The Family, page 11
Should I tell her I knew she wasn’t who she claimed to be or should I conceal her secret along with all the others I carried? Undecided, I slipped away unnoticed and slowly climbed the stairs, weighted with all the things I shouldn’t know.
I was in bed when Tilly came into the room. Mug in hand.
‘You missed dinner. Can I make you a sandwich?’
‘I’m not hungry, but thanks.’ I was touched by her unexpected gesture. I hoped this meant she wasn’t leaving school, but I couldn’t face talking about it. My head too full of the things I’d just seen and heard. ‘Is that a bruise on your face?’ I peered at her through the half-light.
‘Yeah. I walked into an open locker. It doesn’t hurt now.’ She watched me carefully as I lifted the peace offering to my lips and took a sip. ‘Are you okay, Mum?’
‘I’m fine. Tired but fine.’
‘If you weren’t… fine. You could… you know.’ She gave me a swift hug and left the room so quickly that if it weren’t for the mug in my hand I’d have thought it was a dream.
I drained my tea and curled onto my side, drawing the duvet to my chin. I couldn’t stop shivering. Memories of my first meeting with Alex prowled my mind.
There’s always someone who wants to bolt for freedom. Who has to be restrained.
The feel of the cold, heavy gun in my hands. The way my finger curved around the trigger.
Up until now I had felt nothing but safe and protected with Alex, but what if my trust was misplaced?
I had half a million pounds coming to me.
Half a million reasons he might not let me leave.
Chapter Twenty-Five
TILLY
Mum looked so pale and ill when I took her a mug of tea. My bombshell about school must have made her have a seizure. It was obvious she was sitting there worrying about me. She missed dinner so I offered to make her a sandwich.
It was my sorry without saying sorry, but she didn’t want it.
Chapter Twenty-Six
LAURA
On Saturdays, Gavan used to bring me a bacon sandwich in bed before I had to go and open the shop. When I returned he’d have a coconut bubble bath waiting for me, the room dotted with flickering tea lights. Later, we’d dip poppadoms into mango chutney, sipping a crisp pinot. Despite it being a working day I had always felt relaxed. Now, I was wrenched from sleep by Saffron shaking my shoulder.
‘Is it that time already?’ I yawned.
‘No. It’s only just five.’
‘What’s wrong?’ Automatically my eyes found Tilly who was blinking in the artificial light spilling in from the landing.
‘Mum?’ she asked, small and uncertain.
‘What’s going on?’ I asked Saffron.
‘We need an earlier start. Alex has selected a few of us to have a sharing circle at eight. You and Tilly have been chosen.’
Before I could ask what a sharing circle was she added, ‘Tilly, you need to pitch in now you’ve left sixth form.’ She slipped out of the door before I could tell her Tilly hadn’t left school.
‘Tilly. You don’t have to—’
‘I want to do my bit, Mum.’
I bundled up my clothes and crossed silently to the bathroom. The tiled floor was freezing against the soles of my feet. Shivering, I twisted on the taps and the ancient pipes gurgled to life. As I waited for the flowing water to heat I caught sight of my reflection in the bathroom mirror. I’d lost so much weight. My cheekbones were sharp under pale skin. My eyes circled with the tell-tale purple rings denoting a lack of sleep.
By eight my hands were numb with cold, arms aching. I had finished loading the minibus with crates of veg brimming with beetroot, celeriac, squash and fennel, all the time watching Hazel carefully as she packed the crates. She stretched, hands massaging the small of her back, a faraway expression on her face. I wondered whether she was thinking of birthdays past. I’d assumed she was happy to be there but what if she wasn’t? What if Alex had tricked her into staying? I’d read about brainwashing in the papers. He could have taken her money? Persuaded her to change her name to keep herself hidden. Was she in danger? Was I? Just when I had convinced myself the idea was ridiculous – Alex had been nothing but kind – I’d remember the crack in her daughter’s voice. Her distress at not seeing her mum on her birthday. Reed’s promise to pass on her card. Had he?
In the cottage, Alex wasn’t ready for us, the floorboards settling overhead as he moved around upstairs. The small windows barely let the dull, grey light through. Saffron clicked on the honeyed table lamps while Daisy and Tilly claimed seats in front of the crackling fire.
‘I’ll make some tea,’ Hazel said.
‘Let me.’ I wanted a chance to gather my thoughts.
‘Diolch, Laura.’
‘You’re welcome.’
The kitchen was homely. Rustic. Solid wooden worktops with faded patches and criss-cross knife scratches. I sifted through the redirected post addressed to me, piled upon the worktop. Bills I couldn’t pay unless the insurance came through. The kettle bubbled. I tipped steaming water into mugs before quickly fishing the teabags out with a spoon before the herbs could properly steep. I opened the lid of the bin. The smell of a banana skin wafted out and just as I was about to drop the teabags inside I saw it, poking out from under some congealing porridge. The envelope torn into two pieces, ‘Mum’ written in small, curling letters. I fished it out and tried to slot the pieces of card back together but there was a zigzag tear across the centre, a heart that could never be whole again. Inside was written, ‘Happy Birthday Mum, Martyn and Saren’ and then almost as an afterthought, ‘We miss you’. It was none of my business but I was angry, imagining how I would feel if someone tried to keep Tilly away from me? I’d want to kill them.
A noise.
Drifting from the dingy passageway behind me.
A scraping sound.
I stuck my head through to the lounge. Everyone that was supposed to be there was chatting. I could still hear Alex’s footfall on the ceiling above me where he was moving around upstairs.
Then who?
Tentatively I crossed the kitchen, stepping into the narrow corridor, not quite sure where it would lead.
I stepped forward once. Twice. My fingers reaching for the handle of the door to my left.
‘Hello?’ I opened the door. An empty cloakroom.
I was just turning back, convincing myself I must have imagined it, when I heard it again.
Something being knocked over?
I edged further down the passageway, my fingers sliding across the wall until I found the light switch. I clicked it on.
The bulb popped. Darkness fell once more.
The doorway in front of me was shadowed. I stretched my arm forward. Hesitant but not quite sure why. I turned the handle which was loose in my hand and pushed against the door. It was locked.
‘What are you doing, Laura?’
‘Alex!’ I twisted around. ‘You scared me! I thought I heard someone.’
‘Nobody goes down to the cellar.’
I was intrigued. ‘What do you use it for?’
‘Nothing. It’s damp and mouldy. Not even good for storage. The stone stairs are always slippery. It’s a death-trap.’
‘But I’m sure…’ I rattled the handle once more.
‘Come on. We’re about to start.’ He started to walk away. He was silhouetted in the doorframe of the kitchen when he turned to face me.
‘Laura?’ There was something in his tone. A command? A warning? I didn’t know him well enough to identify it. I trailed after him as he picked up the tray of drinks and took his place in the biggest armchair in the lounge.
The atmosphere was weighted with expectation.
‘Let me explain how this works,’ he began.
‘Let me guess.’ Saffron placed her index finger on her chin and furrowed her brow. ‘You’ll choose three people—’
‘We’re here to help Laura today.’ Alex gave her a look, something passing between them, thick and private. My nerves increased. Not understanding what he wanted from me. I wanted to grab Tilly and run. Unprepared to share myself. To share her.
‘I’m sorry, Alex,’ Saffron said.
‘Three is a power number, Laura.’ He met my eyes. ‘It’s been significant throughout history and religion, not that we’re religious here, but it’s a time identifier representing past, present and future.’ Uncomfortable, I glanced around the room. Tilly was leaning forwards, mirroring Daisy, staring at him with a rapt expression on her face, although I knew she had no more idea of what he was talking about than I had. ‘In numerology numbers one and two are the proverbial mother and father of the universe and three is a product of that union, a child filled with potential and hope.’ Inexplicably something twisted in my gut. Although I didn’t understand how a number could symbolise anything, there was something about a child filled with potential and hope that resonated with me. That reminded me of the child I once was, innocent and optimistic. My throat began to swell as the profound hurt that I’d been trying to block out for years began to resurface: abandonment and betrayal. I reached for my tea and swallowed it down.
‘Here, it’s a safe space to share.’ He slowly appraised us all, one by one. ‘We’re family.’
‘We’re not though, are we?’ My gaze flickered from Alex to Hazel. I wanted to add that families didn’t lie to each other, they don’t keep things hidden, but I knew that they did. I’d been guilty of that myself.
‘Not in the conventional sense,’ Saffron said. ‘We’re not a flesh family—’
‘Flesh family?’ The term made my skin crawl.
‘We’re better than a flesh family,’ Daisy said.
‘But you must still see your family, Daisy?’ I asked. ‘You’re so young. Your parents must worry?’
‘Must they?’ I squirmed under her unflinching gaze.
‘Here it’s about choice, not obligation.’ Alex drew the attention back to himself. ‘The people we want to spend time with are those who have positively contributed to our quality of life in some way.’ As he talked he made eye contact with everyone in turn. ‘We build each other up, not knock each other down, like families can. Friends can become more integral to our emotional and physical wellbeing. So no, we’re not blood.’ His eyes settled on Saffron. ‘But we can’t imagine being without each other.’
Without consciously choosing to, I nodded. Embarrassed, I looked at Tilly, expecting her to roll her eyes, but she was nodding too.
You’re not family. Anwyn had spat her venomous truth. Iwan had let me down. As I looked around the room I knew I’d been shown more compassion and care by those people over the past few weeks than I had from those I thought would always be my support. Still, I was conflicted. Unsure about Alex’s motives for inviting us in.
‘Unburdening sets you free. Let’s share, Laura.’ Alex’s expectations pinned me to my seat. In my head I heard another question, from another time.
Mrs Evans, where were you this evening?
Feeling hot, I loosened my scarf, those hands around my throat again.
Let’s go over your statement one more time.
Once again, I didn’t have the words. ‘Alex, I don’t know what to say… I…’
‘I’d like you to listen,’ he said. ‘I’d like you to hear Hazel’s story.’
Chapter Twenty-Seven
LAURA
‘Hazel’s story?’ I was blindsided. My heart still racing. ‘Are you… do you…’ I lightly touched Hazel’s arm, wanting my fingers to convey what I was having trouble articulating. That she didn’t have to speak. But that I was willing to listen.
‘I want you to know me, okay?’ she asked. I nodded, unsure whether she meant the Hazel sat in front of me, or the woman with an entirely different name. An entirely different identity. The mother. I had been living with her for over a month and she was still a stranger to me.
I supposed I was to her.
‘He was a bastard. My ex.’ Her voice was softer than usual. I leaned forward so I could properly hear. ‘Used to wallop me if I wasn’t fast enough making his tea. If I didn’t iron the creases in his shirt just right. Once he came in and I was doing his collar wrong and he said… he said I needed to be taught a lesson. He held the iron against my arm. Look.’ She pulled up her sleeve. I winced as I saw the pink, puckered scar. ‘My children.’ Hazel shook her head. ‘They were too much like him. It wasn’t their fault but…’ She shrugged. ‘I let them think it was okay to treat me badly.’
‘Oh, Hazel.’ I forced my shame-filled eyes to meet hers. I’d been so caught up in my own problems, I hadn’t once dug deeper into everyone’s reasons for being there. Of course, it wasn’t a place you would run towards unless you were running away from something. Or someone. ‘I’m so sorry.’
And I was. Sorry for what she’d been through. Sorry for not being the friend to her that she had been to me. The home-cooked meals, the laundry. Looking after me when she, more than anyone, deserved to be taken care of. ‘What made you finally leave?’
‘It was my birthday and I’d made an effort. A couple of months before, he’d split my lip after I’d smiled the wrong way at the man on the checkout at Asda. Leading him on, apparently. Anyway I threatened to leave after that and I meant it. I packed but he persuaded me to stay. Promised he’d change, and it had been so many weeks I started to think he had. I dyed my hair dark brown, put on some red lipstick and wore a new dress, like that could make me into something I wasn’t. And that, cariad aur,’ she turned to Tilly, ‘is part of the reason I choose to wear white too. Clothes can be a distraction. Bright colours. Fancy fabric. Plain and simple and nothing to hide behind. Wearing white leaves you nothing to hide behind. It felt like learning to be me. Do you see?’
Tilly nodded.
‘Anyway, that day I thought we’d have a little birthday party. He came home early, took one look at me and accused me of having an affair with the neighbour. He… I really believed he was going to kill me.’ She paused. I knew she was back in that memory. Terrified. Her body bruised and battered and alone. She was remembering how it felt to be helpless. I knew how she felt. I had felt it once. All of it.
‘You don’t have to—’ I began.
‘The kids came home and called an ambulance but when the police interviewed them they said he’d never hit me before. Said he was with them, and someone else must have hurt me.’
‘And you never forgave them?’ I could understand Hazel felt let down, but I was incredulous to think that she’d never spoken to her children again. We all make mistakes, don’t we? Drift from the light towards the dark, hovering in the shades of grey between. I’d forgive Tilly anything, I know. But would she forgive me the same? I glanced over at my daughter. She was gazing at Hazel with a horrified expression on her face, and I didn’t know if it was Hazel’s actions causing her reaction, or those of her children. I thought of the things I’d kept from Tilly and shuddered. Perhaps we can’t all forgive and forget. Some things are best kept secret.
‘I made excuses for them, as we do as parents. They were too young to understand, although at seventeen and eighteen they weren’t. Not really. They didn’t want to choose between us. He never treated them the way he did me – thank God – and he was still their dad. They told me he’d cried and promised he’d never do it again, and they begged me to drop the charges so I did. I came here for a break and once I was here I realised how low I felt. How worthless. Alex said I could stay as long as I wanted.’
‘And you haven’t seen them since?’
‘Every now and then I did, until my birthday last year.’
Hazel’s eyes filled with tears. ‘You don’t have to carry on.’ I placed my hand on her arm to comfort her but then I remembered the scar of the iron beneath her shirt. I pulled away as though I were the one responsible for her pain.
‘They turned up here with a card. Reed drove us to a nice village pub and waited in the car while we had our dinner. Saren said she was going to uni and asked me to sign some forms for student finance. I did – well you would, wouldn’t you – but they weren’t forms for uni at all. They were forms to give up my share of the house, which had been my mum’s before it was mine.’
‘So you lost everything?’
‘No. Thanks to this one.’ She turned and smiled at Alex. ‘And his understanding of the law. It all went over my head but he sorted it all out and now I’m divorced with a tidy sum in the bank. I’ll never leave here though. It’s been my sanctuary. Don’t know what I’d have done without this lot. They pieced me back together when I thought I was too broken to repair.’
Hazel was crying hard now. I passed her a tissue and as I looked at Alex I was close to tears myself. I’d doubted him when he’d been protecting her. Did he care about me like that? I wanted him to.
Hazel blew her nose.
‘Hazel, do you thi—’
‘That’s another thing. Hazel isn’t my real name.’
I threw a glance at Alex. He was watching me intently.
‘I don’t get it,’ Tilly said.
‘I think Hazel wanted to stay hidden…’ I began.
‘That isn’t it at all. When my kids were small I used to read them The Very Hungry Caterpillar.’
‘I loved that!’ Tilly said.
‘So you know it’s about a dreary caterpillar that can’t stop stuffing his face. Every moment is the same for him. I felt like that. My life felt dull. Colourless. But you remember what happened at the end of the story, Tilly, cariad?’
‘He became a butterfly.’
‘Yes, somebody else. Free. Reborn. No one ever called him a caterpillar again. That’s what I wanted – to feel free. For nobody to call me Eilwen again.’
‘Kind of realising your destiny,’ Saffron said.
‘But didn’t you lose your identity?’
‘She created a new one,’ Alex said. ‘A name change can be a jumpstart to who we want to be. A gift to ourselves.’
‘My nana had a Hazel tree, growing up, and it was a nod to her as well as to here. All the nature surrounding us. The world is a beautiful place, but I’d forgotten it for a while.’
