‘Where is my baby?’ she wailed. ‘Where is she? Oh God, what have you done?’
He deflected the blow, caught his heavy wristwatch against her flailing hand, and ripped a gash in her flesh. She fought his attempts to help and it left a scar. When she became agitated, Violet would rub it with the middle finger of her other hand.
She had known her anger scared him. It scared everyone and kept them away.
The bells tolled on. Her head ached with the weight of memory. My baby died, and the whole world turned to twilight.
At first she had ignored him, slept in the child’s room, curled on the floor. Even when she did come downstairs, sit in the garden, accept a cup of tea from him, the touch of a breeze was like needles on her skin. In the black, moonless nights her dreams brimmed over with rain and crying children. Other nights she slept deeply and woke with no recollection of dreaming, only a sense of her heart folding in on itself.
Either her rage erupted or she would disappear into grief. She didn’t know which was worse. And then Teilo died too and there was no longer a place to direct her anger.
Violet began her walks again and took her rancour with her.
Weeks later, cold panic ran through her.
‘You look terrible,’ Lili had said. ‘I mean, you look ill, Violet. Are you alright?’
No, I’m not alright. Violet’s shock made her mute. I’m pregnant again and I want to die.
Her nightmares were filled with poison spells to make it go away. It was impossible to ask Lili. Lili would never help her get rid of Teilo’s child. Violet sat in the bath weeping cold tears, imagined the child growing inside her like a black weed. She drank gin, which only made her sick. Lili stared at her so hard, Violet swore she felt a spell: a protection tightening like a corset.
The less she ate, the thinner she became. The baby grew, as if it thrived on air.
When the baby was born, Violet refused to look at her. For the first two weeks, she fed her in the dark, closing the curtains by day, covering her with a blanket. The baby didn’t seem to mind. She nursed and slept and when she woke, stared at her mother with a disconcerting adult curiosity. It disturbed Violet, this staring baby with her unequivocal azure eyes. What did she see?
A mother with a head for secrets and a ghost father who never got to say the things to her he had said to his flower-faced child.
Whenever Lili came into the room, the baby smiled. It was clear to Violet from the beginning who she loved best. It was Lili who chose her name. Violet wasn’t interested.
‘What are you going to call her?’
Violet turned her face toward the wall.
‘She has to have a name,’ Lili said. ‘You must have some idea.’
‘I don’t know, I can’t think about it now.’
‘Do you want an English name or a Welsh one?’
‘Does it matter?’
It made no difference what Violet wanted. ‘Come on, Violet, she has to have a name, cariad.’
For once the endearment didn’t sound contrived and there was a brief moment when Violet sensed that Lili couldn’t bear for the baby to be unimportant.
She sighed and said, whatever Lili thought best.
‘What about Cadi? It’s a name for May Day, and it means “pure”.’
To Violet, pure meant flawless and complete. Whenever she looked at the baby she saw an intruder.
‘You take her,’ she said, and handed the child to Lili.
Outside, hawthorn blossom drifted through the village taking the last of Violet’s maternal instinct with it.
‘Hello, Cadi,’ Lili said. ‘Welcome to the world, baby girl.’
Violet thought of leaving, though she had no idea where she might go. By the time Cadi was born, she loathed Wales with its rain and gossip. The hills rose like a barrier. She was afraid of what might be on the other side and scared of getting lost – or of being found.
Whatever courage she once had died with Dora. And if I run away, Lili will only find me. The bells rang and rang. To Violet they sounded like a threat, enveloping the Sunday silence, thick enough to strangle her.
Forty-three
Lili set her book to one side.
Shifting Mr Furry off her legs, she got out of bed and sat by the window. Reaching out her hand she touched the dew on the jasmine. The sun inched its way through the garden. The rhythmic chime of the church bell sounded like a mantra.
This is all I need.Anything or anyone else is a bonus. Sylvia’s insistence she was withering away niggled. No I’m not, I’m choosy.
She suspected this wasn’t convincing, not even to herself. Had she been too focused on caring for Cadi, behaving as she ought to rather than as she’d wanted?
It isn’t about me. I have to look out for Cadi. Protect her.
From her own mother? Violet’s benign neglect of Cadi might not be Lili’s idea of perfect parenting – it didn’t make her a monster. And what do I know?
Lili reflected on the loss of a child, a death for which no explanation could ameliorate the pain. She doubted Violet had either the energy or the inclination to deal with the enormity of her pain, or its consequences for her living child.
Is it really my job to persuade her? Lili couldn’t cut through Violet’s resistance to life, but she wasn’t sure how long she could sit back and do nothing.
Lulled by the aftermath of bells, the garden lay quiet. Butterflies floated on motionless air. Cadi helped Lili pile the last of the weeds onto the compost heap.
‘Thanks for this,’ Lili said.
‘No worries.’ Cadi wiped her forehead with the back of her hand and pushed her fork into the earth.
‘And we managed it before the rain.’
‘Don’t hold your breath, I can smell it.’
Lili laughed. ‘You always do.’
‘Right, I’m off.’
‘Stay and talk,’ Lili said.
Cadi knew Lili wanted to ask her why they’d exchanged hardly a word during two hours of weeding and hoeing and pulling up vegetables. Scooping up a few random weeds, she threw them onto the compost and said she was tired, and didn’t have anything to say.
‘Okay.’ Lili indicated a basket heaped with vegetables. ‘Take that lot for your mam. And thanks again.’
‘Dim problem. See you tomorrow.’
Lili thinks I’m growing up. Cadi listened for ghosts in the breeze. She hugged the rag doll under her chin, breathed in the scent of it. Helping in the garden doesn’t make me grown up, not the way Lili thinks. She closed her eyes. If I go to sleep as me and I don’t dream about anything, maybe I’ll wake up a different person.
Growing up can take a person by surprise. Cadi wasn’t sure what kind of grown up she wanted to be.
The white house hovered in the early evening light. Lili, her conscience pricking her, pushed open the wrought iron gate. The newly rubbed patches gave it a mottled look. She knocked the front door.
When Pomona appeared, she grinned and the skin around her eyes crinkled in fine radiating lines. ‘Goodness, you’re the last person I expected. Come in.’ Stepping aside, she spread her arm in invitation.
‘I won’t if you don’t mind, I can’t stay and in any case, it’s a bit late.’ Lili took a breath. ‘I owe you an apology.’
‘Nonsense, of course you don’t.’
‘Oh, but I do. I don’t know what got into me. You were being friendly and generous and I was rude. It was unforgivable.’
‘In that case, apology accepted.’ Pomona leaned against the door jamb. ‘Are you sure you won’t come in.’
‘Better not, my niece is waiting for me.’
‘You live close by?’
‘We’re practically neighbours. My house is at the end of the lane. Tŷ Aderyn.’
‘The Bird House – how lovely.’ Pomona smiled again. ‘I’ll look out for it.’
And then I might let you in. If I let you in there may not be room for Cadi. Lili pulled her cardigan close against the evening breeze. ‘I also w
anted to say, welcome to the village. I ought to have said it the first time we met. It’s not a bad place to live.’
‘That’s sweet. Thanks. I’m feeling quite at home, as a matter of fact. Everyone wants to know me.’
‘Yes, that too.’
They held one another’s gaze.
Pomona said, ‘While you’re here, do you know what that is?’ She pointed to a sprawling evergreen shrub under the window covered in a mass of small white flowers.
‘Cotoneaster.’ Lili reached out and touched a shiny green leaf. ‘It’ll be covered in red berries in the autumn. The birds will love you.’
‘It’s mutual,’ Pomona said. ‘I’ll have to start working out which one is which mind.’
‘I could loan you a book.’
‘Brilliant!’
‘No problem.’ Lili nodded, already half regretting the impulse. ‘I really do have to go.’
‘Your niece.’
‘Cadi.
‘Thanks for coming by, Lili, it was kind of you.’
‘Bye then.’
‘Bye, Lili.’ She didn’t go inside.
As she walked down the path, Lili felt smiling eyes following her like two green birds.
I have come to a place I barely remember.
The ghost is a mystery, not least to herself.
Do you see me?
Do you remember me?
Look for me in your heart…
Ydych chi’n cofio?
There is a searing ache under her skin where her wings are growing.
Look for me in your heart…
Beneath a fading sky, weightless and indifferent, the day passed until, weary and drenched in the scent of jasmine, it finally gave in to sleep.
Forty-four
The garden feels unquiet.
Rain falls so fiercely, the ghost can barely see between the drops.
She doesn’t like rain.
The branches are laden with it, ropes of raindrops, collecting in her feathers, holding her down.
In this opaque, sheltering light, she ought to feel safe.
She doesn’t.
The other birds take off for their secret places. She watches them flying up and away past a ragged moon.
The rain falls harder, concealing everything other than the vague outline of the cottages.
In the shadows, the ghost shivers, her agitation growing.
We can’t change much, Sylvia had said, we can choose how we deal with situations.
Cadi rubbed her eyes and blinked away an Alice dream. She was done with rabbit holes, with being in the dark. The wooden horse creaked on its rockers. Slipping from the bed, Cadi laid her hand on its head, stilling it. She opened a drawer in search of knickers. Behind her she heard a thud. Something flew at the window – an owl glancing off the frame. As fast as it appeared, it vanished.
Cadi opened the window. A feather drifted onto the floor. Picking it up, she stroked it across her cheek. As she turned back to the drawer, a cloud of oak leaves flew up. She watched, delighted, as they floated to the floor.
‘Cadi?’ Violet’s voice sounded at the bottom of the stairs. ‘I’ve made breakfast.’
Cadi left the leaves and went to the window. She held out her hand, the feather held between her fingers. A single raindrop caught on its tip like a tiny jewel.
I’m here…
She turned. The room was empty. On the bed lay the rumpled duvet, her books stood in obedient rows, the mirror over her dressing table reflected nothing more sinister than her own wide-eyed face. In front of the bookcase, her shoes: school shoes, boots and trainers, neatly lined up.
Except now, the right one of each pair was turned upside-down.
‘Dora?’ she whispered.
‘Cadi, I’ve made pancakes.’ Violet’s voice, louder now. ‘Come on, they’ll get cold.’
Cadi gathered up the leaves, tucked them and the feather into the drawer. Violet called again. Pulling on her dressing-gown, Cadi met her mother at the door.
‘Not dressed? Honestly, Cadi, it’s nearly ten o’clock.’
‘Sorry, I was reading.’
‘Well, hurry up. I don’t like wasting food.’
Kneeling in front of her upended shoes, one by one, Cadi turned them over. ‘I like them this way, okay?’ In the silence, the room shimmered. Cadi told the ghost it made no difference what she did. ‘I’m not going to be scared of you anymore.’
‘This is good, Mam, thanks.’ Violet didn’t often bother cooking breakfast.
‘No worries.’ Violet smiled her thin smile and Cadi noticed how unconvincing it was. People leaned away from Violet’s smiles. No one likes rejection.
‘You look nice when you smile.’
‘Do I?’ She was wearing a print frock and not her usual boring beige jeans.
Violet shrugged and asked did Cadi mind being left again. ‘I’ve got things to do after work.’
‘Are you alright?’
‘Sorry?’
‘You don’t usually ask if I mind being by myself.’
‘Well, I’m asking today.’ Violet turned to the mirror, fiddling with her hair. ‘I trust you to behave.’
Has she guessed? Cadi blinked, to shift the memory of her mother’s room.
‘I will.’
‘Good. There’s plenty of food.’
‘I’ll be fine, don’t worry.’ Her mind was only half on her mother’s words. If a ghost didn’t need to be seen, why would it make itself known? Why would it scare her? If her sister’s ghost wanted to attract her attention, it made no sense to frighten her. And the shoes weren’t in the least bit scary, a child’s trick, making Dora seem more vulnerable than threatening.
‘Will you do the dishes?’
Cadi said she would.
‘I’ll be off then and leave you to it.’ Violet gathered her bag and an umbrella. ‘See you later.’
Running hot water into the sink, Cadi noticed Violet had left her knitting. She ought to go after her. Through the window she was distracted by a damp bee blundering into a lavender plant. She washed the plates and the frying pan, rinsed the teapot; wiped the table clear of crumbs.
Taking care to lock the door and place the key under the mat, she stood in the doorway looking around. The rain left behind a patina of steamy air. The morning lay as still as a stopped clock, waiting.
In the distance, the church clock chimed: one, two, three – on and on, the eleventh note a long echo.
Lili scribbled in her notebook: random doodles Sylvia met with mock derision. Cadi looked over her shoulder. A heron and a trace of flowers. Cadi imagined Sylvia drawing her into a real picture, hand in hand with her sister.
If Dora hadn’t died, Cadi would have been the little sister.
She did though. Would she have taken me for walks – to the lake perhaps?
Light from the bright morning fell through Lili’s door, across the flagstones and rugs. Cadi smelled jasmine, sun and water and the scent of meadowsweet, strong and cloying.
I’m here…
For a moment she couldn’t breathe. Her head jerked up. Lili tapped her pencil against her teeth – oblivious. In the garden a wind chime tinkled.
I had a sister and I don’t know her. And she had less than a guess about her sister’s ghost or what she wanted.
With no memories, how could she remember anything? Impossible to have a memory of a person you’d never met, and bizarre to believe the ghost of a dead child might be trying to contact her.
I have to make it right. She shook her head to clear it. ‘Why are the children in your new story orphans?’
‘Orphans have to be extra brave.’
‘Will it have a happy ending?’
‘You know me. I’m not sure how much I believe in happy endings.’ Cadi saw Lili check herself before adding, ‘Not in stories at any rate.’
‘Will it be scary?’
Lili smiled, ‘Oh, I expect so, children like a bit of scary.’
‘In stories.’
Lili gave her a look. ‘Have there been any more visits?’
‘Lili, everything’s fine.’ Peidiwch â dweud… Don’t tell…
‘Good. You would say?’
‘Yes, Lili, if there was anything to tell, I’d tell you.’ She crossed her fingers behind her back.
‘Do you know,’ Lili said, ‘when she was pregnant, Sylvia used to read Grimm’s Fairytales to the twins?’
‘No wonder they’re weird.’
‘I thought you liked them.’
‘I do. They’re still weird.’
‘Boys will be boys, I guess.’
Cadi went to the fridge and found a carton of juice. ‘It sounds more like Mam’s style.’
‘Not really, she’s not the fairytale sort is she?’
‘I suppose not.’ Cadi poured two glasses of juice. ‘She can’t have been happy at the thought of expecting me.’
‘That’s not true.’
‘Come on Lili. She would have lain awake at night imagining the cord round my neck.’
Somewhere a bird cried as if its heart were breaking.
Lili shivered. No, Violet dreamed of deep lakes and drowning pools.
Aloud, she said she thought Cadi was being a bit unfair.
‘Let’s face it, Lili, she didn’t want me. Then, when I was little, she was over-protective and now, apart from trying to stop me going to the lake, she couldn’t care less.’
‘Your mother is always scared.’
‘She wants to make up her mind, that’s all I’m saying.’
Privately, Lili agreed. Violet’s random care was, on the face of it, casual, cruel even.
‘And scared of what,’ Cadi went on. ‘I get why she doesn’t like the lake, it isn’t rocket science. What else does she have to be afraid of?’
The past catching up with her? Being found out? A wave of panic ran through Lili’s body. ‘Ask her, Cadi. You have to ask her.’
‘You’ve always said I shouldn’t.’
‘Well, it’s different now.’
‘And there is a secret.’
‘Yes. There’s a secret.’
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