33 Women: A gripping new thriller about the power of women, and the lengths they will go to when pushed...

by Isabel Ashdown

  Regine smiles sadly. ‘She’s reached the end of the line, Bren. If Seed has given herself up, we’re just gonna have to let her go.’

  There’s nothing more to say, and in heavy silence I leave Regine, stopping in Seed’s office to gather up the Last Will envelopes of the Founding Sisters, before returning downstairs. My soul feels weighed down. I pause in the darkness between my bedroom and the room where Seed sits talking beside the fire, and, when I hear the next words she speaks, I know Regine is right, that we have to set her adrift.

  ‘We killed her,’ she tells them, and her tone is at once forlorn and distant.

  40. BRAMBLE

  Two weeks ago, Two Cross Farm

  None of us had meant harm to that poor girl, Robyn, and if Seed had been truthful with us – told us what Robyn really meant to her from the start – perhaps this could all have been avoided. Perhaps she could have been spared. But on that day, Robyn’s final day, no one was quite themselves. I was exhausted, Seed was entirely distracted by Robyn’s planned departure, and Fern’s confusion was at an all-time high. Everything at Two Cross Farm seemed to be running out of sequence, out of order. The previous night, Fern had kept me and Regine up in the early hours, thrashing about in her old office, rambling about new number connections she had made in her sleep and creating illegible lists of instructions she wanted us to follow. She’d convinced herself that the number 33 was intrinsically linked with 666, the number of the beast, of the apocalypse, of men. She was raving. Over and over again, she demanded to see Dr Kathy, and I knew it was no good telling her that Kathy had been dead ten years now, because Fern’s mind was no longer in the here and now – it was stuck somewhere in 1976, and there was no bringing her back.

  The atmosphere between Seed and young Robyn had been strained all week long, but she wouldn’t tell me why, and the more I badgered her about it that morning, the more she withdrew. That same afternoon, I asked Seed to meet me in the basement laundry room, below the main house, so we could talk in private while the other women took their tea. At last, she admitted that she was in turmoil about Robyn’s plans to leave, and when she denied that their relationship was anything more than platonic I knew she was keeping something back from me.

  ‘Seed,’ I said, ‘you put Robyn forward for the marking ceremony just a month after arriving here; that’s unheard of. Why? What’s so very special about this girl?’

  I intended to reassure her, to tell her this was just a crush, a brief infatuation that she’d soon forget. But then Robyn herself appeared at the top of the stone steps, descending into the steamy room, suitcase in hand, calling Seed’s name over the rumbling din of the washing machines.

  As the girl approached, Seed clutched at my wrist and whispered to me, ‘I’m sorry, Bramble. I will tell you everything, I promise.’

  ‘Robyn,’ Seed pleaded as the girl drew closer. ‘Please hear me out, won’t you? You don’t have to go straight away – just stay and hear what I have to say?’

  Robyn looked awkwardly from Seed to me, embarrassed, I could tell, at Seed’s pleading tone.

  ‘You came looking for answers about your parents,’ Seed said, taking a step closer, ‘and I’ve been selfish and cowardly with the truth. I haven’t been honest with you, and I regret it. I – I don’t really know where to begin.’ She brought her hands to her mouth, as though searching for a way to stop the words from tumbling out.

  I was confused; who were these parents she spoke of? In the three months that Robyn had been here, I had been aware of the uncommon closeness she shared with Seed, and I’d sensed a secret between them but this – what on earth could it mean?

  ‘Seed?’ I ventured, my fear rising. ‘What are you talking about? I know nothing of this.’

  ‘Bramble, Robyn came to Two Cross Farm to find out more about her birth mother,’ Seed said, extending a hand which the girl would not accept. ‘She wanted to know more about Susan.’

  This was Susan’s child? Was it possible? This was the baby Fern had sent to the convent twenty-five years ago, on the night we’d lost our dear sister? How could she have found us, when we had left no clue to the baby’s history, no note or explanation? And why had Seed concealed Robyn’s true identity; the purpose of her visit?’

  ‘I knew I was an abandoned baby,’ Robyn explained. ‘My adoption papers said I’d been left with the Poor Clares convent, but there was no record of a mother.’

  ‘So how …?’ I asked, unable to form the full sentence.

  ‘It actually didn’t take much to work it out,’ Robyn said, ‘because when I went through the local newspapers I found a report on a young woman found dead around the exact same time. Eventually, I tracked down her death certificate in public records, and – well, with her death ruled as post-partum trauma, it all fit.’

  I glanced at Seed, who stood beside me, eyes downcast. I was shocked and hurt to think that she no longer confided in me as she once had, when I had so willingly given my life to her care. Fern always said that Seed had the blessing of thirty-two mothers, but really I was the one who had truly embraced that role, who had picked Seed up each time she fell, sung her to sleep when the night fears crept in. The realisation that she no longer needed me had been a long time coming, but standing there in the clammy heat of the laundry room, hearing all this from Robyn instead of Seed – well, I’d never felt loneliness quite like it.

  ‘Why didn’t you say anything?’ I asked Robyn. ‘Why all the secrecy?’

  ‘Seed told me it was best not to. She didn’t think you’d approve,’ Robyn said, apologetically. ‘Listen, Seed, I’m so grateful for everything you’ve done for me, for all you’ve been able to tell me about Susan,’ she went on, ‘but I’ve explained to you, it’s time for me to leave now. If it’s true that you really don’t know the identity of my father, there’s nothing more for me here. I need to get back to my own family and forget about chasing the past.’

  What would Fern make of this – or Regine – if they knew that Susan’s daughter had returned to us, to find out her truth? I didn’t know whether to be glad she was leaving, or curious, or afraid …

  ‘Robyn,’ I said, ‘I hope you won’t make trouble for us, now you know about your mother. I hope we will be allowed to continue in peace?’

  She nodded briskly and moved to pick up her bag, but Seed held on to her sleeve, not letting her go, and I felt the atmosphere in the basement room tilt. Suddenly it felt as though everything was at risk, for if Susan was Robyn’s mother, then Seed—

  ‘I have to tell her, Bramble!’ Seed cried out, firing a terrified glance in my direction.

  All I could do was stand on and watch.

  Her voice shook as she spoke, and she hung on to that girl’s sleeve as though her life depended on it. ‘I’m not what I seem,’ she began. ‘I’ve been lying to you – to everyone for that matter – and I can’t do it any more. Bramble,’ she whispered low, turning to me, ‘I have to tell her! I have to tell Robyn the truth!’

  ‘What truth?’ Robyn demanded, snatching her arm away. ‘Tell me what truth, Seed?’

  ‘That I’m not just some woman who took pity on you. That I haven’t been selflessly helping you find out about Susan. I’m a liar! And I’m a fraud, Robyn! I’m your – your …’ But here she ran out of words, never before having uttered them to a living soul, never having let them take on life.

  In a wave of understanding, I knew this was my moment; this was my chance to support Seed, to demonstrate my unconditional love and support of her, and I stepped forward to speak. ‘Robyn,’ I said, drawing on some unknown strength. ‘Seed was not born a woman, not in the sense that you will understand.’

  A stunned silence ballooned in the steamy air between us, and I felt the shame pouring off Seed in waves.

  ‘Seed was born male, by conventional standards, at least. Robyn, I know this will be a shock to you, but she and Susan were very much in love when you were conceived – and I can attest that neither of them wanted to give you away.’
When the girl didn’t respond, I told her, ‘If indeed you are Susan’s daughter, then Seed is your father.’

  I’ll never forget the blank expression on Robyn’s heart-shaped face, as the implications of this truth fell into place. The truth that Seed had deceived her; the truth that Seed was her father. That Seed was a man.

  Long moments passed, as Robyn looked from me to Seed, to the bag in her hand, to the foot of the stairs and her way back home – away from this madness.

  Seed must have seen those thoughts passing over the girl’s face too, because with no warning she reached out in panic, making a grab for Robyn’s bag, trying to grapple it from her hands. ‘Please don’t go, Robyn – not yet,’ she begged. ‘Not when I’ve only just found you!’

  As though a light had come on, Robyn’s expression shifted from disbelief to confusion, before she grew suddenly hysterical. ‘You’re lying!’ she cried out. ‘No one in their right mind would string someone along like that – you’ve got to be lying, both of you!’

  Sobbing herself by this point, Seed reached for her again, to comfort her I’m sure, but Robyn scratched at her arm as she wrestled herself free, before turning to run up the stone steps with Seed in her wake.

  ‘How can I stay now?’ Robyn gasped as together they came to a halt on the top step. ‘How can I stay when you’ve deceived me like this? All those months I wrote to you, when you could have told me, could have broken it to me before I even got here. You said my father was a local man, that only Susan knew his name. But here you are, claiming he – he is you?’

  ‘Please calm down,’ Seed pleaded, bringing her hands together as though in prayer. ‘Just give me a chance. Please don’t just write me off—’

  Robyn pulled back in anger. ‘What am I meant to think, Seed? Is this just some kind of sick game to you? This is a women’s refuge, for pity’s sake. It’s not just me you’ve lied to. You’re tricking everyone. It’s not right! You know I have to tell them, don’t you? These women have to know who you really are.’

  In that moment, all I knew was we couldn’t let Robyn go, couldn’t risk the damage her revelations would wreak, and I too made to ascend the stairs, but was halted at the sight of Fern, who seemed to appear beside them from nowhere.

  ‘He-devil,’ she muttered, coming between the pair and aiming a curved finger at Seed. She pulled a bemused face, not unkind, and for a moment she looked like no more than a child. ‘What’s up with yer skin, boy?’ she asked.

  Startled and upset, Seed batted her hand away, and with a shriek Fern flinched, staggering backwards to collide with Robyn. And, in one smooth, slow-motion journey, Robyn tumbled from top step to bottom and landed at my feet with an unearthly crack.

  For long seconds, everything stood still, the only sound that of the laundry drums rumbling against the basement walls, drowning out the everyday goings-on of the house above. I thought perhaps I was dreaming, that this was some terrible nightmare, but that thought was short-lived, because the next thing I heard was the guttural cry of Seed, as she raced down, and bent, shrouded in steam, over the lifeless body of her daughter.

  ‘She took her from me once before,’ Seed groaned, her anguished face meeting mine before she turned to look back up the steps to where Fern stood on the floor above, gazing down in confusion. ‘And, like a coward, I did nothing. And now—’ Seed fell against me, slumping into my arms ‘—she’s taken her again.’

  There was nothing I could do for Seed but hold her, stroke her desolate brow, and wait for Regine to come and take Fern back to her room.

  ‘We’ll sort it out, Seed,’ I told her. ‘Trust me, my darling. We always find a way.’

  And may God strike me down for admitting it, but my enduring thought was this: our secret is safe. Seed’s secret is safe, and life will go on.

  Now, in the midnight quiet of my bedroom, I pull on my coat and shoes and look down at the two little creatures asleep on the bed, and my heart cracks a little. They didn’t ask to be born into a world so broken, and I fear for them out there, in that man’s world, with only their tiny, vulnerable mother to protect them. Is she capable? Is she up to the task? How wonderful it would be, I consider in these few seconds of clear, plain thought, to take them with me, to keep them near.

  I would have made a good mother, I think, in another life. I scoop up Beebee’s little beanie dog and place it on the bed beside my bag. She’d be lost without that, I know.

  41. CELINE

  Present day, Two Cross Farm

  A small, unconscious part of Celine knows what’s coming even before Seed starts to unwind the scarves of her turban, letting them fall away to reveal a close-cropped head, further disfigured by burn scars. Seed’s expression is one of resignation, and even when Pip gasps in disbelief she doesn’t falter. With light fingers, Seed unravels her neck scarf, shrugging off her knitted poncho, so that she’s standing there in a sleeveless vest, revealing the lean, muscular neck and shoulders of a man.

  ‘It had to end eventually,’ she says, her voice low and mournful. ‘The police know, don’t they, Una? They’re coming for me?’

  There is shock all around. Una, who has been furtively messaging Aston, now stands beside the French doors, hands thrust deep in her jacket pockets, apparently lost for words.

  ‘They are,’ Celine replies, transfixed by the figure before her, who has transformed before them in the space of seconds. How could she have missed it, when now it seems so plain to see? ‘It’s just a matter of minutes. But, yes, they’re coming. Right now, they believe you killed those women, Seed, but this is your chance to put them straight. Just tell them exactly what you’ve told us: that Falmer murdered Vanessa. That Robyn’s death was a terrible accident.’

  Celine reflects on her early impressions of Seed, when she’d first seen her standing, graceful and commanding, on that podium outside the gates of Two Cross Farm. She was lean and elegant, tall for a woman, sure, and perhaps not conventionally ‘feminine’, but Celine hadn’t suspected this at all. She’d seen what she wanted to see: a confident leader, a fearless protector of women. And really, is that not what Seed is? If what she says is true, Seed fought almost to the death to save Vanessa, and Celine has witnessed herself the lengths to which she has gone to maintain the sanctity of this community, to keep these women sheltered as she, and Fern before her, had vowed to. Does she see herself as female or male? Does it matter? Watching her sitting there in the firelight, stripped of her turban and scarves, Celine feels profound compassion towards Seed the human being.

  She glances at Una, who gives a small jerk of her head to suggest they ought to leave. But Celine’s not ready.

  ‘Seed, how did you convince all these women that you were one of them, for so many years?’ Celine is embarrassed by her question the moment it is out, but it needs asking. It’s what everyone in this room wants to know; what the police will want to know.

  Seed smiles gently, making it easy on her. ‘I’d been raised taking care to cover my differences, since the youngest age, and I find people don’t stare too long when your face is damaged in the way mine is.’

  It’s true, Celine thinks. She was conscious of it herself on that first visit, of wanting to look more closely at Seed, but fearing she might seem rude.

  ‘And in the early years,’ Seed continued, ‘my life never felt like deception. I was raised in an all-women community. It was all I’d ever known.’ She hesitates a moment, glancing at the hallway door, perhaps wondering how the older woman, Bramble, will feel about these revelations. ‘I didn’t meet a single man until I was seventeen years old, when I started helping with the market business in town. I’d been raised as a female, I was in all but my obvious differences a female, and for a large part of my childhood I never had much cause to question it. In all my forty-three years, with the exception of Vanessa, only the Founding Sisters ever knew the full truth, although I am sure there have been a few who suspected there was something unusual about me.’ She pauses a moment, her gaze falling on Pip
, who is now rising to her feet at Una’s subtle prompting. Seed gestures towards her facial scars. ‘I was fourteen when I had my – my “accident”. My skin was damaged so badly that when I reached puberty I never grew facial hair the way a normal man would. Kathy, our doctor, and Fern, both came to the conclusion that my instability at that time was due to my “differences”, to a “biological glitch” they said they could help me with. They started me on some conventional medication, which Kathy had somehow managed to obtain, and for a while I took it. Long enough to start developing some female characteristics and to arrest the deepening of my voice.’

  ‘They gave you hormones?’ I ask, astounded at the recklessness of these women.

  ‘Yes, but I soon began to doubt it was good for me, and I stopped taking the medication.’ Seed pauses again, looking at each of them in turn, clearly wanting them to understand who she really is, how she’d arrived here, through no design of her own.

  Una moves closer, and leans against the arm of the sofa. ‘How could they do that to a child?’

  ‘They thought they were doing the right thing,’ Seed says, ‘I do believe that. And they thought it was the medication that had levelled me out and made me happy again, but really it was Susan who’d changed everything for the better, once we’d been allowed to share a room.’ She lowers her eyes, and it is painful to witness the shame she clearly feels.

  ‘But wasn’t she much older than you?’ Celine asks.

  ‘She was, but it didn’t matter to us. Susan was hardly more than a child herself when she came here, and so I was her first love too. Initially it really was just friendship, but over time our relationship developed into something more – by the time she fell pregnant I was eighteen, and she was thirty-five.’

  There is a pause as they take in the huge implications of Seed’s admission: Robyn really was her daughter.