Both brothers stare at me and it feels like anything could happen. It’s like they’ve watched an illusionist pull off a master trick and they’re trying to figure it out. I’ve walked through the Great Wall of China, flown across a stage in Vegas or levitated next to The Shard.
‘There’s something going on here,’ Ashley says. ‘What do you want?’
‘I don’t want anything. I’ve not asked for anything.’
‘You’re not having money.’
‘I’ve turned down money. I don’t want anything from you and I don’t need it.’
Everyone’s stuck in the moment because there’s nothing else to say. It’s one thing to get angry at a person but another entirely to be furious with science.
Ashley lunges forward, stabbing an accusing finger in my direction. ‘I’ll find out the truth,’ he says. Before anyone can stop him, he’s pushed past Rhys into the hallway. He stops for a moment and turns to Max. ‘You comin’?’
Max does precisely that and, moments later, the front door slams closed, sending a booming wave of rage spiralling through the house.
Thirty
Everyone stands in stunned silence for a few seconds before Mum breaks the silence with an apology.
I’d somehow managed to miss the fact that he was in his cot – but Harry chooses that moment to wake up and start calling for Mum. She sweeps her way across the room and plucks him out, rubbing his head and back, then placing him on the floor. He’s oblivious to the open warfare that’s been going on around him and toddles off to play with his toys in the corner.
Dad sits on the sofa and rubs his temples, looking at the floor.
Mum refolds the papers and returns them to the envelope before handing it to me. ‘I never doubted the test,’ she says. ‘I can’t tell you how pleased I am to have this out in the open.’ She turns to Nattie and Rhys. ‘Thank you for making my daughter feel at home.’
‘Mum—’
She cuts me off with a wave of the hand and turns back to Nattie and Rhys. ‘No, I want to say this. I really appreciate that you’ve welcomed Olivia to the village with your friendship.’
‘I am here, Mum.’
‘I’m your mother and it’s my job to embarrass you. I’ve got a lot of years to catch up on.’
She smiles and it’s only then that I realise fully how much her happiness means to me.
Nattie says that it’s fine and then I ask Mum what’s going to happen with Max and Ashley.
She spends a few moments watching Harry before replying. ‘Max isn’t so bad when it’s just us,’ she says. ‘He’ll listen to me. It’s only his brother who gets him riled up.’
‘Why are they always together?’
It’s a rude question, I know it is. None of my business – and yet, for the moment, it feels like I could ask anything I want and get an answer.
‘They’ve always come as a pair,’ Mum replies. ‘It’s not like I didn’t know that.’
It might be inadvertent but it’s hard to tell: Mum is clasping the area a little under her elbow where I saw the bruises. She’s wearing a long-sleeved top, so nothing can be seen, and she corrects herself the moment she realises she’s doing it. Mum knows I’ve noticed and turns away quickly.
I could say something, especially with Dad here – but what then? It’s not like I expect him to protect her honour or anything like that. And the Pitman brothers already have enough reasons, however contrived, to resent him.
Perhaps sensing something not being right, Dad pushes himself up from the sofa. ‘I’m going to get off,’ he says. ‘I have a few things to do. Thank you for inviting me.’
This time, there’s the briefest of hugs between my parents: arses out, chests in, touching shoulders, then away.
Dad nods towards Harry, who’s happily amusing himself with the Duplo blocks.
‘He’s a gorgeous little boy.’
‘Thank you.’
He tells Rhys it’s nice to meet him and says something similar to Nattie, telling her that it’s nice to see her again. I’m not sure if he relates her to the red-headed girl who used to play in the back garden, or if he has some other reason for knowing her.
I lead him out to the front door and there’s a moment where it’s only us.
‘Thank you for coming,’ I say.
‘I wouldn’t have wanted to be anywhere else.’
‘Is everything all right?’
Dad rests a hand on my shoulder and I can sense the faint smell of alcohol again on his breath when he breathes out. It’s masked by mint but it’s there.
‘I’m working on it,’ he says.
‘Do you need a lift back to the village?’
He shakes his head. ‘I think a walk would be good for me.’ Dad unlocks the door and then stands half in, half out. ‘I love you,’ he adds. ‘I promise I won’t let you down again. Not ever. You need me and I’m there. I’ll always be looking out for you. I have a lot to make up.’
‘You really don’t, Dad.’
He reaches out and cradles me onto his shoulder. I can feel his heart beating through his top and his short, sharp breaths on my neck. It’s not that I’m anti-touching but everyone’s been particularly touchy-feely today. I pat his back and he steps away.
‘I’ll see you soon,’ he says – and then he turns and I watch him walk along the driveway, out to the road.
He doesn’t look back and then he’s out of sight. I wonder if I should do more, or get others involved. I’ve spent hours in the room above the pub reading the articles in the box Mum gave me and yet I’ve spent no time looking into how best to help someone with an addiction. Perhaps I need to properly sort myself out first.
Back inside and Mum is busy trying to feed Harry some sort of goo from a pot. He seems to be happy enough with whatever it is and I suppose that sums him up. Given his father and uncle, it’s hard to see where the boundless joy comes from.
Mum tells Rhys, Nattie and myself that we should ‘go have fun’ and I can’t help but feel that she needs a little time to herself. There’s no reason to argue.
There’s only one road that leads to the village centre and I assume we’ll drive past Dad on the way back – but there’s no sign of him. We’re almost at the car park by the post office before Rhys speaks for the first time in a while.
‘I told you it’s all TV soap opera round here,’ he says.
There’s a pause where I know he’s wondering if he’s gone too far – but then Nattie starts giggling and it’s impossible not to join in. This is the Christmas special episode that everyone’s been talking about.
I park and we’re at the corner near the obelisk. I’m instinctively heading for the Black Horse but Nattie has stopped.
‘Pub?’ I say.
‘Let’s show you somewhere new. You know there’s a second pub in the village, don’t you?’
‘That’s sacrilege,’ I reply. ‘Pete would never forgive me.’
‘Your secret’s safe with us. Come on.’
The three of us head in the opposite direction along the High Street and follow the path until the pavement disappears and there’s no option other than to walk in the road. It’s hard not to think of what Iain told me happened to him when he was walking in the road around here. One minute, he was in one place; the next he was in hospital and had lost the use of his legs.
The problem is that, for everyone else, the story is done. Mystery solved – the missing girl is back and that’s that. We all move on.
But they don’t know what I know and what no one seems to realise is that there are still secrets in this village. Still questions that people don’t even realise they need the answers to.
The only thing is… should I care?
Perhaps I do. I’m not sure – but, if I do, then it’s not something for today. Today is for celebrating.
The Angry Sheep is a ridiculous name for a pub – and the inside is the complete opposite of the Black Horse. Instead of stone walls and cosy fireplaces, the ceiling to
wers high, with varnished bright beams that look far too new. Pete’s bar has a grimy homeliness about it, despite the grimness of the sticky tables. Here, the tables have been polished to a gleaming finish. I can’t imagine piles of hiking boots next to the door here, let alone wet-through dogs or trampled grass clippings.
We find a booth and Rhys refuses my offer to pay, saying we’re celebrating my news and that it’s all on him. We have our usual – two Guinnesses and a cider – but Rhys does admit he’s down by a few quid per round compared to ‘Horse prices’. We all agree that ‘Horse prices’ is the official marker by which all other financial transactions will be compared.
The afternoon passes in no time as we drink and laugh. I guess ‘the call’ for work Rhys was waiting on either didn’t come, or was ignored. The thirteen years doesn’t come up, neither does Mum or Dad or any of the other stuff. I can’t even remember what we talk about, not really, not specifics. It’s normal things: Nights out, apps for our phones, the best places to go shopping, holidays we might take. All the topics blur into one.
I’m wanted.
I have parents, a younger brother, friends.
For the first time since I arrived, this village feels like home.
The high pub ceiling zooms towards me and away again, the spotlights above blink and spin. I know I’ve had too much to drink but I don’t think that’s the only reason that I find myself resting on Nattie’s shoulder, telling her she has lovely hair and that we should definitely move in together. Rhys cheers and then he’s off to the bar for another round.
We drink more.
The sky is a dizzying swirl of purple, grey and black when we finally leave. It’s late in the evening and night is well on the way as Nattie and I dance our way back to the High Street ahead of Rhys. The cool air sobers me up a little and, though the colours of the sky still thicken my thoughts, I’m able to walk by myself.
A few of the regulars are on their way out of the Black Horse, meaning I’ll have to use my key for the back door when I’m ready for sleep. The night still feels young, though, and there’s not a thought that we should separate yet. Nattie leads the way, on past the pub and Via’s out towards the hill and then along the river towards Ridge Park. She’s swaying and singing to herself out in front as I walk alongside Rhys.
He’s one of those types who never seems too affected by alcohol. His words slow and sometimes it feels as if he’s not quite able to focus completely, but he can continue a conversation and seems largely in control of himself.
Whether it was Nattie specifically or some sort of fate drawing us, we end up at the tree and my memorial wreath. Nattie flops to the ground and rests her head on the tree, while Rhys and I sit a little more gracefully.
‘We should take it down,’ Nattie slurs, mouth full of saliva.
‘The wreath?’ I ask.
‘Make it official. You’re back, aren’t you?’
It is completely dark now but the moon is bright, the sky cloudless. It’s clear enough that’s it’s like daytime in the park. I can see from one side of the field all the way to the other.
Rhys stands and unhooks my memorial from the tree. He puts it carefully on the ground at my feet and I run my fingers across the woven strips of wood.
‘How did it last so long?’ I ask.
It’s Rhys who replies: ‘The primary school kids used to replace bits and pieces if they got damp or it started to fall apart. That’s probably not even the original. I think there’s probably been a few over the years. There was some sort of service here for the ten-year anniversary. I guess there’s no need any longer.’
He looks up to the knot in the tree and I follow his gaze to the word ‘OLIVIA’. It’s more than a series of letters scratched with a penknife; someone who knows what they’re doing has engraved the name artfully, as if it was a trophy or medal.
‘Burn it.’ Nattie cackles as she rocks forward and back, bumping her head gently into the trunk.
‘The tree?’
She laughs loudly, the sound echoing around the huge open space.
‘The wreath,’ she says. ‘Burn it.’
Rhys stretches out his legs and pulls a lighter from his pocket, flicking the ignition and sending a flame shooting up into the darkness.
‘We can if you want,’ he says. He’s talking to me. The flame dies and he hands me the lighter.
‘Do it!’ Nattie calls.
I run my fingers across the brittle, interwoven fettuccini-like threads of wood. Someone’s put a lot of work into this. Probably more than one person.
‘I don’t think I want to.’
‘But you’re back,’ Nattie says. She sits up and shuffles across until she’s at my side. ‘You don’t need this now.’
Rhys pockets his lighter: ‘It’s still a place for people to remember,’ he says. ‘It still happened.’
Nattie slumps down onto my shoulder and I put an arm around her. ‘But you’re home…’
‘Yes,’ I reply. ‘I’m home.’
Thirty-One
Rhys and I help Nattie back to her house. Georgie is still up and I get the sense she rarely, if ever, goes to bed without knowing her daughter is home safely.
Thirteen-year-old habits die hard, I suppose.
She thanks Rhys and it feels like this is a common occurrence – but she saves her best for me, continuing the touchy-feely themes of the day by pulling me in for a hug and saying she never had any doubts either. I don’t think Nattie told her specifically but it’s no surprise that news of the DNA test has gone around the village.
After that, Rhys and myself traipse solemnly back towards the High Street. He says he lives out past the Angry Sheep, so I’m on his route back. The back lanes of Stoneridge feel even quieter than they did on Sunday. There are few lights in the houses and the warmth of the day has been replaced by a crisp chill.
‘Are you and Nattie a thing?’ I ask as we walk.
He laughs – but kindly. His words are clear and unslurred. ‘We spend a lot of time together but not like that. I started going into the coffee shop to get a sandwich each day when I was working on a job by the school. That’s how we met and then we got talking when the shop was empty one day. After that, we started drinking some evenings. She’d come over to my flat to get away from her mum and we’d watch TV, or we’d go to the Horse. Before we knew it, we were in a routine.’
Get away from her mum sounds about right.
‘Have you got a girlfriend…?’ I try to make it sound as innocent as I can but I’m cringing as soon as the words escape my mouth.
Rhys smiles at that and reaches out to take my hand. His skin is rough, those of a workman. ‘It’s complicated,’ he says. There’s a long, telling pause and then: ‘I’m not sure girls are for me.’
‘Oh.’
He squeezes my fingers and then releases them. I hug my arms across my front, hoping for a bit of warmth, but it’s not much good given the night breeze. Rhys is only in shorts and a T-shirt but it’s not affecting him.
‘I’m still figuring that out,’ he adds.
‘I didn’t mean we should… y’know…’ I sound weak and pathetic.
Rhys rubs my shoulder. The ultimate insult.
‘I know...’ he says.
He’s not trying to be unkind but there’s a hint of a snigger at the end. Probably nervousness or awkwardness, and yet, perhaps he’s laughing at me. Being propositioned by girls and turning them down is funny for him.
The cold has hammered away any sense of tipsiness I had before. I’m suddenly aware that I’m babbling and overcome by embarrassment. The houses, street lamps and parked cars feel very close, as if the village is closing in.
‘You okay?’ Rhys asks – and I realise I’ve fallen a few paces behind.
We’re close to the High Street and I point to the alley that leads along the rear of the Black Horse. ‘I need to go via the back door,’ I say.
‘I can walk you.’
‘No!’
He roc
ks back slightly, stung by the force of my reply. I apologise quickly but the humiliation is too much. I don’t know what I meant anyway. Would I have dragged him back to my room over the pub, or gone off to his flat? Is that what I wanted, or have I drunk too much?
I had a friend – friends – and now I’ve gone and ruined it with at least one of them because I couldn’t keep my stupid mouth shut. What happens when Rhys tells Nattie about this? Will they both laugh at me together?
I don’t think I take rejection very well.
The last week has been about the opposite of that: being accepted and wanted, becoming part of a family. Now I’ve ruined it all.
We stand awkwardly at the mouth of the alley, Rhys half-turned towards the main High Street. ‘I, um… don’t really want to leave you,’ he says.
‘I’m a big girl.’
‘I know, it’s just…’
I waft a hand towards the alley. ‘It’s only through there. I’m fine.’
‘I didn’t mean—’
I force a cheery smile: ‘It’s fine, everything’s fine! We’ll catch up soon.’
‘If you’re not ready for bed, we can watch some movies at mine if you want? I’ll walk you home when you’re ready, or I’ll sleep on the couch and you can have the bed…? Nattie does that sometimes.’
I shake my head. It sounds good and if he’d suggested that before I opened my big, stupid mouth, I’d have immediately agreed. Not now, though.
Faking a yawn is easy enough and I tell Rhys I’m tired. He takes a step away and replies that, if I’m sure, he’ll see me soon. I step into the alley and wait until I hear his footsteps echoing away to nothingness before poking my head back around the wall to make sure he’s gone.
What an idiot.
It’s only when I turn back into the alley that I wish I’d allowed him to walk me to the door of the Black Horse. The shadows shoot down from the backs of the shops, leaving a thick dark coating across the narrow space. There are wheelie bins left intermittently and the lane is so thin that I have to weave in and out to make my way along.
The Girl Who Came Back Page 22