Sworn Secret

by Amanda Jennings

  ‘Haydn!’ called Mrs Howe. ‘It’s time to get in the car.’

  He turned and nodded at her. ‘Just a few minutes!’ he called.

  Then Lizzie flung her arms around him. ‘When everything’s calmed down,’ she said, ‘when all this has gone away, we’ll be together, won’t we?’

  He kissed the crook of her neck. ‘Yes.’

  ‘And you’ll phone me?’

  He nodded.

  ‘And text?’

  ‘Every day.’

  ‘Haydn!’ his mother called. ‘Come on!’

  ‘I’m coming!’ he shouted back, without taking his eyes off Lizzie.

  ‘I can’t believe this is it.’ She felt as if her heart were being cut out of her chest. Then, from over his shoulder she saw Mrs Howe crossing the road and walking towards them. Her heart missed a beat and she pulled him close again.

  ‘Your mum’s coming,’ she whispered.

  Mrs Howe was wearing jeans and trainers and a navy sweater. Lizzie had only ever seen her in knee-length skirts and stiff-collared shirts.

  ‘Please, Haydn!’ she said as she reached the gate. ‘You’ve had enough time.’

  Lizzie started to cry. ‘Don’t go. You can’t,’ she said, stumbling over the words. ‘I can’t think what I’ll do.’

  ‘I’ll call you when we get to my nan’s.’ He touched her teary cheeks with his sandpaper fingers. Then he reached into his back jeans pocket, and with his other hand took hers. He leant in to kiss her, and as he did he closed her fingers around something. She knew without looking it was his iPod. ‘I’ve put songs on it for you. And our playlist, the one from our first time, it’s on there too.’

  Lizzie sniffed and tried to smile through her tears.

  ‘And there’s something else.’ He handed her a folded piece of paper. She opened it. It was Anna’s drawing of the crouching caged angel. A lump formed in Lizzie’s throat. ‘You know, she talked about you all the time,’ he said. ‘When she gave me this drawing I remember what she said. She said she was jealous of how sorted you were, of how you knew exactly what you wanted and how you didn’t care what people said or thought, and how you knew who you were. She said you were truly free. She said you were amazing, and she was right. She loved you loads, Lizzie. Like I do.’

  ‘Haydn, we have to go.’ Mrs Howe was standing right next to them.

  Lizzie turned her head to look at Mrs Howe. She hated her so much. She’d never known a feeling like it; it burnt inside her like caustic acid.

  ‘There’s no need to glare at me like that, Elizabeth,’ Mrs Howe said.

  ‘Why shouldn’t I?’ said Lizzie. ‘I hate you.’

  ‘Come on, Haydn.’ Mrs Howe jerked her head in the direction of her car. ‘We’ve got a long journey ahead of us.’

  ‘You know,’ said Lizzie. She stood as tall as she could and narrowed her eyes. ‘I know why you’re leaving.’

  ‘Lizzie, I’ve got to go,’ said Haydn, quickly. ‘I’ll text you on the way, OK?’

  Lizzie ignored him. ‘You’re leaving because of Anna.’

  ‘Because she destroyed our lives, you mean? Yes, Elizabeth, you’re right. That’s exactly why we’re leaving.’

  Lizzie balled her fists and needled her eyes into Mrs Howe. ‘She didn’t destroy your lives. You destroyed hers! And ours.’ Her voice quivered as she fought to keep her words steady. ‘I know what you did to her.’

  Mrs Howe’s face darkened. Lizzie swallowed and stepped backwards a fraction. Mrs Howe crossed her arms and briefly allowed her eyes to leave Lizzie before fixing them on her again.

  ‘Oh really? And what exactly do you think I did?’

  ‘You pushed her.’ Lizzie’s heart thumped so hard it threatened to smash its way out of her body. Mrs Howe’s face fell. The anger slipped away, wrong-footed, it seemed, by the accusation. ‘Didn’t you, Mrs Howe? You pushed her off the roof and killed her. Rebecca told us what Anna wanted. I know you saw the film, and got so cross you told Rebecca you’d kill her. I know you screamed at Anna and she said stuff to you. And then Haydn called you and said they were on the roof. And it was just too tempting, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Lizzie, be quiet,’ said Haydn. ‘Please. Just leave it. You don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  He grabbed at her, but she yanked her arm out of his grip and stepped up close to Mrs Howe. ‘You went up there and saw her on that wall and you pushed her, didn’t you?’

  ‘Lizzie, stop it! You’re wrong. I told you what happened. It had nothing to do with Mum. Anna fell. I saw her fall.’

  ‘No!’ screamed Lizzie. ‘She pushed her!’

  ‘Lizzie,’ said Mrs Howe, her voice suddenly gentle. ‘Please don’t do this. I didn’t hurt Anna. I didn’t—’

  ‘You couldn’t stand it, could you?’ Lizzie shouted then. ‘He loved Anna so much more than he loved you! You knew you could never compete with her, didn’t you? You knew that he’d always love her more—’

  ‘Lizzie!’ It was her mum. Kate shut the car door and marched up the path, pushing past Angela. When she reached Lizzie she put a hand on her shoulder. ‘What’s going on here?’ she asked firmly. Lizzie suddenly felt faint from all the adrenalin and emotion surging through her body. She grabbed her mum’s arm to steady herself.

  ‘Nothing,’ said Angela, flatly. ‘Nothing is going on. Haydn and I are just leaving.’

  ‘She did it, Mum. She killed Anna!’

  Her mum sighed. ‘Darling, we spoke about this.’ She turned to Angela. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, though her voice had hardened and Lizzie saw that she wasn’t looking Mrs Howe in the eye. ‘It’s all been very stressful for Lizzie. She’s had so much happen.’

  ‘But Mum—’

  ‘No buts, Lizzie. This is over.’

  Lizzie felt as if she were dissolving. She looked at her mother, desperate to convince her of what she knew was the truth. ‘Mum,’ she begged. ‘Please listen to me.’

  Her mum shook her head and pulled her into a tight embrace. She rested her chin on Lizzie’s head. ‘You know,’ she breathed, ‘I can see her right now. She’s dancing. Twirling around and around.’ Lizzie could see her too. Her shining hair was flying out behind her, her hands and arms outstretched, graceful like a ballerina’s, her fingers long and delicate and angled so that the moonlight in which she danced flowed over her and fell like raindrops off them. ‘Lizzie, sweetheart, we can’t do this any more,’ her mum whispered. ‘We have to let this go. We have to move on. It’s time, darling. It’s time for us all to move on.’

  Lizzie knew she was right. Feeling her mother holding her, her arms wrapped around her, her smell so comforting and familiar, she knew she was right, but it meant that they would never know exactly what happened on that roof, and that was something they were all going to have to accept. If not, it would destroy them.

  ‘Lizzie, I have to go now,’ said Haydn from behind her.

  Lizzie didn’t move. Instead, she clung to her mother even tighter and closed her eyes.

  She listened to their footsteps move away; she heard them crossing the road, the car doors opening and shutting, and a few moments later, the car engine. Her stomach turned over.

  ‘No,’ she said, suddenly pushing away from her mum and running down the path. ‘Wait!’ she shouted. ‘Wait!’

  But the laden car had already pulled out and was driving down the road. As she ran, she began to panic. She didn’t want to leave him like that. She didn’t want that to be their last memory. She stopped and watched the car driving away from her. Her heart sank and she dropped her head. When she looked up, however, she saw the car had stopped. She broke into a run. As she reached Haydn’s window, he lowered it. He was crying, his face blotched red. She reached through the window and wiped his tears with her hand and then she leant in to kiss him.

  ‘I will never forget you,’ she said. ‘I’ll never forget what you did for me, Haydn. I needed you and you came for me.’

  Then she stepped away from the car and smiled at
him, and though it felt like her insides were being ripped out of her as she watched his car turn off their street, she had a good feeling too, because she knew that somehow life was going to be a little bit better now.

  Almost a Year After

  ‘When my dad suggested I read the eulogy today I told him I didn’t think I’d be able to. It wasn’t the thought of standing in front of you all in church that so terrified me, it was the daunting task of making sure I did justice to my grandmother’s life. She was a formidable lady, with tremendous traits and attributes, and to give her the credit she deserves is something I was unsure I’d be able to do. My dad told me not to think about it like that. He reminded me that everybody attending the service would have their own memories of my grandmother, and that if I spoke to you all about what she meant to me and expressed my love for her, then you would all be able to identify with my sentiments and share in my remembrance of her. He said this was all I needed to do.’

  Lizzie smiled at Jon, who smiled back and nodded.

  ‘My grandmother touched many lives and was an inspiration to many people. I know she was to me. News of her illness came as a massive shock to all of us. Our family were just recovering from a traumatic year following Anna’s death, and to be hit with more devastating news was unbearable. I felt as if my world was collapsing.’

  Lizzie paused and took a couple of deep breaths as she felt the threat of imminent tears. She didn’t want to cry. Her grandmother wouldn’t have cried. She would have stood straight and read clearly. Lizzie squared her shoulders and ran her eyes over the congregation.

  ‘Just days before she finally lost her arduous battle with cancer, a battle she fought with the stoic bravery that typified her, she gave me the tortoiseshell comb that I’m wearing today.’

  Lizzie stopped speaking and turned her back towards the congregation to show them the comb with a quick bobbed curtsey. A quiet rumble of laughter rang around the church.

  ‘She wore this comb in her beautiful hair every day that I knew her. And that day, she took my hand in hers and told me she was giving me this comb as a reminder that life is for living, that it was a magnificent collection of fleeting moments and that each of these moments is as precious as the next and should be embraced. We spoke about Anna, my beloved sister, and she said that though I would always miss her, I must never let her memory, or indeed the memory of any of our deceased loved ones, interfere with these moments. She took both my hands and told me to grab every opportunity that showed itself; she told me to keep learning, to keep reading and improving my mind, and never assume that I knew anything wholly. She said that intelligence is a gift. My grandmother was a strong woman, opinionated and bright. She didn’t like asking for help, but at the same time she was a selfless and compassionate human being, demonstrated so clearly by the unrelenting way she cared for and loved my grandpa. She was loyal, principled and determined, and I pray these are qualities I have inherited. She also had the capacity to give and receive great love, and this is something we must all strive to achieve. I am thankful, as I hope you are, for the privilege of knowing someone as special as my grandmother.’

  Lizzie looked at the sea of faces in the church, then settled on her mum and dad. She watched her mum holding her grandpa’s hand, his knees covered by a new tartan blanket.

  ‘Well done,’ her mum mouthed.

  Lizzie smiled.

  Then she turned and stepped down from the lectern. She paused briefly in front of the glorious portrait of her grandmother. It was still wet. Her mum had only finished it in the early hours of that morning. She had worked on the painting day and night for six days. It was a triumph and, at that very precious moment in time, Lizzie was the proudest daughter in the world.

  Table of Contents

  The Tortoiseshell Comb: Part One

  The Girl in the Cage: Part One

  The Tortoiseshell Comb: Part Two

  The Girl in the Cage: Part II