Eve nods, at least she gets it, because it’s nothing like before, not really, but like she says, the feeling is similar. Loss, such a huge feeling of loss, I moved to Cornwall with. Guilt, that too. I’ve never left it behind though, isn’t this what has stopped me, prevented me from properly engaging with my life, connecting with my husband, my children. No matter how much I’ve loved them… how can this be, when I can’t be me, just a burdened, guilt ridden form of me. Why did she have to die?
‘Okay, so if we put the circumstances behind us for now, at least until you are ready to discuss them,’ Eve smiles, ‘can you then identify which feeling is worse, the strongest for you, Andi?’
‘Loss. Guilt. I feel trapped definitely, out of my depth – yes, alone and isolated and incredibly insecure,’ there, I’ve admitted it. Now, I can’t decide if I feel better or worse for it. It’s a start at least.
‘Okay, well, if I tell you the main reason I see people is because they in some way, for some reason, feel out of control of their life, almost as though life is controlling them and so – so insecure. Sometimes people feel life is beyond their control, yet often, it rarely is the case. There’s more often than not something that can always be done, changed, adapted to counter even the most difficult of circumstances. Maybe we need to take a look to see where you can try to take back some control.’
I think about this, I can understand where she’s coming from. But I’m not so sure I can apply this approach to me. What if the last twenty years of your life has meant guarding the truth? How do you take back control then? I want to ask, but I can’t. What if I can’t adapt and avoid because the damage has already been done, it’s dead and buried. Or am I thinking about this in the wrong way? I need to somehow re-discover the resolve of my earlier years to overcome turbulent times, remember who I am. My reasoning for all I have become, all I have achieved and the choices I made.
But what about a dead person getting back in touch? How does anyone deal with this? Or someone taking on the face of a dead person, how do I look to take back control of such a hideous, out of control situation. Who knows what the motive is or the extent they are prepared to go to. I am trapped because no one can ever know, whoever it is, understands this, they’ve discovered something to prick their interest in me.
Or is it someone who has always known? Watching, waiting, biding their time?
‘I do feel out of control, yes,’ someone else is in full control of my emotions at the moment and I don’t know who or why. ‘But I don’t understand why.’
39
Edinburgh 2000
Camilla
It’s over and done with, thank God.
I gaze across the few feet to the bar just as Andi turns and flashes me yet another empathetic smile. She needn’t bother, although it’s quite nice to have someone care. But at the end of the day, the reality of this situation is – I am finally set loose and fancy free. I spend a few moments, rolling my head, taking in the surroundings, I like it in here, it’s kind of cosy, dark but warming. One of Edinburgh’s true local’s boozers, with wooden pews, low hanging ceilings, with the original brass pumps. The atmosphere feels more akin to a private party, this room isn’t even as big as the bedroom I share with Andi. I close my eyes for a moment to pretend I’m at a proper wake, a proper family send off, what proper families do, and all these people are here for me. The mutterings of the gathered bodies around the bar and those perched at the opposite end of my pew, practically playing footsie with me, could easily resemble that of a proper wake. But the truth of the matter is, it was just me and Andi at the funeral and it’s only me and Andi, now.
The snotty woman full of self-importance called me last week from the home. Dad had passed away in his sleep, alone, she emphasised. I wanted to tell her, that was their fault, not mine. Wasn’t the whole point of him being in the home so he wouldn’t be alone, the audacity, to attempt to make me feel bad about it. It didn’t work, I didn’t. I don’t. After Mam died, my dad left me alone in the world despite being there in his physical form. No, in truth it was even before then. He wasn’t a dad to me. Biology removed. There’s not a chance I’ll allow her to make me feel bad about their own shortcomings. It was this thought earlier this morning, of being so alone in the world as I tackled adolescence, which created the outbreak of tears, sitting, looking on in the crematorium. The curtains opened and he was gone, just like that. It was finally over. Andi wrapped her arms around me with no idea of the true cause of my tears. I was equally submerged with sadness as I was with relief. Approximately thirty minutes to complete my right of passage into my new life was all it took, all roots and ties finally severed. Thirty minutes and he was no more.
The four suit clad people lolling opposite me burst into spontaneous laughter, Andi instantaneously spins round to face me, mouthing – do you want to move? I assume she’s referring to the obvious merriment of the crowd, insensitive to my predicament. I shake my head in response. I’d happily sit here all day, absorbing, listening. Enough of my life has been spent removed, in hiding, gloom and doom and constant grousing. I’m here to celebrate not hide away, though I need to be respectful of how Andi feels about this too.
Elliott also works as a Ghostly Tour Guide in the old town, he’s offered to take me out for drinks tonight. We bumped into him on our way here, spinning his yarn about the terrifying underground vaults of Blair Street. Come with me if you dare, visit the dark world of murderers, vagrants and torturers, a home to restless spirits, he called in his deep Scottish accent. I’d thought it would be fun but Andi’s expression forced me to shrug my comment off as sarcastic. But as I explained to Andi, a night out with Elliott would help me, especially as he has known of my dad for ages. I say of, because I’ve always been too ashamed to take anyone back, not so much because of where I lived, more – how I lived. However, Elliott has been the closest anyone’s been to knowing me properly.
Andi gently places our tumblers of ice and whisky on the table, ‘I thought we could do with something a little stronger,’ she smiles. She is undoubtedly the most selfless and sincerely kind person I have ever met, one of the few people I trust implicitly. Sometimes I worry for her, people will take advantage, she’s a sitting target. I was thinking the other night how unfortunate it is, because I could become quite attached to her, perhaps for the first time in my life, I could care about someone properly. Other than Elliott, I care about him, more than I can ever show him, more than he’ll ever know. I can’t allow myself to become distracted, he can’t offer what I need and would categorically stand in the way of my future. I push the painful thought of Elliott away, talk about loss, aware of my eyes filling with genuine tears.
‘Thanks, Andi.’ I allow a small smile to break. ‘You really are a goodun.’
‘Ah, don’t be so silly, this is for the both of us, I need it too. Anyway, I thought we could have a toast to your dad.’ She raises her glass to clink mine, ‘to your dad,’ she says, ‘may he now rest in peace. Out of pain, back to who he really is.’
‘To Dad,’ I clink back. And may I now live in peace and be able to move on to who I really am. I sometimes wonder if Andi’s oh so perfect life is a huge disadvantage, she’s almost incapable of seeing the other side, the dark side, life outside the middle and upper classes, too many rosy, happily ever after endings. Isn’t this extremely naïve? Dangerous even?
‘How you feeling?’ she asks, leaning into me as we sit back on the spongy maroon bench seat, side by side.
‘Not too bad,’ which is the truth, ‘you know, now that bit’s over. I hate being in those places, it’s all so final and cold. But now, I really believe I’m going to be okay,’ this is still the truth. ‘Thanks to you, mainly,’ I tell her. ‘Thanks to this!’ I swirl the whisky around its tumbler.
She slaps my leg. ‘Stop it,’ she says, ‘you’re going to be okay, because you’re a fighter. Not because of me and definitely not because of that,’ she nods towards my glass. ‘Do you realise, you’re probably the t
oughest person I’ve ever known. I’m not sure I could hold myself together in the face of adversity as you have, as you continue to do.’
I sip at the honeyed liquid as it burns, slowly creeping down my throat, breathing in sharply to catch the smoky citrus aromas. Before it tersely kicks out at an empty body, warm and comforting, despite the wish to shake my head, rattle my tongue. Andi, laughs out loud, ‘you’ve not had whisky before?’
‘Not neat, no,’ I splutter back, taking another sip, almost holding my breath, ‘but it’s good, I like it.’
‘That’s not what your face says. You surprise me, a hardy Scottish girl like yourself. Maybe you’re not so tough, eh,’ she nudges me, still giggling, ‘unlike me.’
I think back, knowing full well why I’ve never touched whisky. ‘The thing is, I think I built a subconscious aversion to it, what with it being the root of all evil in our house. Back then, Mam drank it like water, especially, it’s also what she used to wash down her overdose with.’
Andi brings both hands to cover her mouth and gasps. ‘Oh God, how thoughtless of me, I’m so sorry, Cam, I wasn’t thinking, I didn’t realise.’ She glances towards the bar, ‘shall I get you something different? Anything, don’t drink it.’
‘No, it’s cool really. I was only saying, really, it’s not a problem for me. Think of this being like exposure therapy or whatever they call it.’ I laugh but Andi’s face says chastised child. She’s so sensitive, I don’t want her to feel bad, she doesn’t deserve to. ‘Look if it makes you feel any better. I was weaned off the bottle for this stuff. I reckon I probably had it on my cereal all those times we ran out of milk, we always had whisky open, on the go.’ Now I think of it we didn’t ever… run out of milk, it was more that it didn’t matter enough for either one of my so called parents to fetch it in. I could go without, they couldn’t be bothered, is what it came down to. If it meant having to walk the five hundred yards to the corner SPAR. ‘And thanks to Mam’s contacts, whisky was cheap in our house,’ I can’t help but chuckle at Andi’s appalled expression, ‘but not like this stuff, I bet,’ I hold up the glass, swilling the burnt orange liquid, ‘how much did this set you back?’
Andi taps the side of her delicate nose, resting on English rose skin, ‘never you mind,’ she smiles warmly, ‘it’s for purely medicinal purposes today, so don’t get too used to it.’ She nudges my shoulder with hers.
‘Thanks, And,’ I say, ‘appreciate it,’ and I do, really. ‘Mind, I could get used to this stuff, it’s not so bad at all.’
‘Will you stay in Edinburgh, after graduation?’ Andi asks.
I shake my head. ‘Nope. I want to see the world. How about you, where will you end up?’ Not in Miami obviously, we spoke at length last night about her dilemma. For me, it was music to my ears, a perfect opportunity.
‘Not sure, travel maybe, London? Travel a bit more. I may take a year off, increase my work experience. Then, Cornwall for a while, maybe, but just depends on…’
‘You’re so lucky having your family,’ I say.
‘Hmm, all families have their moments. Mine has had its fair share but all dished out over a few months when I was very young, Mummy was so angry with Dad for months.’
‘Really? How come?’
‘Oh, a long story. I couldn’t understand it at the time, then some years later, in my teens, Leo became friendly with a local girl, my parents were oddly livid.’ Caused such a scene.
‘Who was she?’
‘Have you finished with these, ladies?’ asks the barman.
We both nod. ‘Thank you, yes,’ I say, then tap Andi’s leg. ‘Let’s talk about something else, something fun.’
Andi gives me an inquisitive look, but I ignore it.
By the time we stagger away from the pub, having downed many more tumblers and spent what would amount to more than my weekly allowance, I’m feeling happy. Free and optimistic. It’s raining, the air has a sharpness to it, a silvery grey light encumbering the sky. But inside I glow. Linking arms, we giggle our way through the early office leavers back on to George Street, sharing an umbrella, both of us still getting wet. Not for the first time, I wish this relationship wouldn’t ever end. Having found, if I could ever allow it to be, a true friend in Andi. But I can’t afford for sentiment to blur the route to my destination. With a burning need for the life I’ve dreamed of more than ever, now I can almost touch it. I’m almost walking in it.
‘By the way,’ Andi says, nudging me from my thoughts, ‘Clara said she saw you in the wine bar under the Scotsman the other night. She seemed to think, well, she said – it looked as though you were working there, rather than drinking there?’
Bloody Clara, if I didn’t know better, I’d suspect she had devious intentions, that she’s been following me, spying on me. ‘Oh, yeah. She may well have, she’s right, I haven’t mentioned it but I’m working there. Landed the job the week before last, think it was.’
‘Oh, wow, that’s great, good on you. But, why didn’t you say?’
‘Well, I didn’t know how it was going to pan out, I had a – what do you call it, a trial kind of week. But mostly, because—’
Andi, grabs my arm with her free hand, ‘don’t even think about it,’ she says.
‘About what?’
‘I know what you’re doing,’ I feel my breathing quicken as my heart picks up pace. ‘You’re working there,’ she says, ‘to pay your share of the rent.’
We stop walking and face each other, a gust of splattered rain catches my face as I pull my hair from my eyes. Passers-by bump past us, oblivious, ‘I just thought—’ I say.
‘Well don’t, really,’ she interrupts. ‘Burning your candle at both ends is what you’re doing. What with your uni work too.’ Surprisingly I begin to feel myself blush, Andi tugs at my arm and we walk forward again aiming the umbrella against the angled shower. ‘Look, it’s great you have a job but not for the reasons you think.’
‘Is it, isn’t it?’ My voice sounds unusually small.
‘Sure. I really think it will be great for you, get you out the flat, give you something else to distract you from this awful time. But let’s make a deal, your earnings – you put straight in the bank. You’re going to need them, Cam. I don’t mean to be blasé but to be honest, I don’t need the money. So for once in your life, accept some help, I’m offering you friendship, some help, that’s all. Nothing more. Anyway, I won’t have it any other way, so you’ve no choice.’
We impulsively lift the umbrella, turning left on to Frederick Street as a black cab sprays puddle wash across the pavement towards our feet. ‘I don’t know what to say, And.’ I honestly don’t. I’m not used to being on the receiving end of genuine thoughtfulness, or is it that I’ve not allowed myself to notice it before or trust it. It feels uncomfortable and I’m not too sure where to put it. One thing’s for sure, I can’t allow it to get in my way, it kind of complicates things, like I’ve never experienced before. I almost wish I hadn’t met her.
Almost.
Just, not quite enough.
40
Yes, makes perfect sense now. He wasn’t my father. Had the guts to write the letter but not to face me, tell me the truth. Then the one who I thought to be my father had the guts to walk away, without a need to tell me. Did they all decide between them; I didn’t need to know? It’s all starting to add up now, the deep longing, sadness sitting on my shoulders for so many years, now I understand why.
All the years of hating the wrong person, now I can’t blame the one I thought was my father for leaving us. I was the ultimate illegitimate child. But I hold so much hate, so much resentment. Two wrongs don’t make a right, so they say. But don’t they also say – revenge is sweet.
What I say is – revenge is justice. I hate injustice.
41
Cornwall 2017
Andi
Bound with royal blue, lopsided strung PE bags, various floating pieces of artwork and a castle constructed of toilet rolls, cereal boxes and washi
ng up liquid bottles, I push through the front door. My head still bouncing from the earlier appointment with Eve. I notice my fingertips have turned a greyish blue with the transference of wandering tacky paint, why do these things never dry? I place each delicate piece onto the kitchen table, now covered with scattered files and abundant paperwork. Kyle is home. My stomach performs an involuntary flip. I don’t want to feel this way but circumstances are wedging an obstructive solid object between us, an ever growing distance, neither of us comprehending how to fill it. Easy banter and spontaneous intimacy has become an unidentifiable stranger. The very experiences which created a closeness in the first place now threaten to tear us apart. I don’t have the energy to stop it either. I fear Kyle is too afraid to even try.
Kyle is pacing backwards and forwards on the far side of the swimming pool, deep in conversation with his mobile. I watch him for a while as he presses the handset almost secretively to the side of his head. A slight frown is replaced by a wide grin, softening his expression immediately, as he spots us. Trey and Dotty notice him at the same time, squealing in delight they attempt to run to him, I reach out and catch them, ‘Daddy’s on the phone, both of you, get changed first, then he’ll be finished, hopefully.’ As I say this he turns to face me again, smiling, an inquisitorial kind of smile, as if to say – are you okay? Are we okay? Or, will everything be okay? I half smile back and wave before turning away. I cannot answer his question and this hurts. And I can’t help wondering – who he is speaking to? Reticently, hushed, private. Carol? Someone else?
An hour later, I glance at the clock whilst preparing an evening meal, listening to the playful shenanigans booming from the pool. The three of them back together, with Daddy taking it in turns to hurl them into the deep end from his shoulders. I move over to the glass to watch them, sipping my wine. They all look so normal, so happy. What have I done? I’m at risk of losing everything. Isn’t this everything I’ve always wanted, independence, yet warmth and security. I decided, even though tonight’s meal out with Kyle is strictly speaking a formal work appointment for me, I need to divulge to Kyle a little of what is sitting heavily in my mind. Just enough to allow him a glimpse into my current state. Carol is collecting the children after tea so we’ll have plenty of time.
Who I Am: A dark psychological thriller with a stunning twist Page 18