‘Shh, Skye.’ She brushes the hair off my face. ‘It’s going to be fine. Now that it’s all out in the open, you’ll be able to move on.’
‘But I just don’t understand! How could she do that to me? Why did she write those things? How could she… feel those things?’
‘Let’s get you to your room.’ She helps me up. I feel like my body has been cut open, stuffed with stones and sewn back up again.
‘She…’ I gasp ‘… hated me. Why did she hate me so much?’
‘Come now…’ Fiona speaks to me like she’s comforting a child. ‘She was just a young girl. Very confused from the sound of it. Eventually, it would have worked itself out. Not without a lot of brimstone and bother, mind you. And you have a right to feel betrayed. But in the end, what happened that night is still a terrible tragedy.’
That’s the long and short of it. No matter what Ginny thought of me, us, and her life in general, she shouldn’t have died that night. But how did we get the bracelet? My memories may be damaged but I know one thing with absolute certainty: she was wearing the bracelet when she left the house in Byron’s Jeep.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say finally. ‘I’ve ruined everything by coming back. Bill was right that I shouldn’t go digging. And now… Mum… how is Mum—?’
‘Fi?’ We’re interrupted by Bill calling from downstairs. ‘The paramedics are here.’
I manage to drag myself downstairs. I’m only half aware of the proceedings: Mum having her blood pressure taken, the paramedics announcing that Mum needs to be taken to hospital for some tests. Bill volunteering to go with her. And then, one of the paramedics comes into the kitchen.
‘Skye? Your mum’s asking for you.’ Somehow, hearing those words, my heart lifts ever so slightly.
Mum has been moved onto a stretcher. I go to her and she grabs my hand. ‘Skye,’ she says, pulling me down to her with a surprisingly strong grip.
‘Oh, Mum,’ I say. A tear rolls down my cheek and drips on to her face. She closes her eyes. The paramedics wheel the stretcher away.
38
In my lowest moments over the past fifteen years, I didn’t think it was possible to feel this awful. I can’t even find it in me to cry as I take the bracelet and Ginny’s last journal over to Skybird. DCI Hamilton will need it to complete the file. I’ll drop it with him, and then I’ll go back to the house to pack my suitcase. The only thing that had seemed clear to me, as I watched Mum loaded into the ambulance, was that it is better for everyone if I leave, sooner rather than later. And this time, I won’t be coming back. Mum is better off without me, I see that now. I will go back to living my life away from here, a tiny boat adrift without an anchor.
DS Paterson’s car is gone. It’s only been a short time since I was here last, but it seems like another lifetime, when I was a different person. Thanks to Ginny’s last words, after all these years, I now see myself for who I truly am.
I knock on the door. It takes several minutes of the dog barking before the door opens.
For a second, I don’t recognise Nick. He’s wearing small wire-framed glasses that make him look like an Oxford scholar rather than an outdoorsy artist. I almost allow myself to acknowledge how much I want him – or I did… before. But that’s not why I’m here.
‘I found this,’ I say, thrusting the journal towards him. ‘Or rather, Emily did. My sister’s last diary. And the bracelet she was wearing that night. I don’t know how we came to have it back. Apparently it was in the car after the crash. My brother doesn’t think it means anything, but I’m sure it does. I know that she was wearing it that night.’
‘Come in, won’t you?’ he says. ‘You look… terrible.’ He takes off his glasses and tucks them into the pocket of his shirt.
‘I got upset at Emily. And then Mum collapsed.’
‘Oh, Skye.’
He takes me in his arms. Tenderly, caring. He holds me. Like I’m a human being, a woman who deserves something more than a broken, shattered life. But he’s wrong. I push him away.
‘No,’ I say. ‘I can’t do this. Not with all this hanging over my head.’
His eyes darken. ‘That’s fine,’ he says. ‘But I don’t like to see you so upset. I…’ he pauses, ‘I know that we barely know each other. But I care about you.’
‘Why?’ I throw the words back at him. ‘Why should you? Why care about a control freak who ruined her sister’s life. That’s what I was – I see that now. There was only one thing that she wanted: for me to go away. So she could have a life with my boyfriend and have his baby. Those were her dreams. And I was too thick – too completely obtuse – to see it.’
I feel like punching him, shouting at him. Seeing him, wanting him… knowing that
there is this terrible thing hanging between us… This was how Ginny felt too. ‘She was trapped,’ I say in a strangled voice. ‘Trapped by me, and trapped by her own guilt at what she’d done to me. And Mum… keeping secrets for all these years. Eaten up inside by them. She was right to blame me all those years ago. I see that now.’
‘I want to show you something.’ His voice is calm and measured. I feel even more like a raving lunatic.
‘No. I’m leaving now. It’s for the best. I can’t stay.’
‘It will only take a minute. Then you can go home to your family. You need them, and they need you. Especially now. And I need time to look into all of this properly.’
I have no strength to resist. I step inside, hating myself a little more for being so weak.
The fire has died to glowing embers. When I enter, Kafka licks my hand and I want to grab hold of him, hug him, and put everything else from my mind. Nick directs me to the kitchen. I stand at the threshold staring. The file is nowhere in sight. Instead, the table is covered with Nick’s sketches of me.
I go to the table for a closer look. Some are only a few hurried lines, others just an expression in the eyes, or a shaded profile. All of them seem practically to leap off the page with a movement and life of their own.
He picks one up and hands it to me: a close-up of my face with the impression of snow on my hair. I stare at it for a long time. The expression in the eyes, the curve of the mouth. It’s like all the details I see in the mirror have been stripped away. Instead of revealing an insipid beauty underneath, he’s captured something quite different. An earthly sense of strength, a light in the eyes. Not the woman I am now, but one that I might aspire to be. Recognisable, and yet, unfamiliar.
He studies me as I look at them. ‘When I first met you – properly, I mean – you intrigued me,’ he says. ‘There was something about you. I mean, other than the fact that you’re incredibly beautiful, and sexy.’
I laugh. It feels unfamiliar.
‘There’s a vulnerability about you. The woman on the beach. But there’s also this light in your eyes… this inner strength.’ He shakes his head. ‘I can’t describe it in words. But as an artist, I was curious to know more.’
I pick up one of the sketches he did of me standing by the fire, my head just turned in profile. My body soft, languid, and yet, with a few strong lines along the curve of my back.
‘And “as an artist”, what did you conclude?’ That tension has sprung back up between us. I could surrender to this. One glimmer of light, one moment of happiness – and true escape – before I leave this place forever.
It’s him who moves away, breaking the connection. He gathers the papers in a stack. He picks up one sketch but doesn’t hold it out to me. I see it though, over his shoulder. Me lying by the fire, my knee lolling to the side. In this one, my face isn’t showing that duality of strength and vulnerability. My expression is one of sheer, unabashed desire. For him…
‘Let’s save that one for later, shall we?’ There’s a catch in his voice. He puts it at the bottom of the stack. ‘I’m going to read through the file now.’ He presses his lips together. ‘Do some real work, as my dad would say.’
‘Thank you for showing me.’ I feel overcome with emotion.
‘I’m not finished.’ He comes closer to me. So close, that I can feel his breath on my hair. ‘I hope we’re only just getting started.’
Heat rises between us as he draws me close, but gives only the lightest brush of his lips on mine. ‘Go home, Skye,’ he says. ‘Let me do this. It may take a few days – I just don’t know. But when it’s all over… I’ll be looking forward to it.’
I nod, a heavy, bittersweet taste in my mouth. I don’t tell him that once it’s over – once he finds something, or nothing – then I’ll be gone.
‘Thank you.’ My voice shakes, betraying the desperation I feel. His eyes are grey now, closed off. The artist searching for his muse is gone and in his place is the steely, analytical policeman. My earlier anger is gone completely. Now, in its place, I feel… fear.
‘I’ll be in touch when I have something to report.’
I nod and go to the door, leaving him, another would-be lover, with… my sister. That didn’t turn out so well before.
In the time it takes me to walk back to Mum’s cottage, I make a few decisions. I can’t leave until Mum is at least a little better, and until Nick has had a proper look at the file. Christmas is in a few days. I can ruin it by giving in to the anger, regret, and guilt that I feel, or I can look deep within myself and try to find the strong woman, the one that Nick captured, albeit fleetingly, in some of his sketches. One with the courage to put the past behind and try to forge a new future. One who can set her sister free in her mind, and maybe find a new freedom as well. I don’t know what Nick will find or what conclusions he will draw. It now seems impossible to salvage this homecoming. But at least I’ll have a little time to figure out where I’m going to go next; what I’m going to do with… the rest of my life.
When I come inside, Fiona is in the kitchen making hot chocolate. ‘Skye,’ she says. ‘I was wondering where you went. I was getting worried.’
‘I had to clear my head,’ I say. ‘And I took the journal and the bracelet over to Skybird.’
A slow smile comes over Fiona’s face. ‘How much clearing of your head are you doing over at that cottage?’ she said. ‘I’ve seen Mr Hamilton. He’s quite the… artist.’
‘You’ve seen his work?’
‘He was nice enough to give Bill and me a little tour. There was one painting in particular… lovely mermaid lass on the beach.’
My cheeks flare, thinking of how his next incarnation of that ‘lovely lass’ might be wearing rather less clothing. ‘Yes…’ I say. ‘I saw that one too.’
‘He seems a decent sort,’ Fiona says, ‘And he is also rather gorgeous.’
I laugh. ‘He is, isn’t he?’
‘Well then?’ Her smile fades a little.
‘Unfortunately, I really am trying to get to the bottom of what happened,’ I say. ‘Especially now. Bill doesn’t think the bracelet is significant, but I know that she was wearing it that night. I don’t know what Nick might dredge up but I want him to have all the information. People were hiding things. Even… Mum… and Bill.’ I pause to let this sink in. ‘Whatever the truth is, we can’t have any more secrets.’
‘Yes,’ she says. ‘I understand.’
‘And when he’s had a look at the file, and Mum’s back home, then… I’m going to leave.’
‘Oh, Skye.’ Fiona looks genuinely upset. ‘You don’t have to do that. It’s been so good having you here. Being together – as a family.’
‘Fiona, my being here has been nothing short of a disaster.’
‘No – that’s just not true!’ I’m surprised to see her wipe a tear from her eyes. ‘It’s been good for your mum, even if she doesn’t show it. Good for the kids – Emily worships you. And it’s been a help for Bill too. And me…’ She smiles. ‘I never had a sister. It may sound daft, but I, well… when this is all over… I think I could see you that way.’
It’s my turn to tear up. Me, who never used to cry, has become like a leaky water fountain since I’ve been here.
‘I already see you as a friend,’ I say. ‘Part of the family. I’m just so grateful to you for everything.’
She comes over and hugs me. I allow myself to acknowledge the flicker of hope inside that refuses to die.
‘Don’t go packing your suitcase just yet,’ she says when we come apart. ‘Let’s see how it all plays out. Do you promise?’
‘Yes, for now… I promise.’
39
The next two days are tense and difficult as we wait to hear how Mum’s doing. Bill isn’t speaking to me, the boys won’t stop squabbling, and Emily barely leaves her room at the cottage. I’m tempted to go and see Nick – see if he’s found out anything; have a look at the file myself. But having asked him to take a look with his professional eye, I decide that I’m best letting him get on with it. And right now, I don’t feel up to any more shocks. I do go to visit Mum in hospital, but she’s groggy from the mild sedative she’s been given. I sit at her bedside, holding her hand, trying not to cry. I know that it’s going to take time for me to come to terms with what I’ve learned: about Mum, and about Ginny the stranger. But right now, Mum’s health is most important.
On my way out I manage to corral one of the doctors. He tells me that she hasn’t had another stroke but that her blood pressure is high and she seems to be under a lot of stress. I feel awful that a lot of that stress is down to me.
On the third day, Mum comes home. She’s feisty and irritable but seems perfectly lucid. I even dare to hope that the stay in hospital might have done her some good. Getting away from the house, away from the memories. It makes me even more determined to finish clearing out my room. As soon as she’s doing a little better, I’ll tell her what I’ve done. Surely she’ll see that it’s the right decision.
For Mum’s return, Fiona and Emily have baked a nice meal of chicken, potatoes and vegetables. Lorna comes over to play cards, plump pillows, and generally fuss about to make sure that Mum rests and doesn’t get upset by anything. It seems to work.
Later on when the boys have fallen asleep, Bill carries them, one over each shoulder, back to the cottage. Lorna helps Mum up to bed, and Fiona and Emily help me tidy up the front room.
‘That went well,’ Fiona says, keeping her voice low.
‘Yes,’ I say.
‘You’ll be OK here… with her?’
‘Yes,’ I say, more certain than I feel. ‘You two go now, I’ll see you tomorrow.’
Lorna comes down saying that Mum’s in the bathroom and should be fine to go to bed. The three of them leave together.
I finish tidying up the kitchen. I hear the water running upstairs and then the dull sound of cane, foot, foot, cane. The opening and closing of a door. It’s silly for me to skulk around downstairs. I should go up, say goodnight, begin again as I mean to continue.
I go upstairs. Mum is standing just outside the door to my room. She glances in my direction, her eyes glassy and bright. I know then, that she’s discovered what I’ve been up to.
‘Mum?’ I say. ‘Is everything OK?’
‘I… was bringing you a fresh towel…’ she says, with a confused stammer. ‘I went into your room.’
‘OK, thanks.’
Her eyes are those of a stranger as she takes a step towards me.
‘You want to cut her out of your life,’ she says. ‘Pretend she doesn’t exist.’
‘No, Mum, it’s not like that.’
‘It’s wrong,’ she says. ‘She’s your sister. She’s done so much for you. And this is how you thank her for her troubles?’
My breathing quickens with a rising sense of panic. Is it too late to go over and get Bill?
‘It’s not her fault that you’ve thrown everything away. All your wonderful talent, everything you worked for. And now, you’ll have a baby. You’ll be stuck here… Oh, Ginny, how could you do that?’
She crumples against the wall, her face in her hands.
‘Mum?’ I go over to her but don’t touch her. It’s as if something inside
of her has finally snapped. She’s gone, and I don’t know how to get her back. I’ve tried Bill’s method of ‘not rocking the boat’. That hasn’t worked. The only thing I have left to try is the truth.
‘Mum,’ I say in a calm, soothing voice, ‘I’ve been clearing out some of Ginny’s things from the room. Not to forget her, but because it needs to be done. I thought it would help – both of us – to have a clean slate, like you’ve done with the rest of the house. I won’t throw the things out if you want them. But they need to be out of the room.’
Her body shakes. The cane clatters to the floor and she grips the wall. I risk putting my hand on her back to steady her.
‘Skye?’ she says, her eyes gradually coming back into focus.
I plough on. It feels like now or never. I have to get this out in the open. ‘I’ve learned some things since I’ve been here,’ I say. ‘Things that are difficult for me to accept. I know that Ginny resented me. For not listening to her, or finding out what she really wanted. And I also know about the baby. Ginny was going to have an abortion but you talked her out of it. You convinced her to go and tell James.’
‘That awful boy…’
‘James isn’t to blame,’ I say. ‘Ginny broke up with him, broke his heart. And James wasn’t the baby’s father. Byron was the father.’
‘No,’ Mum wails. ‘That can’t be right. She wouldn’t do that.’
I wave that off. ‘Ginny did talk to James that night. But he didn’t want her back. And it wasn’t what she wanted anyway. She was in love with Byron. Genuinely in love, I think. But she couldn’t tell me. If she had, then maybe things would have been different. I would have been angry, but I would have forgiven her. Eventually.’ I run my hand in circles on Mum’s back. ‘And nothing changes the fact that I loved her, even if… she couldn’t love me.’
My Mother's Silence (ARC) Page 23