They said an unemotional goodbye, like casual friends. Kate drove off without a backward glance and Morgan began a despondent trek back to the bungalow.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Melody closed the lid of the laptop with a satisfied click and called out to Reece. She could see him through the open door of his study, sitting at his desk but not, apparently, actually doing anything.
‘We’re full, right up until the middle of October. I’ve taken the last booking for Willow, the week that couple cancelled because he’s having a heart valve replaced. That’s good, isn’t it?’
Reece stared back at Melody, across the hall that separated the study from the living room. He seemed surprised to see her there, although she was exactly where he’d left her an hour ago, sitting in the upright armchair with the laptop, and her books and pens on the side table.
‘Yes, I suppose so, if it’ll give him a few more years.’
‘Not the heart valve, the bookings. Honestly, Reece, sometimes I might not be here at all, for all the notice you take.’
That wasn’t fair; Melody tempered her sharpness with an indulgent smile and a lifting of her eyes. Not that Reece was watching. He’d already half turned away from her, taking up his pen but not attempting to mark any of the exam scripts piled in front of him.
Melody sighed, out of mild exasperation, nothing more. Their moods never tallied now. They were like the couple in the weather house – one out and one in, all the time. Was that how all marriages became, or was theirs different because of the tragedy? They never socialised these days, didn’t mix with couples of a similar age – all that had fallen by the wayside once they’d become awkward, and reluctant, company – which meant that the benchmark had been rubbed out.
It was three weeks since the anniversary – a day of which every hour was purposely filled with cleaning out the chicken coop and other outside chores, a long woodland walk, supper in a quiet pub, and a late-night TV film watched in pensive but companionable silence.
They’d decided, in the end, against doing anything special. Apart from Danni’s pale pink roses filling the silver vase on the hearth, they hadn’t marked the day at all, at least, externally. There was no memorial to visit; Danni’s ashes had been scattered in the wood adjacent to the crematorium. They hadn’t wanted plaques or carved stones, or anything to suggest that their daughter was anywhere other than here at home, where she belonged.
Oddly enough, as the anniversary approached, Melody had felt a peculiar sense of calm descend on her over Layla’s defection; peculiar, because ‘calm’ wasn’t an emotion easily conjured up where Layla was concerned. It was a relief to feel that way. Once Reece had let her have her phone back – its confiscation being a hollow gesture in the first place, since she could easily have used the landline – she’d found she didn’t need to call Layla again.
Reece was right; it may have been too upsetting for her to come here on the anniversary. Melody had no doubt that the occasion hadn’t passed Layla by, and that she’d marked it privately, in her own way. Knowing that was a comfort in itself. Perhaps they would talk about it when Layla came again. Perhaps they wouldn’t. Again, either was fine by her.
Melody wished she could explain this subtle change inside her to Reece – it wasn’t as if they didn’t talk about Danni now, albeit in a low-key, almost embarrassed sort of way, as if their daughter was a forbidden subject – but it never seemed to be the right time. Reece seemed set on closing all the gaps, as if he was perpetually plugging a leaking dam. He’d become almost frenzied about work, leaving for the university early in the morning, often without breakfast, and arriving home, exhausted. He would politely eat whatever meal Melody had made for him before retreating to the study to mark coursework and exam scripts, wrestle with timetables for the next academic year, or deal with his work emails. The end of the university year was relentless, and Reece had the extra responsibilities that came with being head of the mathematics division. Even so, surely he could let up a little once in a while? Melody thought this but didn’t say it.
Weekends were the same. If Reece wasn’t doing his university work, he’d be outside, banging nails into things, creosoting fences, or wielding ropes and a chainsaw to chop lumps off the trees that overhung the lane behind the holiday lets. Engaged in this activity, he had a manic look in his eye which prompted Melody, more than once, to urge him to be careful.
At night, when it should have been possible to re-establish a connection, he seemed anxious to be asleep as fast as possible. When she had instigated love-making the night before last, his response had cheered her. But as soon as it was over, he’d drifted back to a world that she knew nothing about.
Leaving Reece to whatever he was doing – or not doing – in the study, Melody stepped outside into the ochre sunlight. The day had been humid and oppressive. Now, infused with the scent of the roses, mingled with lavender and herbs from other parts of the garden, the air felt as refreshing as a cool bath.
She wandered along the path, past the rose garden and the beds of delphiniums, lupins and stocks. The roses – all the summer flowers – were at the height of perfection now, but their beauty didn’t end there. The fading and crinkling of petals and leaves at the end of the season brought its own kind of ravaged beauty. A little sad, but unstoppable. The natural order of things.
Melody’s thoughts moved on before she could stop them. A child dying before its parents was so against the natural order that it was a wonder the whole world didn’t implode at the sheer preposterousness of it. She had fully expected that it would, that they’d wake up one morning to nothing but smoke and devastation, and emptiness.
Oh, the guilt she felt over Danni’s death! She felt it every day, every moment, like being run through with a sword. What if they hadn’t argued that weekend Danni came home – the weekend that turned out to be the last ever? What if she hadn’t rung Danni the moment she’d got back to her student house and tried again to enforce her side – hers and Reece’s side – of the argument, only succeeding in making things worse? Would Danni have gone to that party in such a rebellious, destructive mood?
The Coroner’s inquest had been remarkably short, the verdict clear: accidental death. It had seemed too simplistic. Melody had wanted to jump up and shout that there was nothing accidental about it, and it was all her fault. But, of course, in the end she’d walked silently out of the courtroom, holding Reece’s hand. The facts had been stated and recorded; legal duty had been done. The other matter was nobody’s business but theirs, and Danni’s. Keeping her secret was the last thing they could do for their daughter.
This…thinking, this remembering of the last, heated, conversation with Danni, the aftermath of the party, and the court hearing when her death was pronounced as accidental, was new. Not the actual thoughts, but the way she was approaching them – with sorrow, yes, and her old companion, guilt, yet with composure and rationality. She wasn’t crying, either. That was a surprise. It was a year, only a year, and grief would go on forever – she had long accepted that. With this new way of thinking, however, came hope, or at least, the seeds of hope.
Melody smiled – actually smiled – and headed back towards the house. She should be with Reece. She needed him; they needed each other. She wouldn’t let him push her away.
And Layla. She was still a part of this, too. She loved that girl, not in the same way she’d loved Danni, of course, but she loved her, and she was fairly sure that Reece did, too. The three of them were united through Danni; nothing would ever destroy that. Layla would come back, when she had the time, when she was ready. However long it took, Melody could wait.
Chapter Twenty-Five
‘I don’t know why you two don’t get together and have done with it.’
Nan, in her stockinged feet, padded up to the table where Layla and Abe had their heads bent over the laptop. They were poring over fine-dining menus from exclusive New York restaurants.
‘You’ve got a point there, Mary.
We’d make beautiful children,’ Abe said, his face straight.
‘Don’t encourage her, for Pete’s sake.’ Layla nudged Abe in the ribs. ‘Your hair looks lovely, Nan. Rowan’s done a good job. I like the colour.’
Nan sniffed. ‘I look like the ginger tom next door.’
‘It’s not ginger, it’s Autumn Glow.’ Rowan came into the room, flung herself onto the sofa and started to file her nails. ‘Better than pepper-and-salt.’
‘It’s too curly. You roll it up too tight.’
‘You can always do it yourself if you don’t like it.’
‘Don’t snap at her, Row,’ Layla said.
Nan hadn’t heard. She was back in front of Tipping Point, the wispy crown of her head showing above the back of the armchair. It was a bit on the gingery side, but she wasn’t going to mention that to Rowan; her sister was as tightly strung as a tennis racquet as it was.
On the floor in front of Nan’s chair, Finn sat, steadily posting cheese-and-onion crisps into his mouth while his eyes never left the screen. Every time the counters clattered down from the ledge, he broke off from his open-mouthed crunching to make a soft little ‘Yay!’ sound.
He must miss Jeff, Layla thought. He hadn’t mentioned him, at least not in her hearing, but he must be wondering where all this was going to end. Or perhaps not. Perhaps with Finn, what you saw was what you got, and he was simply getting on with it. Whatever, he was a very special little boy. Layla felt like going over right now and giving him a hug, but he looked happy enough. Best to leave him.
The gush of running water was heard from overhead: Jadine, using Mum’s en-suite again, instead of the bathroom downstairs. She seemed to spend half her time in the shower, or the bath, which Layla put down to her semi-permanent state of being either pre-Alec or post-Alec. April, a firm believer in reincarnation, maintained that Jadine must have been a porpoise in a former life, or a stickleback. When Jadine had asked what she would come back as next time, Mum said she didn’t know but she hoped it would be something dry and quiet.
Mum was busy, roasting a leg of lamb she’d got on staff discount from the supermarket. The smell wafted deliciously from the kitchen. They had a full house tonight, which was exactly how April liked it – it had taken Layla a while to realise that. As the weeks had turned into months and Rowan showed no sign of taking her son and moving elsewhere, a kind of shaking down had taken place, with everyone settling into their allotted space like ball-bearings rattling down the holes in a pinball machine. It was hard to remember what it had been like before, with just the three of them.
After dinner, Abe and Layla took Nan home in Abe’s car. Arriving back in Warbler’s Way, Layla didn’t immediately jump out. Instead, without knowing she was going to, she described to Abe what had happened at the boathouse, and the shameful way she’d treated Morgan. The words tumbled out with barely any space between them.
‘Wow,’ Abe said. Layla frowned. ‘Wow, as in, you certainly know how to make a bloke feel good.’
‘You don’t need to tell me. I’m not exactly proud of it. But, don’t you see, I had no choice? I can’t go there again, not with Morgan, not with anyone.’
‘I wasn’t being serious. Don’t get upset.’
‘I’m not. I’m trying to explain how it is for me.’
She wished she hadn’t said anything now; she wasn’t looking for sympathy or comfort. There was nothing that Abe, or anyone else, could do or say that would make a crumb of difference to any of it. Falling in love with Harvey, obsessing over him, allowing him to possess her, body and soul, had set off a chain reaction. A chain of titanium links, solid, unbreakable, everlasting. Before Harvey, she’d known exactly who she was and what she was about. The old Layla would never have let herself be dominated by a man, certainly never let him break her loyalty to her best friend. Where was that girl now?
Layla sighed.
‘Is there something you’re not telling me about the Harvey bloke? Did he scare you, stalk you, or something? He wasn’t violent, was he?’
‘No. God, no. Nothing like that. I was crazy about him. We split up. It happens, I know that, but I don’t need that kind of disruption in my life.’
Guilt brought heat to her face. Not telling Abe the whole story – the truth – was a kind of betrayal. More damage, more fall-out. But it had to be this way, for now.
‘There’s no reason to suppose a relationship with Morgan would end the same way as it did with Harvey,’ Abe said. ‘They’re different people. You’re older and wiser.’
‘Wiser, yes. That is my point.’
A butterfly flew in through the car window on Abe’s side, a cabbage white. Abe went to bat it away.
‘No, leave it. Let it find its own way out.’
Abe raised his eyes. Layla wound the window fully on her side. The insect buffeted about on the inside of the car, its wing movements ever more frantic, until finally it found the current of air and flew out through Layla’s window. An easy escape, in the end.
She’d been an idiot to think she’d escaped from the Morlands, just because she’d detected – or totally imagined, which was more like it – a subtle change in Reece’s behaviour which may, or may not, have something to do with her. It wasn’t enough. An excuse, not a reason; nothing she couldn’t handle. She’d felt the lack of conviction in her mind even as she’d told herself she wasn’t going to Foxleigh again.
Melody – possibly Reece, too – saw her as part of the healing process. There was no magic cure, no permanent healing, but eventually Melody would find a way of going on, a way of living with the loss of her daughter. If she, Layla, was helping that along, then perhaps her strength lay in staying the course, not looking for a way out.
But what about her own life? This could take years. She hadn’t destroyed the birthday card, To a dear daughter. She’d taken it to the hotel, even stood over the shredder in the office with it in her hand, but it had seemed disrespectful. Disrespectful to that part of Melody that wished so hard to have her daughter back that she hadn’t been able to resist one last gesture of pretence.
Layla had sat at their breakfast table that morning, and not been able to utter one word of comfort, nothing that would help. She hadn’t even accepted their gift with good grace. The cheque, along with the card, was hidden in a box of old photos under her bed. Abe had said she should return it, that she had to be cruel to be kind. Now she could see he was right, only she’d left it too late.
She hadn’t been kind to Melody and Reece that day. And she hadn’t been kind to Morgan, either. Her dear, lovely Morgan. Ignoring his messages, refusing to hear the distress in their tone. How could she have treated him like that? She’d never stopped thinking about him, not for one minute. He would never know that now.
Danni’s parents and Morgan, woven together in her mind. The warp and the weft, neither existing without the other. They’d all be better off without her. It wasn’t a gloomy thought, or a sad one. It sparkled with hope. She smiled.
‘Have to get going in a minute,’ Abe said kindly. ‘When you’re ready.’
The butterfly had come back, not inside the car, but dancing crazily in front of the windscreen, a scurry of white wings. I’m free, it said. I did it.
‘I have to go,’ Layla said suddenly.
‘Me too.’
‘No, I mean, go, properly. To New York. I’m going to live in Candy’s apartment, take the job in the flash restaurant, learn how to cook the menus we were looking at. And then…and then, who knows?’
A soft breeze passed across her face from the open windows. She felt it as the butterfly had, pointing the way out. She laughed.
Abe looked at her, amused. ‘You’re really going? Really truly?’
‘Ha,’ Layla pointed a finger at his chest. ‘You didn’t think I had the bottle, did you? Shows how much you know about me.’
‘Yes I did. I just didn’t think, with everything you’ve got going on…’
‘Which is why I have to do it.’ She open
ed the car door. ‘See you tomorrow.’
Chapter Twenty-Six
‘When you said you were coming, I rang your mother to ask her to dinner, but she’s in Cambridge on a hypnotherapy course.’ Nick laughed. ‘No doubt she’ll be looking for likely candidates to practise on.’
‘Bloody hell,’ Morgan said. ‘You want to give that a wide berth.’
‘Don’t worry, I shall.’ Nick picked up a large grey pebble and threw it, with a wide, overarm swing, into the sea.
On the one hand, it was a shame not to have seen Ellie, and also that Fiona, Nick’s partner, was away visiting her sister. On the other, a peaceful few days at home in Suffolk with only his father was more in line with what he needed.
Connor had been fine about him taking time off at short notice. It was mid-week, slightly less busy than the weekend. Even so, he was grateful. He was grateful, too, that his friend hadn’t asked him any questions. Not that he wouldn’t tell him about Layla, eventually, but at that moment it was all too painfully fresh in his mind. Wimpish though it seemed, he’d just wanted to go home.
Fiona had made some changes about the house since he was last here. Nothing drastic; a little orderliness imposed and a bit of subtle smartening up. A retired solicitor, Fiona was an orderly type of person who, until she met his father, had lived alone in a pristine, pink-painted cottage in Southwold. It must have driven her crazy, moving into a house where you daren’t put anything down in case you never found it again. As she was also a sensitive woman, she had lived in this state for some while before she’d been brave enough to tackle the chaos. But knowing Nick, he probably hadn’t even noticed the changes.
One of Fiona’s attempts at order had been to take down some of Morgan’s mother’s early paintings – now carefully stored in the loft – and re-hang the rest properly. Morgan admired the way the beach scenes and seascapes now followed one another up the stairs, culminating at the top with a large, vibrant oil painting of fishing boats in a storm.
Never Coming Back: a tale of loss and new beginnings Page 17