Sworn Secret

by Amanda Jennings

  There was silence. Lizzie squinted into the darkness. Mrs Howe sat very still. Her hands gripped the arms of the chair. Her face, painted featureless by the shadows, stared straight towards her. The atmosphere was eerie, a touch sinister, and set Lizzie’s heart racing. She wished Haydn was with her. She took a step backwards in the direction of the hallway, hoping perhaps Mrs Howe hadn’t noticed her come into the room, but then the woman leant forward and her face came into the light enough for Lizzie to see her. Her eyes blinked slowly as if she hadn’t slept for months. She looked drawn. Her skin was awful; even in the dim light Lizzie could see it was patched red with spots that had broken out around her mouth and nose. If Mrs Howe were her mother she would run her a bath and offer to make the supper. Lizzie made a mental note to suggest it to Haydn as he might not think of it himself, being a boy, and her dad always said the little things made a big difference, even if it wasn’t always acknowledged.

  ‘Why won’t you leave him bloody alone? He doesn’t love you like he loved her. You know that, don’t you?’ Mrs Howe’s growled words were barely audible, and Lizzie prayed she hadn’t heard her correctly.

  ‘Did you hear me?’ said Mrs Howe. Her lips twisted into a nasty snarl.

  ‘I think . . . I should get home . . .’ Lizzie said. She took a small step backwards.

  ‘Yes, you should run along, back to that bitch mother of yours,’ said Mrs Howe. ‘You know you’re not welcome here, Elizabeth. I want you to know that. I don’t want you in my house, and I don’t want you anywhere near my son again.’

  Lizzie turned and ran for the front door and the freedom that lay beyond it. She fumbled with the lock. She finally managed to open the door and was hit by a flood of sunshine that made her blink with fleeting blindness. She knew death made people act in a peculiar way. She’d seen it with her mum. Her mum had hit Rebecca, for goodness’ sake! Mrs Howe hadn’t meant to sound so bloodcurdling; it was the grief and shock oozing out of her body. But even though she knew this, as she walked away from the house, towards the pavement and the safe bustle of the street, her body trembled so much she felt light-headed. It was one thing with her own mother, but something else to be with a relative stranger, her deputy head, no less, who was flipping out like that.

  ‘You know what I think?’ shouted Mrs Howe’s voice from behind her. Lizzie jumped and turned. Mrs Howe was on the doorstep. ‘I think that if he’d fallen for you in the first place, instead of that stupid slut, maybe everything would still be OK.’

  Lizzie stared at Mrs Howe, who was smiling like she didn’t have a care in the world, in front of her house with the smudgy shadows of the scary graffiti that somebody had unsuccessfully tried to remove.

  ‘I’m really sorry about Dr Howe,’ Lizzie said, before spinning on her heel and running down the street as fast as she could.

  The Second Forbid

  ‘Where have you been?’ Kate asked Lizzie when she came in.

  Kate had been desperate with worry. Jon left the house soon after their row. She had heard the front door slam from upstairs. She was in their bedroom, hoping he might come up to talk to her. She wanted to tell him things she hadn’t managed to in the kitchen. She wanted to tell him that she’d decided to repair herself, and that she wasn’t going to paint Anna any more, that she was going to cook, and smile more, that she’d made up with Rachel, and for the first time in this wretched black void it felt like there might actually be a spot of light to follow. Maybe it was all too late? She could see how unhappy she was making him. She knew how difficult it was for him to feel so helpless. He’d loved looking after her and the kids; he relished it, and he’d been good at it. He always used to say that without his three girls to love and look after, there’d be nothing.

  She went back downstairs. The clock in the kitchen read past two. She wasn’t due a cup of tea until four thirty.

  ‘No,’ she said aloud. ‘No more routine.’ She flicked the kettle on to boil and opened the cupboard to get a mug. She chose one that Lizzie had painted at the ceramics café in Twickenham. It had splodgy purple flowers all over it, the petals made by her tiny fatless eight-year-old fingers. As she looked at it, it dawned on her that she hadn’t seen Lizzie since that morning, when she burst into Kate’s bedroom, red-eyed and shocked to the core, having been sent home from school because of Dr Howe. Kate was still reeling from the news herself, so she’d sat blank and empty as Lizzie cried and shook her head and eventually got angry and confused at Kate’s apparent lack of empathy.

  That was nearly five hours ago. She checked the house, including Anna’s room, but there was no sign of her. Then she tried her mobile. It rang, but there was no answer. She tried Jon’s, but it was switched off. So she made herself a cup of tea and waited at the kitchen table, not sure where she would look for her.

  It was nearing three o’clock when she heard the key in the lock. She jumped up from the table, relief surging through her as Lizzie’s face appeared at the door. Lizzie didn’t say anything, but walked straight up to her and fell into her arms, hugging her tightly, out of breath and hot from running.

  ‘I phoned you,’ Kate said.

  Lizzie didn’t let go of her.

  ‘You know, we’ve spoken about this. You’ve got a mobile so I can get hold of you. I was worried.’

  Lizzie nodded and stepped back from her; she was still catching her breath, shaking and sucking on her bottom lip, which was something she’d done if she was worried ever since she was tiny.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ Kate asked.

  ‘Nothing.’

  Kate hesitated. ‘Is it because of Dr Howe?’

  ‘Sort of.’

  ‘It’s a terrible thing; you must all be very shocked.’

  ‘I love you, Mum.’

  ‘Oh, Lizzie.’ Kate pulled her close again, strangled by a sudden, overwhelming love for her daughter, so strong she knew she wouldn’t be able to say the words without crying.

  I love you too, sweetheart, you have no idea how much.

  But she didn’t want to cry in front of her any more; Lizzie had seen her cry so much, and it wasn’t fair. Kate had to be strong for her. She didn’t let go of her daughter until the threat of tears had passed.

  ‘Can I get you anything to eat?’ she asked, when her voice was strong enough.

  ‘Why do you think he killed himself?’

  ‘I don’t know. Things like that don’t have easy answers.’

  ‘Was it anything to do with you or Anna?’

  Kate’s heart started pounding. ‘Why? Why on earth would it be to do with me or your sister?’

  Lizzie began to chew her lower lip.

  ‘Has someone said something?’ Kate was terrified. ‘What have you heard?’

  ‘So there is something?’ Lizzie said.

  Kate didn’t answer.

  ‘Mrs Howe said some stuff,’ Lizzie said with caution.

  ‘Mrs Howe? She spoke to you at school?’

  Lizzie didn’t answer.

  ‘When did she speak to you, Lizzie?’

  Lizzie lifted her chin and fixed her eyes on Kate. ‘Just now. I was at her house.’

  Kate tensed. ‘Why were you at her house?’

  Lizzie didn’t answer.

  ‘Please tell me you’re not seeing that boy.’

  ‘Haydn.’

  ‘I don’t care what his name is.’

  ‘His name is Haydn.’

  Lizzie crossed her arms and stepped one foot in front of the other. Kate saw Anna then. Right there, in Lizzie. She reached for the worktop as her head began to swim.

  ‘I love him.’

  For a moment or two Kate thought she might laugh. But the urge left her quickly, and instead, to stop herself crying, she dug her fingers into the worktop. ‘I asked you . . . no, I told you never to see him. Didn’t you understand me?’

  Lizzie didn’t answer.

  ‘You can’t see Haydn Howe again.’

  Lizzie continued to stare, her eyes icy, her fingers graspin
g handfuls of school skirt. She shook her head. ‘No. You can’t do that.’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘You can’t tell me not to see him.’

  ‘Oh, is that right?’ Kate folded her arms, mirroring Lizzie’s belligerent pose.

  ‘I’m nearly sixteen.’

  ‘You’re not nearly sixteen!’

  ‘Well,’ she said, ‘I’m fifteen and I’ll see who I want.’

  ‘Not him.’

  ‘Why the hell not?’

  ‘Don’t you dare swear in this house!’

  ‘Why not? You swear all the bloody time!’

  ‘Lizzie!’ Kate shouted. Lizzie narrowed her eyes. Kate took a breath and stilled her voice. ‘It’s been a bad week for me. I don’t want to carry on with this conversation. You will not see that boy again.’ Kate spoke each word slowly, enunciating every syllable, trying to convey the weight of her request.

  ‘Yes I will! I love him!’

  ‘Of course you don’t love him.’

  ‘I do!’

  ‘You’ve only just met him. You don’t know what love is, for Christ’s sake. And come on, Lizzie, he was Anna’s boyfriend.’

  Her daughter pursed her lips and shook her head. ‘No, they weren’t together.’

  ‘Yes, they were, Lizzie. It’s not right.’

  ‘They weren’t! He told me. They were never boyfriend and girlfriend.’

  ‘Sweetheart.’ Kate tried to steady her voice. ‘He was always here. Always ringing her. He sent her flowers. He was always hanging around outside the house. I even caught him on the pavement once, watching her bedroom window at night.’

  Lizzie was fighting tears. Shaking her head. ‘No! You’re wrong. Why do you want to ruin my life? I love him and he loves me. Just leave us alone!’

  ‘If you carry on like this I’ll ground you.’

  ‘Oh really?’

  ‘Yes, really.’

  ‘And how long will you ground me for? A day? A week? That won’t stop me seeing him.’

  ‘Then I’ll ground you until you leave home.’

  ‘Then I’ll leave home now.’

  ‘What on earth has got into you? What are you trying to do here?’

  ‘I’m trying to grow up! I’m trying to get on with my life. You don’t let me do anything. Why don’t you trust me? What have I ever done to make you think you can’t trust me?’

  Lizzie breathed heavily. Kate stared at her, incredulous that Lizzie would choose today to morph into the hideous, irrational teenager Kate thought she’d never see in her. Kate tried to get a grip. This wasn’t going to work. She needed to keep calm. She needed to use guile, not force. This wasn’t a battle she could lose; she would not have Haydn Howe anywhere near Lizzie. Kate took a few seconds to breathe.

  ‘It’s not that I don’t trust you, I do. It’s just . . . him . . .’ Kate saw Angela’s hateful eyes boring into her, Stephen’s stricken face declaring his love for Anna, then him moaning in that vile film, Anna’s pale skin against his. Images of him hanging. Echoes of Angela calling Anna a whore. For a brief moment Kate wondered if she should just come out with it, tell Lizzie about Rebecca’s film, about what Haydn’s father did to Anna, explain how the thought of Lizzie anywhere near the son of that man made her skin crawl. But she couldn’t do that to her. ‘I just can’t let you see him.’

  ‘It’s not up to you!’ screamed her daughter.

  ‘You don’t understand—’

  ‘No, I don’t understand! It’s bullshit. I love him. He’s clever and funny and intelligent. He plays the guitar. He volunteers with wildlife. I bet you didn’t know that? He gives up his own time to help with birds and other stuff, like cleaning graves. And he makes me happy. You don’t even remember happy. You should be pleased for me. Why are you telling me what to do? You let Anna do what she wanted whenever she wanted!’

  ‘Don’t you dare bring Anna into this.’

  ‘Why not?’ Lizzie shrieked. ‘You have no idea what it’s been like for me since she died. You walk around as if the world has ended. You’re always bloody crying or painting. You never laugh, you hardly ever smile, you cry all the time. You say you’ve had a bad week? What do you think it’s like for me living with you when you’re having one of your “bad weeks”? It’s awful. I don’t know what to say or what to do. You won’t talk to me. Do you know what that feels like? You miss her so much and your life is so flipping devastated, I wouldn’t be surprised if you’re the next one off that stupid, hateful roof!’

  Kate stared at her, feeling herself collapse as Lizzie’s words began to dissolve her.

  ‘When I told you I loved you just then,’ Lizzie went on, ‘you didn’t tell me you loved me back. You couldn’t, could you? And that’s because you don’t!’ Tears streamed down Lizzie’s cheeks. ‘You keep me safe, you worry about bees, knowing where I am or me catching a cold, but you don’t love me. We don’t talk, you don’t get excited for me, or sad with me. You’re not involved in my life. All you see is Anna’s ghost. You shut yourself away from me, and it makes me wish it was me that died and not her. Then at least I wouldn’t have to live with you missing her so much.’

  Lizzie fell backwards against the wall and covered her face with her hands.

  Kate blinked hard. ‘How can you say that?’ she breathed. ‘How can you even think that?’

  ‘Because it’s true,’ said Lizzie into her hands. ‘Because ever since she died you’ve been so unhappy and there’s nothing I can do, and I don’t think you love me any more.’

  ‘But I love you more than life itself. I didn’t say I loved you just now because I was trying not to cry; just the thought of how much I love you chokes me so I can’t speak.’ She reached out to bring Lizzie towards her. But Lizzie shuffled along the wall away from her, then dropped her hands away from her face.

  ‘It’s no good just thinking it, though,’ she said. ‘That’s no good to me.’ And then she left Kate alone in the kitchen.

  History Repeated

  Kate was waiting for him at the kitchen table. In front of her was a glass of white wine. On the table was another glass.

  ‘Sit with me?’ she asked.

  She poured some wine and pushed the glass towards him. His head ached so badly the lights in the kitchen stung.

  ‘Where have you been?’ she asked. The question wasn’t antagonistic. Kate seemed placid. Calm. She had brushed her hair and wore clean clothes – a pair of faded black jeans and a loose-fitting maroon sweater that slipped a little off one shoulder, showing clear, smooth skin. He wished he could lean forward and kiss it.

  ‘I went for a walk,’ he said.

  ‘It’s late.’

  ‘I was thinking.’

  ‘About us?’

  Jon nodded.

  ‘I’m sorry, Jon. I’m sorry for how I’ve been. I got caught up in my grief and it sort of possessed me.’

  ‘You’re allowed to be sad. It’s not that, it’s . . .’ Jon wished he could explain exactly what he was feeling. Hearing her apologize for being sad because of Anna wasn’t what he wanted. But when he tried to form sentences from the mayhem he felt, the words sounded petty and juvenile: loneliness, rejection, sexual frustration, feelings of being unloved, undervalued, unnecessary.

  ‘I had a row with Lizzie,’ said Kate. She sipped her wine, and then drew a knee up to her chest.

  ‘About?’

  ‘I told her she wasn’t to see Haydn.’

  ‘Has she been seeing him?’

  Kate nodded. ‘Apparently she loves him. Anyway, she didn’t take it too well and we had a fight. She’s all grown up and I didn’t even notice.’ Kate drank again. ‘She said awful things.’

  ‘She’s a teenager. That’s her job.’

  ‘She said she wished it was she who had died, not Anna, so she didn’t have to live with me being so upset. She said she didn’t know if I loved her, and because of that she was scared I was going to kill myself.’

  Jon lifted his glass and tipped it to one side, then ba
ck again, and watched the surface of the wine waver until it found a peaceful horizontal again. ‘That’s because of Stephen’s suicide. Things like that make children question everything around them.’

  He was trying to comfort Kate, but he understood exactly how Lizzie could think those things. He thought similarly himself a lot of the time. It was easy for him and Lizzie to imagine Kate’s life being so devastated that she could never truly love either of them again.

  ‘I don’t know what to do. I don’t want to lose her. Or you. But I feel like I’ve let that happen.’

  Jon refilled Kate’s glass.

  ‘Not too much,’ she said. ‘That last glass has gone straight to my head.’

  ‘Would you like something to eat?’

  ‘Maybe,’ she said. ‘I think there’s some crisps in the cupboard.’

  Jon opened two packets of Hula Hoops and emptied them into a cereal bowl, then he put them on the table between them. Kate took a small handful, but didn’t eat them. Instead, she stared at them in her open palm like three gold rings.

  ‘Even these remind me of her,’ she said.

  Jon saw Anna then, at Lizzie’s third birthday. She was threading her fingers with Hula Hoops. Three on each finger. Then she ate them, methodically moving along her line of Hula Hoop towers. Her face was serious, occupied, cheeks puffed up like a hamster’s. Kate and Jon had cried silent tears of laughter as they watched Lizzie copying Anna, hooking the crisps on to her fingers, her tongue sticking out of the corner of her mouth with concentration. But rather than eat them herself, she had presented her ten crispy fingers to her sister, who leant forward without missing a beat and started to eat. It was Lizzie who beamed as though she’d won the lottery. It was a story that showed Lizzie’s generosity, the way she worshipped her big sister, her selflessness. The story was only interesting because of Lizzie.

  ‘The Hula Hoops remind me of Lizzie,’ Jon said.

  There was a shade of confusion on Kate’s face, and then realization as the fog in her memory cleared so that she re-saw the sketch of her young daughters and the Hula Hoops. She put the handful of crisps back in the bowl.