‘Janine Francis called here today unexpectedly. I was finishing off the spare room when she hammered on my door and more or less forced her way in. I had to literally throw her out.’ My voice is rising in pitch and volume. I am almost shouting, my skin suddenly burning up. I rest my head to one side, the phone trapped between my jaw and shoulder as I roll up my sleeves to release the waves of heat that are building beneath my layers of clothing.
‘Right. Okay. I’m not sure where this is going, Grace, or what it’s got to do with me?’
I have no idea how long it takes me to answer. I close my eyes, think about what I’m about to say, do my best to ensure it comes out coherently, not a furious stream of nonsense. Lose your temper and lose. I have to stay calm, not let my underlying resentment get the better of me.
‘What was the mystery illness you had when you were younger?’ I hadn’t planned on asking but am glad that I have. It has niggled at me since Janine first mentioned it. The way she said it makes me think that there is something more to it and whatever that something is, I need to know about it. Yet another family secret. Another thing hidden from me. Even the local flabby-armed rent-a-mouth knows more about my family’s past than I do.
I can hear Kim breathing down the phone. I don’t speak, waiting instead for her answer, poised and ready for another argument. An argument that may not come. I won’t buckle, however, no matter how long the silence lasts. I refuse to give in. This is a chance I’m taking here. I run the risk of having the phone slammed down on me. I run the risk of being told to piss off and mind my own business or being screamed at that it’s all one huge lie and that Janine Francis has about as much truth and honesty in her as your average inmate at Frankland Prison. She doesn’t do any of those things. What she does do next takes every little bit of breath out of me.
‘Look, why don’t we meet up for coffee, but not in our usual place? Let’s go somewhere different, somewhere more remote and private. The weather’s meant to be nice tomorrow. How about we meet up at Sutton Bank at eleven o’clock? We can get a takeaway coffee, sit at one of the picnic benches outside.’
I mumble my agreement, my words coming out in a flurry of confusion and surprise, every word echoing in my head, clanging against my skull like a rolling boulder. I’m relieved when the call ends. Sweat prickles my hairline, arcing around my head, running down the side of my face in tiny rivulets.
Something monumental has just happened. Something that I feel sure will shift my world, tilting it on its axis. Janine wasn’t wrong. There is something in Kim’s past that doesn’t quite add up. Something mysterious that she didn’t try to deny. And tomorrow, I will discover exactly what that something is.
I had forgotten how picturesque it is up here, how awe inspiring. And how wild and windy. High up and exposed to the elements with no barriers to lessen the impact of the weather, it is cold with a brisk breeze that takes my breath away.
After parking up, I decide to go for a stroll, follow the path to the lookout point. It claims to have best view in England and as I stare out over the landscape before me, I am hard pressed to disagree.
Invisible fingers of air push at my back, the gusts of wind so powerful, I find myself clinging onto the wooden rail to stay upright. In the distance, hang-gliders sail past, their bravery something I can never quite comprehend. Life is a path I have always found difficult to navigate; I could never add more danger and peril to it. I have enough in my life to keep me edgy and anxious. I don’t feel the need to throw myself off a cliff with only a piece of fabric and a strong breeze to stop me from plummeting to my death in order to feel alive.
Finding Warren cold and lifeless next to me one morning, my search for Simon, for the truth behind his disappearance, coping with Mum’s dementia and wondering who the fuck my husband was sleeping with prior to his death is all quite enough for me, pumping enough adrenaline through my system to keep me in a permanent state of unease. I fear a drop more would push me to the brink, tipping me over into that point of no return.
The wind slaps at my face, stinging my cheeks. I narrow my eyes, looking ahead at the sweeping vista, the rolling hills, the expanse of blue sky. Parts of my soul begin to restore themselves as I stare out at it all, insignificance washing over me when I compare myself to the vast, ancient slopes and peaks, the ground beneath my feet that has been here for as long as the earth itself. My problems slowly diminish. If I could just stay here for the longest time, perhaps everything would be less oppressive, less trying. I could walk away from here a different person. Lighter. Less troubled. Happier.
‘I knew I’d find you here.’ I spin around to see Kim standing behind me, a wry smile on her face. Her skin is flushed. She is holding out a large latte for me. ‘Come on, let’s find a bench and we’ll talk, shall we?’
I walk behind her, Kim’s surefootedness leading us to a sheltered area where we aren’t battered by the prevailing winds. A secluded area where nobody will hear what she is about to tell me. That is my guess as we sit at a bench away from the crowds and she turns to face me, her eyes following my every move.
‘So,’ I say, needing to shift this thing along, to make sure she opens up and speaks to me before she has a chance to change her mind. ‘I don’t think you brought me here for the view. Or the weather.’ I laugh and pull up my collar, turning my back against the sharp breeze that although less powerful now we are away from the edge, is still enough to make me shiver and wish I had worn a hat and gloves despite it being late spring. I place my hands around the large paper cup, glad of the heat it gives off.
Kim takes a long slurp of her coffee and lowers her gaze. I wait, I watch and I wait some more. When she looks up again, I am stricken to see her eyes are brimming with tears. My chest tightens, my ribs squashing everything as I stiffen. I brace myself for what she is about to say. I don’t have to wait long. The words fall out of her, as if they have been stored there for the longest time, waiting to be spoken out loud.
‘My mystery illness was a pregnancy, Grace. I had a baby when I was only thirteen years old. I was sent away to live with Gran in Northumberland for a while. And then after the baby was born, I came back home. Mum told everyone that I had gone to recuperate after a bout of chronic bronchitis.’ She takes a shuddering breath, wipes away tears with the back of her hand. ‘So now you know.’
My head buzzes. I am lost for words. I lift my coffee but quickly place it back on the floor beside my feet, the weight of it too much to bear. My limbs feel light and weightless, emptied of all strength. Air whistles through my veins, fills my head. I count my breathing, hear the words that come out of my mouth.
‘A baby?’ My voice is husky. I clear my throat, take a deep breath. ‘But what happened to it? Did it…?’
‘Live?’ Kim says, her voice sounding disembodied, full of tears. Full of regret. ‘Yes, it lived. It was taken from me. I was young. It was a traumatic time and I’ve tried hard to move on from it. So there you have it.’ She stands up, pours out the remainder of her coffee onto a patch of grass then sits back down, a defeated look on her face. ‘Janine had an idea that something had happened. She never really knew what had gone on but was always a prying little so-and-so, always had a nose for gossip. She possibly had an idea but didn’t have any hard evidence. I hid it well.’
Instinctively, I lean into her, resting my head on her shoulder. We’re not demonstrative, Kim and I, but this moment requires more than a simple sentence or smile to let her know how I feel. She reciprocates by resting her hand on my head and stroking my hair, her fingers soft as silk, light and reassuring.
We sit like that for what feels like the longest time although it is probably no more than a minute. Only when a family pass by do I move away, lifting my head off her shoulder and shuffling farther along the bench. Two young children skip past closely followed by their parents who nod at us and smile before continuing with their walk. The voices of the giggling youngsters trail behind them, disappearing altogether as they pass, leaving an emptiness that heightens our situation.
I don’t try to fill the silence. Saying nothing is the best option when words are not enough. I stand up and Kim follows me. Linking arms, we head along the gravel path in mute companionship, the wind still doing its utmost to knock us off balance. I no longer feel cold. Nothing can touch me. I am impervious to everything. For now, all I can focus on is my sister and the years she has spent having to deal with this alone. Every time I feel as if I cannot contain my anger towards her, she unveils yet another layer of resilience stored deep within her that I didn’t know existed. I’m not the only one who has suffered. We have more in common than I ever realised. More to keep us together than to drive us apart.
We reach the car park and I turn to speak to her, to ask just one question. I have no intention of going over this, forcing her to relive it, raking over unpleasant memories. What happened has happened. It is in the past, another page in our history. She has told me that barest of details and that is enough for me, but I want to know just one thing.
‘Does Greg know?’ I keep my voice soft, non-threatening.
Kim sighs, blinks back more tears and looks away briefly before catching my eye and giving me a half smile. ‘I told him after we first met and made him promise to not mention it again.’
I take the hint and nod. She has said enough and looks exhausted by it all, her eyes dark, her face suddenly drained of all colour. Kim looks like a woman who has aged ten years in the last ten minutes. ‘And do me a favour, will you?’ she says, her voice gravelly. ‘Next time you see Janine Francis, tell her from me that she can take her flabby belly and fat wobbly arms, and her yellow, plaque-covered teeth and take a running jump from the nearest fucking mountain.’
I laugh so hard that my sides ache. It’s good to see Kim giggle, to see her relaxed, easy in her own skin. I reach out, our fingers almost touching before we break contact. She turns away, gives me a wave over her shoulder then winds her way through the cluster of parked cars. Her head disappears as she bends down and clambers into her own vehicle. I hear the slam of the door, the rev of the engine, the crunch of rubber on tarmac.
I am still standing there, mulling over what just took place when she drives past, her expression a combination of relief and sadness, her face still wet with tears. At that moment, I feel such a pull of love towards her, the likes of which I have never before experienced, the tug of emotions so strong, it overwhelms me. If only I had known that within the space of a week that would all change; that within just a few days, I would be so angry with her, hating her with such fervour that I would willingly place my fingers around her throat, squeezing as hard as I could until her eyes bulged and every last drop of life drained out of her.
22
The airport is busy – travellers coming and going, doors sweeping open, taxis pulling up outside the main entrance. The rumble of suitcases as they’re dragged along behind tired, dishevelled people fills the air. I am surrounded by it all: a cacophony, a milieu of busyness and the raw show of emotion from bystanders as people depart, leaving loved ones behind while others arrive to a sea of smiling faces and outstretched arms.
A pulse taps at my neck; my palms are clammy. I make my way towards the arrivals area where a crowd of people stand, looking at their watches and checking the electronic board for arrival times. I insisted on picking Gavin and Gemma up. It’s the least I can do after they have travelled thousands of miles to get here. They tried to resist my offer, insisting they would get a taxi to Hempton. I was having none of it. This is the beginning of their new lives and I want to be here to share it with them.
For some unfathomable reason, I am nervous. I keep reminding myself that this is my son, not a stranger. Time and distance have erased our familiarity. We will have to work at getting it back. And then there is Gemma to consider. What does she like to eat? What sort of hobbies does she have? It occurs to me that I don’t really know her that well. They had only been together a few months when they left the country. That is something else I will have to work at – being attentive and friendly and polite, making sure she feels welcome and wanted. All of a sudden, this whole endeavour feels like a crushing task requiring more energy than I am able to muster up.
I check my watch and crane my neck, peering over the line of heads in front of me. I mustn’t think like that, that their imminent arrival is onerous or overwhelming. It isn’t. This is an exciting event, something to look forward to, to savour and relish. It’s a positive memory and those kinds of memories are difficult to come by. I need to cherish it, hang onto it, not brush it aside as something that I find too difficult to manage.
Time drags as I wait, hopping from foot to foot, the base of my back aching from standing in the same position for too long, until eventually, a handful of people appear through the doors. They scan the crowd, searching for that familiar face, that welcoming smile, while others march past, heading out into the chilly evening air, shoulders hunched, expressions relieved yet weary.
Face after face after face – men, women, children, babies – they all pass by me until at last, I see him. My boy. My Gavin. I resist the urge to run to him, to wrap my arms around his broad shoulders and gaze up into his big, blue eyes. Instead, I remain dignified, reserved, giving them both a broad smile and a wave. I allow myself a small squeak of excitement as they approach, giving me a tight hug. They look tired. Healthy and tanned but definitely fatigued by their long-haul flight.
‘Long journey?’ I say, immediately chastising myself for stating the obvious. They’ve both travelled halfway around the world. Of course it was a long bloody journey. ‘Here. Let me give you a hand.’ I take a piece of luggage from Gemma, who smiles and lets it slip from her grasp with a grateful sigh.
‘Thank you. It’s really kind of you to come and pick us up.’
