‘Uh-oh,’ laughs Ben. ‘Simon’s getting on his soapbox.’
‘You can laugh,’ says Simon, smiling, ‘but we’ve come through a really tough winter and I think a few words are in order.’
Kat watches him, the relaxed way he stands: his weight resting on one foot, a pale hip bone jutting above the waistband of his low-slung jeans, a bottle of beer cradled at his chest. He cuts a striking figure against the backdrop of the lake and she realises she has no idea what he is about to say.
‘We said we were going to give this place a year and we’re not far off. I think we should be proud of ourselves. We’ve proved we can do it. We’ve made a great start. Frankly, there’s nothing stopping us, as far as I can see, from doing another year . . . and another.’ Simon looks around at them all hopefully and Kat turns, trying to read the expressions on her friends’ faces.
Ben and Carla stare down into their beer bottles. Mac gazes out over the lake. Freya’s gaze is downcast. No one looks particularly enthusiastic about another year at the cottage. ‘Oh, come on, guys, don’t tell me you’re not up for it?’
Ben clears his throat. ‘First things first, mate, let’s finish this year, shall we?’
Carla nods her agreement and no one else says anything.
Simon shrugs, nonplussed. ‘OK. So be it.’ He swigs the last of his beer then chucks the bottle onto the grass at his feet and rubs his hands together briskly. ‘So, I realised that it just wouldn’t be a proper May Day celebration without a May Queen, right?’ He grins and Kat goes very still, watching as Simon leans across and produces a looping chain from behind the fallen tree, a pretty woven crown made from cowslips, wood anemones and pink honesty flowers gathered from around the cottage. She knows it’s ridiculous but as Simon holds the crown up in the faltering evening light, Kat knows she wants it more than anything she’s ever wanted in her life. She wants Simon to choose her. She wants him to pick her in front of the rest of them, to prove once and for all that she is his choice. ‘Not bad eh, for a clumsy fellow like me?’ He holds it aloft and looks at each of them in turn.
‘Honestly, mate,’ says Ben, letting out a loud belch, ‘you can forget the speech. Just plonk it here,’ he says, pointing to his own head. ‘I accept.’
They all laugh but Simon silences them. ‘No. There’s only one person who fits this crown . . . someone who symbolises the future of our little settlement.’ He smiles at Kat and she feels her breath catch at the back of her throat. ‘And that’s you,’ he says, turning to Freya.
Kat’s eyes dart to her sister. Of course. Freya. She tries to swallow down her disappointment as Freya glances from Simon to Kat, then back to Simon. Her face is a picture of horror. Simon walks over and places the floral crown on her sister’s head but Freya surprises them all by ripping it off and throwing it back at him. ‘I don’t want it.’
Simon looks confused. ‘But it’s for you.’
Kat sees Carla and Ben exchange a look. Mac sits up a little taller, leaning into the circle, his gaze fixed on Freya.
‘Give it to Kat,’ says Freya, and she pushes herself up awkwardly from the ground and makes to leave. ‘She’s the one who wants it.’
‘I don’t want it,’ Kat lies, her cheeks flushing red.
‘But it’s yours, Freya,’ says Simon. ‘I made it for you.’
Mac clears his throat. ‘You heard what she said: she doesn’t want it.’
‘What was that?’ Simon turns on Mac, his eyes ablaze. ‘Is there something you’d like to say?’
But Mac doesn’t get a chance to speak again. It is Freya who rounds on him, a fire burning in her eyes. ‘I told you, Simon. I. Don’t. Want. It. I don’t want anything from you.’
Simon studies her for a moment then breaks into a smile. ‘Come now, it’s just a bit of fun.’
‘No,’ she says, ‘it’s not. You know exactly what you’re doing, manipulating us all like this.’ She stands in front of them, a formidable sight, the swell of her belly jutting before her, her eyes glittering, her hair shining golden in the late evening sunshine. ‘I’m sick of this game. I’m sick of pretending that this is some incredible commune built on hard work and self-sufficiency. Can’t you all see it’s nothing but a pack of lies?’ Freya moves as if to leave the group.
‘What exactly is a pack of lies?’ asks Simon, his eyes gleaming dangerously. ‘Tell us, Freya. Tell us what you take umbrage with, this life that has given you so much and asked so little of you in return?’
Freya flings her arms out wide. ‘This valley, this cottage we’re living in, setting ourselves apart from the rest of the world . . . it’s all an illusion. We pat ourselves on the back for being so independent, so different but there’s nothing radical about what we’re doing here.’ She spins to Simon again. ‘And you, Simon, you talk about truth and sincerity like it’s the very foundation of everything we’ve built, but the truth is that you wouldn’t know truth if it came flying out of those bushes there and smacked you in the face.’
‘Freya,’ warns Kat. ‘That’s enough.’
But Simon just smiles and shakes his head. ‘Go on.’
‘I really think—’ intervenes Kat, a bad feeling growing in the pit of her stomach.
But Freya can’t stop now. ‘You want to know the truth, Simon? The real truth? About this land we’re living on? About this cottage?’
Simon gives a slow nod.
Freya smiles grimly. ‘I’m sorry to burst your bubble but we’re not squatting here. We’re not doing anything even vaguely rebellious or daring. We’re not proving a point. We’re not changing the world.’ She pauses, her eyes ablaze. ‘All we’re doing is living rent-free in an outbuilding on Mac’s mother’s farm.’
Everyone gapes at Freya.
‘This isn’t independence,’ she spits, ‘this is a load of lazy graduates fresh from college living like trust-fund babies off Mac’s inheritance . . . all of you too scared to enter the real world.’
Kat stares at Freya in horror. The woman at the farm is Mac’s mother? She turns to Mac, waiting for him to deny it, but he is staring down at the ground, his cheeks on fire.
Freya hasn’t finished yet. ‘You think you’re changing the world, Simon, living like this? But you’re not. All you’re doing is hiding. Hiding from real work and responsibility. What have you truly contributed in the last year, Simon? Nothing. That’s what.’
‘No,’ says Simon calmly, ‘you’re wrong.’
‘Come on then, let’s look at the facts.’ Freya’s eyes flash with anger. ‘Where do you think the chickens came from, Simon? The piglet? Why do you think this place was never claimed by anyone? Why do you think no one came to throw us out of the house, off the land? That woman with the dog who came by to check us out and then happily sauntered away and never came back: Mac’s mum. Who do you think left us that basket of food on Christmas Day? Mac’s mum. Have you never asked yourself these questions, Simon, or did it not fit into your vision, your grand image of yourself as the great provider, master of us all?’ Kat sees Freya wince and place one hand upon her belly.
‘Freya, that’s enough,’ says Kat. ‘You’re upsetting yourself.’
‘Mac?’ Simon turns to Mac, expecting a denial but Mac says nothing. He doesn’t even look up. He just sits there, staring at the ground. Simon turns to Kat, his face turning a strange grey colour. ‘Did anyone else know about this? Did you know about Mac’s mum? You saw her, after all.’
‘I – I – I found the farm but I didn’t . . .’ She doesn’t get a chance to explain further. Simon has silenced her with a hand. ‘So everyone knew this, except for me?’
Ben shakes his head. ‘You had me fooled, Mac.’
‘And me,’ agrees Carla.
Freya seems to have recovered. She shakes her head. ‘All of this, it’s just an elaborate game of Simon Says and we’re the idiots for playing along.’ She turns back to him. ‘I see what you’re doing. The others might not see it but I do. Divide and conquer; it’s pathetic. You should be asha
med of yourself.’
Freya stomps off across the grass, away towards the trees. Kat holds her breath. She wonders for a moment whether she should chase after her but the twist of anger in Simon’s face stops her. She gazes up at him. She wants to go to him, to wrap her arms around him and tell him everything will be OK. She wants to tell him that it doesn’t matter, that she still believes in him. She wants to pick up the shattered pieces of his dream and help him rebuild them.
But she doesn’t get a chance to go to him, because he surprises her by shaking his head, his face breaking into a thin smile. ‘Wow. Pregnant women and their hormones. Who knew?’ He says it in a light-hearted way but the words fail to raise a smile from anyone else. ‘Where does she think she’s going, anyway?’ he asks. ‘It’s getting dark.’
‘I’ll go,’ mumbles Mac and he peels away from the group and trots after Freya, trailing her across the grassy bank and down towards the woods.
‘Couldn’t wait to get away from us,’ mutters Ben.
‘Why didn’t he tell us?’ Carla shakes her head then reaches for Ben’s hand. Kat sees another look pass between the two of them.
With Mac gone, Simon slumps down onto the tree trunk. Kat knows she should be pleased. Freya’s revelations have been far more spectacular than even she could have hoped for. She’d thought she might use the information that Freya had been visiting the farm to drive a wedge between Simon and her sister, but instead Freya has shattered all of their illusions about the cottage and their work there in one fell swoop. There is no way that Simon will be able to forgive Freya. Perhaps now he will help her leave? Hope flutters up from somewhere deep inside. Or perhaps he will want to leave himself? Maybe he will finally give up on the cottage and they will slip away to start again, somewhere else, back in the real world where they can make a proper life together. Just the two of them.
‘You know,’ says Simon after a little while, ‘everything Freya said, it doesn’t actually make a difference.’
‘What do you mean?’ asks Kat.
‘Well, think about it, what does it matter who owns this place, who’s helped us out? We’ve still done the majority of it on our own. It’s still our hard work that’s kept us here. If anything,’ he adds, warming to his argument, ‘knowing it’s Mac’s mum’s place just gives us added security. We can stay here now without any fear of being chucked off the land, don’t you see?’
Kat studies him. Does he really mean that? Is he honestly going to pretend that Freya’s revelations don’t mean a thing to them?
The four of them sit around the campfire, a heavy silence falling as they contemplate the truth of their situation. The sun slips behind the hillside. The embers of the fire begin to crumble and fade but no one thinks to fetch more wood. Kat is just wondering whether to head back to the cottage when a loud shout echoes out across the water. They turn towards the trees, to where Mac has followed Freya, and watch as he bursts from between the solid grey trunks. None of them move, they just watch him run, getting closer and closer until finally, he draws up before them. ‘It’s Freya,’ he pants, his hands on his knees as he tries to catch his breath.
‘What is it?’ Kat asks.
He looks up at her, takes another ragged breath. ‘I think . . . I think she’s going to have the baby.’
Kat shakes her head. ‘It’s too early. She’s not due for another month or so.’
Mac shakes his head. ‘I know. Come on. Quickly. I need your help.’
Kat doesn’t move.
‘Come on!’ shouts Mac.
Kat rises and follows Mac back into the woods and it’s only as they enter the shadows of the trees that she realises Simon hasn’t followed. She turns to see him still slumped on the log, still staring out across the water.
‘What are you waiting for?’ asks Mac, and she turns and follows him into the dark interior of the forest.
Freya is leaning against a tree trunk, her head on her arms, her legs splayed wide as she sways to some silent, internal rhythm. Every so often she emits a strange, low groan; the sort of lowing sound Kat has only ever heard a cow make.
‘Freya?’ says Kat, approaching warily. ‘Is it the baby? Is it coming?’
‘I don’t know,’ she says, turning to her sister. ‘I think my waters broke. I thought I’d wet myself but there’s this pain. It comes and goes. I’m scared. I don’t want to have the baby here. I don’t want to be alone.’
‘Don’t be scared,’ says Kat, ‘we’re here now. You’re not alone.’ She looks at Mac helplessly but he just shrugs. He doesn’t know what to do either.
Freya leans back against the tree and lets out another groan. ‘It hurts.’
‘Do you think you can walk?’
‘I’m not sure.’
‘Let’s try. We’ll help you. We should get you back to the cottage, don’t you think, Mac?’
But Mac seems paralysed with fear. He just stares at them both, wide-eyed and pale in the deepening twilight.
God, she thinks, so much for Simon’s pep talk about Mother Nature taking care of things. None of them have a clue. She looks around at the dense woodland and realises for the first time in ages just how far they are from any kind of help. She swallows down her fear.
Somehow they half carry, half drag Freya out of the woods and up to the cottage, Mac holding her on one side, Kat on the other. She is heavy and bears down on them as the contractions continue to rip through her body. Kat knows she is supposed to time them so she counts in her head, until she realises that she doesn’t actually know what she’s counting: is it the length of time that the contraction lasts, or the length of rest time that comes between them? She isn’t sure, and even if she were, she wouldn’t know what it meant. How quickly are they supposed to come? Why don’t they know this? They should have tried to get a book about it, at least.
Freya makes their job even harder by pushing them away. She doesn’t want to be alone, but she doesn’t seem to want to be touched either. Once or twice she sinks to the ground on her knees. ‘Make it stop,’ she pleads.
‘Hold on to her,’ she tells Mac, afraid that if they let her down on the damp ground, they won’t get her back up again. Kat knows nothing about childbirth but she’s pretty sure it’s not supposed to happen this early or this quickly, and she certainly knows enough to realise that you shouldn’t have a baby outside on a muddy forest floor.
Finally, they get her through the front door and into the cottage. ‘Upstairs?’ asks Mac.
‘No,’ says Freya. ‘I can’t.’
‘Yes you can,’ says Kat.
‘What can I do?’ asks Carla, appearing white-faced from the kitchen.
Kat notices her own shaking hands and takes a breath. ‘Boil some water. Find us some clean bedding or towels, something to wrap the baby in when it comes. We’ll need the oil lamps up there too.’
Carla disappears like a rabbit back into her burrow.
‘Where’s Simon?’ asks Mac.
‘I don’t know.’ Kat looks about and wishes he were there. ‘Come on, Freya, we’re going to get you up into the bedroom. You can lie on the mattress.’
‘No,’ says Freya. She clings to the banister as another contraction tears through her. When it is finished Kat guides her to the stairs. ‘Come on. We’ll take them quickly, before the next one comes. It will be quieter up there . . . more private.’
It’s a relief when they finally get Freya upstairs. Kat wants to lay her down on one of the mattresses in their room but Freya refuses. ‘I can’t. It’s agony. Let me stand.’ Kat doesn’t know what to do. In the movies she’s seen women are always lying down when they have a baby, but she doesn’t fancy trying to fight Freya, not in the state she’s in, so they guide her to the window ledge where she leans over the sill and rides out the next contraction. They are definitely getting stronger, and longer. Kat doesn’t need to time them to know that. She looks around at the dingy room in desperation. This is all wrong.
Mac takes Kat to one side. ‘What can I d
o?’ he asks helplessly.
Kat shakes her head. ‘Why does everyone keep asking me that?’
He shrugs. ‘I could go for help?’
‘Who?’
He doesn’t quite meet her eye. ‘My mum?’
Kat stiffens. She imagines another person in the house – someone from the outside world – and knows instantly how Simon would feel about it. ‘We don’t need help. We’ll manage on our own.’
Mac throws another worried glance back at Freya. ‘How much longer, do you think?’
She sighs. ‘I don’t know, Mac. I guess we just wait and see.’
‘Should I leave?’ He is asking Kat but this time it’s Freya who replies.
‘No,’ she groans. ‘Stay, please.’
Freya labours for what feels like hours. She paces. She groans. She clings to the window sill. Once or twice she tries lying down, but quickly gets up again when the pain is too intense. It is pitch black outside when Kat finally gets Freya down onto the mattress and gently lifts the hem of her nightdress to examine her. She has no idea what she is looking for. She drops the fabric and stares at her sister’s face, her hot cheeks glistening with sweat and tears. Why on earth did they think they could do this at the cottage with no electricity, no hot water, no professional help of any kind? It’s sheer madness.
‘Do you want some water?’ she asks. ‘A cool flannel?’
Freya groans and nods.
‘Do you feel like pushing?’ It’s something she remembers hearing a nurse say in a film.
Freya shakes her head. ‘I want Evelyn.’ She grits her teeth through another contraction.
Evelyn? Kat exchanges a glance with Mac. ‘Your mum?’
Mac nods.
Kat feels a flash of jealousy. Freya wants Evelyn, the woman she saw up at the farm. She wants Mac’s mum, not her. She takes a breath then swallows her pride. ‘How long would it take if you did fetch her?’
The Shadow Year Page 35