by Lulu Taylor
Caz puts herself between the heavy and Rory. ‘This isn’t helping, Rory. I’ll drive Kate to the hospital, if that’s what she wants.’
Rory turns away from Archer and says urgently to Kate, ‘What do you think? Would that work?’
She opens her eyes. ‘Yes. I have to see Ady. I’m going now, Archer. That’s all there is to it.’
Archer shrugs. ‘You’ve made your choice. Just remember, there’s no coming back. No return.’
Kate says clearly, ‘I choose life. Not a fantasy.’ Then she turns to Caz. ‘Shall we go?’
‘Yes.’ Caz holds her hand out to her friend. ‘Let’s go right now.’
Caz drives carefully; this is a hire car and she’s not a named driver. Kate sits beside her, silent and hunched, watching the road ahead anxiously. Rory follows in his car and Caz keeps him in the rear-view mirror, unobtrusively making sure that he stays with them all the way back. It’s a fairly long trip home and, for all of it, Kate barely speaks. She seems exhausted by the confrontation they’ve just had. Caz asks a few questions but gets no more than grunts in response. They stop at a motorway service station for petrol, drinks and the loo, and Caz gets a sandwich, but Kate doesn’t seem hungry. Rory is there at a distance, and Caz signals to him discreetly when they are leaving. The day is drawing on. It’s going to be late when they get back but Caz is sure that the hospital will let her in to see Ady.
It’s dark when they finally pull into the hospital pay-and-display car park, empty at this time of night. They go up to the ward, with Caz leading the way as she knows it so well. Kate seems dazed by the reality of being in this huge, labyrinthine place and follows her closely like a little child. At the reception desk Caz quietly explains the situation to the nurses. They are delighted to see Kate, knowing how much Ady has longed for his mother. Caz and Kate sign in and sanitise their hands, leaving their outdoor things in the ward entrance. Then a nurse leads them along the corridor to Ady’s room. He’s on his own because of a risk of infection. A small light glows next to his bed through slatted blinds that cover the glass walls. At the door, the nurse pauses and says quietly, ‘He may be asleep. Give him a second to come to.’ Then she opens the door.
There he is. Ady is lying on his back in his bed, half propped up on pillows, his head turned towards the electrical equipment he’s hooked up to. A drip feeds into his arm via a long snaking tube, and there are the soft beeps and chirps of the machines as they monitor him. His fair hair shines in the dim light, and he looks so peaceful, despite the bandages on his head where they operated.
Kate stares, a strange whimper sounding in the back of her throat when she first sets eyes on him. She draws in a deep breath. Caz wonders what is going through her mind. For a while, she seemed to have erased Adam from her mind completely. But here he is, alive and getting better, still so perfect despite his injuries.
Kate clutches Caz, digging her fingers into her arm. Just as Caz is wondering how they will wake Ady, his blue eyes open and he turns his head slowly to see Kate standing at the door. He blinks and smiles, a huge beam lighting up his face. Then he says, ‘Mummy. I knew you’d come.’
Chapter Forty
Caz leaves me at my house and rings for a taxi to take her home. While I sit rather dazed on the sofa, she hurries about, turning on the heating, making me a cup of black coffee – there’s no milk in the fridge – and worrying about how I’ll cope.
‘I’ll be fine,’ I say.
‘You should eat,’ she declares. ‘What have you had today? You need to get some strength back.’ When she sees how little that means to me, she adds cleverly, ‘Ady needs you to eat. You have to be strong for him.’
‘There’s some pasta in the cupboard,’ I say, ‘and a jar of bolognaise sauce. I’ll have that. I can go shopping tomorrow.’
‘You won’t go back to that weirdy beardy bloke and his gang, will you?’ she asks.
‘I will go back,’ I say firmly. ‘I have to. But I won’t necessarily see Archer. You don’t have to worry, I’m not going to join a cult and get brainwashed or anything.’
‘What’s he doing there anyway?’ she asks, looking in the cupboard under the stairs and pulling out a bottle of red wine from the rack. ‘Do you want some of this?’
I shrug.
‘I’m having a glass. I need it.’ She goes to the small kitchen to rummage for a corkscrew. This place is tiny but it was fine for my needs. I’ll need somewhere bigger when Ady comes back. Caz returns with two glasses of wine and puts one in front of me. ‘So . . . who was that guy?’
I tell her a bit about Archer and what I discovered about his theories and the group dynamic. Caz listens, half impressed and half amused.
‘Polyamorous preppers,’ she says, sipping her wine. ‘No . . . posh polyamorous preppers. How brilliant. I bet the papers would have a field day.’
‘He talked a lot of sense,’ I say. ‘At least, that’s what it felt like at the time. It all seemed to fall into place. And when he did his healing on me, it really worked. I felt it – the strength and light going into me and making things better.’
‘They can all heal you, if you want them to,’ Caz says, more seriously. ‘It’s the wanting that matters. Maybe you needed someone like him to help you come to terms with everything.’
‘Yes, maybe.’ I think of how incredibly vivid it had been to live with Heather at the house, how real. And what a desolate gulf of nothingness was left when I was jerked out of my fantasy. I did need someone to pour light and life into it, to bring me back from the brink. And he did. But I knew in my heart that the safety he was offering me was an illusion, just another way for me to escape my pain.
‘Shall I make you that pasta?’ she asks, getting up.
‘No, I can do it. Honestly, you go. I’m so tired. I’ll go to bed in a bit as I’m good for nothing. I can’t talk.’
‘Another time?’ she asks, and drains her glass. ‘I’m always here for you if you need me.’
I smile at her. ‘I know that, Caz. Thanks. Thanks for sticking by me through the bad times.’
‘I’ll be here as things get better, but no one expects anything. You’re under no pressure. You have a lot to deal with, and if you need time, that’s fine. It’s yours. You don’t have to run away again.’
‘I know. Thanks.’
Caz’s taxi comes and she heads off into the night. The hire car sits on the driveway: my one-time ticket to freedom from all the grief and despair. Now here I am, back again. But I know it’s the right thing. I’m about to shut the front door when I see a shadowy figure coming up the path.
‘Kate?’
It’s Rory, looking tired but intense.
‘How long have you been here?’ I ask.
‘I followed you back from the hospital. I’ve been waiting till Caz left. I have to talk to you.’
‘There’s no point. Really.’
‘Was it really so bad, what I did, that you can’t forgive me, even now? I thought that what we’ve lost would make all those quarrels and stupid deceptions seem like they didn’t matter.’ His face is so full of anguish, I can hardly look at it. ‘I’ve been so desperate to see you, and to bring you back to Ady. We can be a family again . . . can’t we? Can you really not forgive me?’
‘It’s not you that needs forgiveness,’ I say simply.
‘I don’t understand.’
I take a deep breath. I’ve been running from this for so long, hoping that as long as I didn’t tell, I didn’t have to face it. But I’ve known in my heart that it will have to come out. I hold the front door open wider. ‘You’d better come in.’
‘There’s a lot I haven’t told you,’ I say, when we are sitting down together, him on the sofa and me in the armchair. ‘I was just so wounded when you kept that huge secret from me. It made me feel like our marriage had been a failure because you’d never really trusted me. I felt that you’d married me because I was bossy and practical and would get things done, and you could sit back and just . . . pu
t up with me. The real bond, the trust, the communication, the sense that we’re a team ready to face the world and protect each other . . . I lost all of it. And I stopped being able to tell you things in return. It was all so terrible.’
‘I know,’ Rory says. His expression shows a yearning to communicate his understanding.
It’s taken all this to make him talk to me, openly, honestly. What a price to pay for it.
He’s talking intensely now. ‘I’m sorry. I’ve learned so much from it. I’ve taken a look at myself and I didn’t like what I saw. I know I have to take more responsibility for myself and for our relationship and our life together. You’re right that I did take you for granted – I took your strength for granted. When I lost my job, I thought you’d be angry, and I’m not good at dealing with that, as you know, but I never guessed you’d be so hurt. To me, you’re confident and capable and fearless. I forgot you’re also frightened sometimes, and in need of reassurance and looking after. I’m so sorry I didn’t see it. I wish with all my heart I had.’
‘But it makes no difference,’ I say, moved by his heartfelt words. ‘Because it wasn’t you, in the end, who did the terrible thing. It was me.’
‘What do you mean? What did you do?’
‘The fire. I caused it. By accident, of course. But it was me. I killed Heather. I let Ady jump and nearly be killed.’ My face contorts when I remember it. ‘I was alone and feeling sorry for myself, and I had a bottle of wine when the kids were in bed. I didn’t mean to. I just kept refilling the glass. I lit the candles in the snug, and I watched TV with my drink. Then I got up to go to the loo and after that, I turned off the lights and went to bed. But I never went back to blow out the candles.’ I stop, trembling with the power of the memory. ‘The smoke alarm woke me up, the one by the stairs. I’d . . . I’d taken the battery out of the kitchen one the day before when I was frying bacon, you know how it kept going off, and I hadn’t put it back. So it was the stairs one that went off. I could smell the smoke. I ran down and saw . . .’ I screw my eyes shut, my voice wavering, but I know I have to go on. ‘I saw the whole kitchen in flames, licking the ceiling, attacking it, and I knew Heather’s room was just above, so I went running as fast as I could, back to the stairs, past our room and round the corner and there it was, already there, the smoke. So thick, so hot. I tried to battle it but it was impossible, like banging against a brick wall. I tried to reach her door but I couldn’t even touch the handle. I could have gone to Ady, but I kept thinking he’d come out, because I was shouting and the alarm was going, but he didn’t come. I didn’t go to him. I couldn’t. I let him down like no mother should. I think that’s why I blanked him out.’ I look miserably at Rory. ‘It was my fault. The candles. And I left Ady when I could have tried to reach him. All of it, my fault. That’s why we lost Heather. I couldn’t bear it. I had to shut it all out, all of it, all except Heather, who was gone.’
‘Oh Kate. I didn’t realise . . . I didn’t understand.’ Tears run down Rory’s cheeks. At last he wipes his eyes, and says, ‘You don’t know it was the candles. The forensic people said it was probably electrical.’
‘No, it was the candles. I know it.’
‘You don’t know that. Maybe you blew them out before you came upstairs, and forgot. You were woozy but not so out of it you didn’t know what you were doing. It’s like locking the back door at night or turning on the dishwasher. You don’t remember doing it, but you just do it automatically.’
‘No,’ I say dully. ‘It was my fault. That’s why we can’t be together anymore.’
Rory wipes his eyes and says firmly, ‘No. No! That’s why we should be together. Whether it was the candles or not. The terrible things in life can bond us as deeply as the good, if we turn them around and take what we can from them. You can’t change it, Kate. We can’t blame anyone for a horrific accident. All we need is to acknowledge it, share the burden, forgive everything, and move on, taking whatever good we can find from the darkness.’ There’s a long pause and he says, ‘I’m so happy you’re back. We have Ady and we have to help him now. There is a difficult road ahead. I’d like to walk it with you, if I can.’
I stare at the floor for a while. The confession I thought would break me has not. Instead, I feel deeply tired but unburdened of something foul that has oppressed me for weeks. He’s right. I will never know if I caused the fire. But to admit my terrible guilt and fear that I did, and to remember that moment on the stairs when I had to choose who to go to, is a step towards absolution, and returning to myself.
‘Heather helped me,’ I say suddenly, looking up at him.
‘You’ve seen her?’
I nod. ‘In my mind, I suppose. And in my dreams.’
‘Me too.’ Rory smiles wanly. ‘It’s a tricky one, isn’t it? It’s so lovely to see her again, but it also hurts so much too. Ady told me she’d been with him as well. That’s why he was so sure you’d come.’
‘She told me to come back,’ I say. ‘She said Adam needed me.’
‘Her gift of love to you and him maybe.’ Rory smiles again. ‘I know she’s dead and gone, but I also know she’ll always be with us.’
‘Yes.’ Tears rise to my eyes and blur my vision. ‘We loved her so much, didn’t we?’
He gets up and comes over and hugs me tightly. ‘Yes,’ he says thickly. ‘We always will.’
I hug him back, taking comfort from his solidity and presence, and I remember how I longed for him that night with Archer. ‘Rory, while I was away—’ I begin.
‘Shh. You can tell me about it all another time. Let’s start again from today and look forward, not back.’
I bury my face in his neck. I’ve missed him. His touch fills me with peace and his love comforts me. Perhaps, despite the deceptions and the misunderstandings, I can let myself love him again too. ‘Yes,’ I murmur. ‘Forward. Not back.’
‘Then . . . you’ll give us another chance?’
‘It’s too soon to know. Give me time.’ I pull back and manage a smile. ‘But maybe. That’s all I can say right now.’
‘Maybe is enough for me. I’ll wait as long as you need.’ And he hugs me tight to his heart.
Epilogue
In Nursery Cottage, Sissy is in her favourite armchair by the range, her needles clacking as usual, the wool beneath growing ever longer.
Matty comes in, sighing and shaking her head. ‘More deliveries at the house! What do they want with all that stuff? I don’t understand it.’
‘He won’t let up. He’s driven, that one,’ says Sissy. ‘We know the kind all too well. We wouldn’t be here at all, otherwise.’
Matty says, ‘I’ll make tea.’ As she puts the kettle on, there’s a sudden rapid knock at the door. Matty jumps. ‘Are you expecting company?’ she asks.
Sissy shakes her head. ‘You’d better answer it,’ she says as the knocking comes again.
Matty goes to the door and opens it. On the doorstep stands a handsome young man in jeans and a T-shirt, his muscled arms smooth and tanned.
‘Hi!’ he says. ‘I thought it was time to introduce myself. Can I come in?’
Matty stands back to let him in. ‘You’re Archer Kendall,’ she says as he enters, looking about with interest at the mountain of stuff inside, the remnants of the life that is now long gone.
‘That’s right.’ He shakes his head. ‘Wow. Look at all this. It’s great.’ His eye is caught by a fine oil portrait in an oval frame. It shows a white-haired man with piercing blue eyes and a brown complexion, staring fiercely out of the canvas. He goes up to it and stares. ‘Is this him?’
‘Who?’ asks Matty. Sissy is watching from her chair, her dark gaze fixed on Archer.
‘The last dispensation. The Beloved.’
‘Yes,’ Matty says.
Archer whistles. ‘So that’s him. My grandfather.’
‘Oh no,’ Matty says quickly. ‘Not your grandfather. Your great-uncle. By marriage.’
Archer looks round, his expression pleas
ant. ‘No. Actually that’s not true. I’m not a Kendall by blood. I’m one of you. One of the holy family.’
Matty gapes at him. ‘What? How?’
Sissy says slowly, ‘But of course. The baby they took away. The one the Beloved said was a miraculous conception and then claimed as his own when Arabella Evans died. Don’t you remember, Matty, they talked about the day he was taken away by the Evans family? That was your father?’
Archer nods. ‘He was adopted by the Kendalls. It’s all in the family papers. They came to me when I inherited. Lettice’s account of the house, her sister’s letters, all of it. You’re welcome to read it sometime, if you’re interested. So of course I had to have the house. It’s only fitting. I’m sure you can understand that. And I’ve changed the name back to Paradise as well.’
‘A different sort of paradise this time, I’m sure,’ Matty says drily, ‘if the noise from the church is anything to go by.’
Archer looks serene. He clearly doesn’t intend to let the sisters rile him. ‘So. This portrait . . . is it for sale?’
‘No,’ says Sissy firmly. ‘It’s not.’
‘Shame. Let me know if you ever change your mind. I’ll buy anything you’ve got. Well . . . it’s been very nice to meet you . . .’ Archer raises his eyebrows questioningly. ‘I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced.’
‘Miss Matty Henson,’ says Matty, ‘and Miss Sissy Henson. We are the Beloved’s grandchildren, by his third wife. His daughter Glory, our mother, married George Henson. That’s the connection, if you’re wondering.’ She gives him a beady look. ‘And we hope you’re not going to start all those games again. Are you?’
‘Games?’
‘You want to make people do what you want,’ Sissy says. ‘You think you’re the new Beloved, don’t you?’
Archer smiles and says, ‘I’ve got to be going now. But I just wanted to let you know that we’re cousins. And if you ever need shelter, you can come to the house. You’ll always be welcome there. When the end comes.’
When he’s gone, the sisters sit in silence for a while. At last, Matty shakes her head. ‘I can’t believe we’re going to see it start all over again. And he’s the Beloved’s own grandson!’