by Lucy Dawson
I do not want to cry in front of him, but I’m unable to help the tears of frustration and rage that leap to my eyes as I stand there, with him carefully watching me. ‘Get out,’ I repeat and, finally, he turns without another word, leaving the way he came and disappears off into the dark.
I sink onto a kitchen chair and burst into noisy tears, the like of which I’ve not cried for a very long time. Everything I’ve done has been because I have no choice. I am Izzie’s mother. It is my job to protect her from harm and I have failed again.
What Antony has done is going to break what’s left of her heart.
‘You’re just going to have to tell her.’ Adam has his hands curled round his mug of tea as we sit in the kitchen. ‘My gut instinct is that it would be better to let her have some time to get used to the idea. Take the heat out of it.’
‘Although it might also do the reverse and give her longer to build it up in her mind and turn it into something it isn’t. The prodigal son and all that. Christ, this is a disaster.’ I put my head in my hands. ‘It’s going to completely spin her out and she’s not in good space as it is. What if once she knows he’s coming back she refuses to leave the house? What do I do then? No.’ I decide then and there. ‘I’m going to keep it from her until the day we complete. I’ll tell her we’re moving, obviously – but I won’t say who is really buying this house. Will you do the same, please?’
Adam sighs and nods.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say quietly. ‘This must have come as a shock to you, too.’
He shifts position on the chair and pushes an unkempt curl out of his eyes. ‘I can’t deny I’d been hoping that once you two were finally out of this place,’ he motions around the kitchen, ‘that things might turn a corner for Iz – and us. You know I’ll be gutted to lose the barn from a selfish point of view, but I don’t think this house does her any good. It saps her energy. It does the same to me, if I’m honest.’
‘Really?’ I’m surprised to hear that.
‘This middle bit is so dark with all of the overgrown ivy hanging down over the windows. It feels like a secret hideaway, except that’s kind of the problem.’ He sips his tea and puts the mug back down, before pulling the sleeves of his baggy jumper over his hands. ‘Izzie retreats back into that bedroom and for her it’s like time stands still, only it isn’t – she’s getting older and older. It makes me sad. I don’t know what you think, but I feel like her moods have been worse recently, too.’
‘I’d agree with that. She was watching TV last week and suddenly there was all of this shouting. I ran through and she was holding her head saying something had whispered hello to her, even though she was in the room alone. Something,’ I say pointedly. ‘She was adamant she’d heard it. She lost her house keys again, too; I got cross and she was in floods of tears saying it wasn’t her fault, they “get hidden”. “Who hides them, Izzie?” I said and she actually replied: “this bloody house”.’
Adam exhales, shifts position again and shakes his head. ‘I don’t know what to say.’
‘I found them yesterday down the back of the radiator. I mean why on earth would she put them there? She insisted she hadn’t when I asked her and I heard her saying angrily in her room “it’s not funny”. I have no idea who she was talking to.’
‘Maybe on a subconscious level she’s starting to detach already. It’s a huge thing for her, moving out of this place.’ He looks up at me and shrugs. ‘It’s the only home she’s ever really known and a lot has happened here.’
‘True,’ I admit. ‘By the way, on that note, thank you for coming to get everything so late tonight so she wouldn’t see. It’s just upsetting her, the thought of everything changing; you moving your stuff out.’
Suddenly the baby monitor next to me crackles and we both freeze. ‘She’s waking up.’ I look up at the kitchen clock showing 11 p.m. ‘That’s early – she only went up at ten.’
The green lights on the monitor react as they sense noise in Izzie’s bedroom, and we both listen as I turn it right up so we can hear what’s going on. It’s an old second-hand monitor I bought from a charity shop and not very sensitive, so we have to crane hard.
‘Is that her crying?’ Adam says worriedly.
‘I think so. Poor thing. I ought to go up.’
‘Do you want me to come with you after what happened the day before yesterday?’ Adam nods at my bruised wrists.
‘Would you mind?’ I look at him gratefully, and he shakes his head, getting to his feet.
At the top of the stairs, I push her bedroom door open quietly and as the light from the hall creeps into the dark bedroom, we see the outline of her body lying in the small bed beneath the cherry tree, fast asleep. She doesn’t appear to be crying any more, but breath held, we watch and wait – before both jumping as her arm suddenly thrashes sideways and she emits some really horrible, low moan as her head turns restlessly to the other side on the pillow. It reminds me of the low warning growl a cornered animal might make before it attacks – and the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Where is my poor child? What is she dreaming is happening to her?
We sit down on the carpet outside her room and then she starts to giggle. It wasn’t her crying we heard – but laughing. I look at Adam and throw my hands up silently. He shrugs in despair before starting to fiddle with a loose thread on his jumper. Isobel carries on chuckling away to herself at nothing; well, nothing we are aware of anyway. Listening to laughing in the dark when you’re not in on the joke is not funny at all and I’m suddenly very glad Adam is there. I even think on balance I prefer the growling sound, which is saying something. It’s another moment or two until finally she falls quiet.
Is that it? Perhaps it won’t be such a bad one after all. I shift, uncomfortably, from my low vantage point on the floor as I stare around the jumble in her room, dark shapes and piles of stuff in the gloom. I couldn’t sleep in a room like this – no wonder her mind is so busy.
Unable to sit still any longer, both from a physical and mental point of view, I get up and begin to move about the room silently, picking things up, folding discarded clothes, sliding books into the shelves.
‘Eve…’ whispers Adam. ‘Let’s go back downstairs.’
I put my finger to my lips. I know he thinks that moving around disturbs Izzie even more, but she has no idea I’m here – I’m certain of that – she is deeply, deeply asleep. Two minutes and I’ll be done.
I tiptoe over to the side of her bed and pick up a couple of tissues she’s dropped on the floor. She seems to have calmed completely. I look down at her – always my little girl, and so beautiful. My heart softens.
I turn to motion to Adam that I think we can leave now, when Isobel suddenly springs bolt upright in bed like a jack-in-the-box, eyes wide open and a terrified expression on her face. Even her hands are reaching out, fingers splayed and grasping. I shrink back away from her and lift my hand to my thumping heart, but unfortunately, my elbow brushes her fingertips. The second she senses my touch she twists to the side and grabs me, squeezing my wrist so hard I whimper, her fingers digging into the bruises of the other night. It hurts so much I can’t help but instinctively try and break free.
The movement makes her eyelids flutter, she blinks and her head jerks, before she gasps and lets go of me – shooting back into the headboard with a thud, like a scalded cat.
‘Sweetest? You’ve just had a bad dream,’ I say, still not entirely sure if she’s awake or not. ‘It’s me – Mummy.’
She just stares at me for a moment, but then her eyes roll back and she falls backwards onto the pillow.
‘Isobel?’ I say frightened and pat her cheek several times. ‘Can you hear me? She’s passed out! Isobel?’
Adam scrambles to his feet as Isobel begins to stir again, pushing herself back up to seated, breathing heavily and wiping the sweat from her face. She lets her head drop and groans.
Adam hurries over to her. ‘You’re safe, Isobel,’ he says. ‘Do you know where you
are?’
Izzie nods dumbly, blinking.
‘Why don’t you lie down and go back to sleep?’ he suggests gently.
She silently does as she’s told, sinking down onto the pillow, staring at us, eyes still wide, before turning suddenly away, her long hair trailing out behind her as if she’s submerged underwater.
I listen as her breathing begins to regulate again, and Adam hears it too, because he gently takes my arm and leads me from the room.
‘Do you want me to stay?’ he asks quietly, once we’ve crept back downstairs and are stood in the small sitting room.
‘She should be all right now, thank you.’ I rub my sore wrists. ‘You know the pattern. It’s not often more than once in the night. I’ll be unlucky if it is.’
‘Even so,’ he says.
‘I’ll be careful, but thank you, Adam,’ I say sincerely. ‘And I’ll think about what you said: telling her it’s Timothy that’s moving in here, I mean.’
He nods. ‘I wish it wasn’t true just as much as you do.’ He leans forward and kisses me on the cheek. ‘Good night, Eve.’
‘Good night, love. Drive carefully.’
He gives me a brief, grateful smile before leaving the room. I hear him carefully lift the front door over the sticking section so that it doesn’t disturb Isobel. I make my way out to lock it and watch through the door panel, as he checks the doors of his van are secured.
I sigh heavily, seeing the small boy stood behind Isobel in the sports hall, watching in terror as Paul Jones lifts the gun and points it at her, unable to move with fear – only for Timothy Vaughan to leap into life and throw himself in front of Izzie.
Adam climbs into the van and switches on the lights and the engine, carefully looks to make sure both ways are clear – and pulls off the forecourt. He has loved Isobel for so long. It is impossibly unfair that Timothy is about to jump back into the frame and eclipse him all over again.
Seven
Claire
‘Unaccustomed as I am to public speaking…’ Sam pauses and inclines his head modestly as everyone cheers. We’ve all seen his recent gracious and self-deprecating acceptance speech on YouTube, watched him mouth a shocked ‘Oh My God’ as he walked up to collect his statuette from Helen Mirren. I feel Tim tighten his grip on my hand and force my smile to widen. ‘No, no – please!’ Sam holds up a hand. ‘It’s a total honour to raise this toast to one of my oldest pals, Tim, and his lovely Claire. Are your glasses charged?’ He grins and looks around the crowded room as he waits for his audience to quieten down. ‘I am full of admiration for people who walk the walk, and actually do something to dramatically change their lives. It’s so easy to believe we always have tomorrow and yet time will eventually make fools of us all—’
I watch everyone gaze at him, hungrily gobbling up his every word. This is mad. Maybe it’s because it’s Sam giving this speech. He’s everywhere right now, all over every magazine and Sunday supplement, yet here he is in real life too. My life. This big, pretend show that we are putting on today.
‘Claire, Tim and Rosie are under no such illusions and have decided to seize the moment. In exactly one week’s time they move to the gorgeous market town of Oswestry in Shropshire, snuggled on the edge of the Welsh border – I know, I had no idea about this privately held dream of theirs either – to begin new adventures in the valleys and hills while undertaking their own personal version of Grand Designs. Guys,’ he lifts his glass and pauses for a moment, pretending to collect his thoughts, ‘we wish you contractors who turn up when they say they will, fair weather, inspiration, fun and laughter – but most of all, may you enjoy building fabulous memories together. You will be dearly missed – but bon voyage and don’t forget us! To Claire, Tim and Rosie!’
‘Claire, Tim and Rosie!’ echo our friends.
I take a sip of my Prosecco as a sea of friendly faces looks at me and I smile back at everyone. Now would be a really bad time to break down in tears.
‘Speech!’ cries someone, and I shake my head desperately, holding up a hand, but Tim takes over, letting go of me as he clears his throat. The excited and slightly drunken hum of chatter dies down.
‘Thank you, Sam,’ Tim lifts his glass a little higher, ‘for those very kind words. That’s why he gets the big bucks, ladies and gentleman. It’s all in the delivery.’ Everyone laughs good-naturedly. ‘Thank you all, for coming today to wave us off as we embark on this new – slightly impulsive – stage of our family adventure.’
Slightly impulsive? I fix my face into a rictus grin and instinctively reach for Rosie’s small, warm hand to anchor me back to reality, and remind me what I’m doing here.
‘I’ve mentally run poor Claire through the mill a few times now, but this has got to take the biscuit. Shropshire doesn’t have quite the same ring to it as Hollywood but I’m absolutely certain we’re going to smash it. I can’t wait to get my hands properly dirty and I’m so excited that she’s given the green light to this particular project. I’ve always wanted to take on a build like this – Sam’s right, it’s been a privately cherished dream of mine for a long time now – and I’m so thankful to Claire for agreeing to let me make my way home, and have a go.’ He turns to me and addresses me directly. ‘You are an amazing woman – thank you for this chance. I won’t let you down.’ He looks me right in the eye as he says this and leans forward to kiss me. I listen to the cheers and whoops around us as I automatically close my eyes and his lips touch mine. He has fooled them all.
‘I’m also so proud of Rosie for being the incredible daughter she is and not letting this faze her,’ Tim continues, seconds later. ‘She’s very excited about moving to the country. The new pony has absolutely nothing to do with it, by the way.’
Everyone laughs as poor Rosie looks up at me in confusion, and I shake my head and smile down at her while mouthing ‘Daddy’s just joking’. So now she’s wondering if she’s getting a horse. He just doesn’t think.
‘Don’t be strangers though,’ Tim urges everyone. ‘Come up and see us. Come and stay in one of the – how many is it, Claire,’ he acts like he’s not entirely sure, ‘seven bedrooms? You’re all welcome anytime. Mi casa es su casa—’
Well, strictly speaking, Tim, no – it’s not. It’s mine.
‘Stay in touch and please don’t hate us if we decide to do one of those really annoying property blogs.’
The fresh wave of laughter sounds tinny to me, like a bad sitcom studio audience. In a flash of realisation, I am suddenly crystal clear that I don’t want this. I don’t want to be saying goodbye to everyone. Rosie is happy here, I am happy here. Panic prickles up and over the skin of my back like marching ants. I take such a large gulp of my drink that I cough.
Tim laughs. ‘See? Even Claire’s appalled at that thought! So until we meet again… stay, drink, eat the cake. PLEASE eat the cake, I can’t carry it back home, it weighs a tonne. We love you all. To friendship.’ He lifts his glass and everyone echoes his toast back to him, amid ‘hear hears’.
A slightly awkward moment of silence follows while everyone waits to see what’s going to happen next – although not as much as I am, that’s for sure – before someone has the sense to turn the music back up in the private room we’ve hired and they all start to happily chat again. Rosie wriggles out of my grasp and runs off to join her best friend as Tim ducks down and whispers: ‘Thank you’. I say nothing and force another wide smile as my best friend approaches, trying equally as hard as me to look happy.
‘Nice speech,’ she says to Tim as he shakes hands with her husband and she mouths a quick ‘you OK?’ at me. I nod and she swiftly turns back to Tim. ‘Are you available for bar mitzvahs and weddings?’
‘Not any more,’ he says and downs the remainder of his drink in one. ‘Next stop – master builder.’
‘I beg your pardon? Master what?’ says Sam, appearing in front of us. ‘You can take the boy out of boarding school…’ He twinkles at us naughtily and, in spite of herself, Mel gives a star
-struck giggle. Her husband looks down at her and she blushes furiously. Sam doesn’t appear to notice, but rather offers his hand to Tim. ‘I’ve got to shoot – literally I’m afraid.’ He rolls his eyes. ‘We start filming at some ungodly hour tomorrow morning, so I must make a movie! Take care my lovelies and give beautiful Shropshire my best.’
‘Thanks for coming, pal!’ Tim grins at him.
‘Not at all, mate! Glad I was able to.’
They back slap and I can’t bear it. I cannot bear the smugness of it all, the stupid quips, the front we are all presenting and the lies we are telling to our friends. I ought to be tapping my glass and telling them all the truth.
Sorry, can I have your attention? We’re actually doing this because Tim spunked a quarter of a million quid up the wall, so his dad has bought us some house in Oswestry, which he’s forcing Tim to work on, because we can’t afford to buy anywhere ourselves now! Tim’s never so much as put up a shelf before, never mind overhauled a whole property! [cue studio laughter]. He doesn’t want me to tell you this though, because he’s very embarrassed. I’ve promised him I won’t breathe a word to anyone. I haven’t even told Mel the truth. My own best friend! I know! Cheers everyone!
Sam leans in and kisses me. ‘You are a saint to put up with him, darling Claire. You’re a good deed in a naughty world. Ah there’s Squiffers – just in time!’ He’s already looking over my shoulder and waves as I spin round to see Harry Asquith lounging elegantly in the doorway, as ever, holding a glass. I almost drop my own in horror. Tim did not invite him to our leaving party? Surely! After all he’s done?
I watch incredulously as Sam strides across the room and shakes hands with Harry, leaning in and whispering something that makes Harry’s face split into a wide grin, before he whispers something back and Sam roars with laughter and gives him a fist bump. Harry does not look like a man traumatised over the collapse of his company. He looks like he always does, faintly amused by everyone beneath him. Tim says something to me, but I don’t hear what it is, I simply down the remainder of my drink and shove the empty glass at him before marching across to confront Harry.