‘Mum, it’s Gavin, your grandson. Remember? The boy who used to play in your garden. He’s grown up now. It’s Gavin.’
My words are drowned out by rustling and murmuring and shouting as Rochelle and Amanda restrain Mum and lay her on the bed. She fights back, refusing to acquiesce, her stick thin limbs thrashing about, her voice a scratch in the small room.
‘It’s him. I know it’s him! It’s John, my Johnny. He did it. It’s his fault!’
Gavin sidles over to me, places his arms around me, seemingly unperturbed. I wish I had a tenth of his bravery and gumption. My innards are squirming and coiling, my heart hammering away beneath my sternum, a dull thudding that leaves me wobbly and nauseous.
‘It’s fine, Mum. They’ve got it under control now.’
‘Your neck?’
He stretches his head towards me. ‘See, nothing there. No marks. I could barely feel anything.’ He is smiling as if nothing happened, as if my mother, his dear old nana, didn’t just try to strangle him.
I fight back tears. This is not how I planned our visit. I had visions of us chatting, of Mum patting Gavin’s hand while he regaled her with tales of his life in Australia, telling her how surfed and visited beaches and hung out with cool people who lived life to the full but here we are, watching her being restrained after she tried to kill her own grandson.
Her shrieking becomes more muffled, the distant cry of an angry, frightened woman. Gavin and I are gently ushered out of the door, Amanda’s hand at my elbow, the other one in the small of my back as she propels me forwards. ‘Let us calm her down, Grace. It’s upsetting for family members to witness such a display but we’re used to it. Why don’t you go and have a coffee in the lounge while we sort your mum out?’
‘Oh God. I spilt some on the floor outside and I—’
Amanda shakes her head and smiles and I couldn’t think more of her than I do already. ‘It’s getting cleaned up as we speak. You just go and sit and have a drink. Sarah will bring you one from the office but don’t eat all the shortbread biscuits or I might just cry.’ She winks and before either of us can reply, the door is closed and we are standing outside Mum’s room, the aroma of spilt coffee wafting up from the tiled floor. I still hear it, however: the last thing Mum says before she is sedated and drifts off into a drug-induced slumber.
‘It was John. He did it. He hurt the boy. Him! It was always him.’
We’re settled in the living room, glass of wine in hand. Gemma is curled up on the sofa, feet tucked under her legs. Gavin is beside her, his body leaning into hers. They cut a fine pair: two handsome, young people with their lives ahead of them. Both employed, both healthy. So why am I so on edge, fragile and out of sorts as if the world is spinning out of control? My little world hurtling towards the unknown.
Mum’s voice reverberates around my head, her words, saying my father had hurt Simon. That was what she meant. It’s obvious. She’s ill, I know that. Last week, she was screaming that she had killed people. I shouldn’t hold so much store by her words. She’s confused, doesn’t always know what she is saying. Words come out of her mouth unchecked, events that have become jumbled in her poor old brain coming out as fact. And yet, they always manage to worm their way into my mind, mounting up into a huge, ugly pile that is ready to come crashing down at any moment.
‘Top up, Mum?’ Gavin sits up, picks up the bottle and pours some into Gemma’s glass. The glugging sound cuts into my thoughts.
‘I’m fine for now, thanks.’ My face is warm, the alcohol heating up my flesh as I take another sip.
The subdued lighting, the conversation, the company in my living room all add to the ambience of the evening. I should be happy, elated. So why do I feel as if everything is falling away from me, my delicately constructed existence going into freefall?
‘We haven’t really had time to ask you how you’re settling in here? It’s looking so cosy, Grace. Woodburn Cottage is utterly gorgeous.’
I smile at Gemma, her words moving me, dragging me out of my reverie. I grew up here, have good memories of this place, battled demonic ones along the way and haven’t ever really given any thought to it being pretty or homely. It’s just my childhood home. The place where Simon grew up. Then I think of Janine Francis and her toxic presence in my living room. I shut her out, stamp all over her presence. She doesn’t deserve any space in my head. She deserves to be forgotten, her words and insinuations and filthy tittle-tattle trampled underfoot and ground into dust.
‘I’m settling in really well, thank you. My neighbour, Mr Waters, lived next door when I was a kid and he’s still living there now. He’s a lovely old chap: so kind and helpful. I met his daughter, Carrie. She was visiting and we had a drink together.’
Gemma and Gavin nod and smile. This is what they want to hear: that everything is ticking along perfectly. Why burden them with my issues and drag them into my sordid pit of secrets?
‘I guess you’ve been seeing Aunt Kim as well, have you? It’s good that you have each other,’ Gavin says as he drains his glass and refills it. ‘By the way, did she sort out that thing with Dad? He said he’d had to meet up with her a few times for a chat about something or other. Some family issues, apparently. He said they’d seen quite a bit of each other and that you would get to know about it soon enough that it was time to “bring it all out into the open”.’ He hooks his fingers in the air as he speaks and widens his eyes, giving me lopsided smile. ‘It all sounded very mysterious and intriguing.’ Gavin sighs, dips his head then drops his hands and runs his fingers through his hair. ‘I never did get to hear what it was about, but I don’t suppose it matters now and I guess it’s all sorted, is it?’
Bells clang in my ears, a deep, metallic thrumming. The temperature in my face ratchets up a couple of notches. I can hardly breathe. That letter, that diary entry.
Please don’t tell her, Warren. Don’t do it. We all have too much to lose.
Not Kim. Surely not my own sister?
I saw her again. I shouldn’t have. We talked, that’s all. At some point, this all needs to come out in the open.
I want to speak, to say something to fill the interminable silence that seems to have suddenly filled the room, but nothing comes out. Cotton wool fills my mouth, sticks in my throat, clinging to the sides, stopping the words from escaping. I need to say something, anything to fill the void of silence that has descended. I am empty, a blank canvas. There’s nothing left of me. Nothing of any substance. I am a cardboard version of Grace Cooper, a person running on empty.
I find myself nodding, my head rattling and buzzing with each movement. I watch, disconnected from reality as Gavin and Gemma finish their drinks and stand up, their voices echoing around my head as they bid their goodnights and go upstairs. Their footfall is muffled against the rush of my own blood, the thrashing of my heart, the screaming in my head.
My instinct is telling me to go around to Kim’s house this minute, to drag her from her bed, put my face close to hers, let her see my anger, let her feel it, smell it, taste it. To tell her what a worthless piece of shit she is before cutting her out of my life altogether.
But I don’t. I have another drink to help still my beating heart and stem my growing fury. I run through various scenarios, make plans, rehearse speeches, choosing my words with care and precision. I have to get it right. No second chances, only one opportunity to tell Kim what I think of her and her devious, cruel ways. Her attempts at ending my marriage.
I can wait, time tempering my rage and adding fuel to the words I plan on saying. Words that will bring our relationship to an end. When I do see her, I want to do it with a clear head and a sharp tongue. I want my well-rehearsed speech to flow, for the ice in my veins to cut her to the quick. I want her to know that this is the end of us.
24
I must have slept even though I feel as if I’ve been awake for a hundred years or more. I recall dozing off into a dark dream full of secrets and lies and shook myself out of it. I ache everywhere, as if my bones have been compressed into a tiny, metal box. I unfurl myself, clamber out of bed, my joints flaring with pain. I shower, grateful for the heat and strength of the water as it massages my bones, pummelling my skin, injecting some life back into my weary body, and dress, throwing on the first things at hand. Clothes feel inconsequential, trivial.
Downstairs, Gemma and Gavin are dressed and finishing their breakfast. Gemma stands at the sink, staring out into the garden.
‘Busy day ahead?’ My voice is different: low and husky, in need of sustenance and sleep. I shuffle past her and pour myself a coffee.
‘Not sure what’s in store, to be honest. I think I’ll just be introduced to the rest of the staff and get shown around. I’ll probably take some time to get used to the new systems. You?’
She turns to face me and my flesh vibrates, the contents of my head visible, all my dirty secrets there for her to see. This poor girl, only one day in our family and already things are falling apart, our grimy past and many misdemeanours spilling out for her to observe in stupefied horror. Does she have any idea what she is getting herself into? Does she know how damaged we really are?
‘I think I’m going to pop over to see my sister, Kim. I’ll be back by lunchtime at the latest. I’ll probably write another chapter after that. Or maybe not. I’ll have to wait and see how I get on.’ I’m rambling now. I have no idea what I’m going to do once I have spoken to Kim, no idea what sort of a state I’ll be in, whether I can focus and write something worthy of publication or whether I will be close to collapse after hearing her admit to what she has done, shattering my life with her duplicitous ways.
‘That sounds lovely. You’re so lucky to have her. I’m an only child. I would have loved siblings, especially a sister.’ She smiles at me and I find myself turning away to hide the wave of misery that threatens to engulf me. Such innocence and acceptance. All of a sudden, I feel envious of her carefree life, her blemish-free existence. Does she know how lucky she is?
