A Sister’s Gift (10 page)

All I can think of is I want to see the daylight again – one more blue sky shot through with gold, one more purple crocus on the grass verge. I want to stand at the top of Rochester Keep and smell the stiff salt wind as it blows in from the sea, see the ripe peaches on the market stall, hear the white pigeons cooing along the roof. I want to sit on the embankment and feel my fingers skim over the blades of grass on the warm earth on a new summer’s morning, but the light disappears above, the cold thrusts like a sword through my innards, my hair is floating upwards.

I don’t dream much now. I put the lid on that several years ago. And as for the question ‘How bad could it be?’, don’t ask my head because the answer is stored somewhere else, deep in my body. I keep my memories locked like tigers in their cages and I never bring them out, I never see them, only sometimes I think I can hear them roar.

I have no idea what this guy is going on about. William Barnoble. Never heard of him.

‘Hey.’ There’s a quiet knock and then Rich peers around my bedroom door. I close down my laptop, flashing Rich a quick smile. There’s no point worrying. It’s probably just a stupid administrative mistake.

‘I’m sorry,’ I apologise as his gaze pans over the mess of papers on the floor. ‘It’s a bit, er…there’s a teensy-weensy spot over here on the bed if you want to come in, though?’

‘Busy girl.’ Richard threads his way carefully through to join me. I move the files on the bed up a bit. He’s got his dark blue skinny jeans and a black T-shirt on today: long-sleeved, I notice; it’s still damp and foggy outside.

‘Sorry to disturb you.’ He sits down gingerly beside me. ‘What are you up to?’

‘Fund-raising,’ I tell him decisively. ‘I’ve still got to raise that £400,000 for Brazil that I told the family about. Christmas Eve, remember?’

‘It’s a lovely, caring thing that you’re doing but…’ He raises an eyebrow. ‘You aren’t worried it might all be something of a tall order, Lettie?’

‘Not at all. Look, I’ve written to all these companies. I’ve had encouraging telephone contact with four of their CEOs already and I’m making a list of who it’s worth really targeting and who I should use a scattergun approach with. It means stacks of paperwork, of course, and I’m planning on setting up as many meetings as I can just as soon as people are back from the Christmas break next week.’ I pause to draw breath.

‘I’ve already asked my dad, but to be honest I’m not sure if our firm are going to be able to help you.’

‘Not even a little bit?’ Oh. I thought they might give me some small amount. When I spoke to Bill last week at Christmas he seemed so encouraging of my efforts. Any little thing would be a start. I straighten my back and look Rich right in the eye, letting him see my disappointment.

‘We’ve pretty much got our backs against the wall as it is. The firm’s been scrabbling around for every penny for months now. Yours is a worthy cause, no doubt about it, but when the going gets tough, charity’s got to begin at home, hasn’t it?’

‘I guess.’ I purse my lips and let my gaze run over the twenty or so letters I’ve already printed out this morning. Let’s hope they don’t all feel the same way.

‘I think you’re going to find it difficult, Lettie.’

‘That doesn’t mean it can’t be done, does it?’

‘No.’ He gives me the ghost of a smile. ‘But be warned it’s tough for businesses everywhere. I’m having to fly out to Trieste
soon. Yes, we’re needing to look that far afield for work,’ he answers my surprised look.

‘What, would you work out there? I mean,
permanently??

Hey-hey! Are they thinking of moving out of the cottage after all? My ears prick up.

‘I don’t know if Hol would be too thrilled about that.’ He looks away suddenly.

‘How about you though?’

‘I wouldn’t go anywhere without her…’

‘Hey, you’re allowed to have your own dreams, though? Your own hopes? Even if Hol doesn’t agree with you. She can’t have it all her own way, all the time, can she?’ I press, aware that I’m positioning myself into the one tiny space there possibly exists between them, playing devil’s advocate.

‘Well, I guess I
have
long hankered after the dream of one day living and working abroad,’ he confesses suddenly. ‘I did a year’s study in Italy when I was a student…’He smiles shyly at me.

‘And there’s a part of you that’s always hoped to return there?’ I finish.

‘It’s true. Now that Dad’s needing to find a gentler way of occupying his time it would suit him and Mum down to the ground. I can’t see as Hol would ever feel able to prise herself away from this place though…’

‘Maybe
you
will have to prise her, then?’ I laugh, grabbing his arm.

‘Prise Hol?’ He shakes his head disparagingly. ‘Sometimes I wonder if she isn’t more wedded to this place than to…’ He leaves his sentence unfinished on what is clearly, if not a bone, then at least a splinter of contention between them.

‘Come on, Rich. My sister can be stubborn. And she’s wedded to this place, as you say. But maybe Florence Cottage just provides…roots for her, you know. Because we didn’t have any parents. It’s like this place has become a sort of anchor for her, standing for everything that’s lasting and safe in her life.’

Richard falls silent and I can feel my words sinking in.

‘An anchor? That makes sense,’ he murmurs. I give him a slight nudge, lean my head in towards him affectionately. I want to help him, I do. And if Rich can get a grasp on what it is that ties my sister to this place then maybe he can help me untie her from it. I have to. It’s probably the only viable fund-raising activity I have in the long run…

‘But do you think,’ he’s examining his hands minutely, ‘what with Hol having all the concerns about the baby on her mind right now, it would be unfair of me to push it?’

‘When has she
not
had a baby on her mind, Richard?’ I mutter lowly. He winces slightly at that, and for an instant his face looks so naked, so desperate, I want nothing more in the world than to give him a great big hug. But I don’t.

Because suddenly, where we’re sitting crushed so close up together, I can feel the warmth of his thigh against my thigh. Out of nowhere, I’m acutely aware of the proximity of him.

‘Lettie…’ he begins.

‘Scarlett
, I raise my chin a fraction. ‘I want you to call me Scarlett.’ Because that is the deep pulsing colour of flames dancing in the heat of the fire. It is the colour of blood, and so of life and death. It is the colour of danger and lust. Don’t call me Lettie, which reminds me of a limp lettuce leaf that’s been pushed round somebody’s salad plate.

‘Scarlett,’ he says in surprise. ‘OK. Well. I just want to say thank you. Talking to you just now has been really helpful. More than I can say.’

‘Has it?’ I allow myself to lean in towards him the slightest fraction. I know I shouldn’t, but I’m only teasing really, toying, playing with my brother-in-law. ‘How so?’

‘You’re just so…understanding. So wise. What you said about why Hol finds it so hard to cut her ties to this place – I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before. Sometimes I think you must be an angel in disguise.’

I feel a warm glow in my stomach at his praise. An angel. He called me that once before when we danced together one time. Aeons ago. When I was fourteen. Does he remember that, I wonder?

I lower my eyes and look back up at him from under my lashes. Frustratingly, he’s not even looking at me any more. He’s looking at his hands, folded on his lap. He seems – quiet and peaceful. Not like he’s going through any of the inner turmoil that I am experiencing at the moment.

‘Oh, well.’ I shrug abruptly, picking up a pile of letters that are about to slide off the bed and marshalling them. ‘Now, this particular angel really needs to get her begging letters in while people are still feeling generous after the Christmas period, Rich.’

‘Of course.’ He stands up and I close my eyes as I feel his lips kiss the top of my head. ‘Just…don’t work yourself too hard, will you?’

I deliberately don’t watch as he makes his way over the papers and out of my bedroom. OK,
think
. I blink back a tear that falls out of nowhere. What’s all that about? Maybe I just wish I had a guy like Rich in my own life. Someone as loving and devoted as he is. Someone as caring and considerate. Does Hollie really even know how lucky she is to be so loved? I don’t know that she does.

But that’s none of my business. I have my own life to be concerned about right now. My friends waiting for me in the Amazon, my seed collection, all my plans for future projects. My work. My eyes fall on my open laptop again and I’m reminded what I was doing a few moments ago before my brother-in-law came in. This email from the PlanetLove guy – this is the kind of thing I need to be concentrating on right now, or I might not have any job to go back to even when I do get my papers renewed…

‘So. You are – uh – OK?’ Mr Huang’s little white consultation room is crammed with shelves full of tall glass jars promising magical-sounding solutions:
liver problems, backache, women’s problems
, they announce. The jars are packed with exotic-looking dried herbs but in smaller tablet form you can buy a whole range of other herbal medications, these labelled in Chinese:
xiao ke ning wan
. I read the labels while he’s getting out my notes:
suan zao ren tang wan
. I have no idea what any of those do.

‘I’m perfectly fine, thank you.’ I’ve still got my handbag on my knees, my fingers clasped around it. ‘I mean, I’m in good -actual – health.’
I’m here because my pesky sister has forced me to make a promise I’m going to find it very hard to fulfill. How
do you explain something like that?

‘You have no more problems here?’ He indicates the area above his pelvis.

‘The infected fallopian tubes? Oh, no.’ I shake my head with a grateful smile. ‘After you worked your magic, Mr Huang, I never had any more trouble with them again,’ I assure him.

‘Trouble for too long,’ he sympathises. He’s right. In my early twenties I had infections in my tubes for years that no doctor seemed able to cure or alleviate. I’d turned to Mr Huang’s acupuncture in the end, more in desperation than hope but whatever he’d tried did the trick.

‘And babies?’ He looks at me curiously now. ‘They come?’

I shake my head.

‘Ah, big shame,’ he says softly. Mr Huang’s been paused with his pen hovering quietly over his writing pad for the last few minutes. Now he writes something down in Chinese letters.

‘Yes,’ I say shortly. ‘It’s a shame.’

The sounds of forest birds start up faintly in the background now as his tape suddenly kicks in. Mr Huang smiles softly.
Carry on
, he gestures.

‘Actually I’m here about something else entirely today, Mr Huang.’ I pause, knowing that what I’m going to say will probably sound silly to him. ‘The thing is, I have a phobia. I want to know if acupuncture could help.’

‘You have phobia?’

‘It’s very trivial,’ I apologise again, feeling my throat constrict. ‘I have this…thing…about water. I can’t swim. Well…’ I give a short laugh. ‘It’s more than that. I can’t even
think
about going in the water or on a boat.’ My fingers curl around the handles of my bag. ‘I don’t know if you can help a person with a problem like that?’

‘You have fear of the water,’ he says thoughtfully. ‘You have it always?’

‘Ever since I fell into the river one time. I thought I was going to drown. I
might
have drowned. My sister’s been on at me to learn how to swim for years,’ I add hurriedly. ‘I
should
know how to swim. All the little kids know how to do it. I don’t know how I ever missed out on that.’

He has put the pen down on the table thoughtfully. He takes my wrist now and places it on a little piece of sponge, holding it between middle finger and thumb. For a minute or two we are silent while he searches for my pulse.

‘Ah. Could you tell me please…’ He’s softly spoken, polite. I can feel him searching for his words. ‘What is your heart’s desire?’

‘I’m sorry?’ I look at him, perplexed. He doesn’t seem to have
understood. ‘I want to learn to swim, Mr Huang. And I can’t. I’m too scared of the water.’

‘This is it? You want to learn to swim. Nothing else? To swim…’ Mr Huang presses now, ‘this is your deepest desire?’

Well, of course it isn’t.

The sounds of the waterfall that come up now on his tape are supposed to be relaxing, I’m guessing. It’s
meant
to conjure up visions of crystal clear water cascading over moss-covered rocks some place where the air is clear and sweet – but all that gurgling water, I hate it. It makes me feel sick. It puts me in mind of the stench of stagnant water at high tide, the water dark and flowing with seaweed…

‘I don’t actually
want
to swim, Mr Huang. I need to, that’s all,’ I confess. ‘It’s just…my um…New Year’s resolution.’

‘You do not want to learn how to swim?’

‘To tell you the truth, I can’t bear the thought of it. I just have to. Look, it isn’t just a New Year’s resolution – I made a promise to someone that I would conquer this.’

‘Ah,’ he nods sympathetically. ‘Then – I still have not had the answer to my question.’

He waits patiently for a minute while I rack my brains to remember what exactly was his question. My heart’s desire? I don’t want to bring all that up again. It’s got nothing to do with this at all. But he’s still waiting for an answer and here I am in his consultation room, wanting his help, and it seems impolite not to reply.

‘My heart’s desire,’ I tell him in a strangled voice, ‘is what it always was – you know that I’ve long hoped to start a family -to have a child of my own. But I can’t see why that’s…’