Hawthorn (10 page)

Something flits in the corner of my vision. I whip round, but there is nothing.

The old woman’s face contorts and for a moment I think she is having some kind of seizure. “Go, go, you go now. Go before the Darkling returns.”

There is so much fear in her tone, in her eyes, that it makes my scalp prickle. I back away and rush toward the door. The mirror to my right seems to ripple. I see a face, black and grey and sharp, and then I am outside, grabbing my bike and legging it up the path toward the bridge. I jump onto my bike and pedal as if the Devil himself is after me.

Friday evenings have become game night. Tonight we play Mousetrap and Junior Scrabble. Danny teams up with me while Heather teams up with mum. Some of the words that Danny comes up have me in fits, and in the end the game descends into a competition of who can make up the silliest word with the most convincing meaning. I’m glad to see that mum and Jules are getting on again. The tension that has been simmering between them seems to have gone at least for now. It was scary for a while. I honestly thought they were heading for a break up. I’m not sure what happened between them, but I’m glad it’s sorted.

By the time the twins’ bedtime comes around, I’ve convinced myself what I saw in the mirror in the old lady’s house was nothing but an illusion conjured up by my frightened mind. The woman is obviously senile, confused. I did the right thing getting her home, but listening to her strange tales was a stupid idea. Danny asks me to put him to bed and Heather winds her arms around mum’s neck. So mum and I climb the stairs with two sleepy children while Jules tidies up the games and drinks.

I’m tucking Danny in when he grabs hold of my hand and squeezes it.

“What’s up, sweetie?”

“You have to tell Heather to stop.”

I frown at the earnest expression on his face. “Stop what?”

“Stop looking for them.”

“Who?”

“The dark ones.”

The words are different yet so close to what the old woman said that I find goose bumps breaking out on my skin. “What are you talking about, Danny?”

He shrugs his thin shoulders. “I don’t know what they’re called. It’s just what I call them ‘cos they’re so dark and grey and ugly.”

A chill snakes up my spine, but I plaster a smile on my face. It’s a coincidence, that’s all. Liam said it, a child imagination spurred on by his twin’s rejection. But if that is the case, then surely Danny should be over it by now. Heather certainly seems to have dropped her imaginary friend. The twins seem happier, so where is this is coming from? A tiny part of my brain, which I choose to ignore, quotes Arthur Conan Doyle. I park my butt and listen because I remember what’s it’s like to be a kid and have fears that I can’t explain.

“Tell me about it.”

He licks his lips, propping himself up on an elbow. “I don’t want to talk about them too much case they hear and come back. They went away on my birthday. I never seen them since then. Heather keeps looking. I’m scared she might make them come back.”

“If they’re so ugly, then why would Heather look for them?” I ask.

His eyes grow round. “That’s the weird bit. Heather thinks they’re beautiful. She doesn’t really see them, not like I do. Heather thinks they’re nice but they’re not, really not, they’re mean. They want to hurt us, I can feel it.” He swallows. “The girl on the beach…she had these big black eyes…hungry eyes.”

The image from the mirror, grey, black and sharp, springs to mind, and I blink it away. “Okay, move over.” I give him a playful pat and he shuffles back, allowing me room to lie down next to him. I bring my arm up and around him and he rests his head in the crook of my shoulder. “Let’s get one thing straight. No one is gonna hurt you, okay? You know why? ‘Cos you have a big sister who will bust their arses.”

He giggles.

“Yeah, I’ll poke out their eyes and bust their arses.”

He giggles some more then falls silent. There’s a sigh. “Sometimes I think I’m gonna fall asleep and when I wake up you won’t be here anymore, that I’ll be somewhere else, in a dark place with…them.”

My arm tightens around him, and I turn to kiss the top of his blonde head.

I decide it’s time to change the subject. I ask him about his school; has he made any friends, which teacher is his favourite, and by the time his eyes are beginning to close I know he’s forgotten about the dark ones.

By the time I get to my room and turn on my laptop, so have I.

“Elsa? Please come out…please! I’m sorry…” I don’t know what I’m sorry for but I hope if I say it then Elsa will come back ‘cos I must have done something to make her cross.

The wardrobe is open and the mirror is empty.

I miss her so much. She was so pretty and bright and her voice…it was so…so…like music and air, yes, she was like flying.

I want to be mad at Danny because even though I don’t know how, I think this it’s all his fault. He wanted them to go away. He was jealous. Maybe he wished it…maybe he wished they would go away so hard that they had no choice.

He made them go away! I am so cross that I want to break something. I walk over to the toy box and pick up a princess doll. I stare at her stupid face and her stupid fake smile and then I pull at her head. It’s harder than I thought it would be, and by the time I manage to pull her head off my cross feeling has gone. I stare at the broken doll in my hand. She is one of my favourites. She was gonna marry Prince Eric.

I burst into tears.

I check my phone for messages and find none. I check my laptop for messages and find none. I get that sick feeling in the pit of my stomach, the one you get when you know something is wrong but you’re not ready to face it.

Liam’s calls and text have become fewer over the last two weeks. To be honest, I’m too scared to question him about it. I mean, if you’re in love, you want to spend every spare minute talking to that person, right? At least that’s what I want to do. So no texts or Facebook messages makes me feel kinda crappy. But I don’t have much time to worry about it because Jen will be here in an hour and I have to get dressed.

We trudge through the woods toward the cottage by the sea. That’s what we call it – the cottage by the sea. You can see it, the sea, from the bedroom window. It seems to reflect my mood. On days that I am feeling mellow, the sea is calm and flat, on days I am feeling irritated, it is choppy and mobile. Today I expect to hear it crashing against the Cliffside.

Why hasn’t he returned my texts?

“Flippin’ heck, Gemma. Just call him!” Jen says.

Panic seizes my heart, but I cover it with a flippant wave. “I texted him. He should be the one to call or…whatever.”

I can feel Jen rolling her eyes, but keep my own fixed on the trail. It’s another chilly day and they are getting chillier. The sea air, although invigorating, is also a bitter foe and I resolve to ask mum to buy me a thicker coat. This one, which was fine for London, is like wearing paper here by the sea.

The cottage comes into view and we pick up the pace, both eager to get indoors and light a fire and pop the kettle on. Gosh, I sound like an old person. It makes me chuckle.

“What you laughing about?” Jen asks.

I shake my head and rush up the path to unlock the door.

We tumble inside, shutting the door on the howling wind.

“You think there’s a storm coming?” Jen asks.

Her words remind me of Sam and I am overcome by nostalgia.

Jen kneels at the grate and starts on building a fire.

I light the stove and fill the kettle.

We are a synchronised team, a well-oiled machine.

With the fire roaring, the wind howling and a cup of tea in our hands, we sit down to plan the party.

“So, Patrick said he’ll do the music and Eloise is in charge of food. Stephen is doing decorations and I’m hosting,” Jen concludes.

I blink across the sofa at her. “And what about me?”

“You, hun, are the guest of honour. Your job is to get legless and cop off with Liam, if he shows.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Jen meets my gaze, unflinching. “You know what it means. You know what his lack of texting and messaging means. You just need to hear it from him, and you know if you call him then you’ll hear it in his voice. That’s why you won’t call him.”

My eyes are burning and I blink rapidly to disperse the moisture that’s gathering there.

“Hey, I’m sorry. I don’t want to upset you, but I care about you and it pisses me off to see you like this. Just call him, please.”

I nod because I know she’s right.

She stares at me, waiting.

“What?”

“Well, you gonna do it?”

Does she expect me to do it now? In front of her?

“If I’m here we can slag him off after, it’ll make you feel better.”

I can’t imagine slagging Liam off. He’s my best friend, was my best friend. I know him. He would never intentionally hurt me. If the thing between us hasn’t worked out then there’s no one to blame but the distance and maybe…maybe it wasn’t meant to be. If I do this, it has to be alone so I can cry myself to sleep after.

“I’ll do it later. I’ll be fine.”

She sighs. “Fine. Call me after, or text, okay?”

I agree and we wrap up the meeting, snuff out the fire and head back.

Outside, the wind has picked up even more. It rages at us, battering us with invisible arms. We have to fight our way through the woods, pushing against it, eyes squinted to avoid debris. We hold onto each other like mutual anchors and by the time we get back to the house we are so exhausted. We collapse in the hallway.

Jen’s hair is all over the place, her face is flushed, her eyes bright and crazy. I can’t help the giggle that bubbles from my lips, and then she is pointing at me and laughing. We are still laughing when mum comes barrelling out of the kitchen, hand on heart.

“Thank goodness you’re okay. Jules was just about to go out looking for you. There’s a terrible storm coming. Jen, I spoke to your mum on the phone. She said you could stay the night. It’s not safe to drive or cycle in this.”

Her words are punctuated by the howl of the wind and the rumble of thunder. The house lights up as if a giant camera has just flashed outside.

Danny comes screaming down the stairs and almost drops Buster in his haste to climb onto my lap. Jen ruffles his head.

It’s going to be a long night.

“You going to call him?” Jen asks. I’ve loaned her a pair of my nicer pyjamas. She’s sitting on my bed, legs swinging off the side.

I shake my head and turn my phone off. “Not tonight.”

She cocks her head. “Why not?”

I suppress a flare of annoyance by reminding myself it’s not her I’m pissed off at. “I told you before, Jen, I need to do this on my terms, alone.”

“I can leave the room.”

“But then you’d be back and I need… I need space.”

I think she’s going to argue, but then she shrugs, letting it go. I can breathe again.

It’s strange sharing a bed with another teenager. I’ve never done that before and it takes me time to settle. We talk until my eyes droop and Jen slings her arm around my waist. I think she says something, but I’m already drifting out to sea.

Then sleep drags me under.

She must think I was born yesterday as she stands there, eyes all earnest and wide and innocent, while she lies to me.

“So you see, it makes sense that Gemma stay with us in Elder. Eloise’s mum said it would be okay and it is Gemma’s birthday treat from all of us so…” Jen trails off and looks up at me imploringly.

Gemma is staring at the floor. I can tell she’s uncomfortable with lying and that makes me feel a little better, like I raised her right. But the fact that she feels she needs to lie to me makes me feel awful. I promised myself I’d be a cool mum, a friend as well as a mum, but with Gemma I failed. After I nearly lost her I became paranoid, over-protective. It’s not fair to her. She’s a good kid, and, trust me, I know I have it better than some parents with teenage daughters. So I sigh and decide to bite the bullet.

“You can stop now.” I purse my lips in Jen’s direction and she snaps her mouth closed looking wary. I smile. “I used to be teenager once too, you know.” I run my hand over Gemma’s hair and she looks up at me uncertainly. “Am I that bad?” She winces and I laugh. “Look, I know about the cottage, I’ve known for ages. I thought you needed a space of your own and it seemed harmless enough. If you want a party you can have it there, but either Jules or I will be swinging by to check up on you and shut it down by midnight. Deal?”

The girls exchange glances and then Gemma throws her arms around me. “Love you, mum,” she whispers in my ear. I feel all warm inside.

I carry the bottle of red and two glasses, dangling by the stems, into the living room. Jules is curled up on the sofa, a book open in her lap. The fire casts a warm orange glow across her body and she looks almost ethereal, warm and inviting and mine. My heart swells with love and I have to take a breath to get my heart under control. If she knew what she did to me…if she knew, then the power she would have on me would be too much. So I affect a light tone, a light attitude.

“What you got there?” I ask.

She looks up and smiles and my heart does that silly flip-flop it always does. “Not sure, but this,” she holds up the book and I see it’s a photo album, “looks a lot like our Gemma.”

I slip onto the sofa, place the glasses and the wine on the table and take the proffered album. It’s old, well-thumbed through. I study the photo and smile. There are three people in the picture, two women and a man. The man and one of the women I recognise, but the other woman, who looks like my Gemma, I have never seen in the flesh.

Jules pours the wine and hands me a glass.

“Where did you find this?”

“The loft. There’s loads of stuff up there that we could get a good price for, and quite a few of these albums. I’m assuming they’re Learmonths?”

I nod. “That’s my uncle Henry, and that’s my mum Maddy, and this,” I point at the Gemma lookalike, “is my aunt Bea.”

I know now why mum always favoured Gemma as a child. She obviously saw her baby sister in her. Gemma was devastated when mum passed away a couple of years ago. You don’t think that a healthy sixty-six-year old woman could get dementia, but she did, and by the end she barely recognised me. She talked about her friends, the shining ones, and we humoured her because there was nothing else we could do. The last visit, one that I will never forget, was devastating for me and Gemma. Mum called me a monster, screamed and screamed until they were forced to sedate her. The next morning we got the call that she’d died in her sleep.

“How old was she when she died?” Jules asks.

“Bea died when she was seventeen. She drowned in the sea actually.”

“That’s horrible.”

“Mum didn’t talk about her very often. I asked her about her once or twice, a child’s curiosity, and she told me that Bea was special, that she was fragile and beautiful and that’s why she was taken from them. I later found out that they suspected Bea may have had some kind of mental health problems for a long time.”

Jules sips her wine. “You really do have a very interesting family. I mean, this house and everything, it’s been in your family one way or another for generations, right?”

I nod.

“You mind if I do some research on your family tree?”

I shrug. “Why should I mind?”

“I don’t want you to think I’m being nosey or getting too involved.”

It’s said lightly, but I hear the subtle jibe anyway. I sigh and put down my glass. “Do you doubt that I love you?”

She averts her gaze.

“Jules? Seriously?”

“You don’t want to marry me.”

“No, I don’t want to get married again, at all. I love you, Jules, and I want to be with you for the rest of my life. But I don’t want to get married.”

Jules shakes her head. “I hear what you’re saying, I really do. It just feels crappy, you know?”

I feel terrible. I wish I could take it back, accept her proposal, but I did that with Kev. I agreed to marry him because I thought it was what I should do, not because it was what I wanted. After the divorce I promised myself I would be true to my feelings from now on. Marriage is not for me. I prefer this partnership I have with Jules. Marriage feels like a noose, one I am never wearing again.

“You have me, babe, in every way that matters. Please tell me it’s enough.”

Jules sighs and sets down her glass. When she looks at me I know it will be okay.

“So, Gemma’s having a birthday party at the cottage,” I say.

Jules brows shoot up.

I roll my eyes. “I’m not that strict, am I?”

She winces and I laugh.