by Emma Davies
A few of them come to stand in front of us now, Jackie at their forefront offering me another cup of tea. It makes me want to laugh for some strange reason.
‘I owe you an apology,’ she begins.
And that does make me laugh. Or someone sounding suspiciously like me does.
‘Somewhat of an understatement…’
She dips her head. ‘Yes, well… I’m sorry, anyhow.’ She sniffs, turning her head slightly and I follow her line of sight. Sitting at a table, on her own save for Leo beside her, is Stacey. Even from a distance it’s clear to see she’s been crying.
‘We’ve all told her we want nothing more to do with her,’ she says. ‘It should never have gone this far but… well, a few other mums have come forward as well…’
A woman to her right shuffles into view. ‘You don’t want to make a fuss, do you, but my Jess has been on the receiving end of Leo’s bullying once or twice, her dinner money mainly but…’ She looks behind her. ‘And Carrie’s daughter too…’ Another woman takes a step forward.
‘We’ve spoken to the head,’ she says. ‘Just now, there’s a few of us actually.’
‘And none of you thought to mention any of this before?’ asks Anna, shaking her head. ‘You’re unbelievable.’
‘We didn’t know,’ argues the woman. ‘We all thought our children were the only ones… and besides… well, we’re all friends with Stacey and our kids have always got on with Leo before. This is a recent thing and I thought, hoped I suppose, that it would all blow over. Stacey had enough on her plate and no one wants to kick a person when they’re down…’
I look up, puzzled. ‘What do you mean?’
‘She’s been in a hell of a state, since her dad died back in the spring,’ answers Jackie. ‘They were very close and she took it really hard. Her old man left not long after too. She’s had a right time of it.’ She eyes us nervously. ‘Not that that’s really any excuse, mind, but… Anyway, I’m glad your girls are all right.’
I can see Rachel looking at me out of the corner of her eye, wearing her protective mantle. ‘You’ve got a bloody nerve,’ she says. ‘It’s a bit late for that.’
I smile. ‘No, it’s okay, Rach.’ And it is, because somehow it really doesn’t seem to matter any more. Some things are simply more important. I get slowly to my feet. I’m taller than Jackie and for one moment I think she actually believes I’m going to hit her. And I enjoy leaning forward until my face is right up close to hers.
‘Apology accepted,’ I say.
Her eyes widen in shock.
‘And you know why, Jackie? Because this stops, right here, and right now. I’m not about to start giving you a hard time because you’re going to have a hard enough one coming to terms with what you’ve done. You and all your friends. Now, get your shit together and start behaving like a decent human being. For all our sakes.’
* * *
I sink onto the sofa, feeling the weight of the day heavy on my limbs, and pull Mr Blue towards me. Lauren must have left him there when the girls were watching the television earlier, but I bury my nose in his warm fur before tucking him under my chin. I don’t think Lauren let go of Tilly’s hand for more than a few minutes the entire evening. Or Tilly didn’t let go of hers. It’s hard to tell exactly which way round it was. They’re just like Drew and I were at that age, inseparable.
We all congregated back at Pevensey for a while after returning from the village hall. Food was eaten, hot baths were taken and the men opened a bottle of whisky. But the girls are all tucked up in bed now; Tilly back at Rose Cottage with Anna and Rob, and Lauren snuggled in beside Chloe.
Everyone knows there are questions to be asked and discussions to be had, but it’s like I said to Drew earlier: it feels as if we’ve already moved on. The only thing that matters just now is that we’re all together. Safe and sound. Even so my head feels like it’s ready to explode and I remind myself that it’s okay to relax now. Seconds later I’m asleep.
I’m still cradling Mr Blue in my arms when I wake, glancing at my watch to see that I’ve been asleep for well over an hour. I struggle upright and kiss the bear’s nose before swinging my legs onto the floor. Lauren won’t want to be asleep without her faithful friend and he certainly seems to have done me the world of good.
A slight noise catches my attention and I turn to see Drew hovering in the doorway, carrying a mug. His expression is tender, tentative…
‘I came in before but… How are you feeling?’ he asks, but all I hear is, I love you.
I’m across the room in seconds and he searches around him for a moment, looking for somewhere to put down the mug. Then I’m in his arms and it’s like it always used to be; neither one of us solid, but merged somewhere in the middle.
‘We’ll get through this, Thea,’ he murmurs. ‘I promise.’
But I can’t speak. Wave after wave of relief is coursing through me. That he might actually be right and all we have to do is cling onto our rock for just a little while longer until the stormy seas are calm again. And for now just feeling him hold me is enough. There have been times over these last few days when I never thought that would happen again.
‘I’m sorry,’ he says, stroking the back of my head as he pulls it to his chest. ‘I just didn’t know what to do… So I did nothing and then so much time went past it became impossible to do anything.’
‘I was vile,’ I murmur. ‘Hateful. I can’t believe the things I accused you of when I knew you would never…’ I trail off. I don’t think it needs to be said any longer.
‘It’s not your fault…’
‘It’s not yours either. No one’s fault, a responsibility, but one we share…’
We stay entwined for a few more moments before I gently pull away. ‘I should take Mr Blue back to Lauren,’ I say. ‘You know what she’s like otherwise.’
But he takes the bear from me, smiling. ‘She came down a little while ago,’ he replies. ‘But when she saw you were cuddling him, she said that you had far more need of him than her just now. You have the loan of him,’ he adds. ‘Just for the one night, mind.’
His words bring tears to my eyes. ‘How did we get to have such wonderful kids, Drew?’ I say.
‘Luck?’ he suggests. ‘But more than likely, love…’
I sniff. ‘It makes me sad. That there are children in the world who don’t get that…’
‘Children like Leo, maybe…’ He sighs. ‘But we don’t know their circumstances, Thea, so we can only be true to ourselves and what we believe.’
I stare at him. ‘That’s just what Mum said.’
He smiles. ‘Then it must be right.’ He holds out his hand. ‘Come on, let’s get to bed. It’s been a very long day…’
And that night his foot slips against mine, his arm slides around my waist and his skin sears a line of heat the entire length of my body.
Twenty-Seven
The girls went back to school this morning. Undeterred, unafraid and, so it would appear, not in the least bit unhappy. We could learn a lot from their resilience and courage. Perhaps we already have.
We spent the day together yesterday after we’d waved Rachel and Gerry off to go house-hunting. Rob, Anna, Tilly, me, Drew and the girls. Two families out together for the day having fun. And it was absolutely the most perfect thing to do. There was an almost holiday mood, carefree, full of gratitude for a day set free from anything but our desire to be together and enjoy ourselves. And this morning it’s as if a line has been drawn in the sand, one which we all stepped over, relishing the prospect of life on the other side. Not delusional, just hopeful.
It’s how I feel as I open the studio door. It would be hard not to, it’s flooded with sunlight. Drew is already there, intent on his computer screen, and I love to see this expression on his face. When he’s drawing like he is now, it goes much deeper than mere concentration. There’s a fervour to how he looks, an excitement which he holds in check, releasing bit by bit as he completes each aspect of the des
ign. I’ve often wondered if this is what I look like when I paint. But he breaks off what he’s doing as I enter and his smile meets mine.
His gaze returns to his work as I settle myself, opening my notes and my sketchbook with preliminary drawings in it, before finally bringing out the illustration I’ve been working on. I need to know whether the studio can still feel like it once did.
‘That’s better,’ he says, his attention still on his computer, but then he turns to me. ‘We’ve missed you,’ he adds. ‘It hasn’t been the same.’
‘We?’ I query.
‘The house and I,’ he replies. ‘You’ve been gone a while, Thea, it’s good to have you back.’ His expression is warm. It’s not an accusation, but an observation of an honest feeling.
‘It’s good to be back,’ I reply, looking around the room, and I realise how much I’ve missed being in this space. Sitting alongside Drew, working, these ordinary moments forming the links in the chain of our everyday lives. Its strength binding us together. It’s what will carry us on into the future.
I pick up my pencil, feeling its smooth wood, warm and balanced in my hand, and I begin to draw.
I don’t know how long it is before I stop, feeling Drew’s fingers sliding around the base of my neck. It’s a sensation as familiar as breathing, as he dips his head to look over my shoulder at the work on the page in front of me. I raise my head, eyes flicking left and right, the change in focus allowing me to ‘see’ the picture for the first time. And I’m astonished by what I’ve drawn.
Drew’s breath is audible in my ear. ‘Jesus, Thea,’ he murmurs. ‘That’s incredible.’
The scene is the first in which Weasel appears, a devious trickster who delights in making mischief. Here, he is planning to sabotage Rabbit’s picnic and, from the haughty sneer on his face to the malevolent gleam in his eye, every nuance of his character is clear to see, but wrought with such expressive detail that the drawing dances with energy and life. It will make every child who sees it root even harder for Rabbit, and long to see Weasel’s downfall. He’ll be the villain that everyone will love to hate and my heart leaps in recognition of what I’ve done.
I lean back into Drew’s body, feeling the warmth of his weight behind me. ‘I thought it had gone,’ I say. ‘That I had lost it…’ My words bring tears, unbidden, springing to my eyes. My hand reaches upwards, seeking out his.
Drew’s reply is immediate. ‘No, never,’ he says. ‘Something that strong can never be broken…’ His fingers twine with mine, his lips are in my hair and we both know we’re no longer talking about the character on the page but, instead, the character of our love.
We stay like this a few moments more until Drew slips away to make us both a drink and I sit gazing at my work, feeling the renewal it has brought, the rebirthing of energy and purpose. And with it comes certainty. I slip from my stool as Drew places down a mug of tea by my side and cross to stand behind his chair.
‘Is it going well?’ I ask, seeing that his own drawing has come to life, far bigger and more complex than his original honeycomb house.
He regards it for a moment before a slow smile crosses his face. ‘Yeah…’ he says. ‘I reckon it is.’
‘This is different though…’ I add, pointing at the screen.
There’s a rueful smile. ‘There hasn’t really been an opportunity to tell you about this, but—’
‘You’ve got another job? Drew, that’s brilliant!’
‘Unexpectedly so. God really does work in mysterious ways…’
I look up at him, bemused at his comment, and my expression is met with laughter.
‘So you’ll never guess what Rob did before he decided to join the clergy.’
I raise my eyebrows. ‘Somehow I don’t think you’re about to say he was a lion tamer… Go on, tell me, what did he do?’
‘He was a quantity surveyor. Not for long, mind, but…’ His words are an invitation.
I look at his smiling face, trying to decipher the piece of information he’s so obviously wanting to share, but which I haven’t yet worked out.
‘And so when I went to a meeting at the diocesan board of education recently…’ He’s trying so hard not to laugh. ‘Funnily enough, I met Rob there… And we might be near the point of working out a deal for me to supply the diocese with a range of school buildings, not dissimilar from my honeycomb houses… Didn’t he say he might be working on a project that I could help him with?’
I stare at Drew as he grins from ear to ear, remembering Rob’s words from the very first day we met him. ‘Oh my God, that’s such brilliant news!’ I nudge his hip. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ But of course I already know the answer.
He looks back down at his drawing, still smiling. ‘If I’ve understood the brief correctly, and I think I have, then it should be perfect for what the diocese needs. It’s combining the best of both worlds, a tailor-made solution at a fraction of what a traditional building would cost them.’ His eyes are dancing with excitement. ‘It could be the start of something I’d be really proud of. And it gives what I can offer a whole new dimension. If they go for it I’m going to have to think about how I do things because I could be really rather busy…’ He trails off but I can already see where this might be headed because Drew is one of the most generous people I know.
‘And so Rob…?’
Drew merely raises an amused eyebrow. ‘We don’t know yet, because much will depend on conversations he has with the diocese. His position as curate here has to come first, but there might be ways he could help out on a consultancy basis. It’s a win-win situation as far as I can see.’
‘And now that it would seem we’re no longer in danger of being chased from the village by an angry mob carrying pitchforks, it couldn’t have come at a better time. For all of us.’ I check my watch. ‘I wonder how Rach and Gerry are getting on?’
‘They’re going to love the house, Thea, you know it as well as I do. I’ve never seen them so excited.’
‘Rachel said she’d ring once their viewing was over. What if they want it, Drew? They’ve sold their house – this could all happen very quickly.’
‘Almost as if it’s meant to be…’
I pat my back pocket, feeling for my phone, but I must have left it upstairs. ‘Back in a sec.’
The phone is on my bedside table and I snatch it up, checking the screen in case I’ve missed her call, but it’s blank. I’m halfway to the door before something makes me stop and double back. I sit on the edge of the bed, thinking. And then, with a trembling hand, I reach forward to pull open the drawer. Today seems like the right day to do this. To clear away the past.
I slide both newspaper articles from my journal and sit with them on my lap for a moment. I don’t read them, I don’t need to, I’ve already memorised their contents. They will fade from my mind over time but I no longer need these reminders, they’re unimportant now.
I rise to my feet just as the thought comes to me. I don’t know why I didn’t see it before, and I stare at the papers in my hand. It seems so obvious now.
Drew is back at work as I pop my head around the studio door. He probably wouldn’t even notice I’ve gone for a while but I tell him I’m just popping round to see Anna. He grins.
‘More cake?’
‘Probably,’ I reply before slipping back out of the room.
* * *
Stacey doesn’t even look surprised to see me. She nods and there’s even the trace of a smile as she leads me straight into the front room, a conciliatory gesture as she indicates that I should take a seat.
She perches on the edge of a chair opposite mine, her fingers twisting the tissue that’s balled in her fist.
‘How do you know?’ she asks softly.
I lay the newspaper article down on the coffee table in front of her. ‘Because of this,’ I reply. ‘I have one pretty much the same at home. Same age, same newspaper probably. It’s what got me thinking in the first place. Why had it been left there, hidden
in my house? Who had left it? Because you don’t just hang onto something like that, not for all these years, unless it has some very deep significance, do you?’
Stacey doesn’t reply.
‘You see, I know in my heart that my dad wasn’t guilty of attacking Georgia, and I was actually going to destroy these articles today. To put all this hateful business firmly in the past and leave it there. But as soon as I saw the clipping, it made me wonder why you had the article in the first place. Why you had kept it for all these years… or if not you, someone else in your family. I realised then of course. Because what was true for my mum is also true for you, isn’t it?’ I pause, letting the question form fully before I say it out loud. ‘When did you find out, Stacey? When he died?’
A tear rolls down her cheek. ‘It was among Dad’s things. We found it when we were going through them, along with a note…’ Her voice cracks. ‘Asking for forgiveness.’
‘Oh, Stacey…’
‘And none of us knew. Had any idea. Not my mum, nor me, nor my sisters.’ Her hand covers her mouth as if she’s going to be sick. ‘And it was my sister’s friend for God’s sake, Georgia… she was always round our house when we were younger.’ A tremor shakes her shoulders. ‘Oh God…’
I close my eyes and swallow, expecting to feel relief, and yet how can I, in the face of someone else’s pain? I’ve been where Stacey is now. Every feeling running through her head is one I’ve already experienced. Except for her, there is no escape. There is no doubt. There will be no reprieve.
‘So when I came back you thought you could blame my dad instead of yours…’
She’s crying openly now. ‘I thought it would make it all go away! That it wouldn’t have to be true. I knew it was wrong, but I thought if I could make other people think it was your dad then I wouldn’t have to admit—’
‘Stacey, it doesn’t work like that.’