‘Now, there’s a question.’ Victoria scooped back her wavy locks. ‘Yes.’
‘So you thought you could do a better job?’ Olivia’s eyebrows knitted together.
Victoria laughed. ‘No. I never thought that. I thought they should.’
Olivia scanned the pub door. ‘The boys will be out in a minute, and I want to get this straight in my head.’ She uncrossed her legs, stretched them and rotated her ankles. ‘You and Seth didn’t bond, his main carer left early on in his life, and he’s had an interruption of care every few months since he can remember. That’s right, isn’t it?’
Victoria assumed a head in hand pose; that way she avoided Olivia’s stony expression, and took the weight off her neck, as its sinews and muscles strained under the stress of the inquisition. ‘Yes,’ she mumbled. ‘That’s right. Can we just agree I’m a terrible mother and move on?’
‘We could, but it wouldn’t help. Let me think for a moment.’
Victoria sat upright. What was there to think about? She was about to speak when her dad and son emerged from the pub.
‘Want to see the specials board, ladies?’ Frank called.
Both shook their heads. The topic of conversation had eaten away at Victoria’s appetite. ‘Just a lemonade please, Dad.’
‘Cod and chips.’ Olivia smiled as she looked up and waved the boys back into the pub. ‘They’ll only be a minute, so I’ll be quick. When I was teaching I had a child not dissimilar to Seth. He was adopted, been through the care system, fostered. He was troubled. He attached to strangers far too easily, and was violent towards his parents.’
‘But Seth’s mine. I most definitely gave birth to him.’ Victoria leaned back a little. ‘How is this relevant?’
Olivia gestured for Victoria to keep silent. ‘I’m no expert, but it’s possible Seth has a condition known as child attachment disorder.’
‘He has a disorder? It has a name?’
‘Google it. Find some forums with people who have first-hand experience.’
The conversation ceased as the pub door swung open and Seth, followed by Frank balancing a tray of drinks in one hand, trotted to the table.
Victoria returned to her head in hands pose, trying to absorb the last few minutes. Child attachment disorder? As soon as she had a quiet half hour, she’d research it. If there was something in there that would help her connect with Seth, she’d give it a go. She looked up, and mouthed thank you to Olivia.
Frank directed Seth to Victoria. ‘Sit next to your mum, then.’
Victoria saw her son push against her father’s hand.
‘Well, at the very least, pass her this drink, please?’ Frank attempted to hand Seth the glass of lemonade.
‘Dad. Don’t.’
‘See,’ said Seth, with an air of triumph. ‘She doesn’t want me to.’
‘That’s not what I said. I’d love you to sit next to me.’ Victoria opened her arms out in welcome.
‘Fibber.’ Seth knocked the glass from Frank’s hand and shoved hard at the table. It didn’t move. He slapped his tiny hands down and screamed. ‘I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to sit next to her and I don’t want to pass no sodding drink. It’s all crap. She’s crap and I hate her.’ He dodged Frank’s grip and ran a few yards down the beach, scattering shingle in all directions. ‘I hate it here and it’s her fault.’ He pointed a quivering finger at Victoria. ‘I wish she was dead.’ He whirled round and ran.
Victoria left her seat like an ejected pilot, lost her footing on the loose pebbles, fell and cracked her knee on the bench. She winced with the pain, but had no time to attend to the injury. She scrabbled to her feet and hobbled after her son. ‘Seth! Come back!’ It was a pointless attempt to stop him in his tracks. She knew he would keep going. He wanted to be as far away from her as possible. He was fast, and the distance between them was growing, and nothing Victoria did seemed to close the gap.
That summed up their entire relationship.
With the beach coming to a natural end at the foot of a large cliff, and with darts of pain firing along the length of her leg, Victoria slowed down. Seth had nowhere to go, unless he took a swim, and that wasn’t going to happen. It wasn’t until he came to a halt at the foot of the imposing cliff that he bothered to see who was after him. Victoria bent over, rubbed her leg, and used the time to catch her breath. No need to run now. He wasn’t going anywhere.
When she looked up, Seth was disappearing through a cluster of hedges to the left of the rocks. He shot off like a greased weasel.
‘God damn it!’ Victoria signalled to her father that she was going on, hoping he’d refrain from phoning the police. She’d deal with this. Seth wasn’t missing and he was not a runaway. He was just a boy with a problem. A problem Victoria didn’t yet understand.
Running in the cold wind with tears in her eyes hurt more than the pocket explosions in her knee. She mopped her face with her sleeve.
As she reached the foot of the grassy slope, she recognised where the hedge backed onto. It was a way in to Hope Cove Castle. She had no idea if the property was occupied, but at least Seth would be safe within the grounds.
She clambered up the slippery incline and searched for the opening. It wasn’t meant for public access. It was a breach in the hedgerow Chris had found in his youth. Victoria had been through it once.
‘Where are you?’ Think. Seth appeared to have gone through the middle, but with her vision distorted by wind and water, Victoria wasn’t sure. ‘Seth!’ She shifted further along the hedgerow, pulling apart spiky sections of privet.
As she rammed her hands into another part of the hedge, she felt it give.
Chapter Seven
‘Did you hear that?’ Chris strained to see into the darkening forest, and then looked at Rick, who pulled a what face. ‘I thought I heard someone call.’ With Rick unperturbed by the shout, Chris carried on. ‘I can’t believe we got lost.’
‘You got lost,’ Rick mumbled.
‘Okay. In my defence, it was a lifetime ago I was last here. Things have changed.’ He brushed his hand against a fern. ‘Plants have grown. A lot. I like it.’
‘Yeah. It’s all right.’
Chris smiled. He didn’t mind that Rick had retreated to his word comfort zone; he’d had more from him on this trek than he’d heard in two years. His concerns from yesterday had vanished, and he was confident the move to England was what he and his son needed.
‘It’s funny to think I was your age when I first came here,’ Chris said. ‘I’d practise for hours on my bike. Jumps, turns, skidding stops. Then I’d go home and show my dad.’ He pointed to his left and then headed in that direction. ‘I’d spent years trying to make him proud of me, make him happy, and finally I’d found something that worked. I hadn’t realised it wasn’t me who’d made him sad. Of course, I understand now. He’d been lost in grief for my mum. Do you remember I told you she died when I was eight? Pneumonia. I can still hear her struggling to breathe.’
Chris looked at Rick, suddenly aware of the delicate turn the conversation had taken. ‘Oh, man. I’m sorry. It’s too much. Do you want me to stop?’ Receiving a muted no, Chris took in a lungful of air, and moved the story on. ‘My dad swore he’d never love again, and he didn’t. He never got over losing her.’
A silence followed as pictures of Lacey flooded Chris’s mind, so real he could smell her fresh, meadow scent, feel the silk of her dress against his arm, and hear her whispered words of devotion. It hurt.
That same pain had destroyed his father and left Chris fighting for his affection.
He couldn’t let that happen with Rick. Wouldn’t.
‘Will you ever get over Mom and Todd?’
Never, Chris wanted to shout, but the uncertainty and pain in Rick’s voice choked him. Instead, he grabbed Rick’s arm and yanked him i
nto a close bear hug. It had been a long time coming. His tall, lanky teenage son was so small in his arms. So fragile. Like Lacey. ‘Never,’ Chris finally said. ‘And I don’t want to. It’s hard, but we’ll be all right. As long as we’re here for each other, we’ll get through.’
After a few seconds, Rick pulled away and wiped his hand across his face. ‘How did you end up in America?’
For the first time in two years, Chris had made a proper connection with his son. It didn’t matter that within a blink of a teary eye it was gone, it was progress, and more than he could have ever wished for so soon after landing in England. He took a deep breath, the damp autumnal air once more returning him to his youth. ‘It was your granddad’s idea to try Hollywood. Have I not told you that before?’
The blank expression on Rick’s wet face indicated not.
‘Yeah. I was nineteen when he suggested I apply for summer work in the US. He said I could spend my spare time checking out film studios and acting courses, and maybe swap my university course for something in that field. Did I mention I was on a gap year?’
Rick shook his head.
‘I was all set to go to Keele, that’s in this country, but Dad was so insistent I make a career out of my bike skills, and America was the place to make it big, I got on board.’ It was another time in Chris’s life he recalled with twenty-twenty vision. ‘He even said a good-looking lad like me should have no trouble lining up acting jobs.’ Chris smiled. It wasn’t often he received compliments from his father. ‘Anyway, I looked into the holiday work, filled out some forms, had an interview with a very snooty woman, and attended something they called orientation.’
‘Where were you going? Kennedy Space Center?’
Chris had Rick’s full attention.
‘Ha! Not quite. I’d applied to do some odd job work at a small film studio, and they accepted me, promising they’d help me with acting classes. They even said if things worked out, they’d sponsor my university course. It was unbelievable.’
Rick was nodding. ‘You must have been, like, so excited.’
‘Oh, yeah. It was a big deal.’
‘And you went? Just like that? And met Mom and Tommy?’
Chris reflected for a moment. He hadn’t told Rick the whole story, about how he’d fallen in love with Vicky Paveley weeks before he was due to head out, how the thought of leaving her crippled him, how he’d decided not to go to America. He stopped short of explaining how his father pushed ahead anyway, selling his car and his shares to finance the trip, how it was presented as a fait accompli, with no turning back.
And there was no way Chris was going to share private details with his son about his last night with Vicky, when they’d walked barefoot across the pebbles of Chesil, pressed up against the defences, and stolen kisses from one another. They’d made love, there and then. In the sea. It was their first and last time together.
That was not a story to share with Rick.
‘Yeah. I went. Just like that.’ Chris’s heart pumped guilt through his veins. Why, at that moment, had his mind undressed Vicky and planted her on that beach? The beach he was about to show his son. ‘I think we should head back,’ he said. ‘Tommy will have sorted something to eat. We’ll find the trail tomorrow.’ Desperate to move away from the area, he took several large strides in the direction from which they’d come. He assumed Rick was following, but when he checked over his shoulder, there was nothing but a wintry jungle. ‘Rick?’ he called. ‘Are you coming?’ He strained to hear the reply.
‘Later.’
Much to the relief of his pride, Chris found his way home without trouble, memorising the route for the next attempt at finding the hidden entrance. As he left the cover of the wood, the cold wind bit into him, carrying the sound of men’s voices on its icy tail.
Chris walked around the side of the castle onto the front drive, where two large container lorries were now stationed. A stream of workers clad in black boots and orange aprons, scurried back and forth, filling Chris’s new home with his old things.
‘Mr Frampton. What a pleasure to meet you. I’m a huge fan of your films. I’m one of your flock on EweSpeak.’ The man, wearing brown overalls, a flat cap, and fingerless gloves, approached Chris, hand extended.
Chris gave it a firm shake. ‘Thanks. You’re the foreman?’
The man waved his clipboard. ‘I am. And may I say how very sorry I am about the loss of your family. I can’t imagine what you must have gone through. How is your son?’
‘He’s fine, thanks.’ The foreman meant well, but Chris was in no mood for social chit-chat, and he certainly wasn’t about to discuss Rick. ‘Are you done here?’
The man sucked air through his teeth. ‘We’ll be another couple of hours yet, Mr Frampton. We’ve finished upstairs, and we’ve made a start on the kitchen. Oh, and your office is almost sorted. Mr Stone took care of it.’
Chris didn’t wait to hear more. He ran towards the entrance, gravel exploding from under his feet, squeezed past the wall unit in the hallway, and headed for the office. If his box was already there, he needed to safeguard it.
He burst into the room. Tommy was hunched over the large leather-inset desk. There was no sign of the cardboard container.
‘You all right, mate?’ Chris edged closer to Tommy. Something was wrong. It was rare to find his friend still. ‘Hard day?’
Tommy pushed himself upright. ‘Unbelievable.’
Even with the distance of the room between them, Chris could see the tension in Tommy’s jaw. Something was most definitely wrong. Chris’s stomach lurched. Where was that box? He scanned the area once more.
‘Looking for something?’ Tommy bent below the level of the desk. A second later, his head appeared, followed by his hands, presenting the innocuous brown box. Its open flaps increased its height by another foot. He dropped it onto the green leather. ‘This, perhaps?’
‘There it is.’ Chris forced a smile and kept his tone casual. ‘You’re unpacking?’
‘Thought I’d make a start.’
‘Well, I’ll sort that one.’ Chris moved closer to his target and reached out. Tommy shoved it towards him. Chris peered inside. The files were in disarray. Was that the result of the journey, or had Tommy nosed through them? He picked up the top sheet. It was Lacey’s treatment record. That answered his question. As did the hate in Tommy’s eyes. ‘You read this?’
Tommy nodded. ‘It took me a moment to make sense of it, but I’ve got it now.’ He slammed his fist against the desk. ‘You’ve kept this from me all this time. That letter goes back seventeen years.’ He snatched the report from Chris’s hands. ‘HIV?’
‘Keep your voice down.’ Chris knocked the tabs on the box closed, and stabbed at the ‘Private’ sign. ‘What the hell were you doing opening it?’
‘Is that the best you can do?’ Tommy shook his head and sniffed. ‘Unbelievable. Fucking unbelievable. I loved Lacey.’ He paused. ‘She was my friend.’
‘She was my wife!’
Silence.
Tommy sneered. ‘I deserved to know.’
Chris raised a clenched fist, storing his ferocity within. ‘Why? Scared you’d have caught something?’
Tommy laughed, threw the papers towards the box and stepped out from behind the desk. He made a beeline for the door. ‘I can’t believe you kept it from me.’
Chris raced across the room. ‘It was private. Lacey didn’t want anyone to know. We paid a lot of money to keep it that way. Can you imagine the fallout if it had been made public?’ He saw Tommy’s head dip.
‘So, you didn’t trust me. That’s what it boils down to.’ Tommy looked up. ‘I’m the boys’ godfather. When Lacey was laid up from her Caesarean, I took my turn at night feeds and nappy changes. To this day I remember how to make up formula. I used to think, I’ll be doing that for my boy, soon
. But it never happened, because I devoted myself to looking after you and your sodding career. I was so relieved when Lacey quit the porn scene. I worried about her. I knew there were unscrupulous directors out there. I knew there were careless actors. Is that how it happened? Was she infected by a careless actor?’
Everything Tommy said was true. Chris had no comeback. He gave a small nod and retreated behind his desk. ‘I couldn’t tell you. It wasn’t my decision.’ He clasped the cardboard box to him, finding comfort in the act. ‘This will remain between us, won’t it?’
‘Don’t count on it.’
Chris strained against every sinew in his body to resist unleashing his fury. ‘This stuff is private. It has nothing to do with you.’ He was close to lashing out, but the moment was diffused by the arrival of a removal man carrying a leather executive’s chair.
‘In here, Guv?’
‘Yes. That’s fine.’ Chris tracked the man as he left. He turned to Tommy. ‘You have no right.’
‘Does Rick know?’
Chris snorted. ‘Of course not. And for now that’s how it’s going to stay. He’s got enough to deal with.’
Tommy’s brow lifted. ‘He deserves to know. You should tell him. Like you should have told me.’
With that he left, slamming shut the door.
It took a few minutes before Victoria’s eyes adjusted to the gloom and density of Hope Cove grounds. She’d been here when she was eighteen. Chris had shown her, the day before he left for Hollywood.
‘Snap out of it,’ she said, aware her mind was travelling down a dead end.
Seth hadn’t replied to her calls. It was his way of punishing her. For everything. ‘Where are you?’ There was little chance he was hiding in the undergrowth. He was a runner – his purpose was to get away from Victoria, as far as possible. It was an interesting thought when paired with her next; that she had been the one who put the distance between them.
She arrived at a small glade, and examined it for evidence of Seth’s journey. There was nothing other than a sense of familiarity. If she was right, there was a great oak nearby. It would be enormous now. She continued on her course until the tree loomed into view. Its top was lost – out of sight, towering over everything else in the grounds.
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