by J. A. Baker
But they try. They try so much to make her feel loved, to let her know she is an integral part of their family and not an addition. She and Ralph were always going to tell her about the adoption but there never seemed to be a good time. And now it’s too late. The girl seems to be on some sort of mission to become a juvenile delinquent. Sure, she is charming when required but something has changed. Or perhaps it has always been there, lurking, her darker side, waiting for an opportune moment to present itself. Like that day at the beach.
Chrissie knows it was a lie; she knew it then and still believes it now. She isn’t stupid. Her daughter said it because she was still angry at them all, she felt like an outsider, an intruder in their family, which couldn’t be further from the truth. They love her as much as they love their two other children but the girl is so wrapped up in her wrath and resentment that she can’t or won’t see it. She is hell-bent on revenge.
Chrissie fights back the tears. Everything seems to be unravelling; their lives coming apart at the seams. She has to do something to get it all back. Maybe a family holiday away from the gossips and the liars who grasped on to the story of little Lucy’s death and refuse to let go, perpetuating the myth that their son is a murderer. People like nothing better than vilifying innocent folk, dragging their names through the dirt without a thought for how it affects both the person and their families. And it has affected them. They are on a downward slope and she doesn’t know how to stop it, how to go back to the way things were. That’s all she wants – to turn back the clock and be the happy family they once used to be.
But for now, she needs to know where her son is. She needs to know he is safe, not lying dead in a ditch or in hiding somewhere, far away from the taunts of those who choose to believe the lies said about him.
She just wants him back by her side.
Another hour passes with no sign. Phone calls to the school have proved fruitless. As far as they know, he left for home and can tell her nothing else about his whereabouts.
By the time Ralph arrives home from work, she is frantic, pulling on her coat determined to go out searching for him. Determined to get out there and find her boy.
‘The police,’ he says calmly. ‘We need to call the police. He’s run away again. He’ll be out there somewhere, licking his wounds.’ His voice has a slight tremble to it, the only sign that he is as anxious as she is. The only sign that he feels it too – the deep-seated worry, the terror that something terrible is about to take place.
As it turns out, there’s no need to contact the police. The knock at the door only minutes after Ralph unbuttons his coat sends Chrissie into a near swoon. She knows then as any mother would know. She can tell by the heavy rapping, the dark shadows that their figures cast on the path, the silence in the room as she and Ralph watch each other cautiously, that the moment has come.
She just knows.
17
Present day
Leah’s eviction is imminent. Only yesterday, Grainne gave her just forty-eight hours to get her things packed and sorted before she is out on the street.
Leah scuttles around her room, kicking clothes aside, going around in circles, too tired, too confused to do anything constructive. Too bloody traumatised and shocked to do anything at all. It won’t happen. She is not about to be made homeless. She won’t let it happen. She’s better than this. Everybody deserves a second chance, don’t they? Even her.
She could go to her parents for help but isn’t sure of the welcome she would receive. She thinks back to the last time she spoke to them. Tears prick at her eyes as she sits on the edge of the bed, her mind raking over those memories; memories she would sooner forget. She had visited them at home, doing her best to remain civil, but it didn’t last long.
The subject of her brother’s death came up and their conversation descended into chaos with insults being hurled around about how she knew that they had never really loved her and how she would have been better off with her biological parents. That one had stung. She could see it in her mother’s face, in her eyes that had filled with unshed tears as the words hit her. Too late by then. No taking them back. Words once said, can never be unsaid. If only she had thought of that before she unleashed her invective on her already exhausted and permanently distressed parents. There was no need for it, she could see that at the time but felt unable to stop, standing there instead, spewing out years of bile that had festered deep within her.
She knew then that she was damaged goods. She still had enough insight to know that her behaviour wasn’t driven by revenge or a sense of not belonging. It was just a part of who she was. Plenty of people were adopted, she knew that, and plenty of them, like her, didn’t find out until later in life, but it didn’t make them do and say the things that she did. Sometimes, she just couldn’t help herself.
The growing ache in her abdomen causes her to bend double. She clutches onto her stomach, closes her eyes against the wave of pain that stops her in her tracks, preventing her from thinking clearly. This is her punishment. She is sure of it. A streak of never-ending pain that cuts her in half. She deserves this and more. It’s a vicious circle. She is caught up in a perpetual cycle of anger, pain, resentment and more anger. It’s pointless fighting it. It’s like trying to stop the wind and the rain or attempting to catch air. Better to go with it than rail against it. Too exhausting to put a halt to who she is, who she has always been. She’s hardwired to be mean and vindictive. It’s embedded in her brain, the pathways well and truly furrowed, too deep to ever be erased.
Clutching her belly, Leah leans over towards her bedside cabinet and grabs hold of her keys. If Grainne thinks she is going to make her homeless, she can think again. Leah still has enough money to get a copy made of her own set of keys. There is no way Grainne is going to do this. Not a hope in hell. She will fight her every step of the way. There has to be a law against throwing people out on the street. Tenants have rights, don’t they? And landlords have a duty of care to their tenants to make sure those rights aren’t impinged upon.
Leah slumps back, her body weary, her mind sick and tired of all the drama. She is all out of energy and patience. Everything feels so fragile at the minute, her health, her mind, her very existence. There is one thing however that she is sure of, has never been more certain of actually, and it is that she is not going anywhere soon. There is no way she is leaving this flat. Not a chance. She may have her faults but she is not about to sleep in the gutter with the druggies and the alcoholics and the ne’er do wells. She is better than that, has more about her. She sits for a second controlling her breathing, steadying her nerves. Telling herself that this too will pass.
She closes her eyes, just for a second, to blot out the nasty stuff, to make plans for her future. The pain increases. She lets out a deep shaky breath, thinks about Will and Ellis and Jacob, about her place in their lives and what she means, or meant to them and whether or not any of them really care or ever cared about her.
Searing, eye-watering pain, a terrible noise, then more darkness.
She is standing outside Jacob’s front door. As always, she has no memory of getting here. She just knows that she cannot stop thinking about him. Desperation and dread eat at her, gnawing at her insides, making her feel sick with the power they have over her. She has to see him, to tell him how much she misses him, to let him know that her life has collapsed since their break-up and that she can no longer function without him. He was the only stable force in her life and now he has gone and she is rudderless, staggering from one calamity to another. She needs his help. She needs him. She is frantic about the direction her life is taking and needs his solidity and guidance to help her through every day. She thought she was better than this, stronger, more capable, but obviously not. Without Jacob, she is nothing.
Raising her fist, she hammers at his door, not caring who sees or hears her. Sobs wrack her body as she prepares to see his beautiful welcoming face, to fall into his arms and spill out her story to him. Then
he’ll understand. Once he hears what she is going through he will relent and let her back into his life. She can sense it. His defences will be down once he sees her, every fibre of his being knowing, just knowing that they are meant to be together.
The door opens and through her blurred vision, Leah can just about make out the shocked expression on his face as he sees her standing there, distressed and dishevelled. She braces herself, waits for the inevitable backing down, the invitation for her to go inside. He will sit her down. They will talk rationally like the reasonable adults that they are and everything will be perfect again.
His brusque manner immediately bruises her already fragile state of mind. ‘Leah? Jesus, not again. What now? What the hell do you want now?’ His eyes darken, his brow furrowing into a deep, ugly crease.
More tears flow. Her body weakens, folding in on itself as she listens to his words. Words she didn’t expect to hear. Words that cut her to the core. She thought he was better than this. She thought they were better than this. ‘I need to speak to you, Jacob. We have to sort this out. I can’t go on without you.’
He shakes his head. She watches aghast as he dismisses her so readily, so thoughtlessly. This is not how it was meant to be. She has plans for them both. Had plans. Judging by the look on his face, she can see that his mind is already made up. He is shutting her out, closing the door on everything they ever had.
A rasping hiccup escapes out of her chest. There’s a reason for his manner, for discarding her so quickly, so cruelly. There has to be. And she knows exactly what it is.
Chloe. Again. Always Chloe. Always her.
She is the one who is driving him to act this way, the one who is behind his abrupt offhand manner. This isn’t him. This isn’t the Jacob she knows. He is under Chloe’s influence and can’t even see it for himself. He is blind to what she is doing to him. He needs Leah. She’s the only one who can rescue him from that woman’s toxic clutches. He just doesn’t know it yet, can’t see it for himself. But he will soon enough.
‘Leah, this needs to stop. I’m busy. You’re busy. We have lives. Please go away.’ His words are cutting, his tone sharp and unforgiving.
Leah sobs once more, doing her utmost to control her weeping and failing miserably. She is under no illusions as to how dreadful she looks. Her hair is scraped back into a messy ponytail, strands escaping and hanging in front of her eyes. She isn’t wearing any make-up and isn’t even sure when she last washed her face or showered. Yesterday perhaps, or maybe even last week. Once again, her grasp of time fails her. No matter how hard she tries, it remains a slippery elusive thing, refusing to be pinned down.
‘I need to speak to you, Jacob. Please. All I want is five minutes of your time. That’s all I ask.’ Her throat is sore, her head is throbbing. Can he not see how absurdly desperate she is? How so very close to the edge she is? Or is he so utterly devoid of emotion after pairing up with Chloe that all reason and humanity has deserted him? She would like to think not. That’s not the Jacob she knows and loves. Her memories of him are of a kind, considerate man, a man who had time for others, always putting the needs of friends and family before his own. That’s her Jacob, the one she wants back. Not this distant creature standing before her, his face creased with disgust.
‘I have to go now. I’m working away for the rest of this week and I have stuff to prepare. Please just leave here, go home and do whatever it is you do in your spare time. Just leave me alone. I’ve had enough.’
The slam of the door is loud enough to put a stop to her crying, brutal enough to freeze her blood and make her heart jump around her chest like a rubber ball. She shivers, a chill settling on her exposed flesh, freezing her skin and causing her to shake uncontrollably. Shock. She’s in shock. That’s all it is. She has psyched herself up for a half decent conversation, one that could possibly even heal their relationship and now she has quite literally been left out in the cold by the only person she has ever cared about. This is not how it played out in her head. She had hoped for a positive outcome; something better than this. She hoped for warmth and understanding and instead has been subjected to a cold unfeeling dismissal.
Pulling her cardigan around her shoulders, she turns away from the door, the ground sloping under her feet as she makes her way back home. The laughter and cries of children from the nearby park catapult her back to her childhood, another miserable time. Apart from her time spent with Jacob, has there ever been a juncture in her life when she has been truly happy? It’s as if she has been blighted from birth; a misfit, a social pariah. The unwanted. She doesn’t want to wallow in self-pity – it’s an ugly look – but whether she likes it or not, it’s a fact. At one point she had Jacob and now there’s just her. Leah Browne, wading through this shitty time, this low ebb in her life with nobody by her side to prop her up and keep her going.
She pushes her shoulders back and takes a few deep breaths. Well, fuck them. Fuck them all. All the people who have shoved her aside and trodden on her without giving her a second thought, they can all go to hell. The time has come for her to show some resilience, for her to scoop back some of her dignity. And she is going to enjoy it too. Jacob doesn’t even realise it but he has just inadvertently given her the opportunity to turn this unholy mess around.
By the time she gets back home, she is practically bouncing. She had forgotten how it feels to be fired up with excitement as opposed to being permanently riddled with misery and shame. Nothing and nobody is going to blacken her mood today. She won’t allow it. Even Grainne with her idle threats of eviction doesn’t frighten her now.
She has something to look forward to, a task to be getting on with. And what a task it is. Fizzing with anticipation, she unlocks the door, flops on the unmade bed and lets out a bark of laughter that echoes around the room.
18
Will watches Leah carefully, his scrutinous gaze making her feel uncomfortable. She’s never quite sure what it is he wants from her, or why she is even here. She tries to stand up but feels that weight again, pressing her back onto the chair.
She stays put, her body rigid, her abdomen once again aching, the pain cutting her in two.
‘I’m trying to help you, Leah. We’ve spoken about this before, remember? Just try to relax and everything will be fine.’ His soft reassuring voice travels across the room. It should soothe her but it doesn’t.
Something isn’t right. A thought won’t leave her be. A memory that keeps on jabbing, poking, reminding her of what she did. How could she? How could she?
She tries to swat it away, the rogue memory, but it’s a potent force, refusing to withdraw, prodding her, swatting at her, making her remember. Forcing her to. Leah shivers, shuts her eyes, swallows hard.
‘Just stay calm, Leah. Stay awake and talk to me. What’s troubling you?’
Her breathing is uneven, ragged, difficult to control. She’s starting to hyperventilate and needs to stop it, to slow everything down. She needs to stay in control or she runs the risk of spilling all her secrets out to this man, this stranger sitting right here in front of her.
‘Nothing,’ she says, her voice a whisper. Every word she utters seems to come from the pit of her belly, scratching its way up out into the open. Her voice sounds hollow and distorted. And what is troubling her is anything but nothing. It is everything. What she did, what she said was, and still is, everything and now it is all coming back to haunt her. This is her time to repent, to apologise for all the bad things she has done. All of them.
‘How are you feeling? Everything okay?’
She doesn’t respond, is too frightened to do or say anything. Her throat tightens. Her head throbs. She thinks of Ellis. Everything is unspooling, coming undone. Her mind is falling to pieces.
And then it happens; the tears she has been holding back, finally fall.
‘I was just thinking of my brother.’ She lets out a strangled cry, rummages for a tissue in her pocket, finds nothing.
Will’s hand looms in front of
her as he gives her a large white handkerchief. She wipes her eyes, dabs at her face, pulls it away and lets out a guttural shriek. The handkerchief is covered in blood; thick globules of red liquid smeared over the linen, dripping through her fingers, splashing onto her legs. Small concentric circles of the darkest ruby, spreading across the fabric of her trousers, pooling on the seat beneath her. She can hardly breathe, her windpipe clasping shut as she stares at the growing scarlet shapes swirling in front of her eyes, like a flower in bloom, its petals slowly unfurling, their colours bright and vivid. Sickly red patterns that turn her stomach.
She lets out a choking scream, closes her eyes. Forces them open again.
To see nothing.
Everything is back to normal. No handkerchief and definitely no blood. Where are they – the bright smears, the trailing clots of cherry red blood. Where have they gone?
Leah glances over at Will who is still there, sitting in his usual position, watching her, observing her every move. Assessing her to see if she breaks. She says nothing, just watches and waits for him to speak first. She is afraid that if she opens her mouth, every secret she has ever kept will come pouring out, a stream of dreadful lies, a lifetime of repulsive deeds.
So she stays silent and concentrates on her breathing instead. She thinks that perhaps it’s time to leave here, to stop the turbulence in her head before she breaks down and reveals one secret too many, her mouth refusing to stay shut as her brain unleashes her demons. The longer she sits, the more likely it is that she will speak without caution and those confidences, once cracked open, will poison the very air that they breathe.