The Family Secret

by Tracy Buchanan

  But I did care for Dylan.

  He turned towards me, eyes exploring my face. ‘So what’s next for you?’ he asked.

  ‘I don’t know. What’s next for you?’ I countered, my eyes teasing.

  But he didn’t smile back. ‘Seriously. Do you have another shoot lined up?’

  ‘There are always shoots. But I’ve been thinking I wouldn’t mind a break from it all. Maybe even a year.’ I peered out of a window towards the icy landscape of the farm and the snow-fringed trees in the distance. ‘In fact, I’ve taken a bit of a liking to Iceland.’

  ‘A year out? Won’t that harm your career?’

  I shrugged. ‘Maybe it’s time for a change.’

  He sat up, staring into the distance, face sombre. ‘That’s crazy, Gwyneth. You know you love making documentaries.’

  ‘I do. I just want to slow down a bit, you know? I’ve been doing it for so many years now.’ I kissed his back. ‘And I’m hoping I have an incentive to slow it down a bit.’

  He looked down at me. ‘Is that incentive me?’

  ‘Partly.’

  ‘Because if it is about me, about us,’ he said, his eyes unreadable, ‘then that’s just silly.’

  ‘Silly?’ I laughed. ‘Look, it’s something I want to do, it’s not just about you. I’d probably be doing this anyway even if I hadn’t met you again.’

  He held my gaze. ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes, really. I just want to chill for a bit.’

  He laughed. ‘You? Chill?’

  I moved away from him, crossing my arms. ‘Why not?’

  ‘Look,’ he said with a sigh, ‘all I’m saying is, don’t do this because of us.’ I pulled the fur throw up my chest, covering my bare breasts. ‘I won’t want to be the reason you take a step back from a career you love, Gwyneth.’

  ‘Is that such an issue?’ I said. ‘I mean, it’s mainly about me and needing a break. But what if I were doing this for you? I’m not imagining what we have, am I?’

  He avoided my gaze. ‘Yeah, things are good. The sex is mind-blowing. It’s been fun.’

  ‘Sex.’ I felt my stomach sink. ‘Fun? Right, I see.’

  I moved further away from him, heart thumping. Had I got this all wrong?

  Dylan put his hand on my shoulder. ‘I’m just saying, I don’t want to hold you back, that’s all.’

  I shoved his hand off me. ‘Why, because it’s just been a little holiday romance?’

  His dark eyes flickered with emotion then his face hardened. ‘You know it’s meant more than that. I just didn’t think—’ He paused, taking a deep breath. ‘I didn’t think we were expecting it to be a long-term thing, right?’

  I looked at him in surprise as my cheeks burned with shame. I jumped up, walked to my clothes and pulled them on. Dylan watched me, not saying anything. I’d had countless conversations like this, but all those times it was me in Dylan’s position, telling someone else I wanted to cool things down. The number of times men I’d met had confused passion with love. And now I’d done the same with Dylan.

  I forced myself to calm down before turning back to Dylan. ‘You’re right. It has been fun,’ I said in as carefree a voice as I could muster. ‘Sorry to make it all serious. I hate it when people do that.’

  His eyes flickered with emotion and he was very quiet for a few moments, his breath low and deep. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said eventually, his voice catching. ‘I shouldn’t have led you on.’

  ‘It’s fine, really,’ I said, drawing on the same reserves I’d used after seeing my parents walk away all those years ago. I looked at my watch. ‘I guess we better head back to the ice beach before the sun sets.’

  He regarded me with sad dark eyes. I know how awful it feels having to tell someone you don’t feel the same way. But that didn’t make it any easier.

  He dressed and shrugged on his coat. We walked to the truck together in silence, and I forced away the tears I could feel coming. As I went to get in on the passenger side, he grabbed my wrist softly. ‘Gwyneth?’

  I turned to him. He explored my face, his own pained.

  ‘Yes?’ I asked, hoping he’d tell me it was a mistake, he did see the connection between us.

  ‘It’s been good seeing you.’ Then his hand slipped from mine.

  Chapter Sixteen

  I ended up staying in Iceland for a few more weeks, heading out to Reykjavik with Lyngar, the Icelandic guide I’d spent a few nights with in the camp. I made it clear nothing would happen. I didn’t want to do what Dylan had done to me. He was fine with that. In fact, I even stayed in his spare room and we spent the nights talking. It was a relief to have him as a friend without the complication of sex.

  I found myself feeling completely strung out. A little voice inside told me this was how it felt to have your heart broken but I dismissed it. I wasn’t one of those women whose emotions and life were so guided by a man that they fell to pieces when someone didn’t feel the same way. I told myself it was just trying to figure out what to do next that was draining me.

  But the fact was, Dylan had blindsided me. I rarely got people wrong. But boy, had I got him wrong! And though I tried to tell myself it was just one of those things, I couldn’t help dwelling on it. I threw myself into going out into Reykjavik with Lyngar and his friends. It was such a wonderful city with stunning architecture and unique places to eat and drink. It was a welcome respite from the raw nature of the ice beach.

  One evening, I passed a gallery and was surprised to see Hekla inside, swaying to the music as she spoke to someone. She caught me watching her, strode towards the door and opened it wide. ‘Gwyneth! Come in, come in! You can see what I do!’

  I hesitated as I gazed at all the people inside.

  ‘We have champagne,’ she added. ‘Lots of it.’

  Lyngar grabbed my hand and dragged me in. I recognised some of the faces there from the party Asher and Helka held at their house. That memory brought a stab of pain as I thought of how it had felt to see Dylan there. I wondered what he was doing now. Was he still in Iceland?

  Among the crowd were artists, many of whom had disabilities. Hekla explained it was their art that hung on the walls, her charity making is possible by funding physiotherapy sessions and prosthetics.

  ‘Is Asher here?’ I asked, looking around.

  ‘He was here on the opening night yesterday,’ Hekla said, handing us two glasses of champagne. ‘So Dylan is ancient history now?’ she asked, looking Lyngar up and down.

  ‘There was never anything to make any history,’ I said, quickly sipping some champagne. I grimaced. It tasted strange.

  ‘Didn’t look like that to me,’ Hekla said, watching as I put the glass of champagne down. Hekla turned to Lyngar and waved her hand. ‘Go explore. Gwyneth and I need to talk.’

  ‘You don’t have to go!’ I said to him, not really wanting to talk about Dylan. I was trying to put him behind me.

  ‘No, it’s fine, really,’ Lyngar said, not reading the signals in my eyes. ‘I’d like to look at this art anyway. Who knows, maybe I will buy a piece?’

  ‘I insist you do!’ Hekla said. When he walked off, Hekla took my arm, dipping her head close to mine. ‘Come now, woman to woman. What happened with Dylan? He disappeared not long after you left, took himself back to Scotland and that godforsaken family business. After everything we discussed, I am so disappointed in him.’

  I shuffled awkwardly.

  ‘So what happened with the two of you?’ Hekla asked.

  ‘It was no big deal,’ I replied. ‘I just don’t think he wanted to be tied down. And anyway, we barely knew each other.’

  ‘Well, maybe it’s for the best,’ she said, waving at someone as they passed. ‘His family are a mess. You wouldn’t want to get involved.’

  I frowned. Hadn’t the man who owned the farmhouse across from the loch said the same? A mess of a family, he’d said.

  ‘How long have you known the McCluskys?’ I asked.

  ‘I’ve known Mairi and
Oscar twenty years,’ Hekla replied. ‘Asher and I met them at a design conference in Geneva many years before we married. We were even going to spend some of our honeymoon with them when we toured the UK. But they had to cancel. A family tragedy, apparently.’

  ‘Tragedy?’

  She nodded. ‘I never did find out what happened. I didn’t want to pry.’

  ‘When was this?’

  ‘Asher and I celebrated our ten-year anniversary last year.’

  I thought about it. That would have been eleven years ago. Dylan had said Heather had witnessed something awful as a ten-year-old. She must be around twenty now so that would put it in the same time period. Then something else occurred to me: Gavin had said the two families had stopped talking to each other ten years ago.

  ‘Why do you say they’re messed up?’ I asked Hekla. ‘Just because they experienced a family tragedy doesn’t make them a mess.’

  She smiled slightly. ‘Just something my intuition tells me, especially about the mother. The way she interacted with her children, the control she exerted. I can’t quite put my finger on it. But I just know. I have a way of knowing things. My mother always said I was psychic.’

  I tried not to laugh and imagined Dylan hearing this, trying to suppress his laughter too.

  A woman came up to Hekla then and whispered into her ear.

  Hekla nodded then smiled at me. ‘I must go. But please, enjoy the art.’ She was about to walk off but paused, turned back and leant close to me again. ‘How many weeks are you?’ she asked.

  I laughed. ‘Pardon?’

  ‘How many weeks pregnant?’

  I looked at her in shock. ‘I’m not pregnant!’

  ‘If you say so,’ she said, tapping the side of her nose.

  ‘I think it’s the champagne talking,’ I said nervously, gesturing to the glass in her hand. ‘I am definitely not pregnant.’

  But as Lyngar and I walked up the street half an hour later, Lyngar regaling me with the history of his relationship with his ‘stalker ex’ as he called her, I put my hand to my stomach, doing the maths in my mind. How long had it been since I’d got my period? More than a month, that was for sure. Maybe more than two months. I’d put on weight too, despite not eating much, appetite all but gone since that conversation with Dylan.

  That was when it dawned on me: Hekla was right.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Amber

  Audhild Loch

  23 December 2009

  As Amber drives to Scotland, she takes in the beautiful scenery unfolding around her. It’s made even more stunning by the snow’s light touch upon the ground and the trees; the winter sun, uninterrupted by clear skies, making it sparkle. She’s relieved it’s no longer snowing. It means their journey will be a lot smoother.

  She glances over at Lumin, her pretty face close to the window as she stares at the awe-inspiring scenery. Is this the world that held her close as she grew up? Amber can see her here, especially against the winter backdrop, her cheeks red against her pale skin, face solemn as she sketches her surroundings.

  ‘It’s so picture-perfect,’ Lumin says. But it’s in a tone that hints at disapproval. ‘I mean, who really lives in a place like this?’

  ‘Maybe you?’

  Lumin smiles and puts her feet up on the dashboard.

  ‘Feet down,’ Amber says.

  ‘All right, Mum,’ Lumin replies.

  Amber smiles to hide how much it pains her to hear that.

  They’ve been driving for four hours and in that time Lumin has managed to get every detail of Amber’s childhood out of her, like she’s using those details to put the pieces of her own childhood puzzle together. Amber has enjoyed it, telling her how it had been to be brought up by her mum and aunt. Her summer holidays had been spent in the gift shop helping them out. At first, she loved it. It made her feel important, serving customers and picking shells out from the shore in front to decorate the place. When it was quiet, she’d eat ice creams, watch the world go by, run to the shore and make sand castles. Summer was a never-ending holiday for her, especially as it meant a respite from school, where she’d get teased. And the Christmas holidays were so magical as she was bundled up in blankets and thick gloves and took in all the festive activities on the beach. She loved being with her aunt too; she brought out the best in her mum and they’d often all be in fits of laughter. No different from now, really.

  But as she grew into a teenager, she’d dread working in the shop, especially if the people she hated from school would pop in to laugh at her. She remembered a particularly tense encounter with one of the more spiteful girls, who’d pointed at some winter mittens and said in a faux-innocent voice: ‘I really think you need to ask Santa for a pair of those to cover your claws, Amber,’ as her friends giggled behind her.

  Her aunt had overheard and pulled Amber aside. ‘Take this,’ she’d said, handing Amber a fiver. ‘Go to the charity shops in town, find a chair for me and bring it back. We need a new item in store.’

  Amber had stomped into town, annoyed at being sent on yet another errand. But as she’d looked around the charity shops, a world of possibility opened up to her. It was like when she’d been at primary school before she’d had her fingers taken from her and she would build pieces from old plastic milk bottles and card. She ended up buying a small table and, when she brought it back, she asked her mum and aunt if she could make something with it. They’d exchanged knowing looks. Looking back, it was clear to Amber they knew exactly what they were doing, especially her aunt Viv, who always seemed so sad when she looked at Amber’s hand. By the end of the week. Amber had created a beautiful shell-encrusted table, with a layer of glass over it so cups could be placed on it. It was a job that really should have taken a couple of days but Amber’s restrictions meant it took a lot longer. But still, the satisfaction she’d felt was immense and there’d been no turning back after that.

  Lumin likes that story in particular when Amber tells her, a huge smile on her face.

  Their conversation dies when they reach Scotland and they both look quietly out of the windows as they pass through cities and countryside, the cities becoming less frequent the farther north they get.

  ‘We’re close,’ Amber says.

  Lumin pulls out her sketch pad and flicks through the pictures she’s drawn. Then she looks out of the window. ‘There,’ she says, pointing towards the peak of a mountain. ‘It looks the same, doesn’t it?’

  Amber glances at the drawing. It’s of the lodge Lumin’s drawn so many times, a mountain behind it. ‘It does.’

  Lumin’s face lights up and Amber feels warmth spread inside.

  ‘Let’s go there!’ Lumin says.

  ‘Food first,’ Amber insists. ‘We haven’t eaten since breakfast and it’s nearly two o’clock, way past lunchtime. Let’s stop to eat.’

  Lumin nods as they enter a village. It’s tiny, flanked by snowy fields and the frozen loch, just a few houses dotted here and there. They park in a tiny car park by a red phone box then walk towards a nearby pub. Amber watches Lumin as she looks around her, face pinched with concentration.

  The pub is quiet when they walk in, just a young woman behind the bar and an old man with red cheeks nursing a pint on one of the stools. Amber knows men like that, propping up the bar in Winterton Chine’s pubs too, drinking so much it would probably kill them one day. Her uncle had been the same, from what she’d heard from her mother and aunt. That’s why her aunt had left him eventually.

  The woman behind the bar smiles. ‘Hello.’

  ‘Hi,’ Amber says, walking over. Lumin stays where she is, looking around her. The old man looks over his shoulder, eyes alighting on her blue hair and piercing. Surely, if Lumin had lived around these parts, she’d be easily remembered. Amber wonders again why nobody has come forward.

  ‘Are you serving food?’ she asks the woman behind the bar.

  ‘Of course, love,’ the woman replies, handing her a menu. ‘Just order what you wan
t then find a seat. As you see, we’re very busy today,’ she adds with a small chuckle.

  ‘Always busy,’ the old man slurs into his beer. ‘Just keeps us all too busy.’

  ‘Great,’ Amber says, ignoring him and taking the menu. ‘What do you fancy?’ she asks Lumin, steering her away from the man, who’s back to staring at her again.

  Lumin looks over Amber’s shoulder. ‘Something stodgy.’

  ‘I agree. Pie and chips? They do a cheese and onion one. I’ll have the beef and ale.’

  Lumin gives her an a-okay sign with her finger and thumb. ‘Perfect.’

  Amber places their order then pulls out the picture Lumin drew of the lodge. ‘Do you recognise this place?’ she asks the woman behind the bar.

  ‘Sorry, no,’ the woman replies as she looks at it. ‘But that’s Melbreck,’ she says, pointing to the hill.

  ‘I thought it was.’

  ‘Is there a waterfall near here?’ Lumin asks.

  The girl nods. ‘Yep, about a ten-minute walk up there,’ she says, pointing out of the window and up the road. ‘Just take the stone track past the farm and follow the wall.’

  Lumin squeezes Amber’s arm. ‘This must be the place.’

  ‘Hey,’ the woman says to the old man. ‘Do you recognise this? You’ve been around here longer than I have.’

  The old man peers at the painting then towards Lumin. Amber notices then that one side of his face droops, like he may have had a stroke. She feels sorry for him. Clearly he’s had a hard life.

  Something flickers in his eyes as he looks at the picture but then his face hardens. He shakes his head. ‘Nope.’