empty sink, then stood staring out of the window into the pounding rain.

  “You’ve spoken to him.” My voice trembled.

  He sighed, gripped on to the edge of the work surface for a minute before turning back around. “Yes.”

  “And?”

  He grimaced. “He came to church the other week, when you were ill, and asked around for Rachel then. Said he used to live in the area, a long time ago, and was trying to catch up with his wife’s family. His wife attended the chapel, and he’d heard her daughter – his stepdaughter – was still around. He didn’t mention hair, or I might have made the connection.”

  “She wasn’t his wife.” As if that mattered. The room went black. I couldn’t hear past the clanging in my ears, but felt Dylan’s hands pushing my head down between my knees, his firm arm gripping my shoulders as he urged me to breathe.

  I managed not to faint, but it took a lot longer for the panic in my chest to subside.

  “He’s here. He’s been here. He’s looking for me. He phoned tonight. I have to go. I have to go!”

  “You can’t go home like this.”

  “I can’t stay here.” I tried to get my breathing under control.

  “Call Perry. You can stay at his tonight. Wasn’t he supposed to be picking you up anyway?”

  I nodded. “My phone’s in the rain. It fell when you ran into me.”

  “Here.” He handed me his.

  The phone rang for a long time before Perry picked up. I could hear the sound of heavy music in the background and people talking.

  “Where are you? Why didn’t you come and pick me up?”

  “What? Faith?”

  “Yes it’s Faith!” Fear made me snap. “Who else would it be?”

  “Faith! Lovely Faith. Didn’t you get my message? I can’t come and pick you up. Eddie stole my keys, the thieving scoundrel.”

  With a flash of awareness, I realized he was drunk.

  Great timing, Perry.

  I clenched my jaw so tight I’m surprised my skull didn’t crack.

  “How am I going to get home?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe your little vicar man will drive you in his Popemobile. Or you could walk. You like walking. Walking up and down everywhere, walk walk walk.”

  “I thought you were working.” I didn’t bother hiding my growing anger.

  “I was. We finished. Decided to celebrate. Come on, Faith; don’t be that woman.”

  “What woman?” A woman terrified at the effect of toxic substances on the people she cares about?

  “Nags. Nags who expect me to come and get them. And don’t even invite me in afterwards. I bought you a car, didn’t I? Learn to drive.”

  I hung up, smarting.

  Dylan said nothing.

  “He’s just finished the business deal he’s been working on for the past month. They’re out celebrating.”

  He furrowed his brow.

  “He’s in no fit state to drive. Or listen to my problems.”

  “You haven’t told him.”

  I closed my eyes. “I’m going to. I planned to. But then this deal came up, and I’ve barely seen him. And when I have it’s been with his parents there, planning wedding stuff, or for a quick lunch. Hardly the right time to tell him, by the way, my mum got murdered by her pimp boyfriend, I got fostered by my grandma, who then died, leaving me in the care of my brother – who incidentally, I never mentioned, happens to be an addict as well as mentally ill. Oh yes, and his dealer also came to join our family. That’s how I happened to get the scars you haven’t seen because I freeze every time you touch me thanks to my history of abuse. Then, over coffee I could mention my time on the streets, working in the strip club, and how the man who started all this is now on the loose and hunting me down in order to, I don’t know, kill me and Sam. Hardly the usual topic of conversation for the HCC lunchtime crowd.”

  “I’m so sorry.” Dylan quieted my flapping hands by placing his hand back on my shoulder, standing beside me where I perched on the stool. I resisted the urge to collapse into him and bury my head in his chest. His careful distance enabled me to see how that would make me simply another one of those women: the clichéd woman in distress let down by her idiot fiancé, throwing herself at the handsome, morally unavailable rescuer.

  But the truth was, I wanted to feel the security of Dylan’s hand on my shoulder all night, and for every night until Kane was back behind bars. And for every night after that.

  Dylan, however, was made of stronger stuff. He pulled away, putting enough distance between us to allow my head to start working again.

  “Right. I’ll fetch your phone and then drive you home. I can watch TV on your couch until morning.”

  I took a deep breath. “Is that a good idea? I don’t think the other church leaders would approve.”

  “Right now, I’m more concerned with keeping you safe than what anyone else thinks.”

  “I’m not having you get into trouble because I’ve had a shock. I’ve survived a lot of nights knowing Kane was looking for me. He isn’t going to turn up at my door tonight.” I managed a wobbly smile. “Everything you said at the campsite is still true, Dylan. Perry was out of order, but it’s the first time he’s ever spoken to me like that. If you would be kind enough to drive me home, I’m going to try to get some sleep, then call my Family Liaison Officer first thing tomorrow. And then I’ll tell Perry everything.”

  He nodded. “Okay. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry. I’m glad you’ve got my back.”

  “If anything happens, the slightest thing, promise you’ll call the police first, then me?”

  We drove home in silence, as I wondered what the evening’s events would mean for our friendship. I let Dylan check the tiny back garden and the inside of the
house.

  “What is it?” I asked before he left.

  He had paused by the front door, and I could see him debating whether to say something.

  He shook his head. “It’s not really the right time.”

  “It’s not really the right time to leave me wondering, either.”

  It had been a weird night. One where boundaries had shifted and consequences taken a “time-out”.

  Stepping onto the path, he squinted through the rain, glowing orange in the street light. “You freeze when he touches you? That’s not good, Faith. Maybe you ought to talk to Zoe about it, or something.”

  “Excuse me?” I scrabbled for an answer, trying to remember what I’d said when my brain was still in panic mode. “I said… no, um, I said I freeze when a man touches me. Not Perry. Well. Not just Perry. Man. Men. I’m working on it. We’re working on it. It’s fine.”

  He nodded, a faint frown creasing his brow. Then, walking to the end of the path, he turned and said, “But that’s not true. You don’t freeze when all men touch you.”

  No, but I did freeze then.

  He watched me for a long second, the rain running down his face. “Take care of yourself, Faith.” Opening the truck door, he climbed inside and drove into the storm.

  I didn’t sleep that night. For lots of reasons. All of them scary ones.

  I called Gwynne as soon as I deemed it a respectable hour. She listened, as always, said little, but I could hear by her tone of voice that the game had shifted. She promised to get back to me as soon as she had any news.

  I didn’t bother calling Perry, instead walking round with the intention of serving him a strong coffee with bacon and eggs to soak up his hangover while I talked.

  To my surprise, he was already up and looked about to head out.

  “I thought you’d be taking the morning off,” I said, stepping inside.

  He had the decency to look sheepish. “Yeah. Things got a bit out of hand last night. I’m sorry I forgot about your thing. The guys have worked so hard I couldn’t refuse their invitation to blow off some steam. It would have looked bad if the boss hadn’t joined them for a couple of drinks.”

  “A couple?”

  He took hold of my hand, and kissed it. “I’m sorry. It’s a bit vague but I’m guessing I said something stupid, quite possibly crude, and almost certainly disrespectful. It’s one of the reasons I don’t get drunk very often.”

  I nodded my head to indicate my acceptance of his apology. “Can I talk to you?”

  He glanced at his watch. “If you make it quick. The review meeting’s in thirty.”

  “Ah. This won’t be quick. Can I make you dinner instead?”

  “No. Let me do it. You can fill me in on what I missed last night.”

  Or not…

  He kissed me goodbye, and left, leaving me standing on the doorstep with all that energy I’d worked up and nowhere to vent it. My instinct was to march it out along the fields, but there was no way I would go tramping through the countryside like a deer waiting to be picked off by a bullet.

  I did, however, know another great way to use up excess energy only a six-minute walk away.

  “Faith.” Marilyn waved me inside. “Is it Thursday? I’m not fired up for Anton this morning. I thought today was yesterday.”

  “It is yesterday. Well, Wednesday. I’m not here to babysit. I just wondered if you fancied a coffee.”

  “Excellent! Polly’s topping up the machine as we speak.”

  I settled on the floor and built towers for Nancy and Pete to knock down while we talked.

  “Is it working out okay, then? The place still looks tidy since the big clear up.”

  “Polly is a godsend. I can’t believe I ever managed without her.” Marilyn nudged Polly, sat beside her.

  “You didn’t manage,” I laughed. “This place was a disaster zone.”

  “I was a disaster zone, you mean,” she said.

  “You were a woman coping admirably in highly challenging circumstances.”

  “And you’ve helped me out way more than I helped you,” Polly said. “Letting me stay has been the kindest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

  “So you’re going to stay, then?” Marilyn asked.

  “No.” Polly picked a squirming Esme out of her bouncy chair. “I won’t stay once James is back. You’ve had the best part of a year apart. I’m not going to be gooseberry for your three months together.”

  “You won’t be a gooseberry. You can babysit while we go out on hot dates. I love having you here, Poll. Please stay.”

  “No. Your house is lovely. It’s been a home when I needed one most. I love being part of your family. But one dream has kept me going these past few years. That I’ll get a house, and paint the kitchen cabinets yellow. I’ll sew green and white striped curtains and put up shelves for ornaments I’ve found in gift shops and car boot sales. I’ll be able to walk around in my tatty old dressing gown eating ice-cream out the tub, leaving dirty mugs on the table, and watching MTV shows about teenage pregnancy and celebrity gossip.”

  “What? You can do all those things here. I’d love a yellow kitchen.” Marilyn looked at her, eyes round with intent.

  “I know that. But this is your house. And James might not appreciate it as much as you do.”

  “I understand,” I said. Boy, did I understand. “You need to make yourself a haven, a nest. A place that’s yours, where you can be Polly and feel beholden to no one.”

  She sighed, her eyes dreamy. “I never, ever thought that could be possible. It sounds like heaven.”

  “You could have my place.”

  Um, excuse me? What? Whose place? Did somebody just open their mouth and offer Polly their house?

  Marilyn and Polly both gaped at me.

  “What?” Polly’s eyes widened. I could see the tiniest flicker of hope spark amongst the blue-grey flecks.

  “I’m moving out in August. The landlady’s lovely; she’ll be pleased I’ve found someone to take over the lease. And she’s fine about decorating, as long as you aren’t too radical.”

  I told her what I paid in rent.

  “I can manage that. Once my maternity leave is up I’m working three days a week. With tax credits and everything, I think I can afford that. It’ll be perfect. Faith, I can’t believe this! You’re giving me your house?”

  “You might want to look at it first. It is tiny. And the bathroom is an homage to the eighties.” I cleared my throat. “You also might want to think about moving further away, depending on what happens with Tony.”

  “Maybe once he’s out of prison. But right now I want to be near my friends, if I can. And my new family. My job is here. And I wouldn’t miss the next round of the competition for anything.”

  We agreed she’d call in that afternoon to have a look round. I had something else I needed to do first. After a nervous ten minutes waiting for the bus to Brooksby, I scurried the quarter of a mile to Rowan’s house.

  She lived in one of the old coalminers’ homes. A generous size for the average family. For the four generations who currently lived there, including Rowan’s grandfather, her parents, three older sisters, Callie, and two huge dogs, it felt distinctly overcrowded.

  “Come into the back.” She led me through a front room, furnished with a sofa bed, a chipped white chest of drawers, and a giant television, into a decent-sized kitchen. “Right. We’ve got just under an hour before Mum brings Callie back from nursery, and Grandad’ll want his lunch. What are we doing?”

  I took a deep breath, and told Rowan what I wanted doing. She stuck one hand on her jutting hip and wagged her chin at me.

  “Are you nuts? No offence, but that idea is rank. You’d look so bad. They probably wouldn’t let me start my training if college got wind of it.”

  “Nobody will know it was you.”

  She shook her head. “Nah. Can’t do it. Why on earth would you want to anyway? You’re getting married in a couple of months. You’d look like
a troll on your wedding day.”

  “You’re probably right. But I’m looking for a complete change. What would you suggest?”

  “I’d suggest keeping your amazing hair and buying a new top.”

  “I need to change my hair. Please. I know you can think of something that will look bearable.”

  Rowan studied me for a few moments, her gaze assessing more than simply my hairstyle.

  “Okay. We’d best get started.”

  Chapter Twenty-two

  When I opened my front door to Polly that afternoon, she looked at me in confusion until I said hello.

  “Faith! I thought it must be your sister or something. You look like a different person.”

  Excellent. Mission accomplished.

  “Oh, you know. I fancied a change. One of those flippant moments when you do something crazy. I figured it’s hair. It’ll grow back. Better than getting an impulse tattoo and being stuck with it.”

  We smiled and rolled our eyes. Leona had returned from a girls’ weekend in Blackpool with a five-inch portrait of Benedict Cumberbatch on her upper chest. Her husband was not happy at confronting a scowling Sherlock every time he got near her.

  “Well. It looks great. Kind of surreal. But it’s nice. You seem… not older exactly, but more sophisticated. Perry will love it.”

  I showed Polly round, pointing out the foibles that never fail to accompany an old house. She nodded and smiled, and asked questions about what I would take with me to Perry’s, and what would stay, her brain whirring with plans and ideas.

  I called the landlady to seal the deal, and after a breathless hug of thanks she rushed back to Esme, who would be getting ready for a feed.

  I ignored the feeling of dread in my guts at the prospect of giving up my house. My safe place. My independence. Perry’s house had a fancy lock system, burglar alarm, security lights, and Perry. Time to let go of the “needing my own house” issue. Even if I did have to prise it off with a crowbar.