‘I need to think about it,’ Tessa said.
‘Take your time.’
Her thoughts jostled for attention. She would be fifteen in November, so there was still the option of leaving school and ‘being free’. Art had sent her a postcard that she treasured. It was a picture of a suntanned man crouching on a surfboard, his hair flying as he rode on the avalanche of foam from an enormous wave. Behind him the ocean sparkled and more indigo blue waves were towering and breaking. It had been sent from St Ives in Cornwall, and Tessa knew it had a railway station. She could go, on The Cornishman. But first she’d have to earn some money, and deceive her parents, or break their hearts like Lucy had done. Or both!
So what was there to lose by telling the truth to this wise old man who had followed his dreams and created a school? A school which had teachers like Mrs Appleby. She took a deep breath and tried to make her voice adult and mechanical. ‘I tried to kill myself . . . a few months ago.’
She waited for his reaction with a thumping heart, thinking her mother would never forgive her for wrecking this chance of a scholarship. Her father would retreat into his silent land where pain and disappointment made stony places where no plant could flourish. She wished she hadn’t said it.
But Mr Perrow only raised his eyebrows. He leaned forward, his calm eyes inviting her to talk.
‘Mum tried to hush it up,’ Tessa said. ‘I’m not allowed to talk about it to anyone. Even my sister doesn’t know. Nobody knows why I did it.’
‘Do you want me to know?’
‘I did want people to know, but it doesn’t matter now. My life is better, since I met Selwyn and Lexi.’ Tessa looked at Mr Perrow steadily. ‘I’m a loner. I never had any friends, and my family think I’m a troublemaker. But I don’t actually want to make trouble. I’m hypersensitive. I can hear and see things which other people don’t.’
‘What kind of things?’
‘Unacceptable things. Spirit people, for example.’
Mr Perrow narrowed his eyes. He fidgeted and raked his bone-thin fingers over his remaining strands of grey hair, plastered to his weather-beaten scalp with Brylcreem. ‘Do you see any spirit people in this room?’ he enquired.
Tessa felt her face relax into a smile of relief. ‘Can I tell you?’ she asked. ‘No one ever lets me do that!’
‘Yes – please tell me.’ He sat forward, clutching the arms of the chair.
‘There’s a lady in a green dress,’ Tessa said at once. ‘She’s lovely. The dress is bright green, and she has an emerald ring on her finger, and a necklace of tiny white seashells. And – she’s got a white fluffy cat in her arms. It’s a male cat and he’s purring, a lot, and he’s purring for you, not for her, because he’s your cat.’
Mr Perrow looked suddenly vulnerable. His hands trembled and he pressed them together hard. He stared at Tessa with startled eyes. ‘My wife!’ he whispered. ‘You saw my wife – green was her favourite colour – you couldn’t possibly have known that! And the cat! He was indeed my cat. I adored him. Largo, he was called, after a piece of music. I’m astonished, Tessa – astonished – and grateful. What a gift – what a marvellous gift you have. It’s going to help countless people – one day.’
Tessa beamed. She watched Mr Perrow reconstructing his headmaster image, the wonder on his face dissected by a frown. She knew what was coming. Goodbye smile, she thought.
‘BUT,’ he began, ‘you’re too young to own such a gift – and, listen to me, young lady, it is a GIFT and not a curse as you’ve been led to believe. That’s why, Tessa, you MUST accept this scholarship. We will help you to build a strong career – a safe platform to support you until you can do your true work. No – don’t switch off – keep that light in your eyes, always. The world needs it.’
Tessa heard the passion in his voice. She tried to respond. She tried to snatch back the smile, like the sparrowhawk catching the swallow. But the life of the smile was gone, diving into the dark.
‘I’m like a bird in a tunnel,’ she said. ‘A bird that must walk forever, believing that when it reaches the exit, it will be too old to fly.’
Back at The Pines, Annie dragged herself up the stairs, a tray of cocoa and lardy cake balanced awkwardly on the arm that wasn’t clinging to the banister. She put the tray down on the lid of the blanket box and listened to the crying coming from Lucy’s bedroom. It didn’t sound normal to Annie. She’d watched Lucy come stumbling home, bent double with pain, her face red and smudgy, her short blonde hair backcombed and sprayed into what Annie thought was a ridiculous beehive.
She tapped on Lucy’s door, and the crying stopped. ‘Go away. I hate you all,’ Lucy yelled, and her voice was cracked and growly.
‘It’s Granny, Lucy, and I’m not going away. I brought you lardy cake and cocoa.’
‘I don’t want FOOD. I’m slimming. Go away.’
‘I’m coming in.’ Annie pushed Lucy’s door open, and went in. She stood there, solidly, in her slippers, the tray in her hand.
Lucy was lying on the bed with her face to the wall. A tangle of clothes and shoes protruded from under the bed, and there were posters on the wall of Elvis and The Beatles. Lucy’s red Dansette record player was on the floor with a stack of 78s on the spindle, ready to play. A black leather jacket with studs hung over the pink chair in front of Lucy’s kidney-shaped, glass-topped dressing table with its pink net skirt.
Annie looked at the jacket disapprovingly. ‘Whose is that?’
‘No one’s. It’s none of your business.’
Annie eased the tray onto Lucy’s bedside table, among the bottles of nail varnish. She put the lid on a jar of Pond’s Cold Cream which was lying open. She sat down on the bed, and stirred the cocoa with a teaspoon, loudly. ‘This cocoa’s lovely and hot. Why don’t you have a sip? Wrap your hands round it. ’Tis comforting.’
Lucy gave an extravagant sigh and turned over. ‘Don’t you ever give up?’ she quipped.
‘No,’ Annie said. ‘Never. Not on you, Lucy. I’ve given up on that sister of yours. But not on you. Here you are. Drink up.’
Lucy wrapped her fingers around the mug of cocoa. It was her favourite mug, with The Beatles on it, and it was deep – deep enough for her to breathe the chocolatey steam and feel the warmth in the palms of her hands. She sipped it in silence, her eyes staring blankly out of the window.
‘I was a girl, once,’ said Annie, ‘and I brought up two daughters. I know more than you think I do, about girls growing up.’
Lucy looked at her then. ‘Oh Gran,’ she muttered, and put down the cocoa mug. ‘You’re so kind. Coming upstairs with your bad leg. Where is everyone?’
‘Kate and Freddie went out in the car, all dressed up. They were fetching Tessa from school and taking her out somewhere. That’s all I know.’
‘They didn’t bother inviting ME, did they?’
‘Well – you don’t usually want to go these days, do you?’ Annie said, and the words died on her lips as she studied Lucy’s blotchy complexion and desperate eyes.
‘Oh no – it’s happening again,’ cried Lucy, suddenly doubling up with pain. She rolled onto her side and curled up, clutching her stomach. ‘It’s cramp. Terrible cramp. It keeps happening, Gran. What’s wrong with me? I’m so frightened.’
Annie gave her a hug. Lucy was hot and tense, her shoulders hard, her breathing panicky and fast. She clung to Annie like a terrified cat.
‘What kind of pain is it? Whereabouts in your tummy?’
‘It’s like – waves of cramp – low down and round my back as well. It comes and goes – and it’s worse every time.’
‘Is it your period?’
‘No . . .’ Lucy wept. ‘I can’t tell you, Gran. I can’t.’
‘Shall I call Doctor Jarvis?’
‘No. And don’t tell Mum either. Please, Gran. Please.’
Annie looked at her shrewdly. ‘Has it gone now? The pain?’
‘It’s easing.’ Lucy looked shaken. She lay back against the pillows, her h
ands over her tummy. ‘Please, God, don’t let it come again.’
‘Will you let me feel your tummy?’ Annie asked, and Lucy nodded. Annie heaved herself to her feet. She put both hands gently on the baggy black top Lucy was wearing, and felt her tense body, running her hands over it, over the womb. She left them there for a few long minutes, trying to sense what was wrong. She remembered that years ago she had used her hands to give secret healing. She’d never talked about it, but Freddie knew. It was a gift from long ago, her most precious secret. She kept it hidden like a jewel. Strictly private. But she trusted it. I’m never wrong, she thought as she felt a spark of life, another life, in Lucy’s womb. A dying spark, like one from a bonfire, floating into the sky like an orange star, then vanishing into nothingness.
‘You’re pregnant, aren’t you?’ she said.
Lucy nodded, smearing tears from her cheeks with the corner of the sheet. ‘Please, please, Gran – don’t tell Mum and Dad. Please.’
‘I won’t,’ Annie promised. ‘But you should, Lucy. Are you bleeding?’
Lucy put her hand down, and found the blood, unexpectedly reddening her clothes. She looked at Annie in horror. ‘What’s happening? I can’t be pregnant and have a period, can I?’
‘You’re losing it, dear. It happened to me a few times. Terrible it was. This baby isn’t meant to be born,’ Annie said. She tried to speak gently. She loved Lucy, but she was shocked at her behaviour. ‘You must let me ring the doctor, Lucy.’
‘No, Gran. No. He’ll tell Mum and Dad.’
‘You’ve gotta forget about that, Lucy. Whether you like it or not, I’m going to ring Doctor Jarvis. And you’d better tell him everything – if you did something to bring this on. Did you?’ Annie looked suspiciously at a glass bottle sticking out of the pocket of the black leather jacket. She pulled it out. ‘Gin! You’ve been on the gin. Is that what he gave you?’
‘A girl I know told me gin would get rid of it,’ Lucy said.
Annie tutted. She hobbled out of the room and down the stairs, leaving Lucy screaming and crying. ‘No, Gran – please don’t. Please! It’ll ruin my bloody life.’
‘Swearing at me now. My own grandchild!’ Annie muttered. She scowled at the telephone on its high pedestal, took a deep breath and picked it up. The receiver shook in her hand as she waited for the operator.
‘Number please.’
Annie shouted into the mysterious black hole. ‘I gotta talk to Doctor Jarvis. I don’t know his number.’
Tessa sat on a canvas chair in the hospital waiting room, looking at the flowers in her hand. She’d picked them for Lucy, thoughtfully choosing the ones she hoped her sister would like. A pink rose, some white chrysanthemums, marigolds and blue Michaelmas daisies. She’d made a posy with a ring of scented herbs around the flowers. Mint, lemon balm and lavender. Then she’d decorated a strip of drawing paper, cut a scalloped edge, and wrapped it around them. She’d put a wish into every flower. A wish for Lucy. While Tessa was making the posy in the garden, a tiny, birdlike woman had been there, advising her which flower to pick. ‘The lemon balm and lavender will calm the mind,’ she’d said. ‘The mint will bring clarity. The marigolds have healing power and their petals can be used to make ointment. The rose is for healing the heart.’
Tessa had glanced at the woman’s lively face and thought she recognised her from an old photograph Freddie had in a silver frame. ‘Are you Granny Barcussy?’ she asked.
The reply came to her from a great distance, like a voice ringing across a valley in the mountains. ‘I am, dear. I am Granny Barcussy, and I’m with you all the way, Tessa. I’m your spirit Granny, your forever Granny.’
Then she had vanished into the light like a thistle seed on the wind, leaving Tessa standing perfectly still in the morning sun, the posy in her hand.
‘You can go in now, and see Lucy,’ Kate said, coming into the waiting room with Lucy’s clothes rolled up in a bundle under her arm. ‘Daddy is sitting in the car with a face like thunder.’
‘Why is he so angry?’ Tessa asked.
‘Oh, he’ll get over it. Don’t you worry about it,’ Kate said. ‘You go and see Lucy – she’s in a room by herself. Second door on the left.’
‘You’ve been crying, Mum.’
‘Yes, I did have a little cry,’ Kate admitted. ‘But it will all blow over. You just think about that scholarship. We’re so proud of you.’
‘That’s a change!’ Tessa said, and immediately regretted it when she saw the hurt in Kate’s eyes.
Tessa hadn’t been told what was wrong with Lucy. She shook her hair back, took the posy, and walked in to see her, a bit apprehensively.
Lucy was lying propped against a stack of pillows, wearing the frilly nylon nightie Kate had taken in for her. The blonde beehive had collapsed into a wiry mess, and for once Lucy wore no make-up. Her skin looked mottled and unhealthy. She looked at Tessa with hard eyes. ‘Hiya.’
‘Hiya. I brought you these from the garden.’ Tessa put the posy into Lucy’s hands, but she hardly glanced at it.
‘Thanks,’ she said and let the posy fall onto the sheet, the flowers pointing away from her.
‘So how are you?’ Tessa asked.
Lucy turned her head away and stared at the wall. ‘Who cares?’
‘I do.’
‘That’s news to me,’ said Lucy bitterly.
‘What’s actually wrong with you? Nobody’s told me why you’re in here, Lucy.’
‘Oh, they wouldn’t have, would they?’ Lucy turned and looked at her with haunted eyes. ‘Well, I’ll tell you, and it’s not pleasant, little sister. Maybe it’ll help you grow up. I had sex with Tim – yes, sex – S-E-X, little sister. And I got pregnant. I’m in here because I had a miscarriage.’
‘What’s that?’ asked Tessa, shocked.
‘My baby came too early, and the pain was awful – the worst pain I’ve ever had. Gran found me screaming on the bed – while you lot were swanning round that posh school – I begged her not to ring the doctor, but she did, and he went and told Mum and Dad, and now my life is RUINED. Dad won’t even speak to me.’
Tessa sat down on the bed. She felt Lucy’s desperation. But she couldn’t think of the right words.
‘The baby’s dead,’ Lucy said in a rasping voice, and she lifted her hands in a gesture of hopelessness, and let them fall, limp, on the sheet. ‘Everyone thinks I wanted to get rid of it. Mum cried and cried. She said it was her grandchild and she said I’d broken Dad’s heart. No one cares how I feel. It’s always been good old Lucy. Well, good old Lucy has HAD ENOUGH.’
‘I care how you feel,’ Tessa said.
‘Don’t make me LAUGH.’ Lucy’s eyes blazed with bitterness. ‘You’ve done nothing but make trouble since the day you were born. And what do you get for it? A scholarship at a posh school! I’ve done everything right, all my life, being little miss perfect. And just because I wanted to grow up and have some fun for once, what do I get? A load of blame – and a . . . a dead baby.’
The ripples of anger shook Tessa’s heart and soul. She felt powerless. She saw the cracks radiating out through the bedrock of her family. Her father’s ‘Rock of Ages’ splintered.
‘But I do love you, Lucy,’ she said.
‘Love? YOU? You don’t know what love is,’ Lucy shouted. ‘Wait ’til you get a boyfriend – if you ever do . . .’
‘But love isn’t just to do with boyfriends.’ Tessa picked up the posy and tried to give it to Lucy again. ‘I put lots of love into picking these flowers for you.’
‘It’s too late for flowers.’ Lucy sat forward and fired words at her like missiles. ‘Bloody well go away, go and turn into a bloody snob at your posh school. I wish I didn’t have a sister like you. Go on. Go, and take your stupid flowers with you.’ She flung the posy at Tessa’s face, and the petals of the pink rose scattered over the bed.
Devastated, Tessa jumped to her feet, and stormed out of the room. She glanced at a clock on the wall of the corridor. Was there
time? She checked the car park and saw the black Wolseley still there, waiting for her. She turned and ran through the hospital to the back entrance. She ran across the gravel, over the lawn and down the bank, then on, down the hill towards the station.
‘What have we done wrong?’ Kate kept saying, over and over again. Freddie held her against his heart, silently. They sat on the stairs, close to the phone, with Jonti on Kate’s lap. ‘One in hospital with a miscarriage, and the other one gone missing. What have we done wrong, Freddie? We’ve bent over backwards for those girls.’
Freddie just cuddled her, and let her talk. Outside the hall window he could see swallows gathering on the wires, and the gleam of red that was the roof of his new lorry. The warm smell of cows and apples drifted in from the farms.
‘We should be happy,’ Kate said. ‘We’ve got so much – and now this scholarship. Such a wonderful chance for Tessa. I hope she hasn’t just thrown it away.’
‘Ah . . . well . . . there’s times when I wish they’d never been born,’ Freddie said.
‘No, Freddie, you don’t mean that.’
‘I do. You are my world, Kate. You’re all I ever wanted. I married you, not Lucy and Tessa. They’ll leave home anyway, one day, and it’ll just be the two of us – again.’
‘But not like this!’ Kate said. ‘We’ve invested our lives in those two girls. When you have your children and they’re so little and sweet, you never imagine them hating each other – and causing so much worry. I don’t want them to leave home under a cloud.’
‘Well – they haven’t left home yet. Tessa will come back. I know it, Kate, and we can make it happen.’
Kate stared into Freddie’s eyes, noticing the flecks of deep violet and turquoise that now gave colour to his sadness. Beyond the sadness was knowledge, mysterious knowledge that hadn’t come from books. She waited for it to emerge, and it did.
‘’Tis no good sitting here moaning,’ he said. ‘We know where Lucy is, so we ought to concentrate on Tessa. And I believe that if you go into a person’s mind – or soul, whatever you want to call it – if you go in there as if it were a garden, you can speak to them, but not with words, with silence.’
The Girl by the River Page 19