Artifact

by Bowes, K T

It had been intended for Jayden’s mother, Hannah, but her illness had prevented her from ever moving in. Hannah herself had chosen to have it painted in dusky rose pink, with cream bedspread and curtains. She would have loved it. Even the towels in the ensuite were a matching pink, soap all ready, but unused in a floral dish that had belonged to her grandmother. Once a week, Jayden dusted and cleaned regardless and remembered all that she had lost. Hannah had helped her to pick the flat, pandering to Jayden’s need to remain invisible and unreachable, but a year later, would have struggled to find it again or even recall which city it was in. Hannah had generously released her late husband’s trust fund for his daughter, so that Jayden had already paid off the remaining mortgage within the first four years. Sadly Hannah could no longer remember her soul mate’s name anymore, least of all how he might have died.

  Jayden snapped off some basil leaves and lifted them to her nose, savouring the childhood scent. The cottage garden in the wilds of Yorkshire had been home for her and she deliberately invoked happy memories with the things she grew in her garden. A small crop of potatoes nestled inside a sack, protected from the hard frosts by the height above ground level and the wrapping, creating newness in the folds of the soil. Pots of herbs were dotted around the patio area which was neat and perfectly aligned. It was Jayden’s passion, investing hours into the little area above ground as though it was her secret garden. Because it was. It was both hers and secret. No-one tramping the cobbled streets of the city would ever have guessed that a veritable oasis grew above their heads. Only the view from one part of the castle ramparts gave it away in a ‘wow’ moment through the binoculars that tourists had to pay fifty pence to look through, but they would never be able to find it again from ground level. Not enough to point upwards and declare, ‘there it is.’

  There was no lawn although ironically, it probably would have grown well. Practical paving slabs decorated the area which occupied a third of the surface of the bedroom level. As a central city garden, it was enormous, bigger than some houses commanded on the ground but for a roof garden, it was spectacular. The ceiling of the living area had needed to be specially braced in order to add an upper level. Jayden had seen the architect’s plans. It had been an immense project.

  The businessman who had commissioned the conversion of the upstairs of the store had never lived in it. He had intended to but been head hunted for an executive job in America. Initially agreeing to lease the flat to Jayden and her mother for six months, he had gotten in touch via the rental agent soon after the contract was signed and expressed his desire to sell. Faced with the prospect of another difficult search, Jayden had bought it and never regretted the decision.

  Fingering the delicate leaves of a weeping willow which spent its life in an enormous pot over by her mother’s room, Jayden contemplated her life. It wasn’t so bad. She had salvaged a huge amount from the spoils. It certainly could have been worse. The winter had stripped most of the leaves from the willow, but it remained in a permanent state of confusion. Unlike most trees down below, it lived in a peculiar microclimate. The wind only ever attacked from one side, occasionally coming in an unexpected direction and sneaking in over the balustrade from the street. Although it got cold on the roof, frost could not touch it and any daytime sunshine bathed it as if by right. The willow grew all year round, never knowing when it was time to stop, shed its leaves and rest. Even in January, in its state of continual flux, the little tree still had leaves and was growing.

  Willows were Hannah’s favourite and this specimen was purchased at a time when Jayden still hoped that she might at least come to stay. It would have been a perfect solution, respite for May, the loyal sister who had taken her into her own Welsh home and for Hannah, who wouldn’t feel like a burden for a few days at least. Raff had carried the tree up the stairs and hefted up the giant pot afterwards with much grunting and complaint. He had managed to spill potting mix all up the first lot of stairs and they had giggled and swept it off with a dustpan and brush.

  But Hannah’s condition left her trapped in Aberystwyth and she had never seen her gift, despite the fact that it grew and grew faithfully in anticipation of the gleeful clap of her hands when she saw it. It had grown so big in just a few years that it wouldn’t even go back through the flat anymore. It would need to be butchered and thrown over the balustrade into the street when its days were over. Jayden closed her eyes and ran her hand through the remaining leaves, hearing their papery noise and delicate brush strokes across her palms as she prayed for her mother with all her heart.

  The edge of the roof above came out over the garden, half a metre on all three sides of the outdoor space and allowed for some shelter even in bad weather. Tiny spotlights had been fixed into the overhang all around, pointing downwards and adding a comforting glow. Jayden turned them on as she got into bed and read a novel to herself as she waited for sleep to visit. Some nights were harder than others.

  Her thoughts wandered momentarily to Ed, admiring his strong physique and how much she had enjoyed the safety of his arms around her. For just a second, she felt regret that he was married and out of bounds, chiding herself with the ridiculousness of the notion. The only other male to have touched her since the attack had been Raff and that was because she was in no possible danger from him. Ed’s arms had felt good and reminded her bizarrely of the strength in her father’s embrace. Dan had been a great father. The best kind of father.

  At the thought of his gentle, kind face, Jayden felt sleep running from her as a wave of Guilt’s ugly influence tried to descend on her shoulders, vice-like fingers clawing at her flesh. With a practiced force of will, she pushed it away and it was a reflex action of the mind. She set the familiar tape playing in her brain.

  I was not to blame. My father loved me. I was not to blame. Sometimes bad things happen. I was not to blame.

  Jayden relaxed and used her breathing exercises to calm herself. The counsellor counselled herself in the same way she did others, five days a week. That’s why she was so good at it. Because she understood from bitter experience, that it worked.

  Jayden awoke the next morning feeling decidedly ‘off’ as her mother would have said. The spotlights which shone into the garden only highlighted the darkness of the northern hemisphere, which would stay black until after seven thirty. Jayden yawned and snuggled further down into her warm duvet, stretching out her legs in the large double bed. The sound of snuffling made her smile as the ginger Abyssinian cat poked her fluffy head up from the bottom of the bed and yawned in response. Nahla had woken Jayden at two o’clock, pounding her lithe pink paws on the bedroom door to come in out of the cold. She had been out on the prowl for hours, refusing to respond to her owner’s whispered call as she had settled down for the night, instead chasing tiny mice in the roof guttering of adjacent buildings. Luckily Jayden had managed to get her in without the little grey tailed offering that Nahla had laid down on the doormat. “Naughty girl. You should have come in earlier,” Jayden moaned to her and the cat stalked up the bed and began patting her on the forehead with soft, tender paws which in milliseconds could inflict awful injury on her mistress, but never would.

  Nahla hated the busy street and the impatient cars at either end of the pedestrian walkway. She preferred to use the gable ends and the world of the roof dwellers to move around in, never venturing any further down than she had to. Her life’s purpose centred on ridding the entire length of this side of the street of vermin. Occasionally when Jayden came home and looked up, she would spot the slender ginger frame perched regally on an upstairs windowsill down the street with no visible means of having got there. It had caused great concern initially and Jayden on a number of occasions had wondered whether the fire brigade would need calling. But Nahla always turned up at the bedroom door looking none the worse for wear.

  Owning a cat in the middle of the city had seemed like a stupid idea, only properly thought through once Jayden had already brought her home. The ticked ginger female was extr
emely rare as it turned out, due to the recessive gene which made little orange females uncommon. She was striped only on her legs and tail, the rest of her covered in an unusual patina of orange colouring, white at the roots and ginger on top. She had been the only kitten left in the shop. The owner had told Jayden sadly that people no longer liked ‘gingers’ and the prejudice had picked at some inner scale of justice in her.

  In fear for Nahla’s safety, Jayden had kept her new kitten indoors for six months frightened that she would get run over outside, trodden on or abused in some other way by passing drunks. But Nahla hated people and woe betide anyone who approached her when she was not in the mood to permit it. She tolerated Raff but hissed vehemently at other rare visitors and made a bee-line for an exit point. The only person for whom she was still a cuddly, playful kitten, was Jayden. Nahla was four years old but for her mistress, she was still a ginger ball of fun that would pop out from under curtains or beds unexpectedly and tag her calves with soft paws, thoroughly enjoying the ensuing squeals of shock.

  Nahla rubbed her whole body along Jayden’s face, causing her to cough and splutter at the fluffy ginger hairs that stuck to her nose and lips. The cat rolled onto her back and stuck all four legs in the air, but Jayden knew better. “You just want me to tickle your tummy and then you’ll scratch me. I’m not playing today.”

  Jayden hoisted herself reluctantly up onto her elbows and looked out at the darkness beyond the glass. It did not look inviting in the pre-dawn glow, but there was a freshness in the air that hadn’t been there the previous day. Her night had brought little rest. Instead of being unwelcome, Nahla’s disturbance was a relief, waking Jayden from a dreadful dream. Nick’s disembodied face had hovered at the end of her bed, pleading with her and begging her for help. His thick, brown hair hung greasy and straggly around his sweating face and his eyes were dark and listless. The addict’s face twitched involuntarily and Evil flitted around the room as he writhed in discomfort, the drug leaking out of his body and leaving him empty and desperate. “You have to help me, Lily. I’ve nobody left to ask. Don’t make me beg. Don’t make me hurt you.”

  Seventeen year old Lily McGowan had shaken her head and refused. She had seen her brother’s friends. They were petty criminals who made her feel ill and uncomfortable in their presence, especially Wes, Nick’s newest buddy. There was something distinctly unhinged about him.

  Nahla had padded against the door in the dead of night, proud of the dead mouse dangling from her front teeth and had inadvertently rescued her mistress from a terrible fate. If only the reality all those years ago had been so easily prevented.

  Jayden shook herself and the cat jumped off the duvet and padded confidently to the top of the stairs, sure that ‘feed the cat’ would be top of her grateful mistress’s list. By the time Jayden was ready for work, the weather had declared its intentions and the dreary, rain-soaked clouds had cleared, leaving a cold, blue sky.

  Chapter 8

  “Cold enough to snow!” the vicar exclaimed as he rubbed his hands together to keep warm. The reception area always took a while to warm up. The ugly extension which had been slapped onto the back of the beautiful church was both an embarrassment and an eyesore. It was incredible what the 1970’s had permitted. It also leaked like a sieve and let out heat in an attempt to bless the rest of downhill Lincoln. It was often warmer in the large, open plan department stores further into town than in the church’s administration block.

  “It’ll warm up,” Jayden reassured him, smiling as she unlocked her office. The vicar surprised her by following her inside and closing the door.

  “About the other day,” he began, “you’re right. I shouldn’t have inconvenienced you that way and I apologise. I fear that I am a little overwhelmed by today’s problems and have spoken to the acting bishop myself. I rang him after you left. I’ve been resisting the diocesan’s attempts to give me another curate for some time now, but I actually think that it’ll be a good idea. He’s sending this jolly chap down for me to have a look at and I hope that we’ll rub along quite nicely.”

  He hopped from foot to foot and looked openly for Jayden’s approval. She turned her hundred watt beam on him, flashing her perfect teeth and the vicar looked both relieved and gratified. Jayden contemplated apologising in return for the sharp way in which she had spoken to the elderly servant of the Lord, but experience told her to wait just a heartbeat before doing so. She was not disappointed. “Right then,” the reverend intoned, “I’ll check this chappie out. He won’t formally start until next week so you and Cam will deal with all the difficult ones I can’t seem to get through. I don’t know what people are playing at nowadays. Pregnant fourteen-year-olds like that one the other day. She needed a slapped backside and locking in her room, not counselling. The vicar I worked for as a new curate wouldn’t have stood for it. She would have been shamed at the front of the church and the parents...well, they have to take responsibility at some point! Dumping their problems on the church just isn’t good enough.”

  Slamming the interconnecting door between the main corridor of the church and the admin block, the vicar flounced away leaving Jayden sighing heavily and feeling relieved that it was almost the weekend. She tried not to distract herself with the image of the girl’s parents, ashen and shocked at what had happened to their little girl. Oh, they would take responsibility all right, tied down with a grandchild in their late thirties whilst watching their promising academic pour her life down the toilet for a few years. They didn’t need McLean’s caustic words as punishment, not on top of everything else they were trying to cope with.

  Two alcoholics, one poor husband addicted to porn and a widowed middle-aged parishioner suffering from debilitating bouts of anxiety later and Jayden was ready to leave for the day. An external supervisor had sat in on her third session, using the hour afterwards to give her helpful pointers and allow Jayden to download some of her own misgivings and issues. It was all part of the process, the counsellors counselling the counsellors. Rita had been supervising Jayden for the past five years, ever since she had taken up the role at St. Jude’s and had lectured at the university prior to that. The very capable psychologist had overseen Jayden's three-year counselling degree. There was an air of trust between the women, helped considerably by the fact that Jayden had been able to be completely honest with the older woman about her own demons. It had been pointless hiding them from her and besides, most of them had been dealt with in the openness of her degree. It had been the most healing course that Jayden could ever have considered doing and she fell into it, purely by chance.

  After her brother’s betrayal, Jayden had spent time with counsellors provided by Victim Support. She had been damaged and yet open about her needs and one of them had approached her and made the ludicrous suggestion that perhaps she might turn her experiences into a positive balm for others. Still grief-stricken by the tragic death of her father, Jayden had been reluctant but found a certain peace in the suggestion. At the end of her schooling, she had applied to Lincoln University and got in. Receiving an astoundingly good degree, first-class honours no less, Jayden had secured a job at the church and shackled herself more or less permanently to the city. Tired of halls of residence and flatting with animals disguised as students, Jayden had found her flat and made her plans, coping when Hannah’s health declined so quickly that they were all dashed wickedly to the rocks. Rita knew it all.

  “I thought it was him and I freaked out a little,” Jayden told Rita as they chatted over coffee. Rita nodded encouragingly and made notes on her pad that appeared as little shorthand squiggles on the crisp white page. It was part of the drill.

  There was always a risk with someone who had suffered their own trauma that it would affect their dealings with another hurting person. They could either transfer their experiences onto that person or absorb the client’s hurts to a detrimental degree. They could judge the client, or shut down altogether. The aim of supervision was to provide checks and balances
, to ensure that neither the client nor the counsellor suffered as a result of undealt-with issues, which had the potential to derail even the best treatment plans.

  “How long did your brother get in prison?” Rita asked gently, watching Jayden for the familiar stress-tells whilst knowing that the other woman was perfectly capable of masking them if she chose to. Jayden’s face remained neutral and her body relaxed as she answered.

  “He got ten years. But I guess he could be out now, on probation.”

  “It was always a possibility that he might come looking for you...”

  “But I thought I had covered my tracks,” Jayden interrupted and Rita observed her carefully. “I changed city; I took a different name. I don’t know what more I could have done.” She was aware of her hysteria bubbling just beneath the surface and knew that Rita was too. “I’m fine,” she said, collecting herself and sighing out slowly, “It can’t have been Nick. It was just a shock that’s all.”

  “How did the thought that he had found you, make you feel?” Rita asked, peering over her bifocals.

  Jayden bit her bottom lip on the inside, thinking hard. “Angry, it made me feel scared but then angry. Like...really steaming angry.”

  Rita smiled. “So what does that tell you?”

  In her head, Jayden flipped through her mental notes as she would for any client sat in front of her. Anger indicated a blocked goal, externally prevented by someone or something else. She backtracked through the five circles which she had roughly drawn, deep inside the workings of her brain and thought about her rational and volitional mind and the tapes that it played to her. It leaped out at her, as familiar as an unwelcome house guest whom you find it impossible to say ‘no’ to.

  I must stay safe. I must stay safe. I must stay safe...

  The person who either was Nick or who just resembled him, had challenged and destroyed that goal. I must stay safe had become, I can’t stay safe, causing anger and self-recrimination. It was a stupid, unrealistic goal and always had been. Jayden was aware that she had absolutely no control over someone else’s actions. It wasn’t down to her to be responsible for her own safety and the burden had become unwieldy and impossible. All she could do was exercise common sense and hand the rest over to a higher power. Jayden flawlessly changed her tape and the anger dissipated almost immediately.