The Family Secret

by Tracy Buchanan

  ‘You two must have been hungry,’ she says.

  ‘Starving,’ Lumin admits.

  ‘Thank you, it was delicious,’ Amber adds.

  ‘Not a problem at all. I had a call from your mechanic just now.’

  Amber leans forward. ‘Yes?’

  The woman smiles. ‘Your car’s fine. Just needed new oil.’

  Amber rolls her eyes. ‘Stupid me.’

  ‘The guy who checked it on the road was clearly stupid too,’ Lumin says. ‘He didn’t notice.’

  The woman laughs. ‘It did make me laugh. Anyway, he’ll drop the car off in the morning and you can continue your journey. How does that sound?’

  Lumin bites her lip and looks at Amber. ‘Are you sure it’s okay?’

  Amber smiles at her. ‘Never give up, remember?’

  ‘So, anything else for you ladies?’ the woman asks. ‘I can do some cheese and crackers for you.’

  Lumin yawns. ‘I think I might head to bed actually.’

  ‘Yep, me too. But thank you.’

  As Amber gets ready for bed, Lumin falls straight to sleep, curled up on her side and facing Amber. She looks so young and so vulnerable when she sleeps, all that fierceness gone. Amber wishes she could sleep as soundly. But as she listens to the sound of the soft snow against the window, the whip of the wind against the hills, she thinks of Jasper, and of Katy. All those times she watched them sleep too, especially Katy. What would Katy look like now? She had the Caulfield red hair, of course. But what else? Would she be tall and slim like Jasper? Or all curves and softness like Amber?

  Eventually, Amber falls asleep to the rhythm of Lumin’s breath and with the memories of Katy swirling in her mind like the snow outside: of the feel of her as she held her in her arms, that first giggle and smile.

  But then a scream pierces her slumber, the memories scattering.

  Amber quickly shrugs sleep off and opens her eyes to see Lumin sitting up in bed, breathing heavily, a look of terror on her face in the moonlight.

  Amber quickly jumps out of bed and rushes over to her. ‘Did you have a nightmare?’

  Lumin nods, blinking. Tears are falling down her cheeks. ‘I’m under the water. I – I can’t breathe. And it’s so cold! I’m trying to get out but the ice cracks and – and …’ She shudders.

  Amber strokes her hair. ‘It’s just a nightmare,’ she soothes, just as she had soothed Katy before. ‘You’re safe.’

  Lumin turns to Amber, eyes wide with alarm. ‘There was a man. He was just watching and he didn’t do anything to help me.’

  ‘The man with the beard?’

  Lumin shakes her head. ‘I don’t know. Maybe. He had the same dark hair but no beard. And the lodge I drew was behind him, mountains too. And he was smiling. He was smiling as he watched me drown!’

  Chapter Twelve

  Gwyneth

  Jökulsárlón glacial lagoon, Iceland

  6 January 1991

  When the grey seal pup is fully weaned at three to four weeks, its mother will leave it alone as she seeks new mates and food. The pup survives off its blubber reserves but it must rely on luck to fight off predators.

  I stepped onto the beach, my boots sinking into frosty black sand. Above me, an iceberg stood curved and iridescent blue against white skies. Other icebergs like it littered the beach, a contrast with the black grains of sand.

  In the freezing sea ahead, seals twisted and turned, their little black heads just about discernible above the lapping waves. Others lounged on plates of ice, the one closest to us almost regal as she watched them all. She was the largest of all the female seals, a barrel of flubber with black skin stretched over her large belly. We’d all taken a liking to her and given her a nickname: Duchess. But her most precious cargo was huddled close to her, her growing seal pup, born nearly a month ago and still so small. But soon he would be left alone to fend for himself as Duchess would be forced to go on the hunt for food. I’d been there to witness his birth and now I was waiting to see how the pup coped on his own. Any day now; it was just a matter of time. I could already sense the Duchess’s restlessness.

  Behind me, in a large navy-blue tent, new food supplies were being unpacked. I walked over to help my producer Julia haul out some tins of food, my muscles aching as I bent to lift them. It had been a physically tough expedition. We’d been out there for nine months filming all over Iceland, one of the longest shoots I’d experienced. And over Christmas and New Year too, which had been tough for Julia as she had kids at home. But seals didn’t stop for the festive season and, so it seemed, neither did documentary makers. At least this was the final stretch now. Just a few more days on the Diamond Beach – as it was known – to capture the pup’s first taste of independence, then we’d be done.

  ‘Got any plans when you get home?’ Julia asked me. She had a penchant for wearing expensive garish sunglasses over her kind brown eyes, their mirror lenses reflecting my own dishevelled hair and tired face back at me. She always had this look about her, like she was on the verge of telling a joke: a sparkle, a tilt to the mouth. And God, she could tell a damn good joke. But she could be deadly serious when she wanted to be, especially when it came to her work. Like now, a clipboard in her hands, cheeks red from the cold. ‘Will be nice to have some alone time after nine months hauled up with this lot, right?’

  I thought of returning to London on my own. My heart sank. I lived for the months I was shooting. Some had families to return to, like Julia with two teenage girls and her husband waiting for her. Those without families would catch up with friends when they got home … not that there were many friends. Jobs like ours meant you missed key milestones, the big life events. It was too easy to lose touch.

  Reg used to be the person I’d come home to. We’d pick up where we’d left off, reading, occasional theatre trips, long walks. But now he was gone and going home meant I’d be left alone with my thoughts.

  Like thoughts of Dylan.

  I hadn’t looked back after leaving on the day they found Heather on the loch. I’d retrieved my bag, scribbled my number and a note for Dylan, then walked out unnoticed, heading towards the grey farmhouse on the other side of the loch. The occupants of that house were my only hope of getting a lift without going back to the McCluskys. I just couldn’t deal with it all, too many painful memories. And if I’d felt like I was encroaching when I’d arrived, I’d certainly felt it as I’d watched them wrapped up in the drama with Heather. I still had flashbacks to her blue lips, the sight of her being carried from the frozen loch.

  When I approached the farmhouse that day, it felt so different from the McCluskys’ lodge. No Christmas lights twinkled in the windows, no festive wreath on the door. The walls of the old house dripped with moss, the garden in front unkempt. It was almost like nobody lived there any more. But there were two vehicles there, a Land Rover and a white van. Two vehicles that could take me to where I needed to be. I’d get a lift to the nearest town, call the hire company to get them to retrieve the car from the road, then take the most direct route back to London.

  I was desperate to get away, yet I didn’t know what I was running from. I told myself it was all the drama and the memories. But as time went on, I wondered if was Dylan and how I felt about him. Was I scared of getting close to someone and have them die, like Reg … or abandon me like my parents?

  At first, nobody answered the door of the farmhouse when I knocked. But then I heard the sound of a latch being lifted and the door creaked open to reveal a bleary-eyed man with messy red hair peering out at me. He looked to be in his sixties or seventies. ‘What?’ he asked gruffly, a contrast to the welcome I’d had from the McCluskys.

  ‘I broke down,’ I quickly explained. ‘I wondered if I could get a lift to the nearest town.’ He gave me a hard look. ‘Or use your phone to call a taxi? I can wait on the road.’

  ‘Phone’s not working.’ He went to close the door but there was a sound from behind him and a woman with a faded black cardigan wrapped
around her and painfully gaunt cheeks appeared in the darkness of the hallway.

  ‘Who is it?’ she asked in a strong Scottish accent.

  ‘Some lass, Rosa. Says she’s broken down,’ the man replied.

  ‘Let her in then. Honestly, Gavin!’ Rosa said impatiently. She strode down the hallway and shoved in front of him, opening the door. ‘Excuse my husband.’ I could see she was younger than her husband, maybe in her late forties. ‘Look at the poor lass, she’ll catch her death. Come on.’

  ‘Thanks.’ I smiled as she let me in. ‘I won’t impose long. I just need to call a taxi.’

  ‘I told you our phone’s not working,’ Gavin said. In the light of the hallway, I could see he was wearing thick tracksuit bottoms, a stained woolly green jumper. The house was sparse with no festive decorations, the smell of damp emanating from the walls.

  ‘Gavin’s right,’ Rosa explained. ‘Snow took our lines down. We can give you a lift though, can’t we, Gavin?’

  Gavin scowled at the idea and his wife gave him a severe look. He sighed. ‘Fine.’

  Ten minutes later, we were driving away from the loch. The couple sat silently in the front, the air oppressive. As we hit the road I’d travelled down two days before, I twisted around to stare at the lodge, its twinkling lights and majestic Christmas tree belying the drama I’d just left behind. Already I was regretting leaving like that, but there was no turning back now.

  ‘Friends of the McCluskys?’ Gavin eventually asked after a few miles of driving in silence, his eyes regarding me in the wing mirror.

  ‘No, not really,’ I replied. ‘I broke down and they let me stay for a day or two.’

  ‘Good you got out when you did then. They can suck you right in, those lot. A mess of a family.’

  Rosa squeezed her husband’s arm and quickly shook her head.

  ‘Do you know them well?’ I’d asked, curious.

  ‘Not any more,’ Rosa said quickly.

  ‘Not for ten years,’ her husband growled.

  She shot him another look. ‘Here we are,’ she said as we approached a small train station. ‘That’ll get you to Glasgow.’

  I dug around in my bag for my purse but she twisted around in her seat and put her hand on my arm. ‘Don’t be silly. You just take care of yourself, okay?’ As she looked into my eyes, I saw an unbearable sadness in hers.

  ‘And keep as far away from the McCluskys as you can,’ Gavin added in a gruff voice.

  What had they done to anger him so?

  On the long train journey to London, I imagined Dylan looking around for me and finding my bag gone, replaced by the quick message I’d left on the bed with my number scrawled on it. Maybe he’d be angry, me just walking out like that? But I had left my phone number and I felt my tummy tingle in anticipation of hearing from him soon.

  He never did call though. It surprised me how sad that made me. But then I had nine months of hard graft to come in Iceland, so I was able to push it from my mind. Well, when I was busy anyway. The moments when I rested brought back thoughts of Dylan. Soon I would have months of rest ahead of me, plenty of time to think of the what-ifs.

  ‘I’ll miss it here actually,’ I admitted to Julia now.

  ‘Oh, come on, Gwyn,’ Julia said with a laugh. ‘It can’t all be work, work, work. You look exhausted. You need the rest, some play too.’

  ‘There was a bit of play,’ I said, eyeing the Icelandic wildlife researcher who was with us, a tall blond man called Lyngar. We’d shared a few drunken fumbles but my mind hadn’t really been into it, often drifting to Dylan.

  ‘Look,’ Julia said, putting her hand on my arm, ‘I know it’s hard to maintain a normal life with this job. God, do I know,’ she added with a shake of the head. ‘But there will come a point when it’s not enough. When your bones are too creaky and your skin has grown tired of the cold. You need to start planning for it.’

  ‘Jesus, Julia, I’m only twenty-five!’

  ‘I know, but I’ve seen what a toll this trip has taken on you. You’ve been taking on too many night shifts for the others and it’s showing.’

  ‘I love my job,’ I said, stifling a yawn. ‘Anyway, look at Reg, he didn’t stop until he was in his eighties!’

  She smiled sadly. ‘Reg was a one in a million, sweetheart. I just worry about you.’

  ‘Thanks, Mum, but I’ll be all right.’ I gave her a mischievous smile and she sighed. I pointed to the crew who were all now standing around, everything unpacked. ‘Seriously, stop worrying about me. Your subjects await you.’

  She nodded, slipping into serious mode, and turned to the group. ‘You guys all right with the rota?’ she asked them all. They nodded. ‘How’s your tummy?’ she asked Jim, the other cameraperson. He was a slip of a man with a white neat beard and white hair, which helped him to blend into the background. He’d been quiet at first but after a few weeks of getting to know him, I realised he had a filthy sense of humour, something desperately needed on jobs like this. Something he definitely needed now while battling a bout of gastric flu.

  He grimaced. ‘Getting there.’

  ‘I’m happy to take your night shift again,’ I said.

  Julia gave me a disapproving look. ‘You’ve been doing too many night shifts.’

  ‘And day shifts,’ Lyngar said, matching her disapproval. I’d noticed he’d become a bit protective of me lately. I hoped he wasn’t going to declare his love for me before the trip was out. God, that sounded conceited. But it happened on trips like this, everyone squeezed in together. Connections formed fast for some, feelings exaggerated.

  ‘I feel fine,’ I said, taking a flask of coffee from Mark, our runner. He was young, just twenty. I’d like to say he reminded me of myself when I was a runner but he was a lot more laid back, maybe too laid back sometimes. He made a damn good cup of coffee though.

  Jim shook his head. ‘It’s fine, Gwyneth, I—’ He swallowed, putting his hand to his mouth. ‘Jesus, not again.’ Then he ran to the bin and puked up into it.

  I crossed my arms and smiled. ‘Decision made. I’ll do the night shift.’

  ‘No chance,’ Julia said. ‘Lyngar, you have some filming experience, right?’

  ‘Oh, come on, Julia,’ I protested. ‘No offence, Lyngar, but what’s he going to do when Duchess suddenly darts into the sea and he has to follow her? They’re bloody fast, these seals. Anyway, I had a great sleep last night.’

  It was a lie. I’d actually gone out in the car to explore a nearby abandoned building. An idea was forming in my mind, of filming animals who make homes in old structures forgotten by humans. It was particularly beautiful here, in the winter: ice-cracked windows and snow fallen through broken roofs. I didn’t know what I’d do with the footage. But right now I was enjoying doing it, a project just for me. ‘I’ll be fine, honestly,’ I said. ‘I’ve never needed much sleep anyway, you know me.’

  Lyngar gave me a small smile. He certainly did know. ‘She’s right, Julia,’ he said. ‘I can’t produce anything close to the work Gwyneth does.’

  ‘Fine,’ Julia said reluctantly. ‘But tomorrow night, you take a break.’

  I gave her a thumbs-up. ‘I promise.’

  Later that night, I sat on a fold-out chair, looking up at the stars. It didn’t feel dark, the icebergs around me like diamonds. Ahead of me, Duchess breathed heavily on her ice bed, her pup curled up next to her, oblivious to the fact he’d soon be abandoned. Duchess was sleeping so much better now she’d given birth. She was always so restless when she was pregnant. Who could blame her with a pup squirming inside? It reminded me of a photo I’d once seen of my own mum, heavily pregnant with me, standing sideways to the camera, smiling proudly but clearly looking uncomfortable. My parents must have been so excited to welcome their first child into the world. And yet, fourteen years later, it all fell to pieces.

  I looked at my watch. Five minutes to midnight. A few minutes until it would officially be my birthday. I flinched slightly. That would make it exactly t
en years since the day I saw my parents last. But I still remembered the looks on their faces like it was yesterday. The flicker of doubt on my mum’s face. The pained way my dad had regarded me.

  They still sent me away though.

  ‘We just need some time,’ my mum had said as we’d stood in the foyer of the hotel that was to become my home. ‘It’s just too hard …’ Her voice had trailed off and she’d taken in a sharp breath, looking away. ‘This will be good for you, you’ll see.’

  My aunt had put her hand on my shoulder then, giving it a quick squeeze, the one and only time she showed me any affection. I saw it as a consoling gesture at the time. But looking back, it was a stamp of ownership. As my parents walked to their taxi, I remember my mum turning once and there were tears in her eyes. I’d wanted to run after them, promise I’d be better behaved if they just let me go home with them. But then I remembered another look my mum had given me after she’d found out what had happened: the look of horror then disappointment. The memory of that look kept me rooted to the ground.

  Loneliness overwhelmed me suddenly as I sat watching the seal now. The loneliness was vast like the frozen ocean before me. I thought of the McCluskys. What would they be doing now? Would they still be at the lodge after Christmas and New Year? Maybe Dylan would have made a quick exit after Christmas Day. He said he found it a bit much. Hopefully Heather would be getting some help.

  I leant my head back and stared up at the stars. If only Heather knew how lucky she was to have parents who loved her. At her age, I was working my fingers to the bone for Reg. Sure, it was doing something I loved. But to have had a few more years of innocent family life with my parents, maybe a chance at university too.

  As I considered the what-ifs, my eyelids began to grow heavy, exhaustion sweeping over me. I shook my head, sitting up straighter and reaching for my flasked coffee. I took a swig and stroked my camera, which was resting on my knees, ready to start filming. I looked over at Duchess, listening to the hypnotising inhale and exhale of her sleeping breath. My eyelids started to droop again, the lack of sleep rushing at me and enveloping me in a warm, heady wave …