by Rebecca Bryn
‘I couldn’t take in the details. We’ll never have a child of our own. He suggested adoption.’
She held out empty arms for mutual comfort.
He dashed away her hand. ‘All I wanted was a family and you couldn’t even do that right.’
This wasn’t her fault. She hadn’t deliberately deprived him of a family. ‘I wanted children…’
‘Is that why you insisted on having a career and working all the hours God gives?’
Her future had slipped beyond her grasp. ‘Robin, please… This is hurting me too.’
‘What Grant and Lucy have…’ He moved towards her, catlike, and grasped her wrist again, twisting it painfully. ‘That was all I wanted from you.’
She opened her mouth to protest. He was angry and upset, lashing out; it was grief and the drink talking. She clutched at his sleeve. ‘Robin, I love you.’
He shrugged off her hand and looked away.
The news had come at the worst possible moment for Robin. He’d sober, apologise, bring her flowers… make love. No, not this time: this time she’d done the unforgivable, failed to be a mother, full stop. She fled upstairs and flung herself onto their bed, sobbing. Nothing she did would make things right. She fisted the duvet in clenched fingers listening for the sound of feet, soft on thick carpet. Robin would come. Silence dragged along the landing, followed by his absence. Dusk darkened the square of daylight as the sun set on her hopes and dreams. He didn’t come.
She wanted someone to hold her, the way Grandpa used to. ‘Grandpa?’ She closed her eyes, imagining herself a child again, cuddled on his knee, listening to the beat of his heart: safe, loved. His hand ruffled her hair. Turn a disaster into an opportunity, Charlotte.
It would make a change from turning opportunities into disasters. She dragged a suitcase from the cupboard and threw it onto the bed, decision made, but she’d made it the day before yesterday, hadn’t she? The moment his fist hit her cheek, when everything had changed and the trust had gone forever; it had taken her until now to realise it. She threw handfuls of underwear and designer jeans, blouses, jumpers and shoes into the suitcase. She surveyed the room, breathing in short gasps. The library book Grandpa had kept sat on her bedside table. It was a link to someone who did love her, a link she hadn’t been able to break; she put it in.
She opened a door across the landing. Dobbin stood mid-gallop in the room they’d earmarked for a nursery: she would have to leave him. Where would she go? Mum had enough on her plate with Gran and, anyway, it was getting late. She grabbed a coat from its hanger, slung her handbag over her shoulder and bumped the case down the stairs.
She wouldn’t creep out like a thief in the night. She dumped the case in the hall and walked into the lounge to face Robin: he poured another glass of whisky and wheeled towards her. She steadied her voice. ‘As I see it we have two options. One, we go back to the clinic together and discuss our options properly. IVF…’
‘Options? You can’t conceive. I won’t adopt. End of.’
‘I’d like to hear it for myself. We should have been given the results together.’
‘What difference would it have made? I couldn’t wait for you to find time away from your precious project.’
‘That isn’t fair. The Peters account is important. Roy’s worked damned hard to build that firm. I want… I need to do my best for him.’
‘Get a gold star by your name more likely. Worm your way onto the board of directors.’
‘Robin, why are you being like this? Anyone would think I was deliberately denying you children.’
‘You don’t realise how important it was to me… to Dad… ‘
‘Robin, I do understand.’
‘Yes, running to Dad behind my back.’
‘I was worried. He’s worried.’
‘Worried? As if he cares.’ He glared at her. ‘Did he tell you what he said to me after the car hit the tree? Now look what you’ve done. There was a branch… pinned Simon to his baby seat. Went right through Mum. Now look what you’ve done.’
The pain in his eyes broke her heart. She’d known there was something eating away at him. She reached for his hand but he snatched it away. ‘Don’t you think he regrets saying that? Can you imagine the guilt he must feel? You can’t spend your life stuck in the past, blaming him for words spoken in grief. He knows it wasn’t your fault and he’s spent the last thirty years trying to make up for it. Robin, you can’t give him Simon back.’
‘And you can’t give him grandchildren.’
She sighed. ‘This isn’t going to work is it? Not right now. We’re tearing each other apart.’
‘What do you suggest? Option two? Abandon the sinking ship.’
She drew on the resolve that leaving her childhood home had germinated: look to the future not the past, the solution not the problem. ‘I’m not abandoning you, but this isn’t doing either of us any good. A trial separation while we get our heads straight. If we can come to terms with a future without children...’
He looked at her, eyes brimming. ‘What future?’
‘Oh, Robin…’ She wanted to hold him, and have him hold her. ‘I understand if you can’t see a future with me. You could have children with someone else.’ She pushed away a vision of Nadia Hodge’s triumphant smile. ‘I won’t stand in your way.’
‘Then why don’t you do me a favour and fuck off now?’
‘Can’t we be civilised about this? After all, we’ve got to work together.’
‘Oh, here we go, again. All you’re worried about is your flaming job. Did you think marrying the boss’s son was a good career move? A quick way from the gutter.’
‘And to think I thought I could ever fit into your life. You’re never going to forgive my backstreet origins, are you?’ The look on his face answered her. She took an involuntary step backwards. ‘I’m going, now.’
He breathed alcohol into her face. ‘Don’t let me stop you.’
‘Call me when you’ve sobered.’
He raised a fisted hand.
She froze. Was this the real Robin drink set free? ‘Hit me again and I swear I’ll call the police.’
He swung round to the mantelpiece and lifted the Flames of Hell above his head. ‘Get out… and take this piece of crap with you.’
She ducked and the carving hit the wall behind her. A corner broke off and ricocheted onto her leg. She grabbed the pieces and ran for the front door, dragging her suitcase. She heaved it into the back of her car and threw the bits of the Flames of Hell in beside it.
She yanked at the pins that trapped her hair and shook free long curls. She wouldn’t be a parody of Robin’s dead mother. She yanked her wedding ring from her finger and threw it into the glove box. Robin would be the last of her mistakes.
At two in the morning, she stood on her sister’s modest doorstep in the heart of the New Forest, her suitcase at her side and the Flames of Hell clutched against her chest. The front door opened and Lucy, hugging her dressing gown around her, stared at her, mouth open. She held out the two pieces of the carving as if they were the shards of her life, and burst into tears.
Chapter Fifteen
Charlotte lay awake, the springs of Lucy’s sofa making circles in her hip. She needed a drink. She groped her way to the kitchen and switched on the light. Lucy’s hospitality didn’t run to spirits. It was probably as well: she had enough problems without adding to them with a hangover. The broken carving lay on the kitchen table. Maybe she could glue it back together. She picked up the two parts and held them to the light. The carving was hollow, and there was something in it.
She pulled out a slip of paper, and words from the grave sped across the years. Hair of innocents: candles to burn eternally in their memory. Beneath the paper, the carving was packed with hair: locks of black, brown and blonde hair protected two small wooden candles. The brown locks looked permed, and one had strands of silver; the curl of black hair was barely long enough to form a bundle, but two golden wisps were tied nea
tly with pink ribbon. ‘Are these mine and Lucy’s, Grandpa?’ No answer. ‘These could be Mum and Gran’s.’
‘So whose is the black hair?’
She jumped. ‘Sorry, did I disturb you, Lucy? I couldn’t sleep.’
‘I was worried about you, and I had to get up to see to Duncan.’
‘This is intriguing.’ She unfolded more paper. ‘The truth shall be uncovered, and I pray for those I love: Auribus teneo lupum. What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘Sounds like Latin.’ Lucy turned over the paper and shrugged. ‘No explanation.’
‘Mum said something about a Northampton address in the parcel.’ She put the candles on the table next to the Flames of Hell. ‘If Grandpa made this so no-one would know it was a box, why put anything inside it?’
‘If Gran’s right and it’s an expression of his war experiences…’
‘And this is our hair… Why wait all that time to carve it?’
‘The truth shall be uncovered.’ Lucy filled the kettle. ‘He must have thought it would be found, eventually.’
‘…and I pray for those I love.’ The words held warning. ‘Lupum sounds like a flower…’
Lucy smiled. ‘Sounds like one of Grandpa’s games. Remember the treasure hunts when we were little.’
‘Treasure? I don’t think so. You know, Luce, I always felt Grandpa wanted to tell me something.’
‘I know what you mean, but why talk in riddles?’
She shrugged. ‘He was a naturally private person. It would be a hard habit to break.’
‘I suppose.’ Lucy put two mugs on the kitchen table and pushed the carving aside. ‘You know you’re welcome to stay, sis.’
‘But you don’t have the room? I won’t be in your way for long.’
‘What on earth happened?’
The ache in her chest spread out to engulf her.
‘What is it, sis?’
‘I can’t have children, Luce.’
‘Oh sis, come here.’ Lucy held out her arms.
She raised a hand to stop her. ‘Don’t, please. I shall fall apart. I’ve never seen Robin so angry. He threw Grandpa’s carving at my head. That’s how it got broken.’
‘He didn’t mean to hurt you, surely? Look, stay. We’ll manage, somehow.’
She smiled her gratitude. ‘He was upset, drunk, lashing out but...’
‘But?’ Lucy waited expectantly.
‘You’re right. Robin’s moody, but he isn’t normally violent. It was the anniversary of his mother’s death coming on top of the test results.’
‘And you left him because he was having a bad day? Doesn’t he deserve a second chance, sis? Robin’s a good man.’
‘He can be thoughtful, and gentle. He doesn’t usually drink too much.’ He’d hit her once and thrown the Flames of Hell. Trust, once lost, was hard to regain but had she been too quick to walk away when he needed her?
‘Look, sis, if you’re worried about going home alone, I could come with you.’
‘No, I’m being stupid. Once we’ve had time to think we’ll both see things more clearly.’
‘They can do all sorts, nowadays. There’s IVF…’
‘Robin didn’t think it was an option. Anyway, I’m not sure a child with Robin is what I want anymore. Suppose he snapped again… threw something at a child. Oh, I don’t know… with the sort of men I seem to attract…’
Lucy changed the subject, tactfully not mentioning her previous disastrous relationships. ‘What are we going to do about this carving of Grandpa’s?’
‘I’ll ring Mum in the morning… see if she still has the letter that was in the parcel.’
‘I’ll do it. I promised I’d ring to see how Gran’s settling in.’
She sipped her tea and stared through the open window at the forest that crowded the end of the garden. Moonlight picked holes between the branches, half-seen shapes moved in the breeze, and Robin filled the wasteland of her mind.
***
Charlotte looked round at the sound of footsteps. Lucy waved a scrap of paper. ‘Mum says it’s Harris, Harris and Mason, 27 York Road. What now?’
Grandpa’s smile battled with Robin’s drunken rage. ‘I’m going to try to find them… see what they know about the carving. I have to face Robin again sooner or later. And arrange permanent storage for Dobbin. He’ll only remind Robin… I should go tomorrow. There are things I need.’
‘Sounds like you’ve decided not to go back to him.’
‘I can’t. Not yet.’
Lucy squeezed her arm. ‘I’ll ask Jackie to have the kids after school and come with you. She owes me a bit of baby-sitting.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘What’s the point of a twin sister if we can’t hold each other’s hands from time to time? We’ll leave as soon as we’ve dropped the kids at school.’
‘And find Grandpa’s treasure? Some chance… though what I’m going to live on if my savings run out…’
Lucy smiled ruefully. ‘It won’t come to that.’
‘Auribus teneo lupum. We could look it up.’
Lucy switched on her laptop, typed in the words and clicked on translate.
A pebble dropped into her mind, sending ripples of unease in ever-widening circles. ‘I am holding the wolf by the ears.’
***
Charlotte parked in a service-station car park and phoned work. ‘Roy, I won’t be coming in today. I cancelled my meeting with Matthew.’
‘Robin isn’t here, either… Is there a problem?’
What could she say? Your son’s a psychological wreck and it’s your fault… ‘We had a… disagreement. I’m at Lucy’s.’
‘I know he can be a bit moody but he can’t help it. He needs you, especially right now. Cut him some slack, Charlotte.’
She could do without emotional blackmail and she’d cut him enough slack to hang himself. ‘I know, but he has to sort his head out, Roy. He’ll do that best without me there.’
‘Is he drinking?’
‘It’s why I left. He’s not answering his phone. I’m on my way there now.’
‘Do you want me to come over?’
‘I don’t think it would help. Lucy’s with me and I’m sure he’ll be sober by the time we get there.’
‘What was this disagreement about, or is it personal?’
‘I expect Robin will tell you… We got the test results, Roy. I’m sorry… I can’t give you grandchildren. Robin’s very upset.’
‘And he thinks you aren’t? That boy… He does love you, Charlotte. He’ll remember that when he gets over the disappointment.’
‘I expect you’re right. I’ll ring you later. I’m sorry to let you down.’
‘Take as much time as you need, Charlotte. Your marriage is more important than the Peters’ contract. If Robin comes in I’ll try talking to him.’
She ended the call, the low-battery symbol showing. Duncan suckled greedily at Lucy’s breast, and a pang of loss engulfed her: she’d never do this simple, primal thing. She stared out of the car window. ‘Harry Bamford, the Man and Van, isn’t due until two. We’ve got time to find Harris, Harris and Mason first, if they still exist.’
‘I wish we had room for Dobbin, Duncan would love him when he’s older.’
Her fingers sought the smooth surface of the carving in her carrier bag. Grandpa touched her mind with the sorrow he’d tried to hide and the silences she’d learned to respect: she hadn’t been able to help him, either.
They parked in the multi-story car park and wrestled the buggy into submission. 27 York Road was a mother and baby shop.
‘Just what I need.’
Lucy put an arm round her shoulder. ‘Give it time, sis. Robin will get over this. Maybe he’ll agree to adopt.’
She forced a smile and pushed open the door.
‘Harris, Harris and Mason?’ The girl straightened from arranging teddy bears, and shook her head. ‘You could ask next door.’
They worked their way down the hill. The na
me on a brass plaque at the side of a wide black door read Mason and Hargreaves, solicitors. ‘Mason…’ She grabbed the front of the buggy and helped haul it up the steps.
A young woman glanced up from her computer screen. ‘Can I help you?’
‘We’re looking for a firm called Harris, Harris and Mason. They were at 27 York Road, maybe thirty years ago?’
The girl frowned. ‘That’s before I was born. Mr Mason has someone with him. If you wait, I’ll ask him.’
They waited. A short, plump man in a suit as shiny as his head, showed his client out.
‘Frank, these ladies are looking for Harris, Harris and Mason’s. Used to be at number 27?’
He cleaned his spectacles on a handkerchief. ‘Good Lord, that’s a blast from the past. Harris and Harris both passed away before my father retired.’ He directed his question at her as Duncan’s grizzling was occupying Lucy. ‘What brings you seeking us?’
‘I’m Charlotte Cummings. This is my sister, Lucy. I confess I have no idea. I found this.’ She pulled the carving from her carrier bag. ‘I think our grandfather made it. The letter with it led us here.’
He tapped his wrist watch with a finger, as if it were a barometer. ‘I have twenty minutes. Come in, both of you. Was your grandfather a client of ours?’
‘I don’t know.’ She spread the contents of the Flames of Hell on the desk. ‘These were sealed inside the carving.’
‘Fascinating.’ He rolled a wooden candle between his finger and thumb, and read the words on the paper. ‘Bizarre. What was your grandfather’s name?’
‘Blundell. William Walter Blundell.’
‘Bear with me.’ He crossed the room and opened the door. ‘Stacey, have we a file in the name of Blundell? It may be in safe custody.’
Lucy looked at her, eyes wide. ‘Safe custody? No, Grandpa never had anything of value.’
She smiled. ‘Treasure?’
Stacey’s disembodied voice chirped. ‘What initial? I have three possibles.’
‘William Walter.’
‘Yes, there is… but it’s among the dormant files. It dates back to 1978.’