“Good. We don’t have much time before she comes back downstairs. Start with explaining what happened in the weeks after the accident.”
I waited upstairs for at least ten minutes. Hopefully that would be long enough for Gemma to forget what we were talking about or what we were almost talking about anyway. She’d come dangerously close to stumbling on the secret of Caiden and I. Perhaps she already knew, but I wasn’t ready to confirm that. I hoped she would understand, but I wasn’t ready to deal with the consequences if she didn’t.
Other than me, Gemma was the closest person to Mum, and if Gemma was disgusted by my relationship with Caiden then that would give me a good idea of how Mum would feel too. I wasn’t ready to deal with that yet.
I headed back down to the kitchen but realized I hadn’t printed anything off like I said I was going to. I quickly printed off a few pages that we already had downstairs just so I would have something in my hand when I went back down. I dashed down to the kitchen with the pages firmly in hand, but Gemma wasn’t there anyway. I assumed she’d gone to the toilet, but I’d walked past the toilet door and it was open.
Voices were coming from the living room. I walked closer to the door and heard Caiden and Gemma talking. Their voices were hushed and barely above a whisper, but I could tell the topic of conversation was not a pleasant one.
Either Caiden had decided to tell Gemma about us—which seemed unlikely—or Gemma knew the whole time and was questioning Caiden about it. She didn’t sound happy. She sounded upset. Was that how my mum would sound when she found out?
Maybe there was nothing to find out about anyway. Caiden and I would be over in a few weeks’ time and there was not much we could do about it. I still wanted to tell Mum though. Not telling her was like pretending it had never happened and this summer was something I wanted to remember for the rest of my life.
Gemma came back to the kitchen, closely followed by Caiden. Her face had turned a ghostly white and she wouldn’t look me in the eyes. She knew.
“Gemma, it’s not what it seems,” I began. “It started before we knew…”
Gemma held up her hand to stop me talking. “It’s okay,” she said softly. There was a red puffiness around her eyes that suggested she had been crying. “Caiden explained everything.”
“Are you disappointed in me?”
“Disappointed?” Gemma laughed as she spoke, as if the suggestion were ridiculous. “Of course I’m not disappointed. I can’t imagine being disappointed in anything you chose to do. I’m going to leave now; Caiden needs to speak to you about something important.”
“Don’t leave,” I pleaded. “We haven’t finished cooking the meal yet and you should stay to eat it.”
“I should go,” Gemma said. She looked like she was going to start crying again. “Vicky, I just want you to know that I’m sorry. I’m very sorry and I love you.”
With that, Gemma practically ran out of the house before I could say another word. I looked at Caiden for an explanation. Whatever he’d been discussing with Gemma must have been serious.
“Come with me,” Caiden said.
“What’s going on, Caiden?”
“Put on some sneakers. We need to go for a short walk.”
Caiden held my hand as we walked for about twenty minutes until we came to the park where I sometimes spoke to Mum.
“Why are we here?” I asked.
“Do you recognize this place?” Caiden asked.
“Of course I do. I grew up in this town, remember? It’s a nice park. I come here to speak to Mum sometimes.”
“Where do you speak to her? Do you have a favourite bench or spot where you like to sit?”
“There’s a bench I usually sit on, yes. What’s going on, Caiden?”
“Take me to the bench.”
We walked for another five minutes until we arrived at the bench I always sat on when I spoke to Mum. There was nothing special about the bench to distinguish it from any of the others, but this was where I had sat the first time, and my body just gravitated towards it automatically after that point. I plonked myself down on the bench right in the middle where I always sat and Caiden sat next to me.
“Is this all about you wanting to be introduced to my mum?” I asked. “Because today is not my day to speak to her.”
“No, it’s not that.”
“What is it then?” I raised my voice enough that a man a few hundred yards away glanced in my direction. I stared back at him. I didn’t like to be rude, but this was a public park. It wasn’t exactly unusual to hear other voices, and I didn’t need to be scolded by some old man right now.
“Is this the only place you come to talk to your mum?”
“This is the only place I sit when I come to this park,” I responded. Caiden’s questions were driving me insane, but I figured I’d get to the bottom of this quicker if I just answered them.
“But sometimes you talk to her from other places?” Caiden asked.
“You know I do. I told you I sometimes go to a shopping precinct that I like and talk to her from there. That’s the place I prefer to do it, but sometimes I speak to her here instead.”
“Why?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. I think it’s because the shopping precinct is unavailable sometimes.” I frowned as I spoke, as if I didn’t believe my own response. That didn’t sound right, but as much as I searched my brain I couldn’t remember why I spoke to mum from two different locations.
“That doesn’t make any sense, Vicky. Why wouldn’t you be able to speak to your mum from a shopping precinct. It’s not like it’s ever closed.”
“I… I don’t know. I guess maybe it gets too busy sometimes. I like the quiet and the privacy I get here.”
“I want you to really think about it,” Caiden said. He placed his hand on my leg and squeezed it family. “It’s important, Vicky. Think about why you go to the shopping precinct sometimes and why you come here. There’s a reason why you do that, and I want you to think about it.”
“Why? You clearly know the answer already. I don’t understand what you’re doing or why you’re asking all these questions, but I’m starting to get pretty damn annoyed about it all.” I wanted to swear, but something about being in this place made me go back to speaking a little more politely.
I looked around. Other than the old man who had looked at me a few minutes ago, there was no one else in the park. Sometimes there were children here, but not today. That pleased me for some reason. It wasn’t that I minded the noise children made, it was just I didn’t like seeing them around here. Why wouldn’t I like seeing children in a park? There was something sad about seeing kids here, but I couldn’t put my finger on it.
“I’ll tell you, Vicky, if I have to,” Caiden said. “But I really think it’s better if you come up with the answer yourself.”
“Caiden, your scaring me now. I don’t know what’s going on and I don’t think I want to be here any longer. Something about this place is freaking me out.”
“Why?” Caiden asked, jumping on my comments like it might lead to the answer. “Why don’t you like being here?”
“I… I don’t know.” I felt a small tear in the corner of each eye, but I couldn’t for the life of me explain why. I was annoyed at Caiden, but there was nothing to be upset about. Why did I want to cry?
“Vicky, before I tell you, I want you to know that I am here for you. I know we haven’t figured this all out yet, but if you need me for anything, I will be there. And so will Gemma. If you need someone to talk to and I’m not there, talk to Gemma.”
I nodded and felt one of the tears drop from my eye and run down my cheek. Something life-changing was about to happen. My brain knew it was coming and knew what it was, but I couldn’t unravel the pieces.
“I still need you to work this out yourself,” Caiden said. “I can’t just tell you because you won’t believe me. I’m going to go slowly. If at any point you need to stop then just tell me, but I beg you to try and
work through this. Be patient. Don’t run away. Please power through this. You’re brave and strong and I know you can handle this.”
I nodded again. “Let’s get this over with.”
“You’re sat on this bench for a reason,” Caiden began slowly. “You even sat in the middle of the bench for a reason. You sit here because of what is in front of the bench.”
“A rock,” I said. When I spoke the words, a rock suddenly appeared in front of me. It had been there the entire time, but my eyes had never registered it. There were plenty of other large rocks around the park as well.
“It’s more a stone than a rock in this context,” Caiden continued. “There’s writing on it. Can you see it?”
“Yes.” As soon as Caiden mentioned the writing my eyes picked up on the words carved into the rock. They been there the entire time. Why hadn’t I been able to see them before?
“I need you to read the words on the stone. Read them slowly.”
My eyes tried to focus on the words, but I couldn’t read them. “They’re too blurry. I can’t read them from here.”
“Yes you can. The words are very clear. I know you can read them.”
“I can’t.” Tears filled my eyes now and I could barely see anything in front of me, let alone read the words on the stone.
“Focus, Vicky. I know you can do this.”
“Why am I crying?” I wiped my tears on my sleeve and tried to regain my composure. I immediately felt myself welling up again, but I pushed the tears back inside until I could read the words on the rock in front of me.
“What do the words say?” Caiden asked.
I read the top line. “Stephanie Marshall,” I said, surprised to see my mum’s name carved into a rock.
“Keep going.”
“Stephanie Marshall,” I repeated. “Wife to…” I paused.
Caiden squeezed my leg to remind me he was there for me. I placed my hand on his and read the rest of the words on the stone. I knew what words were on the stone now. I stared at the words as they sunk in for the first time.
I took a deep breath before reading all the words on the stone in one go. “Stephanie Marshall. Wife to Royston Marshall and loving mother of Victoria Marshall. Born 23 March 1973 Died 17 November 2012.”
The look on Vicky’s face as she stared at her mother’s gravestone wasn’t one of surprise. There wasn’t the look of shock that you might expect to see when someone finds out their mom is dead. She’d known all this time. Somewhere, tucked away deep inside the recesses of her brain that she didn’t want to access, she’d known her mom was dead. Somehow Vicky had blocked it out and imagined she could talk to her mom every couple of weeks.
I put my arm around her and she rested her head on my shoulder. We didn’t speak for at least thirty minutes. She just stared at the gravestone. There were tears dripping down her cheeks onto my shoulder, but she wasn’t bawling her eyes out. A part of her must of been relieved. The energy required to concoct a fantasy that surrounds you so completely must have left her feeling drained all the time. Being able to finally bring down those barriers and let reality in would in some way be a relief.
“How did you know?” Vicky asked, not lifting her head from my shoulder.
Her voice was soft and didn’t carry any anger like I’d expected. Gemma had warned me that Vicky might take her anger out on me, but I had to take the risk. She might forever associate me with the sadness of her mother’s death, but it was something I had to do.
“Did you ever see a man hanging around your house over the last couple of months? Or see anyone follow you when you left?”
Vicky shook her head. “No, I don’t remember seeing anyone in particular.”
“I did. He followed us to the pub one day and I saw him hanging around the house a few times. I thought he was following me and even wondered if he was working for Naomi. She was sending me crazy messages and it wouldn’t have been beyond the realms of possibility for her to hire an investigator to track me down. Anyway, I confronted him one day and he told me about your mom.”
“Who was he?”
“Did you ever go to the trial?”
“What trial?”
“The trial for the man driving the car that hit your mom’s.”
“No, I didn’t go. Dad wouldn’t let me and by the time the trial started I had been shipped off to boarding school anyway.”
“The man who hit your mom’s car was called Patrick McDade. As you know, he was sending a text message while driving and that caused him to hit your mom’s car. He went to prison after being convicted of manslaughter. He was given a five-year sentence, but I guess he got out early.”
“And that was the man hanging around the house?” Vicky asked. She sat up now and pulled a tissue out of her purse to dry her eyes and cheeks. She let go of my hand for a few moments to stretch out her fingers, but then held it again.
“Yes. He looked like a wreck at first, because while he was in prison his wife left him and took the kids. I guess he had no money, no clothes, nothing. Not that I feel sorry for him given what he did. Anyway, I guess he got himself back on his feet, because when I found him he had a secondhand car. He’s working his way back up and wants to help you out financially now.”
“I hope you told him where he can shove his guilt money,” Vicky said tersely.
I laughed, thankful for the slight break in the tension. “Yes, I made it clear you didn’t want his money.”
Silence fell between us again. I could see Vicky working through everything in her head. It was one thing to realize her mother was dead, but she was no doubt coming to terms with other issues as well.
“You’re going to be okay,” I said. “You’re not crazy. You had a hard time dealing with what happened to your mom, so you created a story in your mind.”
“That sounds pretty crazy to me. Why didn’t my dad sent me to a shrink the second I started talking about mom being alive?”
“He did. Kind of. Gemma filled me in on quite a few of the details. As I understand it, when your mom died you locked yourself in your room and wouldn’t speak to anyone. You were silent for about a week finally broke your silence to speak to Gemma. You told her you’d spoken to your mom and knew everything would be okay in the end. Obviously Gemma was a little freaked out so she told your father and he sent you to a grief counselor.”
“A therapist. I go to a therapist at the shopping precinct. That’s the other place where I speak to mom.”
I nodded. “You were quite clever about the whole thing. I guess a part of your brain knew you couldn’t talk about your mom being alive to people who knew she was dead, so for a long time you kept it to yourself. Gemma thinks that when you went to the therapist you spoke to him as normal, but in your brain you are having a conversation with your mom.”
“That’s why I could only speak to mom every two weeks,” Vicky said. “I could only speak to mom when I had an appointment with my therapist.”
“I think so. And I suspect your auntie is actually the receptionist who books the appointments for the therapist. I’m not sure why you came here sometimes though.”
“Sometimes I would get a call from my auntie to cancel or reschedule the appointment. I think I came to the graveyard to speak to Mom when I had urgent news or just didn’t want to miss the appointment. Christ, I really am crazy.”
“No, don’t say that. You’re not crazy. You went through a tough time and didn’t have anyone to support you. Gemma didn’t speak highly of your father at all. He shipped you off to boarding school soon after your mother died and that meant you were surrounded by people who didn’t know what happened. You were able to talk to your friends about your mom being alive and none of them were able to spot the signs.”
“But everyone I know must think I’m insane,” Vicky said. “Gemma obviously knows and I’m sure a lot of other people do as well.”
“Not many,” I said. “Gemma assumed the therapy had worked and only found out relatively recently that you
thought your mom was still alive. Like I said, you were careful who you spoke to. One day, you were cooking with Gemma and you made a completely offhand comment about speaking to your mom as if it were the most normal thing in the world. Gemma didn’t know what to do. She told your father, but he said it was for the therapist to deal with. Gemma even tried speaking to the therapist, but obviously he wouldn’t say anything for confidentiality reasons.”
“That’s something I suppose. I’m surprised Gemma didn’t tell me herself.”
“Don’t blame her. She was scared and worried that telling you might induce a mental breakdown or something.”
“I don’t blame her. She was always there for me. I remember most of it now. Mom didn’t die in the crash, but she arrived at hospital unconscious and was on life support for five days. Finally, my dad made the decision to turn the life support off. He didn’t have a choice, but I flew at him in a rage, pounding my fists into his chest. I don’t like or respect my father, but the look on his face as his I screamed at him while his wife died was a look of pure anguish that I didn’t remember. Gemma took me to one side and explained everything. She told me there was nothing the doctors could do and that my mom wouldn’t want to be kept alive like this. She was as upset as I was about the entire thing. We cried on each other’s shoulders as my mom passed.”
“Do you remember the funeral at all?” I asked.
Vicky nodded. “I remember it now, but I wasn’t speaking at the time so I never said goodbye. I just stared at the coffin as it was lowered into the ground.”
“Why don’t you do it now? Say your goodbyes to your mom. I’ll leave you alone and give you some privacy if you like.”
“No, stay. I can’t do this without you.”
We stood up and walked forward a few steps until we were standing in front of the gravestone. Vicky opened her mouth to speak a few times but ended up crying instead. Finally, she took a deep breath and composed herself, before looking back down at the gravestone and talking to her mom.
“Hi Mom,” she said. “This isn’t the first time I’ve been here talking to you, but this is the first time I’ve done it knowing that you were gone. I’m sure you’ve been watching over me these last few years. You’ve seen me finish school and get accepted to the University of Cambridge. And you saw me meet this guy,” she said as she squeezed my hand tighter. “Although, come to think of it, I hope you weren’t looking over me all of the time.”
Escape: A Stepbrother Romance Page 19