Текст книги "Lost Girls"

Автор книги: Celina Grace

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 3 (всего у книги 17 страниц)

Chapter Four

I took Becca to Caernaven with me once. Just once. It was the only time I'd invited a friend back there. I don't know why, but the person I was in London was not the person I was in Cumbria and I could never seem to reconcile the two. But Becca was different – we'd known each other for long enough for that not to matter. At least, not to matter much.

Some of it was Angus as well. It wasn't that he was rude, exactly, it was just that he didn't treat people the way I wanted him to. Some small childish part of me wanted him to be a dad, a proper dad; tweedy and avuncular, paunchy, eyes twinkling benignly from behind his glasses. A pipe-smoker, a cheek-pincher, a winker. No matter that he didn't actually wear glasses and wouldn't have dreamt of wearing tweed. In reality, he was tall, broad-shouldered; he kept his steel-grey hair cut savagely short; he smoked cigarettes and no lightweight versions either: Marlboro Reds. He veered between being curt and abrupt, or completely charming, depending on who he was talking to. Once I moved away from home, I seemed to lose the ability to read his moods – on my visits back, I got it wrong all the time; being skittish and cheeky when I should have been grave, solemn when I should have been light-hearted. I found myself embarrassing then, so how must he have felt? No, it was better to be by myself when I went back, less painful all round.

But Becca was a bit different. For a start, she was one of the least judgmental people I’d ever met – it was a big part of the reason I liked her so much. Supremely self-confident, she assumed everyone else had the same breezy attitude to life and all its challenges as she did. I knew she’d cope effortlessly with whatever mood Angus was in, and this helped me feel more relaxed myself. It was so simple when I looked at it in these dispassionate terms; I don’t know why it was so hard to carry it out in practice.

In keeping with this theory, I’d brought a couple of bottles of wine with me on the train, which Becca was keen to help me demolish. I’d never enjoyed the journey so much before; the two of us swigging wine and eating peanuts, swapping stories and giggling. I arranged for us to get a taxi from the station, so I knew there would be no awkward journey home with Angus. We’d arrive at dinner time, which would mean we’d all have something to do other than talk. It was all going to be fine, I told myself as I sloshed the last of the first bottle into our glasses.

“Bloody hell,” said Becca several hours later, as the taxi pulled up in front of the house. “It’s huge. You never told me it was going to be so big.”

I was pierced by the memory of Jessica's reaction on first seeing Caernaven. It made me struggle for words but, after a second, I managed to make some flippant comment. I paid the taxi driver and we clambered out, retrieving our cases from the boot.

Becca stood for a moment, taking in the monolith that was the front of the house, then turning to survey the view.

"Lovely spot," she said. "And you grew up here, you lucky thing. I grew up in Croydon, for God's sake. There's no comparison."

"Oh well," I said, rather awkwardly. I never knew what to say when people said things like that. "Let's go inside and get a drink."

Angus opened the front door as I put my hand out towards the handle.

"Angus, this is Becca, my friend. Rebecca, I mean."

“Pleased to meet you,” said Becca. He gave her a look I couldn’t decipher but shook her hand and smiled.

“Welcome, Rebecca. How was your journey?”

He put a hand on the small of her back, steering her through the front door. I gathered up as many bags as I could and struggled after them. Becca had stopped in the middle of the hallway and was exclaiming over the staircase.

“I’ll just dump these here,” I panted and let most of the bags fall with a thump. "I'll take you up to your room later." I turned to Angus. "I thought Becca could go in the Blue Room?"

He was already walking away and waved a hand at me.

"I'm sure that’s fine. Come and join us for a drink when you're ready."

Us? I stopped lugging Becca's suitcase across the floor.

"You alright?" said Becca.

I immediately put a smile back on my face. "No problem. Sorry about Ang – my father – he's sometimes a bit preoccupied. Don't take it personally."

"I hadn't," said Becca. "Taken what?"

I shrugged and rolled my eyes. "Oh nothing," I said. "Forget it. Let's go and get a drink, shall we?"

We made our way to the drawing room, Becca exclaiming all the while about the house, the antiques, the art and the sculptures. "So beautiful," she kept saying, lingering at one thing or the other until I virtually had to push her through the door of the room. I was sniggering under my breath at our childishness and it took me a few moments to notice that Angus was indeed not alone. Sitting very close to him on one of the couches was a young woman, almost as young as I was, with a cloud of soft brown hair and a very red mouth.

"Oh," I said, nonplussed. Then I collected myself. "Hello."

"This is Theresa," said Angus. He got up from beside the girl and moved towards the drinks cabinet. "Teresa, this is my daughter, Maudie, and her friend, Rebecca."

We all shook hands and there was a moment's awkward silence, then Becca stepped into the breach.

"How do you know Angus?" she asked.

Carnally, was my guess. I’d been wondering recently whether he had some new woman on the go – when something like this was starting up he became even more distant, and I’d noticed his usual phone calls to me had become even more sporadic. Theresa looked a little uncomfortable. I wondered whether she'd been told we were coming.

"I'm a teacher at Katherine College," she said. Becca and I made encouraging noises but she didn't seem to have much more to say. Angus brought us over some drinks.

“How long have you been teaching?” asked Becca.

“Not long,” said Theresa. “This is my first job.”

“What a surprise,” I murmured. I must have said it a little too loudly as she glared at me.

"Theresa will be joining us for dinner," said Angus. He put a hand on her waist, just a little too close to her backside. I had to look away. "We'll sit down at seven."

"Will we be dressing for dinner?" said Becca, grinning. I began to smile and then saw Angus's face. He didn't get it. He gave me a look.

“That would be lovely, Rebecca,” he said. “But I’m sure what you’re wearing would be quite adequate.”

I snorted and got another look. Teresa was looking out of the window, or at least towards the window. I didn’t think she was thinking of anything much.

The silence stretched out uncomfortably.

“Well, I’d better show Becca to her room,” I said eventually. Angus nodded and we were dismissed. I’m not sure Teresa noticed we were going.

Becca and I both hefted a case and headed for the stairs.

“God,” said Becca when we were halfway up a flight. “Your dad likes them young.”

I shivered. “Don’t.”

“Sorry,” she said. There was a moment’s pause. “This house is truly amazing. I can’t believe you grew up here.”

“Well, I was at boarding school for some of it,” I said. We had reached the Blue Room. “Here you go. The loo’s just across the corridor.”

Becca walked in and looked around. “It’s amazing. Thanks.” She gave me a quick look I couldn’t quite decipher. “I was only joking about dressing for dinner.”

“God, I know that,” I said. I rolled my eyes. “Don’t worry about my father, anyway. He’ll be too taken up with what’s her name to pay us much attention, you’ll see.”

In that, I was wrong. When we came down for dinner, I could see Angus had switched into charming mode. Perhaps he was bored with Teresa – and I could quite see why – or perhaps he’d become aware of his previous shortcomings. He talked a lot to Becca and sometimes to me. Teresa pushed her food around the plate in a sulky manner. I tried to talk to her but gave up after a while.

I’d thought she’d leave after dinner but again I was wrong. We went back into the drawing room for coffee.

I may have over done it a bit on the booze that night, I’m prepared to admit. I was wound up and anxious; hoping Becca was enjoying herself, trying to please Angus, trying to alternately include Teresa or ignore her as politely as possible.

It meant I had to get up in the middle of the night, my bladder almost bursting. I was staggering down the corridor when I heard the sounds, sounds so immediately strange that at first I thought I was dreaming. I’d been dreaming when I woke up, thick tangled dreams of wolves and forests and these were sounds straight out of the dream; feral, rough animal sounds. In my befuddled state, it took me a moment to realise what they were, and that they were coming from Angus’s bedroom.

I managed to get to the bathroom before vomiting. At least I managed to do that. My croaks and gasps drowned out the noises Angus and Teresa were making and when I’d finished vomiting, my tears and sobs were able to drown them out too. I went back to my room and lay rigid, my fingers in my ears, trying not to hear, listening to the thunder of my heartbeat and the gallop of blood in my veins.

Chapter Five

It was a while before Becca and I could meet again. We chose a bar we both liked for our rendezvous, a little subterranean cavern with lots of tucked away nooks and crannies. Since the smoking ban had come in, visibility had improved a little but I still had to screw up my eyes against the dimness as I threaded my way through the tables and chairs, looking for Becca.

I couldn’t find her anywhere in the bar; I was obviously the first to arrive. I found a little table right at the back with two spare seats and sat myself and my glass of wine down. I’d bought a bottle for us; I knew I’d be needing it. A candle in a votive glass holder cast a flickering golden light over the rough surface of the table. I pushed it further back against the wall and took out my book but I couldn’t concentrate. When I realised I’d read the same line five times, I shut it and put it away and concentrated on drinking my wine.

Becca came around the corner in her usual rush, trailing scarves and her battered old handbag.

“God!” she said, flinging herself into the chair opposite. “What a night! Total overload at the office and then I get here and make a beeline for someone who I was sure was you and obviously it wasn’t. Oh, excellent, you’ve got us a bottle – slosh some in there would you, darling? How are you doing?”

We talked about inconsequential things through the first half of the bottle. Becca asked after Matt, although I didn’t have much to tell her.

“He says hello,” I said. “He was pleased I was going out again. I think he’s worried I’m just going to closet myself away at home.”

“Well, it’s understandable,” said Becca. “You do have a tendency to get a bit hermit-like.”

“I do not!”

“Okay, well, only sometimes.” Becca wasn’t interested in arguing the point. “Anyway...”

“Anyway, what?” I was stalling and both she and I knew it.

“What’s upsetting you? I know it’s not just your dad. What’s wrong?”

I emptied the rest of the wine into our glasses. I could feel the two glasses I’d already swallowed warming my stomach and I basked in the feeling. It was such a comfort.

“How long have we known each other?” I said.

Becca looked surprised.

“Five years? No, more. Six years? Ever since we both worked at Whitfords.”

“Whitfords, that’s right.” Or ‘Shitfords’ as I’d overheard Becca calling it, one day in the canteen there. It had been a good time in my life, relatively; it was before I’d started to fall ill. Becca had left Whitfords not long after that but by then we were drinking partners, buddies, friends. That we still were, despite my illness and Angus’s disapproval, seemed something of a minor miracle.

I was aware I’d fallen silent. Becca looked at me through the candlelight, frowning slightly. “Want another drink?”

I gave her a wry look. “What do you think?”

She grinned and pushed her chair back. While she was waiting at the bar, I was thinking about my options. To tell, or not to tell? If I told, how much to tell? Should I just lie and make something up, for the sake of another few months of peace before she got curious again? It would be easier, but... in a strange way, I wanted to tell her. I hadn’t spoken of this to anyone except Matt for years. Matt and my therapist.

Becca came back with another bottle, bless her. She poured us both a generous glass and I watched the condensation bead on the glass and run in a shining droplet to splash onto the table.

We didn’t clink glasses this time.

“Look,” she said, gently for her. “I know something’s bothering you. You’ve got that look again.” I opened my mouth to ask her to elaborate but she waved me down. “It’s just – well, I want to help you. I’m your friend, after all. You don’t have to tell me anything but, you never know, I might be able to help.”

I nodded. I took a sip of wine, pondering. Becca sat back and smiled at me, still gently, but in her eyes I could see a glimpse of something that was almost greedy. For a second, I felt a tiny flash of dislike for her, and stamped down upon it. Of course she was curious, I’d been so mysterious about my past. I couldn’t blame her. I felt the old impulse to pretend it didn’t matter, to turn the subject. But what had Margaret said to me at our last session? It’s nothing to be ashamed of, Maudie. I think it’s time you started letting people in.

Guilt gripped me around the throat and I coughed. I took a sip of my drink. I talked to myself, like I so often did. Becca’s my friend, she won’t judge me. Much.

“Well,” I began. I didn’t know how to start. “It’s not – I mean, it’s not as if I’ve got something really terrible to tell you. Well, terrible in that it’s something I’ve done. It’s not. It’s just – hard – for me to talk about.”

Becca didn’t say anything but she reached across the table and took my hand. Touched, I tightened my fingers around hers for a moment, before speaking again. I was finding it easier now, the words were coming more fluidly.

“When I was ten, I was on holiday in Cornwall with Angus. He’d bought two cottages out in the middle of nowhere, about a half an hour’s drive from Penzance, which doesn’t sound like much but really, they were incredibly remote, or so they seemed to me. It was the first time we went there – we had the one cottage and the other cottage–“ my voice clogged and I coughed and started again, “the McGaskills took the other cottage.”

“Who were they?” said Becca.

I looked down at the table, watching the flickering light of the candle. “We’d all been – friends – for ages, but we’d never had a holiday at the same time. Do you see?”

“Yes.”

I took a sip of wine. “The McGaskills had a daughter. She was the same age as me. Jessica–“ my voice cracked again and this time I took a gulp of wine. “Jessica. Her name was Jessica. We were best friends.”

“Ah,” said Becca, smiling. I felt a pang, knowing that what I was going to say would wipe that smile from her face. I knew she would be upset and distressed. But how could I spare her, when she wanted to know, and why should I spare her, anyway? I had to live with this every day. Let someone else share the misery, for once.

“We were best friends,” I repeated. “We were both only children and we lived in the same village back at home, up in Cumbria. We went to the same school. We even looked alike, you know, skinny and blonde and little. We liked to pretend we were sisters, it was almost as good as having a real sister. People often took us for sisters. Mrs. McGaskill – Jane – she was like a mum to me. I know people always say that, but she really was.”

I’d drained my glass of wine. Becca saw me swallow.

“More?”

“Yes, please. Could I – sorry to ask you, but would you mind if I got myself a brandy before I go on?”

Her eyebrows went up. “Of course. But don’t worry – I’ll get it.”

She went to fetch the drink. I sat back in my chair, trying to breathe deeply. I felt panicky, trapped underground with the rest of my tale to be told. Over by the toilets, I caught sight of a flash of bright blonde hair and felt my stomach clench in fear. God – not now. I shut my eyes for a brief moment. I was not going to crack up now. Becca was coming back to the table, glass in her hand. I took a cringing look over her shoulder. No blonde woman in sight. Get a grip, I told myself.

The brandy helped. I tossed it back in one and felt the burn of it light a fiery trail all the way down to my stomach.

“Easy,” said Becca.

“I’m okay,” I gasped. I took a deep breath. “Where was I?”

“You were telling me about the Mc-somethings. The McGaskills.”

“Yes. Jessica and I – we had such a good time – we’d go to the beach and go walking, bike riding. There was a farm next to the cottages where we used to go to look at the animals and help feed the calves if we could.” Remembering this, I smiled. “I’m sure the sun didn’t shine all the time, but it seemed like it did.”

“A golden summer,” said Becca, in a non-committal tone.

I looked at her. “Yes. Yes it was. It didn’t matter so much to me, growing up without a mother, you know, because I had Jessica and her family. That was why–“ my voice failed for a second. I coughed. “That was why it was so terrible, what happened. It ripped us all apart.”

“What happened?”

“I’m coming to that.” I took a deep breath. “There was an – an ancient place near the cottages. An ancient place of worship for the druids, or the Celts – there’s similar places all over Cornwall. Not exactly a stone circle, but there’s this one stone with a hole in it, and another you can see through...  Jessica and I – I don’t know – we just got obsessed by it. There was lots of folklore about it, you know. There still is. In the old days, the villagers used to take their sick children down to the Men-an-Tol at midnight and pass them through the hole, to heal them.”

“The what?”

“The Men-an-Tol. It means ‘stone with a hole’. Jessica and I made our own folklore up, except we kind of forgot we’d made it up and I think we almost believed it. She did believe it. Jessica said that when it was full moon, at midnight you could climb through the Men-an-Tol and you would go back in time.” I saw Becca smile and smiled myself, unwillingly. “Oh, I know it sounds ridiculous now, but you know what kids are like. We were so romantic, we just yearned for it to be true. I think we did honestly believe it.”

I stopped talking for a second. The bar had become very crowded, people pressing in on our tiny table from both sides. People shouted and called across the room to one another and laughed loudly. I was glad of the tumult; it made me feel safer. I was too close to the story; I felt as if I could be pulled back into the past at any time.

“What happened?” said Becca. She leant across the table towards me, frowning.

I took another sip of wine. My tongue felt as if it were coated in glue. There was a part to this story that I was going to leave out, I just decided. It didn’t have any bearing on what happened anyway and it was – private.

“That summer we were there, when we were ten... Jessica found out there would be a full moon during our holiday. Well, you can imagine how excited we were. We were going to go to the Men-an-Tol at midnight and climb through the hole. Jessica had planned it all. She was always more of the ringleader. She came up with most of our schemes but, you know, I was happy to go along with her. Anyway, we plotted and planned the whole thing. We were going to meet by the farm, by the hedgerow, and walk up to the circle, just before midnight.”

I stopped talking.

“And? You did?”

I didn’t answer for a moment. “I didn’t. She did.”

“What?”

I felt tears prick at my eyelids. “I meant to,” I said. I pinched my nose to stop myself crying. “I woke up and got dressed and went downstairs. I got to the front door and I – I-”

Becca held my hand again. “It’s alright.”

“I meant to,” I said. My voice wobbled. “I got scared. I didn’t go. I – I told myself that Jessica wouldn’t go, either.”

A teardrop escaped and hit the polished surface of the tabletop. We both looked at it. I smudged it with my finger. I had the image of the front door in my head, slightly open; outside the night frosted with moonlight, the sky filled with ragged clouds and star-specks and behind it all, an abyss ready to pull me in.

“I just got scared,” I said. “I’d never been out at night on my own before. The world just looked too big.”

Becca squeezed my hand. “Well, I don’t think that’s so terrible,” she said. “You were only ten.”

I snatched my hand back. How dare she misunderstand? “Jessica did go.”

Becca raised her eyebrows. “She did?”

“Well, we think she did,” I said. I looked down at the table. “She went somewhere. She disappeared.”

“What?”

“Just that. She disappeared. She was never seen again.”

Becca’s mouth fell open. “What, never?”

“Never.” I clenched my hands together under the table. “I don’t think her mother ever forgave me.”

Becca didn’t appear to hear my last sentence. “But – but – wasn’t there a search? Didn’t they find her?”

“Of course there was a search,” I said. The brandy and wine were mixing uneasily in my stomach. “It even made the news, there were reporters down there and everything. But they never found her or her body. She’d just vanished.”

Becca’s eyes were wide. “My God. That’s – that’s terrible.”

“Yes.”

“My God. They never found her. Never?” I shook my head. “Jesus,” she said, “What do you think happened?”

I pressed a hand to my stomach. I was feeling steadily sicker. I could see the outline of the door in my head, the shadow behind it.

“I don’t know.”

“Are you alright?”

“Not really.” I pushed myself up from my chair. “Sorry, Becca. I’ve got to go.”

“What, now?”

“Yes. Sorry.” I grabbed my bag and coat and pushed my way through the crowded room. I could feel my stomach start to cramp. Bent double, one hand over my mouth, I just made it to the toilet in time.