by Gayle Curtis
‘That is quite true, but there are certain things that aren’t acceptable for you to do, and whilst you live with your parents you really have to abide by their rules.’ The hint hanging in the air that if she lived with him things would be different was subtle, but he watched it land favourably in her lap.
‘Will you explain to me what’s happened between you and Mum?’
He laughed. ‘I would if I knew the answer to that myself.’ He sat down at the table. ‘Perhaps it’s because I’ve been to prison, maybe she thinks I’ll be a bad influence on you, I don’t know.’ He shrugged.
Caroline nodded but he could see she wasn’t satisfied.
‘You must remember I was sentenced for murder, Caroline.’ He gave her a very serious look causing her to blush. ‘It’s OK, I can talk about it. It’s not a secret.’
‘I know. But I don’t like to bring it up and embarrass you. I read about it on the internet because Mum said she didn’t want to discuss it.’
‘Well, that’s understandable, don’t you think?’
‘Yes, but you were protecting her. Wasn’t he abusive? She should be grateful.’
‘Caroline, I was sentenced for killing a man. Not just any man. My father.’
She nodded again and looked at the floor.
‘Can you see why that would make your mother wary of me being around you?’
‘But she knows you, knows you’re not a bad person. Even Dad doesn’t think I should stay away from you.’
‘Oh?’
‘No, I heard him saying to Mum that she should give you another chance because you were only protecting her. And everyone deserves a second chance.’
‘That’s very noble of him.’
‘But you were very young and it was self-defence, from what I understand. Your father tried to attack her and you came in at the right time.’
Clearly, Cecelia hadn’t told her the full story. She had denied they’d been fighting and Sebastian had received a heavier sentence because he’d killed his father over a fictitious attack. Only Cecelia knew her reasoning behind this but he had his suspicions. Anyone knowing the truth would begin to ask questions. And he knew Cecelia didn’t want anyone knowing the truth, especially not Caroline. It was easier for him to continue carrying the blame because he didn’t have any children.
‘Yes, but even so . . . only the people present at the time know what happened . . .’
‘But the truth came out because you went to prison, you were punished . . . I don’t know. I don’t know what to think anymore, especially with all this stuff she’s telling Dad about Roger and her mum. That’s not true, is it?’
Sebastian stood up, placed his cigarette in his mouth and held out his hand for Caroline to take. The draught was turning cold, rising within him and he needed it to subside.
‘Come upstairs with me.’
Caroline was reluctant at first and he realised the slight sharpness in his voice had alarmed her.
‘Come on, I’m not going to hurt you, I just want to show you something.’
She relented and allowed him to pull her from the sofa. Up the two flights of stairs they went and into the sparse white bedroom where his art work was accumulating rapidly. When he wasn’t on the market stall he spent all his spare time painting, experimenting with new techniques.
‘Sit down over there.’ Sebastian pointed to the sofa directly opposite the picture.
‘You’ve shown me this before.’
‘I know, but you clearly didn’t take it in the first time.’ He put his arm around her shoulders and pointed to the painting.
‘Do you think she really believes it?’
‘Who believes what?’ Caroline’s voice was small, lost in the large white room.
Sebastian tutted and squeezed her harder, pulling her into his enthusiasm for his masterpiece. ‘Do you think your mother believes what she’s saying about her parents?’
‘I don’t know . . . I, I don’t know what you’re asking me. Is that her? Is that a picture of my Mum?’
Sebastian stood up and walked towards the portrait and then turned to look at her.
‘Yes, it is. But you don’t know what to say, you don’t know what I’m asking you because you’re too young. Or what you think I want to hear. But I don’t want you to do that, Caroline. I want you to think for yourself. Your life is still in black and white but it’ll change, the grey areas creep in as you grow older.’ He sat back down next to her, making sure he was on the opposite side of her this time, so he could reach his arm around her again and feel the curve of her other shoulder.
‘All you need to do is have faith. Have faith in your gut feeling, what rises in your stomach when you’re near people, when they speak to you, because that holds all the answers. It leads the way for us all.’ Caroline glanced at him nervously. He gave her a symmetrical squeeze and smiled, trying to lift the atmosphere.
‘Stop looking so worried.’
‘Are you one of those religious nuts? You know, because you’ve been to prison and all that.’
A deep laugh escaped his lips and he got up to pace around the room, switching the stereo on as he passed it, playing the vinyl he found earlier, filling the room with Cecelia’s favourite song.
‘No, not at all! Look, I learnt a lot of things in prison. I spent hours studying and reading and even when I was lonely, I always knew what was right and wrong for me. Because that’s different for everyone.’ He got up from his seat and walked over to the portrait, gently running his fingers over the ridges of paint. ‘It’s not religion, Caroline, it’s reality, and it’s my belief that came from what I learnt. Every time I read some kind of philosophy, I thought about your mum, my twin sister – she is my religion, if you like. She’s everywhere I look, even when we’re apart.’
It was pleasing to him when she also got up from her seat and began to properly look at the portrait. It signalled to him that she was listening, beginning to see art as he wanted her to see it.
‘I know it sounds weird but sometimes it feels like Mum has really lost herself . . . sometimes I think it’s because you’ve been apart for so many years . . .’
‘I’ve always thought that twins are one whole. We started off as one, then became two and then one again. It doesn’t matter how far apart you are physically.’
‘Yes! I hadn’t looked at it like that but yes, that’s exactly how it feels. Mum has always said something like that.’
Sebastian shook his head. ‘It comforts me to know your mum has said that Cece. I wonder sometimes if we’ll ever be close again, if we’ll ever get over what happened.’
She frowned. ‘Why did you call me Cece?’
‘Did I?’ He sat down on the opposite sofa.
‘It doesn’t matter, it just sounded odd.’
‘You remind me so much of her. Of your mother.’ His voice had become quiet and low and he was descending with it. ‘Can I ask you something?’
Caroline nodded, her fingers still touching the portrait.
‘Who is Lydia? I’ve heard her mentioned a few times . . .’
‘Lydia?’ Caroline’s face had taken on a look of astonishment, then tears filled her eyes. ‘She was my twin sister. Mum must have told you about her?’
Sebastian wanted her to tell him about Lydia, even though he knew some of the story. ‘No. I haven’t really had any proper conversations with your mum. I overheard a few things about Lydia, mainly from Yvonne.’
Caroline’s face crumpled in pain, blowing the draught up within him. ‘Lydia was knocked down outside the school and died. Mum was driving.’
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Yet again, Cecelia felt the heavy hopelessness fall around her like an elevator stopping mid-floor. Having had to deal with Sebastian several times since Yvonne’s death, it occurred to her that she’d been affected by it all far more than she’d first thought. Her brother was matter of fact about the whole situation and insisted on calling to try and involve her in the fun
eral decisions. She had said she wasn’t interested in being involved but that wasn’t true, she just didn’t know how to deal with the unresolved tension between them. It made her realise she had been punishing Yvonne for years with her silences and absence; shutting her out of her life, not allowing her to know her grandchildren. She had never once given any thought to the fact she might actually die.
Cecelia had gained immense satisfaction whenever Yvonne had tried to contact her, and the pain she could cause. Now Yvonne was gone and Cecelia realised that maybe there were things she had wanted to say to her mother, needed to tell her. But now it was too late and Cecelia was surprised by how sad she was about it. The last time she’d seen Yvonne was when she’d visited her in hospital, not believing she was as ill as everyone had been saying. Not wanting to believe it, needing someone to hate. Cecelia was almost jealous of Sebastian for allowing Yvonne into his life.
Reflecting on her childhood didn’t even help to justify why Cecelia kept Yvonne on the outside of her staged existence. It was too late now though, she kept telling herself. Too late to change it all. Now she had to think about what she was going to do with White Horse Farm. She would need to involve Sebastian, something she didn’t want to do. And other more pressing matters drifted into her mind: her ever unsynchronised marriage, the complicated relationship she had with Caroline, Yvonne’s funeral. This was the first hurdle she had to get over. Somehow, through much manipulation, Sebastian had convinced Samuel to conduct the procedure. The arguments had ricocheted around the walls of her sanctuary that day, trapped and desperate to escape, like a dozy house fly. Another subject to disagree on, how could they possibly not. She showed adversity with everything he suggested and vice versa, as though they knew their roles had to be contrary to one another, their descriptions within their marriage.
Because she had lost this argument, Cecelia now had to deal with the fact that Yvonne’s body lay in a coffin in the funeral parlour that was in the grounds of their home. Their own garden was fenced in but there was a long drive leading down the side of their property, the land at the bottom having been used as a builder’s yard by the previous owner. This had now become the main funeral parlour, after Samuel had decided his father’s old premises hadn’t been big enough for him to offer a high quality standard of service. The old place was now used merely as a shop front to advertise the business and greet families.
Samuel had suggested Cecelia visit Yvonne in the chapel of rest, but she’d refused vehemently. She didn’t see any point in seeing the empty corpse of the woman who had done nothing for her when she was alive.
And now she had to contend with Sebastian’s arrival at two o’clock that afternoon to check that Yvonne was correctly positioned in her coffin and to say his own private goodbye before the actual service the following day. Samuel had empathised with him like he did with all his clients and it had irritated Cecelia like a burning skin rash.
The manipulation was blowing in the breeze like an old uninhabited cobweb but Samuel couldn’t see it. The more she tried to point it out, the further away she pushed her husband. But as long as Sebastian stayed away from Caroline and she from him, that was all that mattered to her. All she could think about now was getting rid of Sebastian before Caroline came home from school.
Elements of her daughter were clearly a part of Sebastian’s make up and this connection was something that worried Cecelia. Every day, Caroline did something that reminded Cecelia of Sebastian. It was half-day closing and she’d managed to shut the shop at lunch time and return to the cool comfort of her cellar, clearing her head, calming her nerves.
Familiar laughter coming from the direction of the garden told her someone was heading towards the house. She looked up through the tiny window that gave a small view of the embankment leading up the garden. There she saw three pairs of feet. Samuel’s, Caroline’s and a pair she didn’t immediately recognise. Sebastian’s.
Running up the cellar stairs and through the kitchen she met the three of them just as they were coming through the back door.
‘What are you doing out of school so early?’
Caroline tutted. ‘I told you I had free periods for study this afternoon, you must have forgotten. I did come to the shop but you’d already left.’
‘It was quiet and a half day so I closed. I’ve been home a while, but I didn’t hear you come in.’ She put her hands on her hips, watching Caroline intently, slightly out of breath and desperately trying to ignore the stares of her brother and husband.
Her daughter rolled her eyes and she tried to swallow her irritation. She didn’t want Sebastian to see they weren’t getting on.
‘Strange you two should turn up together, or is that just a coincidence?’
‘No. I bumped into Sebastian outside the café opposite the bookshop. You weren’t around so he took me for lunch.’
‘Oh did he? Well, you should be studying, so go and get a few hours in before dinner.’ She stared at her defiant daughter, dared her to question her. ‘Now.’
‘Just a minute.’ She pulled Caroline back by her arm. ‘Have you been drinking?’
‘No!’ Caroline shrugged herself free.
Cecelia leant in to smell her breath but she couldn’t detect anything. There was definitely something different about her demeanour though. A something she didn’t like.
Making sure Caroline went all the way up the stairs and satisfied she’d heard her bedroom door close, Cecelia turned to face the room. Sebastian had already pulled out a chair at her kitchen table and Samuel was fiddling around with the kettle, not wanting to get involved.
‘Right.’ Cecelia took a deep breath. ‘Sebastian, I have reluctantly allowed you to coerce Samuel into arranging Yvonne’s funeral. I’ve also had to accept you coming here for the arrangements. That’s about as much as I can take. Please do not shoe-horn yourself into my family. We discussed this the other day and nothing’s changed.’
Unnervingly he held her gaze, completely absent of any humiliation at her request. She nodded her head for him to respond or leave but he stayed exactly where he was.
‘Mum, you’re being unfair!’
Cecelia turned to see Caroline at the bottom of the stairs. ‘Please go back to your room and get on with your revision. This has nothing to do with you.’
‘But –’
‘Just do it, Caroline! For once in your life, do as I say.’ She moved towards her as if she might strike out and a pain rose inside her as she saw Caroline flinch before she ran back upstairs shouting about how much she hated her.
Cecelia took a few deep breaths before she turned back round to face Sebastian. As she expected, he was smiling, not obviously but enough for her to notice.
‘I understand you want to try and fit in somewhere, belong to something. I get it. But it’s not here, not with my family.’
‘Cecelia . . .’ Samuel turned from his coffee making, a look of dismay on his face.
She nodded – he was disappointed in her. That would go nicely with the other disappointments she’d provided him with just lately. She knew he was fearful of shouting, instead choosing to speak to her as though she was a child. He wouldn’t want to tip the scales of her delicate state, using a passive aggressive alternative to get his point across.
Cecelia pasted on a false smile. ‘Sweetheart, would you mind leaving us for a while please? I need a private word with Sebastian.’
To her utter amazement, he did exactly what she asked.
‘I’ll go and check on Caroline.’
Cecelia leant on the back of the chair opposite Sebastian; his eyes hadn’t left hers through the whole conversation with Samuel.
‘Please, Sebastian. I need you to stay away from us. After tomorrow there will be no reason for you to see any of us again. That includes Caroline.’ She observed him taking in what she was saying. His mouth always made the slightest of movements when he was in contemplation, almost a pout, and his eyes would take on the merest of squints, but still he w
as silent.
‘I know it must be difficult, all that time in prison . . . but you haven’t come out with nothing . . . you’ve got half of White Horse Farm and Yvonne has given you a roof over your head, and there’ll be more to come after the funeral . . .’ She was floundering, his constant stare and presence unnerving her. ‘Go and make something of your life. Do all the things you planned to do before . . . well before, you know . . .’
He looked at her pointedly, his eyebrows rising slightly.
Just as she began rambling again, he got up from his chair and moved around the table towards her. She flinched but her pride and stubbornness wouldn’t allow her to move and she was beginning to wish she hadn’t been so hasty in asking Samuel to leave.
Sebastian reached forward and touched her cheek with his thumb and then did the same with his left, allowing his hands to linger around her face. She leant backwards, holding her breath. Then his hands carefully spread around her jaw and he pulled her head sharply towards his face.
‘You’ll never get rid of me, Cece; I am a constant in your life. You so easily forget that we are one and the same. I am you, you are me.’ Then he leant over and whispered in her ear. ‘Give my best to Lydia . . . Tell her I’ll catch her next time.’
All she remembered after that was the slamming of the front door as he left.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Caroline was a good liar. Sebastian had been surprised at how quickly and easily the false words had slipped from her mouth. As he left Cecelia’s house, he reflected on the precious few hours they’d just had together over lunch.
They hadn’t bumped into each other at all, as she’d said, but instead she’d called round for him. He’d just finished experimenting on Ava with a new art technique and it had turned out better than he’d expected, making him warm to her again. She’d given him the space he’d needed and hadn’t called round for some time, drawing him towards her instead of the other way round. He found he’d missed her company and was pleased to have rekindled their relationship, using the excuse that he’d been upset about Yvonne, which was, in part, the truth.