“She used to hide the packet in that plant pot,” Ella continued, and pressed her own cigarette hard against the wall to put it out.
The upturned plant pot had sat in its spot by the door for so long that he’d forgotten it might be capable of being moved. Gingerly, he reached out for the plant pot and lifted it. Underneath, a packet of Marlboros Lights sat on a brick.
“Oh,” said Ella, a small quiver in her voice, and put her hand up to her mouth.
“Don’t be upset,” said Jacob. “It’s just some cigarettes.” Ella was fighting with her own body, trying to keep her shoulders straight, her mouth uncrumpled, her breath even. “What’s the matter? Come on, you can tell me anything, you know you can.” She was whispering something but he couldn’t make it out. “Please, Ella, tell me what’s happened.”
“I said,” Ella whispered, so quietly he had to strain to hear her, “Mum’s gone.”
“Gone? You mean like – dead?”
“No! No. She’s just gone. I went out to the shops, she sent me out to buy some stuff we needed, and when I got home there was a note on the table and some money and your address and the note said something like, Dear Ella, I’ve decided I need a holiday. I’m perfectly fine and you don’t need to worry, but it’s time for your father to take care of you for a while. And the address of this place was underneath it.”
The coldness of the message took his breath away.
“And you came straight here?” he asked at last.
“No, of course I bloody didn’t, I waited for three days first to see if she’d come back! But she didn’t.”
He had no mental picture of the house Ella had come from, no idea if it was warm or cold, small or large, well-kept or shabby. But he could picture her terror and confusion, the creeping dread at the long minutes that stretched into hours and then days with no word.
“You’re here with me now. I’ll look after you.”
“But where’s Mum gone? Why would she do that? Leave a note on the kitchen table and then disappear?”
Because that’s what she does. She leaves people. It was obvious to him but of course Ella wouldn’t see it. It had taken him years to realise that it was possible for someone to be bright, attractive and beautiful, but without a gleam of goodness. He groped clumsily for the words that would make Ella feel better. “I know it’s horrible but it’s not you, it’s not you at all, it’s her, it’s just how she is. And at least she told you where to come, didn’t she? So that’s good. And when she’s ready to have you back again, she knows exactly where you are.” And then, he thought grimly to himself, then she’ll have to see all the damage she’s caused.
“I don’t want you to have to worry about me as well as Dad. I’m not crying, I promise.”
“I know it’s a really thoughtless thing for her to do but some people are like that. She loves you, of course she does.” It was so much more than the woman deserved, but he couldn’t bring himself to hurt Ella any more than she was already being hurt. She hadn’t had the same time to think that he had.
She was looking at him as if she wanted him to say something more. “But how could she leave me?”
“I don’t know,” he said helplessly.
The tears were beginning to dissolve her mascara. “And how am I ever going to find her?”
“I don’t know,” he repeated. “But I swear, it’s going to be okay. You’ve got me now. You’re home. It’s going to be fine.”
And all the time he felt a glad and righteous rage filling him up like water in a cup, because once again his mother had broken someone he loved, and now he had one more reason to despise her.
The man has been following me for many years now, ever since I first made my escape from the prison he kept me in. Sometimes I glimpse him in the edges of my vision, and it always makes me want to move faster, to run and run, run rabbit run, until my legs grow longer and stretch out to the stars and I can leap up to the moon. A moon hare. Witches can turn into hares and sometimes I feel myself growing long and brown, my ears flat along my back, bare in the sunshine where my vest lets the sunlight in, in to my skin, and I’m thin, thin as a witch. A witch-hare. Hares have no homes and soon I will have no home too. He’s hunted me from my home, not with the dogs of war but with the dogs that he keeps in his hands and his feet, the dogs that spring out from inside him when he begins to move.
He can transform himself into a dog, I think. I saw him do it the other day while I was out shopping, which is more like scavenging since almost everyone around me is dead and the world has grown empty. He was standing outside the shop disguised as a big dog, a black dog with a white collar, and I thought for a moment that he was a priest come to exorcise me because I am a witch and all witches end up on the pyre in the end. First the pyre and then the fire. But then I saw that it was not a dog and not a dog-collar, but the man himself, and I had to hide myself in the corner where they cover all the old food with yellow stickers to mark it as unclean, and when I came out again he had disappeared but that was worse because then I didn’t know where he was, and I had to go home and let the girl who lives with me take care of everything for a while and then it was all over.
He never seems to appear to her. Is this because she’s his daughter? Or because she isn’t?
My head is so full of stuff today. I will write some more tomorrow.
Chapter Ten
Now
“Where are we going?” Ella waited outside his room with her trainers in her hand, obedient but puzzled. “Are you sure you don’t want me to watch him? I can manage, I don’t mind.”
“No, you’re coming too.”
“But do I need to dress up? I only brought jeans and things.”
“You’ll be fine exactly as you are.”
“But where are we going?”
“You’ll see.”
He knew he was being annoying, but he was too giddy to care. He couldn’t get over his excitement. His feet skittered on the stairs as he ran down them. He kissed the top of his father’s head as he nodded drowsily in his chair in the living-room.
“Are you ready?” Just the sight of her standing in the hallway was enough to spread the great foolish grin across his face.
“My jeans are a bit grubby.”
“Doesn’t matter, I promise. Come on, let’s go.”
“But what about – ?”
“Don’t worry, Dad’s asleep, he’ll be asleep for a couple of hours.”
She still seemed reluctant to leave the house, but he bulldozed joyously through her hesitation, shooing her out of the door, not bothering to lock it behind them. Who would bother to come here and try to break in? His dad was asleep; it would be fine.
He stole small glances at Ella as they walked side-by-side along the track down to the village. He felt shy, and then embarrassed for feeling shy, and then angry with himself for wasting a moment on either of these emotions when he was so happy. It was a strange and wondrous thing to have a dream come true. Did Ella feel the same? He had no idea how to ask. He glanced at her again, only to find that she was looking at him in the same shy, sideways manner, as if she too couldn’t quite believe her luck. When their eyes met, she stumbled over a tussock of grass.
“I’m all right,” she said, as he reached out a hand to help her up. “Sorry, I should have been looking where I was going – can you feel that?”
There was a faint vibration beneath their feet. He stood deathly still and listened, willing the breeze to stop whispering in his ears so he could concentrate.
“Tractor,” said Jacob.
“Are you sure? It sounded like – no, I’m being silly.”
“You’re not being silly, but it’s nothing to worry about.” He was still holding her hand, and he could feel the tension in her muscles.
“I know you’re right.”
Her smile was sweet and brave and did nothing to disguise her terror; the look of the true phobic, knowing that what she feared was irrational but caught in its claws anyway. He r
emembered the first time he’d forced her out of the house and onto the cliff-edge, when she was too small to resist and he was too unthinking to realise what he was doing. He forced himself to keep up a stream of light chatter as they walked, pointing out gorse-bushes and rabbit-holes, village landmarks and hovering seabirds, then realised he was talking nonsense, and let the silence crowd in around them.
“It’s so quiet here,” Ella said suddenly. “How do you manage?”
“What? With the quiet? After a week teaching it’s quite nice to be honest, you wouldn’t believe how loud a classroom full of English students can be.”
“No, I mean, with – Dad.” She said the word as if she wasn’t sure she was allowed to use it. “Is it really just you and him? What happens to him when you’re at work?”
“I told you, he stays at home.”
“And he doesn’t go out at all?”
Was she judging him? The feeling of his defences going up was almost a physical one, as if he could armour himself with spikes to keep out her questions. “He goes out in the garden. He likes that. And sometimes we go for walks. He’s not a prisoner or anything.”
“And I suppose he could always go out by himself for a bit.”
“I don’t like him doing that,” Jacob admitted. “I always worry he might wander off and get lost. I try not to let him.”
“It’s not your fault if he does. You can’t be with him every minute of the day.”
“No, but I do have help.” They were nearly at Mrs Armitage’s house now. It seemed strange to approach it from the land, as if the house was in disguise. Any minute now Ella would realise where he had brought her. He wished he had a cape to flourish. “That’s – that’s actually who we’re going to see. Do you remember?”
She couldn’t speak, but the look on her face was enough. He knocked on the door, feeling his heart banging in his chest.
“It’s the holidays,” Mrs Armitage said as soon as she opened the door. “I have plans. I can’t babysit your father, so don’t even bother asking.”
“It’s not that,” he said, breathless. “I – um – I’ve got a visitor.”
“So you have.” Mrs Armitage turned her gaze on Ella. “Is there a reason I have a visitor? I’m not your mother, Jacob, you don’t need to bring your girlfriends to me for inspection.”
“No, she’s not my girlfriend.” Now that he was here, he wasn’t sure quite how to break it to her. Surely she could see? The sun was behind them: perhaps that was why.
“Then who – ? Young woman, I’m sorry Jacob’s dragged you here to meet me. I’m not anyone important, I’m just a neighbour. So don’t feel as though you have to try and impress me, it’s not as if my opinion matters to –” As if the floor had lurched beneath her feet, she suddenly clutched the doorway. “Jacob, who is this? Who have you brought? Jacob, what on earth have you done?”
“It’s…” he found he couldn’t say her name.
“It’s me,” Ella whispered, through a dry throat. “I know it’s been a really long time.”
“I know you. How do I know you? I don’t know anybody your age.”
“It’s Ella,” she said, her voice quivering. “I’m – I’m Jacob’s sister. I don’t know if you remember me but I used to visit you sometimes –”
“Of course I remember! Do you think I’d ever forget you?” Before Ella could do anything to stop her, she was being folded in the other woman’s arms, and held in a fierce tight hug. “My dear, my lovely girl, of course I’m pleased to see you. I’ve hoped so much that one day –”
And Jacob, standing uselessly by and watching all the wild clumsy affection Mrs Armitage bestowed on Ella, but that she’d never given to him, felt his heart thump with jealousy.
A flurry of activity, the three of them clustering in the doorway, the hallway, the living-room. Ella helplessly ex-claiming over the things she recognised and the things she didn’t, her fingers reaching for a familiar mug, a print of a wood filled with bluebells, a small china dog on a three-tiered wooden shelf in a corner of the hallway. (He’d never realised how often Ella must have visited. How had he not known?) After a few minutes, some kind of order imposed itself and they were correctly seated and organised, armed with cups of tea, a plate of biscuits marking out the No Man’s Land between them. Jacob and Ella side by side on the sofa, Mrs Armitage in a chair, straight-backed and knees neatly together, her eyes bright with what could have been either excitement or unshed tears.
“So,” Mrs Armitage said at last, and looked at them thoughtfully.
What would she ask first? Where have you been? Has your life been good? Have you been happy? Why have you come back now? Where’s your mother? What was the right question to ask in these circumstances? Was there anything at all that could be said between the three of them that would not be strange? He waited to see what she would say, but instead Mrs Armitage simply sat and looked at him and then at Ella, her gaze thoughtful and slow, enigmatic and penetrating. He reached protectively for Ella’s hand and took it between both of his.
“Did you learn to dive?” Mrs Armitage said.
“I did.”
“You learned to dive?” Jacob thought of Ella’s terror of the sea, and was astounded.
“Good girl. Open water?”
“No. Not yet. I got a job at a leisure centre, they paid me in scuba lessons instead of money. But it’s a bit difficult to organise.”
“You mean you’re still afraid of the sea.” Mrs Armitage’s words were severe, but her expression was gentle. “You’ve done well. Don’t stop trying.”
“Do you still dive?”
“Of course I do.” Mrs Armitage nodded towards the window where the truncated remains of her garden, uninhibited by any fence, led the viewer’s eye out towards the churning brown water. Jacob felt Ella’s hand tighten around his. “It’s still waiting for me. And did your mother ever finish her book?”
“How did you know she was writing a book?” Ella looked as guilty and startled as if Mrs Armitage had accused her mother of selling herself.
“She showed me it once. So, did she?”
“I – yes, I think she finished it.”
“I see.” Mrs Armitage was studying them both intently, as unembarrassed as if they were a painting in a gallery. The boy and his sister, Jacob thought, then checked himself. Why would it be boy and his sister rather than girl and her brother, or even brother and sister? He could imagine the girls in his class correcting him with the cheerful scorn of young unafraid people, knowing they were the coming generation and would soon remake the world in their image.
“What was it about?” Jacob asked. His voice sounded too loud and too male. “Her book, I mean.”
“It’s hard to explain,” Ella said.
“Why would you care?” Mrs Armitage asked, at almost the same time.
Of course she was right: he didn’t really care about the damn book. He tried not to mind the feeling that they would both be happier without him there. He let go of Ella’s hand and took a biscuit from the plate, not because he wanted to eat it – it was a Rich Tea, so dull it was barely a biscuit at all – but to give himself an excuse to move, and remind them both that he was still in the room.
“Wait here.” Mrs Armitage stood up. “I have something to show you.” She knelt in front of the cherry-brown sideboard and opened the door. Jacob watched apprehensively. Did Mrs Armitage have photographs of Ella? Surely she couldn’t have kept them from him all these years. When she stood up and turned around, she was holding a lever-arch file.
“I kept all the drawings you did for me,” she said. A brief moment of closeness and then somehow Mrs Armitage was on the sofa between him and Ella, and he was conscious once again of an entire relationship whose shape and dimensions he had never recognised before now. There was a lump in his throat like a stone. He tried hard to swallow it, and told himself that of course Mrs Armitage had liked Ella best. She’d been little and cute and had drawn her pictures, while he’d been a lank
y needy teenager who’d begged her for help she had no obligation to give.
“We can’t stay long,” he said. “I left Dad on his own.”
“Doesn’t he sleep in the mornings?” Mrs Armitage’s eyes were bright and shrewd. “It’s not even ten o’clock yet. Sit back down, Jacob, your father will be fine.”
Before he’d had a chance to argue, he found he’d done as he was told and was sitting on the sofa once more, trying to convince himself he was wanted. Ella and Mrs Armitage were turning over the contents of the file now, each page in its own protective plastic wallet, apparently organised by theme. Pictures of animals. Pictures of flowers. Pictures of unicorns. Pictures of himself and Ella, falling into the sea, and the boat that waited for them at the bottom of the water, with the crab that would walk over their skulls. Ella’s fingers stumbled and faltered.
“I still have that dream,” she said. He could hear the tremor in her voice.
“Yes, I thought you might.”
The file slipped from Ella’s knee. “And the sea’s so much closer. Look, you can see it from your window now.”
“I decided it wasn’t worth trying to fence it off any more.”
“Doesn’t it frighten you to see it?”
“I’m not afraid of the sea, you know that. But you are, aren’t you?”
“Yes.” Ella sounded as if she was confessing a shameful secret.
“So why on earth did you come back here?”
“She came back here to see me,” Jacob said very loudly, and stood up so suddenly he knocked two cushions onto the floor. “I know that must seem really odd to you, but not everyone thinks I’m a complete waste of space.”
He was being dramatic, and he wanted a response that was equally dramatic – Mrs Armitage shouting at him to stop being so rude, Ella bursting into tears. Instead they both stared at him with expressions of blank concern.
“Right,” he said, feeling his face reddening. “I’m going home to check on Dad. Ella, you know your way home. See you when you’re ready.”
He slammed out of the back door and strode out along the cliff-top, daring himself to worry. The cliff had been closed since last autumn and the public footpath diverted through the village but Mrs Armitage took no notice, and today he would take no notice either. He needed to be alone for a while, and to walk fast and carelessly in a dangerous place, until he could shake off the pain of discovering how little Mrs Armitage really cared for him. He walked as quickly as he dared and reminded himself that he was being ridiculous, the woman owed him nothing, and what did it matter if she so clearly preferred his little sister? Maybe there was something wrong with him, and that was why she had left him too –
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