by Rosie Howard
‘She was.’ Flora had been there, being her usual ebullient self, Maddy remembered fondly. Everyone would always remember when Flora had been there, she thought.
‘I saw him do it, actually,’ said Freddie.
‘Who? What?’ said Maddy, returning from her recollections. ‘Saw who?’
‘That Kevin bloke. Filling up your glass under the table he was, wasn’t he? That’s when he did it.’
‘Did what?’ said Maddy, trying to keep calm. Not wanting to prompt – what was it they said in those crime dramas? One mustn’t ‘lead the witness’. She waited, poised.
‘When he spiked your drink,’ said Freddie, hanging his head. ‘It was an acid tab; he held it in the drink under the table and then dropped it on the ground. I saw him. People the next day were talking about it. It was common knowledge – or at least rumour. I thought loads of people must have seen, not just me, but now I realise … I’m sorry.’
‘Why?’
‘I dunno. I didn’t do anything. I’m really, really sorry …’ Freddie brushed his eyes with the back of his hand.
Maddy was surprised at how calm she felt. ‘You’re not to blame,’ she managed to say. She reached out and put her hand on Freddie’s arm. ‘It’s not your fault.’
‘But it was so awful,’ he muttered. ‘When I heard you were so badly injured, I thought it must be to do with it. But then I thought you knew by then. Pretty much everyone knew. It seemed like it wasn’t for me to tell.’
Maddy shook her head. ‘I didn’t know,’ she said truthfully. ‘But it wasn’t for you to tell. You – are – not – responsible,’ she insisted. Although the truth of the matter was, his eyewitness testimony would have made all the difference in the world, but it was surely too late now. And anyhow, what was done was done. What mattered to her more now was her missing memories and her horror of what they might be. Freddie couldn’t help her with that.
‘Look,’ she said, gathering herself together, ‘never mind all this for now. I really appreciate your telling me but I need to get these proofs signed off.’ She shuffled the pages together and stood up. ‘I think I might just pop to the trattoria to check them through.’
In the trattoria at the bottom of the high street there was a warm, comforting fug of Italian coffee and breakfast. Maddy contemplated food but her churning stomach persuaded her otherwise. She settled for a latte and drank it slowly as she meticulously and methodically checked through every inch of the proof pages. Reading backwards as well as forwards to stop her brain automatically filling in what should be there, rather than what was there – she had learnt that trick from an old hand years ago – she spotted and ringed a couple of missed capital letters and crossed out an unwanted comma. Other than that, they were pretty near perfect. She leant back in her chair and swigged her milky coffee. She signed the bottom of the last sheet and breathed a sigh of relief. If they went to print today, they should have them just in time.
Draining her mug she got ready to leave, stacking the money for her coffee neatly next to her empty cup.
‘Ciao, bella,’ shouted Chris, the owner, as she went. She grinned and waved, acknowledging their little in-joke. He said it to the tourists, who loved it because it made him sound authentic, and to Maddy because she knew he was born and bred in Scunthorpe and was no more Italian than Winston Churchill.
She had missed all these funny little interactions, she realised sadly. Leaving when she did, and for the reason she did, was like ripping a plant out of the ground before it had had the chance to flower. She had trashed her degree and dipped out of her friendships … just because she had been shafted by a single person who was clearly an irredeemable shite.
Dropping off the proofs she paused on the pavement to gather her thoughts. Gazing up the street, she saw two familiar figures, standing talking at the top of the hill. Dennis and Ben were unmistakable and made a comic pair, with Ben so tall and broad standing next to Dennis, with his short stature and bald head. The third figure was less familiar but was surely Jonno from the nightclub on the quay? She peered at the threesome and wondered what they were doing. She was dying to offload her confusion and distress at what Freddie had said. She wanted a hug and to be helped to make sense of it all. As she set off up the hill, Ben broke away from the group and started to walk towards her. She was just about to raise her arm in greeting – they were too far away to call out – when Ben stopped abruptly, turned and headed back up the hill. Maddy watched in confusion as he briefly acknowledged the other two men again and then turned left, out of Maddy’s sight.
Fine, she thought, surprised at her lurch of disappointment.
The only other person she could turn to in distress was her mother and – while she was about it – she remembered they had another pressing matter to discuss.
Helen was just coming out of the flat with a bag of rubbish as Maddy arrived at the Havenbury Arms.
‘Hello, darling,’ she said warily, the bag drooping from her fingers.
‘Mum.’
They stood, looking at each other for long seconds.
‘Let’s get out of here,’ said Maddy suddenly, rummaging for her car keys. ‘I need to … I dunno … walk.’
‘Okay.’ Helen crammed the rubbish bag into the dustbin and dusted off her hands. ‘Let’s go.’
Neither of them spoke as Maddy negotiated the narrow one-way streets that took them out of the top of town, past the castle ruins and into the Sussex countryside. She swung the car into the little car park at the edge of the woods. There were two footpaths: one downhill, into the forest towards the pond and one climbing steeply along the edge of the ploughed fields to the top of the Down.
With a look they made a silent agreement and headed for the hill climb. The sky was high and blue, with frost still riming the ground in the shadows and the thin winter sun catching the dew on the cobwebs in the hedgerows.
They were soon puffing clouds of condensation – Maddy more so than Helen – making her realise how unfit her broken leg had made her. She stole glances at her mother as they climbed, side by side. Her body was still youthful and firm, honed by years of Pilates and yoga but, in the bright winter sunlight, the thin wires of silver in her hair gleamed and the crow’s feet tracing across her face tracked right across her cheeks to her temples, the stark generational gap sweeping away the sisterly resemblance that could be seen in softer light. For twenty-five years Maddy had been looking at her mother’s face and now, for the first time, she felt like she didn’t know her at all.
There was a wooden bench at the top of the hill, a reward for walkers prepared to make the climb. They sat, side by side, with three feet of space between them, and gazed down into the valley below. There was Havenbury Magna, its busy, chattering streets reduced to a toytown model. The mist still hovered in the valley below them, blurring the edges of the town and lying thickly over the river as it snaked its way past the bottom of the town and continued, across the coastal plain, like a sinuous, silver ribbon, all the way to the sea.
Maddy took a deep, sighing breath. She glanced at her mother and then looked straight ahead.
‘Do you hate me?’ said Helen at last.
‘No,’ said Maddy automatically. ‘Nooo!’ she said again, with anguish. ‘Of course I don’t.’
Suddenly, she felt like she was four years old again. All the security, warmth and certainty that her mother had created for her felt fragile, and – even at twenty-five – she was cold without it.
‘I need to understand,’ Maddy said, her chin quivering and her voice wobbling hopelessly.
‘Come here,’ said Helen, shifting to close the gap and wrapping her arm around her daughter’s shoulders. She opened her coat and wrapped it around Maddy as far as it would go, enclosing them both tightly.
‘I remember when I could scoop you up and hug you on my knee,’ she said, with a sad smile. ‘I used to hold you here, inside my coat, and rest my chin on the top of your head. It feels like yesterday. And I still want to do it, y
ou know,’ she said, turning to look at her. ‘I still wish I could wrap you up and keep you safe.’ She dropped a tender kiss on her daughter’s cheek, kissing away the tear that was tracking its way down her face.
Maddy, desperately trying to suppress her tears, gave a little involuntary hic, making Helen hug her even closer.
‘You lied,’ she said.
‘I did,’ Helen admitted. ‘I’m so sorry … but everything I did and said,’ she went on, gazing out over the countryside laid before her, ‘every decision, every mistake, every muddle and compromise we all get into when we try to be good parents … it was all with love and good intentions. I just want you to know that.’ She turned to look at Maddy again. ‘Alright?’
Maddy nodded frantically and gave another little hic, not trusting herself to speak.
‘When I left, and then, when I realised I had you,’ she went on, ‘my own feelings stopped being important. What I wanted for myself stopped being important. All I knew was that I had to protect you and care for you.’ Helen squeezed her again. ‘I found a job, found our tiny little house and created a safe space. You were all I thought about, cared about, for years,’ she said.
‘You were a great mum,’ hiccuped Maddy. ‘You are a great mum,’ she added, her shoulders heaving.
‘Not what you were saying when you were a teenager,’ joked Helen.
‘No … sorry about that.’ She steeled herself. ‘Was there anyone else, just after you left Patrick?’ she asked, hardly daring to hear the answer.
‘God no,’ said Helen. ‘I was in no state.’
‘And the motorbike man?’
‘Not true, I admit. Although there was such a man. His name was Mike and he was lovely – a friend of Patrick’s. He really was killed, leaving two young boys and his wife a widow. It was just before I left and we were all so shocked … The first time I really grasped that life could end in a heartbeat. An end to innocence, really … When you asked me, after all those years, it was the first thing that popped into my head. I’m so sorry.’
‘So,’ Maddy took a deep, shuddering breath, ‘Patrick is my father?’
‘Of course!’ said Helen. ‘Of course he is … and – listen – you want to know why I didn’t tell him, involve him in your childhood … why I lied when you came here to college? Of course you want to know, and all I can say is this: when I thought about Patrick, I didn’t think about his rights as a father, or how he might be hurt if I didn’t tell him. I just thought about how he had cast me off, causing me so much pain, and how I didn’t – ever – want you to experience that rejection for yourself, from your own father. I couldn’t risk it. Wouldn’t.’
A deep peace filled Maddy, closely followed by a fresh wave of snotty, hiccupy tears. ‘It’s just that you never told him … us …’ she spluttered, or at least that was what was meant to come out but she was crying so hard, it was more of a wail. Luckily, Helen understood the language of ‘wail’ quite well.
‘I have told him now,’ said Helen calmly. ‘Patrick and I have been having a good talk. Twenty-five years overdue, mind.’
‘Why didn’t you tell him I was his when I came here to study?’
‘He didn’t ask,’ said Helen simply. ‘I waited, I wondered if he would, but he didn’t ask. Mind you, I understand that better now too.’ She sighed. ‘It’s all been a bit of a balls-up really,’ she added, stroking her daughter’s hair. ‘But we are where we are,’ she said. ‘It is what it is.’
‘Will you and Patrick stay together now?’ She couldn’t quite make herself call him ‘Dad’. Not just yet.
‘I hope so. I really think it might work. He’s changed. I’ve changed. The love is still there. It never went; there were just too many things in the way.’
‘What about the house? Your job?’
‘Oh, I’ve resigned,’ said Helen in surprise. ‘Did I not say?’
‘Erm, no, actually. What about the mortgage and all that?’
‘Paid off last year. Funny how taking it out was so huge – such a stretch – it seems a tiny amount nowadays …’ Helen mused. ‘Anyway, point is, I’ve been quietly paying it off for twenty-five years and now, here we are! I got the house valued a few months ago. Unbelievable, really, what it’s ended up being worth. Of course, if Patrick and I stay here I can rent it out, generate a bit of income. Or I could always sell it, of course …’
‘Did he talk about marriage?’
‘Actually no. Why?’
‘Well,’ said Maddy, ‘he said to me he wouldn’t ask you if he lost the pub. He seemed pretty determined,’ she added, remembering how vehement he was.
‘He’s a stubborn man,’ said Helen, unmoved. ‘We’ll see.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Patrick was talking to a tall, swarthy man who towered over him, partly because Patrick was slumped into the most abject attitude of defeat Maddy had ever seen him in.
‘Who’s that?’ she whispered to Helen, who was gathering up glasses after the busy lunchtime shift.
‘Turns out the town council have backed the residential planning application,’ explained Helen. ‘That’s Zach – Lord Havenbury,’ she went on. ‘His family have pretty much owned Havenbury Magna since the dawn of time.’
‘We’ve lost the battle not the war, Patrick,’ Zach was saying. ‘Don’t waste your energy on the town council. We’ve got the Development Committee coming up in just a few days and that’s what counts. I’ll speak if you’d like me to?’
‘I would, Zach,’ said Patrick, with visible relief. ‘I was going to do it myself but I’m not sure I can keep my counsel.’
‘That’s decided, then,’ said Zach. ‘I’ll pop around tomorrow and go through what we can say.’
At that, he turned and left, barely glancing at Maddy.
‘There, you see,’ said Helen encouragingly. ‘We’ve lost the battle not the war, like he says, haven’t we, Maddy?’
‘Absolutely.’
‘Come upstairs and have a cup of tea?’
‘Can’t, Mum,’ she said regretfully. ‘The Bespoke Consortium meeting’s tomorrow night. We’ve got lots to discuss and I’ve promised Serena a few figures and things.’
The brochures were looking beautiful, Maddy was relieved to see when she collected them the following morning. She thought they would do a great job – as long as they could get them out in time.
It took a few hours for her to prepare the figures Serena had wanted, along with a brief PowerPoint presentation. They needed to know that the financial situation was parlous and good Christmas sales were absolutely critical if the Consortium was going to avoid failing before it even got going.
Once they were done, Maddy had a really hot shower to warm herself up and put on as many layers as she could, finishing off with her trusty walking boots. Looking in the mirror, she barely thought make-up was worth the bother. Foundation just seemed to emphasise her grey, lifeless skin with such huge dark circles under her eyes she looked like a panda. Lipstick looked like she was trying too hard, so she wiped it off again, and blusher made her look like a clown. Sighing, she decided she would just have to go au naturel.
Because she knew she would be out all evening Maddy hadn’t bothered to light the little woodburning stove, so the Grainstore was chilly and she knew she would be grateful for the blankets Serena had used to decorate the little apartment. For the last few days she had been using them as extra covers on the bed, not that they had helped her to sleep. Actually getting to sleep wasn’t the problem, but continually waking with the familiar nightmare had made her form a habit of getting up and drinking tea on the sofa wrapped in blankets so she could watch the dawn gradually lighting the landscape.
She would miss the view.
The thought of leaving and returning to London routinely brought tears to her eyes during her dawn vigils. She hadn’t shared her thoughts – or Simon’s offer – with Serena or anyone else yet but – increasingly – the thought of being able to sleep without terrors, and to go about h
er daily business without anxiety about bumping into Kevin and his cronies, had made the bleak decision of returning to London feel like a form of relief.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Serena and Giles’s kitchen was – as always – filled with warmth, light, colour and noise, and Flora was doling out cups of tea from Serena’s huge brown teapot.
‘Here’s yours, Zach,’ she said, kittenishly, handing him a mug where everyone else had to make do with a little teacup.
He thanked her briefly and then made his way over to Maddy.
‘You’re Maddy,’ he said, holding out a large, tanned hand to shake. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t say “hello” properly yesterday. I gather it’s you and Serena who have cooked up this escapade together. I’m looking forward to hearing more.’
‘And Flora too,’ said Maddy. ‘I’m glad you’re here – erm – my lord.’
‘Call him Zach, for God’s sake,’ Serena said. ‘We don’t want him getting too big for his boots,’ she added, rubbing his upper arm in a familiar manner. ‘How are things up at the Manor?’
‘Oh God, parlous as ever,’ he replied. ‘Dodgy gutters, leaky roofs … Looks like this conference company we’re talking to will actually go ahead and sign a lease on the place, so then we’ll have some money at last. Fingers crossed.’
‘What about work?’
‘I’ve got some good commissions … an amazing one to create a pair of gates, twelve feet high … I just need a bit more time to do them. The trustees seem to be on a mission to get me in a suit and into boring meetings all the time.’
Serena turned to Maddy. ‘Zach’s the most amazing artist blacksmith,’ she explained. ‘He made those beautiful wrought-iron coat hooks in our boot room, and I wondered if we might want him to do a range for the Bespoke Consortium.’