The Storm

by Amanda Jennings

  ‘Why did you go to him?’

  Alex puts the last of the sandwich into his mouth then leans to one side so he’s able to pull a folded sheet of paper from his back pocket. Still chewing, focused on his duvet not me, he holds it out. The note is written in his own neat handwriting. Just a few lines which I recognise immediately; the address Cam sent me in a letter six years ago. The letter which was tucked into the back sleeve of my diary.

  I know each word by heart.

  Hannah

  This will come out of the blue. I’m sorry. I’m moving on to a new place. I know you won’t write. I don’t expect you to. But disappearing feels wrong. It’s been nearly ten years but I still think of you. Do you ever wish we could go back and do things a different way? From next week my new address is Flat 46D, Clare Court, Fosters Lane, Reading. I think I gave you my phone number when I last wrote. It hasn’t changed but in case you’ve lost it: 07555 678456.

  I hope life has turned out well.

  Cam

  I fold the note and wait until Alex raises his head to look at me. ‘You shouldn’t have read my diary,’ I say then, ‘and that box is mine, it contains my private things. It wasn’t for you to go looking through.’

  Alex presses his finger on a tiny sliver of ham and puts it in his mouth. ‘I read somewhere that photos can help people who might be developing dementia. Gran’s memory. It’s going. She keeps drifting away.’ He hesitates. ‘I was looking for a photo of Granddad for her and one of you when you were a child. I was going to stick them to the wall near her bed. I thought the box was hers.’ He sniffs. ‘You should have chosen a better hiding place if you didn’t want it found.’ Alex pauses, chewing on his lip a little, before looking up at me. ‘Why didn’t you tell me Cam is my father?’

  I inhale sharply and my fingers dig into my thigh. ‘Because he’s not.’

  Alex stares back at me and shakes his head. ‘You’re lying. He—’

  ‘Enough.’ I glance nervously back at the door, terrified in case Nathan is standing there. ‘He’s not your father.’

  ‘Why are you lying—’

  ‘How did you get to Reading?’

  My stomach churns at the thought of Alex thinking Cam is his father and Nathan overhearing that. I need to stop him talking about it.

  ‘Tell me why you didn’t—’

  ‘Stop it now,’ I say firmly. ‘How did you get to his house?’

  He is clearly frustrated by my unwillingness to let him finish, but after a moment or two, he sighs. ‘Train to Reading. Then I asked people in the street. It would have been quicker if I’d had my phone,’ he said and rolled his eyes, ‘but it wasn’t too hard. I had to wait ages for him to get back from work. I wasn’t sure if he was even coming home. I didn’t think about what would happen, if he wasn’t in or didn’t live there. I didn’t have enough money for the train home.’

  I don’t care about how he got to the flat. I’m not even that concerned he thinks Cam is his father. What I really want to know is what happened when he arrived on Cam’s doorstep. How Cam reacted when Alex introduced himself. What they talked about. What television programme they watched. If Cam asked after me.

  ‘Mum?’

  He pushes my arm gently and I refocus on him.

  ‘Answer me. Please. Why are you lying about him not being my dad? Your diary has one short entry about Nathan Cardew and some meal out where you ate undercooked fish and cubes of jelly or whatever, but it’s full of Cam Stewart. You go on about how much you loved him and then there’s that diary entry, the one where you’re waiting for him to come back from the fishing trip and then getting excited because you’re going out to the pub with him. The date. It’s nine and a half months before my birthday. I’m not stupid. I know how long babies take.’

  I glance urgently back at the door again. ‘We can’t talk about this now.’

  ‘But I want to.’

  ‘Alex, please.’ I take his hand in mine. ‘I promise you Cam is not your father. The man downstairs is your father. It’s on your birth certificate. I met Nathan around the same time. I’m not proud of it, but I got together with him before Cam and I split up. Cam moved away from Newlyn because I got together with Nathan.’ The lie hurts so much and I have to fight to stop my voice cracking. ‘But you’re right,’ I whisper. ‘I did love Cam—’ I pause to let the wave of emotion wash over me. ‘I was young. Only a few years older than you are. It didn’t even last two months. We were just kids.’ I rub his hand and smile softly. ‘Alex, whatever you think you discovered, you were wrong to run away like that. You should have come and talked to me. You caused a lot of trouble. The police were involved. People were out looking for you. But more than anything – God – I was worried sick. I thought I’d lost you.’ My voice cracks and I squeeze his hand. ‘I was losing my mind. Your father was worried too—’

  Alex scoffs.

  ‘Don’t make that face. Of course he was worried. It’s been a horrible few days for both of us. I don’t know what I’d do if something ever happened to you.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he says, so quietly I can hardly hear him.

  I wrap my arms around him and pull him close. ‘Don’t do anything like that again. Do you understand? You’re the only thing that matters in this whole crappy world. Well,’ I add, ‘Vicky and Cass too, but you the most.’

  We hear Nathan on the stairs, and Alex grabs at the duvet, lies down, and turns his back as he pulls the covers over him. Nathan looms darkly in the doorway.

  ‘He’s asleep,’ I whisper, putting my finger up to my lips. ‘He was exhausted. Don’t wake him.’

  I turn off the bedside lamp and join Nathan at the door. I kiss his cheek. ‘Thank God he’s home,’ I whisper. ‘And thank you for being such a tower of strength. I’d have fallen apart without you.’

  Though the words are hard to get out, they have the desired effect, and Nathan thaws a little, his body relaxing, eyes losing their steely edge. ‘The police need to speak with him,’ he says. ‘It’s standard apparently. They need to run through a set of questions to check he was where he said he was, and that he wasn’t coerced,’ Nathan pauses, ‘or a victim of grooming. They want to talk to him – Cameron Stewart – too.’

  ‘Why?’ Fingers of ice patter my skin.

  ‘It’s routine and makes sense. We haven’t seen this man for years and he suddenly turns up with our son? They want to know how Alex knows him. They have lots of questions. And,’ he pauses again, ‘so do I.’

  I nod and walk past Nathan, taking hold of his hand and pulling him with me as I head towards our room. Nathan stops walking and drops my hand.

  ‘Why did he go to his house, Hannah? How does he know where he lives?’

  Of course, I knew this was coming, but nevertheless my stomach tumbles as I search for a plausible reason which doesn’t incriminate me. If Nathan finds out about the letter, he won’t care about the facts – that it came years ago and I never replied – all he’ll care about is Cameron Stewart sending me a letter which I kept hidden. The silence is painful, but I can’t think of a decent lie, my brain is a mush, so I tell him the truth. Well, it’s a version of the truth.

  ‘He found my old diary.’ I talk loud enough for Alex to hear in the hope he’ll understand that this is the story I want him to use.

  ‘Your diary?’

  ‘Yes, I wrote a diary when I was young. It was full of nonsense. Poems and cuttings and bits and pieces like that. Teenage girl stuff. You know.’

  Nathan’s flat expression communicates clearly he definitely doesn’t know what ‘teenage girl stuff’ is.

  ‘I wrote about an evening out I had with Cameron Stewart. I exaggerated. Made it more romantic than it was. The entry was dated in late November and Alex put two and two together. He made five and got confused and upset. He thought,’ I hesitate, ‘I mean, he suspected there was a chance Cam might be his real father.’ Nathan grimaces. ‘He wasn’t happy about it. He was angry. Especially with me and wanted to find out the tru
th. You know how teens are. They don’t think clearly. He was acting on impulse.’

  ‘But how did he know the address?’

  I hesitate. ‘A letter. Cam sent it. It was in the diary—’

  ‘A letter?’

  ‘A note, really. With a forwarding address. I’ve no idea why he sent it. I should have thrown it away but—’

  ‘Give me the letter and the diary.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Give them to me now.’

  ‘Alex chucked them. In Reading. He was frustrated. Probably a bit embarrassed he’d got it so wrong, you know, when Cam corrected him. You know how Alex overreacts.’ It’s interesting how much more comfortable I feel when I’m lying. Lies are less exposing than the truth. They form a protective barrier around me. Nathan doesn’t look convinced, but I don’t let it worry me. ‘He shouldn’t have taken them, but they mean nothing to me, so it’s no matter they’re gone. I should have got rid of them years ago. The diary is just a silly thing I held on to from my youth. Anyway,’ I say again to drive the point home, ‘Cam put him right. Told him, of course, that he isn’t his father. And Alex dumped it all in the bin.’

  Every fibre in Nathan’s body is taut, like guitar strings tightened as far as they’ll go.

  ‘Try not to take it personally. He’s going through adolescence. It’s a difficult time for any child. He’s kicking against the rules—’ He tries to interrupt me, but I press on. ‘He was upset with us – with me – and found my stupid diary and his brain went into overdrive. I should have thrown it away. You’re always saying how I hoard things. But now I’ve set him straight. Cam has set him straight. And,’ I rest the flat of my hand on his arm, ‘most importantly I have no feelings whatsoever for that man. You have to believe me. I love you. It’s always been you.’

  As I speak I stroke his arm until he softens.

  ‘I won’t let him take you.’

  His words seem flimsy and desperate, bound together with unappealing vulnerability.

  ‘Nathan,’ I cajole. ‘I’m married to you. Not him. Cam and I were young, we went on one or two dates, he meant nothing to me. I can barely remember it. But I am your wife and we have a home together. A family. I don’t want to leave you.’

  How easily the lies slither out of me. I know how to get what I want and what I want is to protect my son from Nathan’s anger and jealousy. What I want is for Nathan to forget about Cam Stewart.

  ‘Alex is happy to be home. Don’t punish him or get so angry you push him away. He needs his father.’ I run my fingers down his arm and take hold of his hand. ‘He needs you.’ Then I take a breath, lift his hand to my breast, and smile. ‘I need you too.’

  Chapter Nineteen

  Hannah

  Nathan Cardew moves in and out of me but my head is filled with Cam. He is real again, sleeping in a bed only a few miles away. In Penzance. Penzance, where we went out, where we bought sweets and cigarettes and cans of cheap cola, where we drank cider and pushed ten pence pieces into the arcade machines on the seafront. I can picture him there without even having to try.

  I’ve lost count of the times I’ve wished I’d never met Cameron Stewart. But I can’t change the past, and as Nathan fucks me, I recall the night it hapened. Vicky and I were supposed to be going to a party on some farmland near Redruth. But she had period pains and wasn’t up to dropping pills and dancing until dawn in a churned-up field. So we decided to watch a film instead. We went to Blockbuster to choose a video, but then Vicky saw some friends walk past the window. She dragged me out to say hello. We got chatting. They were going to the cinema to watch The Crying Game. We’d heard of the film. Everybody said there was a mind-blowing twist so we tagged along, bought popcorn, and chose our seats. Vicky wanted to go at the back. I wanted to go at the front. We compromised and sat in the middle. As the lights went down, two men sat next to us. Vicky nudged me. Raised her eyebrows. I told her to shush but stole a look at the one beside me. He was gorgeous, breathtaking actually, with strong wrists and tanned skin, his hands weathered and rough and scarred. A fisherman, I guessed. I felt him looking at me and cast him a quick glance. He looked away. Vicky whispered something and we giggled like schoolgirls. I laid my hand on the armrest between me and him. When our fingers touched, a shot flashed up my arm as if he’d electrocuted me. I can’t remember the film. I can only remember our fingers grazing. At the end of the film, when the lights went up, my heart was beating fast and shallow like the wings of a hummingbird. The man’s friend, I later found out to be Geren, had short-cropped hair and a loud voice, and was making sure we all knew he hated the film because he wasn’t a ‘fucking nonce’.

  ‘I loved it,’ I said, as we followed them out.

  The man with the electric fingers looked back over his shoulder and smiled. ‘Me too,’ he said. He had dark brown eyes, almost black, crinkled skin at the edges, shaggy dark hair which curled at the collar, and a wide mouth with clean, ever so slightly uneven teeth.

  Vicky took my arm. Laughed. Pulled me through the people inching towards the exit and he was lost. In the foyer, she began marshalling us all to go on for a drink. As she talked I searched the crowd.

  And there he was.

  He was alone outside the cinema. Smoking. Leaning against a lamppost and watching the doors as the people spilled out. I left Vicky and her friends and walked out of the cinema and approached him. When he caught sight of me he beamed, wide, honest and open. We chatted about this and that, and it was as if we’d known each other for years. He was relaxed, confident but not cocky, funny and cool and, oh my god, sexy.

  Vicky appeared at my shoulder. ‘Come on,’ she said, eyeing him with a smile. ‘I’ve got us a lift to the pub.’

  ‘Stay,’ he said to me.

  I laughed as Vicky pulled me with her.

  ‘Where can I find you?’

  ‘The bakery in Newlyn!’

  ‘It’s fate! I fish out of Newlyn!’

  ‘Guess I’ll be seeing you then!’

  And then Vicky and I tripped off, giggling, heads together, Vicky batting me with her hand and teasing me for being such a shameless flirt.

  Nathan slumps on top of me. ‘I love you.’ He kisses my forehead.

  An owl hoots some way off. I think of Cam now. How haunted he appears. How sallow and pale his aged skin is. How different we are now to those young people who met at the cinema. How altered. I know without doubt that I have to see him. Alex brought Cam back into my life. I can’t let him walk out of it without talking to him.

  As Nathan snores softly, I lie there and stare at the ceiling. How much can one person stare at the ceiling? Sleep isn’t my friend. Most nights I don’t sleep at all, merely drift in and out of consciousness as my thoughts tumble, and the house creaks and rattles and groans. When we were newly married, I was terrified every night, convinced the noises of the cooling timbers were the sounds of Nathan’s father pacing blindly about. A cold sweat would creep over me and I’d watch the door, waiting for him to appear, and if it wasn’t Charles Cardew it was him, the other, with his glassy stare and blood-let pallor, his waterlogged body leaving ghostly pools of seawater. Some nights I still hear his footsteps, on the landing, on the stairs, in the attic above me. Tonight he paces the gravel path below the bedroom window. I hold my breath and strain my ears. Is it him? Yes. It’s him. I recall the stab of happiness when I heard those footsteps approaching from the shadows.

  Cam? Is that you?

  It wasn’t.

  I’m looking for Cam. Have you seen him?

  But he didn’t answer. He just kept walking.

  Chapter Twenty

  Nathan

  I’d be a liar if I said I didn’t feel a distinct sense of victory when I watched him walk away from you. You were understandably quiet. Perhaps even a little sad. Of course you were. Nobody likes to hurt another person like that. Especially you with your gentle, caring nature. But you made the right decision. The sadness would fade. You’d get over it like a child recovers
from a grazed knee. The man is no good. A heinous criminal. Rough and violent. Rotten to the core. And like a rotten apple in a crate he would turn those close to him rotten too. You had no choice and you knew that, didn’t you?

  Nobody, least of all Cameron Stewart, will ever love you like I do.

  We sat in the car. I took your hand. ‘You’ve done the right thing, Hannah.’

  You nodded.

  ‘You’re free of him now.’

  ‘Thank goodness,’ you said as you looked out of the window, pondering, I imagine, your lucky escape.

  ‘Hannah?’

  You turned. Your fringe was obscuring your eyes and I brushed it to one side. ‘Yes?’

  ‘I’m going to take care of you. Forever.’

  And then we kissed. Do you remember how tender that moment was? You were shy, reserved, as if this were your first-ever kiss. Desire knocked the air from me.

  ‘I’d like to see you tonight.’

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Hannah

  The floorboards creak as he moves from the bathroom to the bedroom. I can hear the faint and tuneless humming as he dries himself. I imagine him taking a pair of folded trousers from his cupboard, pressed as he likes them, with a single crease down the centre of each leg. He unhooks a shirt, snow-white and starch-collared, from the hanger. He raises his chin as he buttons it. Lifts the collar. Wraps a carefully selected tie around his neck and ties it perfectly, before tugging lightly on each cuff in turn and running his hands over the sides of his head to smooth his hair.

  Hurry up and leave.

  ‘Can’t I catch the bus today? I don’t want to go in the car with him.’ Alex bites into his toast and crumbs fall like snowflakes on to the table.

  ‘You’ll be fine.’

  ‘He’ll shout.’

  ‘You deserve it,’ I say with a smile. ‘Look, let him shout. Accept what you did was wrong and say sorry.’