by Jennie Ensor
He looked away from her, his eyes wet.
‘I loved him once too.’ She swallowed to remove the sudden tightness in her throat. ‘A long time ago. But the last time I saw him, I hated him more than I’ve ever hated anyone. Now, I feel nothing.’
Neither spoke. Her brother stared at the un-cleared table.
‘I’m thinking of breaking off the engagement,’ Daniel said, rubbing the back of his neck.
‘Because of Dad?’
His eyes flicked to her face. ‘If we get married, I’ll have to tell Karen the truth about him, won’t I? I don’t think I’m up to that.’
‘You don’t have to tell her, if you don’t want to. You should go ahead and get married. Don’t let him change anything.’
Daniel didn’t reply.
‘Have you said anything yet to Karen? About calling it off?’
‘Not yet. I haven’t told Mum, either.’
‘Wait a bit and think it over, won’t you?’
He shrugged and looked at his watch. ‘I’m heading off now, sis. I’ve got stuff to do.’
‘Daniel, before you go. Can I ask you something?’
He waited for her to speak.
‘Do you still blame me for Dad killing himself?’
‘No, I don’t blame you. I’m sorry I said that.’
‘I’m not sure he’d have done it,’ she explained, ‘if I hadn’t said what I did. If I hadn’t wanted to tell the police.’
‘It was his choice, Laura. After all that he did to you, he must have known he’d have to pay the price one day.’ He checked his watch again. ‘It’s getting late, I have to get back.’ He put his hand lightly on her arm. ‘See ya, sis. Take care of yourself.’
35
Laura
Four months later
It was a warm afternoon, one of the last days of summer. The garden’s greenness was tinged with dusty yellows and golds. Marmaduke, lazing on the patio, rolled onto his back. Laura yawned and stretched. She was sleepy from the sun and the bottle of wine that she and her mother had shared at lunch.
Her mother, laid out on a reclining chair, raised her head. It was hidden by a large-brimmed straw hat. ‘How was Mrs Harris this week?’
‘Oh, she’s alright. She said I’ve been a massive help and she’s sorry for being so tetchy.’
It was the end of another week of helping Mrs Harris research her book. They’d travelled to Doncaster to talk to a farmer who’d discovered valuable Roman relics in the corner of his field. At last, she’d found a job she enjoyed. It was demanding, working for an irascible seventy-something woman who was greatly frustrated at her reduced sight and mobility, but never boring. The research was likely to go on for another six months, at least, and after that … She could help Mrs Harris write her book. Or she could apply to do a postgraduate degree in archaeology. After a few years she might end up on a dig in Crete or Italy. Perhaps she would discover something important herself.
‘The garden’s so lovely now,’ her mother said, under her breath. ‘I’m going to miss it.’
‘I can hardly believe you’ve sold the house, Mum.’
‘Nor me. It seems odd to think that I won’t be coming here when I get back.’
It was hard to imagine anyone else living in this house, but in just under four weeks it would be occupied by two doctors, and her mother would be off to Texas for a month, to stay with a friend she hadn’t seen for years, followed by two weeks in Spain with another friend, then an ‘old girls’ get-together’ in the Lake District. After all that, her mother was thinking of renting a house near the sea for a few months before buying somewhere else.
‘What sort of place are you going to look for?’
‘Somewhere bright, modern. Somewhere without memories.’
She knew what her mother meant. Dad had been dead for nearly half a year, yet the house still held many reminders of him. Several times, alone in the kitchen or the living room, she’d felt signs of him. A small disturbance in the air like someone walking close by. An odd quiver in the light, the faint spill of his voice into the room. It could well have been her imagination – she didn’t believe in ghosts – but she wouldn’t be sad to say goodbye to this place.
‘It’s time you got away from here,’ she said. ‘And away from the past.’
‘Yes, there’s been a bit too much of the past, lately.’
The inquest into her father’s death had been held three weeks ago. Both she and her mother had been summoned as witnesses. Not as many people as Mum had feared turned up. Daniel hadn’t gone, said he wasn’t interested in ‘a rehash of the past’.
‘You loved him, didn’t you, Mum?’
‘I loved the man I thought he was. Or the man he wanted me to see, perhaps. It’s as though he put me under a spell when I met him, and I never realised. Katherine always thought I was mad to put up with him, so did Irene. But I didn’t see it – just as I didn’t see what he did to you.’ Her mother rubbed the bridge of her nose. ‘It’s a strange thing, Laura. Lately, it’s like a weight’s been lifted from me. I was dreading the inquest and what might happen.’
Her mother had handled it quite well in the end, staying composed and clear and succinct in response to the coroner’s questions about what had led to Paul’s distressed state of mind. Jane had given a guarded account of Emma’s accusations, staring icily at Suzanne the whole time. She herself had decided to be as open as possible. She mentioned everything relevant – his abuse of her when she was a child, her reaction after learning of Jane’s accusation, her final confrontation with her father before her visit to the police. Oddly enough, talking about it had been OK. It was another chance to be heard, perhaps. Five hours later the verdict was death by misadventure, as they’d expected.
‘It’s not just that the inquest’s over.’ A sad smile fluttered onto her mother’s face. ‘Now Paul is gone, I can breathe again. It’s terrible that he felt he had no choice but to kill himself, and I’d never have wished him dead, but now it’s happened … Part of me wonders if this could all be for the best, in some strange way.’
She looked at her mother in surprise as she carried on.
‘You were right about him going after other girls. Even if he’d gone to prison, I don’t see how that would have stopped him. They’d have let him out sooner or later. We’d have always been wondering what he might do next.’
From high above, the cawing of a wood pigeon. Laura ran her fingers through the stems of grass.
‘I’m glad too,’ she said softly. ‘That he’s not around anymore.’ Maybe, she thought, in years to come she would be able to forgive him. Was it easier to forgive a dead person? She wondered if Emma would ever be able to forgive him, or if Jane would.
‘What your father did to you, when you were a child.’ Her mother spoke carefully. ‘It’s affected you a lot, hasn’t it?’
Laura looked away from her mother. A sadness washed over her, chafing the same raw places. She tried to put her feelings into words.
‘For years I felt like I was always alone, no matter what. Even though I knew you were around, and Daniel.’
Her mother’s head dipped.
‘It’s like I’m coming out of his shadow,’ Laura continued. ‘He’s not there, following me wherever I go.’
‘We’re both coming out of his shadow.’ Her mother reached across and squeezed her hand. ‘I know we haven’t been close, darling, as far as mothers and daughters go, not for a long time. But I’d like to change that.’
‘Me too.’
Their eyes met. Above the nearby borders, bees hummed and climbed in and out of flowers.
Laura picked a head of clover. ‘Any news of David?’
‘Last week he asked if I’d go walking with him one weekend in Dorset.’
‘Did you say yes?’
‘I said I’d go – once I’m back from Texas.’
‘Playing hard to get?’
‘Maybe.’ Mum smiled. ‘It’s been a while, I’m a bit rusty when it come
s to romance. He’ll jolly well have to be patient!’
They laughed in unison. Since her father’s death, she’d felt closer to her mother than she could remember. If only the same were true with Daniel. She’d not seen him since the funeral. They had tentative plans to meet soon, for his birthday, unless he took off for a contract overseas instead.
Her thoughts drifted, punctuated by the rumble of wood pigeons. In a short time, so much had changed. Her father was gone and was no longer able to harm anyone, and her mother would get along fine without him – that was clear. Hopefully, her brother would learn how to get along without the father he’d always imagined. As for herself … the bad dreams hardly came at all now. She was finally getting on with her life. That desperate, hopeless girl of a few months ago would soon be a memory.
Laura looked up at the trees along the edge of the garden. How wonderful they were in their haloes of green. Her fingers played among heads of clover.
I’m alive, right here, right now.
With that thought came a stirring of excitement, a childish wonder at the possibilities of the world. It lay open to her like a meadow waiting to be explored, full of secret places where rare birds and butterflies lived, and plants that had no names. Perhaps it had been waiting for her all along, only she’d never noticed.
She lay there for a while, looking up at the sky, watching clouds slowly form, break apart and reform.
THE END
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Acknowledgments
Thank you to the first editor of my manuscript, Philippa Brewster, the team at Bloodhound and all the writers who have who have helped me with nearly endless revisions of this novel. To name a few: Joanna Stephen-Ward, Richard Rickford and Alan Franks from the old days of the Richmond Writers Circle; Hillary Bailey, Gail Robinson, Iris Ansell and Margaret d’Armenia from the former novelists’ group, and Gail Cleare, Kate Murdoch, Kali Napier and Ann Warner from the many authors I’ve got to know online. Your help has been invaluable.