Secrets of the Tides (31 page)

Their mother, on the other hand, was volatile in her grief. It seemed to come upon her in waves. She set about the business of running the house, tight-lipped and stiff with tension, but then suddenly the pressure of maintaining her composure would prove too much and she’d take herself off in private to disintegrate into a pool of maternal grief. Cassie would hear her wailing and sobbing behind the bathroom door, or in Alfie’s room, weeping into his pillow night after night.

Really, she had wanted to avoid them all. She didn’t want to look at her father’s grief-stricken face, or hear her mother’s raw midnight wailing. But most of all, she didn’t want to have to look into Dora’s eyes and see the bewilderment, grief and the unanswered questions running endlessly through her sister’s mind. Dora’s face was like a mirror and all it did was shine a spotlight back at Cassie. So she avoided her, as far as she could, taking refuge in her school work, or busying herself with friends and parties, or when she
was
at home, closeting herself away in her own room, a ‘do not disturb’ sign pasted firmly on her door.

The irony was that she had never been so popular at school. Everyone seemed to want to get close to the girl who had actually
experienced
something. She heard them whispering around her, nudging each other and staring with barely disguised awe as she passed them in the corridors, even on her first day back. Suddenly she was invited to hang out with the most popular girls and to attend the wildest parties. When sleep failed to come, or the nightmares threatened to keep her up all night or she was simply too afraid to lay her head on her pillow, she would sneak out of the house, desperate to escape its confines and the cloying atmosphere of grief.

With the new friends came new experiences. Alcohol, pills, clubs, sex. She did it all, anything to dull the pain. She loved the warm tingle that filled her belly when she threw back the shots she was handed; and the beautiful golden-honey glow the world took on when she swallowed the little white pills pressed discreetly into her palm. Suddenly everything was OK again; everyone was smiling; everyone was happy. There was dancing, and clapping and laughing and she twirled under strobe lights with a manic intensity, never wanting the moment to end.

When the clubs closed she dragged them all down to the beach. ‘Let’s watch the sunrise,’ she cried. ‘It will be fun,’ and swept up in the hilarity of it all they’d careen through the lethal laneways and park down in the turning circle by the sea wall, Cassie leading the way across the pebbles to the water’s edge.

‘Who’s coming in then?’ she dared, stripping off at the water’s edge.

‘You’re kidding, right?’

‘No chance! The water’s freezing.’

‘Pussies,’ she taunted, shrugging off her bra and slipping her skirt down over her legs until, naked and giggling, she’d thrown herself into the ice cold waves, submerging herself until she could barely breathe.

‘She’s crazy,’ she heard them whisper.

‘You heard about her brother, right?’

‘She’s got serious problems, that girl.’

And slowly, one by one, her new-found friends would slip away into the darkness, leaving her alone on the pebbles to shiver and smoke and curse the fact she wasn’t brave enough to stay under the waves for long enough.

She took to hanging out alone at the chippy, sitting in the window watching the condensation run down the side of her Coke can and her chips cool in the winter air. It was where she met the man with the thin gold wedding band and the peeling bumper sticker on his Ford Escort that said
Scream if you want to go faster
. He drove them to out-of-the-way laybys and did things to her body that made her sit in the bath for hours afterwards, weeping hot salty tears into the cooling water, wondering why she still couldn’t feel anything.

It was why she’d started cutting herself. It was the only time she felt real. It was the only time she truly felt anything. The sting of metal on her skin, the rush of warm blood dripping down her arms, pooling in her hands or falling scarlet into the white porcelain of the bath, it made her feel alive. It made her feel present and in control. And most importantly, it made her feel punished, for what she had done, and what she would never be able to tell another living soul.

It was these nights that she wanted the world to end. If she could have stopped it on its axis and prevented it from turning one more millimetre towards another day, she would have. But the morning always came. And it was always bad. God, was it bad. When the grey light of dawn broke through the night and the hangover came knocking with a loud crash of cymbals at her temples,
then
it hurt. She’d crawl shivering and shaking under her bedclothes, her body cut and bruised, and squeeze her eyes shut against the reality of her life. She would will some kind of end to it all, and shudder in disbelief that her parents could be so oblivious, not just to her secret night antics but, more importantly, to the unbearable truth behind her pain.

Cassie could see a triangle of grey light forming where her bedroom curtains didn’t quite meet. It would be daylight soon. She thought back to her argument with Dora the night before and felt bad. She didn’t want to talk about Alfie, but she also knew she didn’t have to be quite such a bitch about it. After all, she was the one who was leaving; Dora would have to endure another two years at home with Mum and Dad and the memories of that terrible day. There was no escape for her sister, not yet.

She tried to close her eyes again, one last time. She felt tired now. She had spent half the night reliving the tragedy in her mind’s eye. It was wearing, enduring such intense grief, and such private guilt. She couldn’t wait to leave Dorset, to leave it all behind. As her body relaxed once again into the mattress, and her mind began to submit to sweet oblivion, she was pulled back to the surface of consciousness by a strange sound; like a soft, sad sigh. She thought she was dreaming, but then she heard it again.

Cassie squeezed her eyes shut. No, no, no she implored silently. Not again. It can’t be.

There was a shuffling sound, and another sigh.

Go away, she willed. You’re not real. I know you’re not
.

But it was there again, a soft sigh carried on the air. It was coming from the corner of the bedroom.

Her heart pounded in her rib cage and her blood seemed to pump in her ears. She really didn’t want to open her eyes, but in the end, morbid curiosity won. Tentatively she opened one eye and glanced quickly at the shadows in the far corner of her bedroom. Her eyes widened in fear when she saw the small figure crouched there.

He was cast in shadow, and hard to make out, but two unmistakable, piercing blue eyes stared up at her mournfully out of the darkness. She could just make out the familiar silhouette of his sticking-up hair and the grimy old blanket he had dragged around everywhere, clutched in his little hand. It was terrifying to see him so vivid, so lifelike, there before her. And yet it was the expression in his eyes that scared her the most: for they were filled with such terrible sadness and reproach.

‘Cassie,’ he whispered. ‘Cassie, play with me.’

It was her baby brother. It was Alfie.

Cassie stifled a choking cry and scrunched herself beneath the bedclothes, sobbing wildly.

‘Go away,’ she willed again. ‘Just go away. I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean to hurt you.’

There was another sigh, a breath so close now that she swore she could feel it on her skin.

‘Cassie . . . Cassie . . . Casssieeee.’

‘Leave me alone. Please, just leave me alone.’

She stayed there, trembling under her duvet until the morning sunshine had breached her bedroom curtains and she could hear her parents moving around below.

In the end it was a mad rush. Helen drove like a maniac to get her to the station on time and they arrived with just minutes to spare. The train to Waterloo pulled in just as she was paying for her ticket. Cassie submitted herself to a last hug from her mother, scooped up her rucksack and then climbed up the steps of the last carriage. She gave a small wave as they began to pull away from the platform and then watched as her mother grew smaller and smaller, until she was nothing more than a tiny, indistinguishable grey dot on the horizon. As she disappeared from view, Cassie let a small sigh of relief escape from between her lips.

At last, she thought, and plunged her hand into her coat pocket to grasp the cold butterfly brooch secreted deep within.

DORA

Ten Years Earlier

Three days passed without word from Cassie. Dora watched as her parents went about their lives with a strange, quiet bravado. Outwardly they appeared calm about their eldest child’s first foray into the big wide world and while they certainly put on a good show, Dora wasn’t fooled. She could see the tremors of worry stirring below the surface. It was obvious from the swing of her father’s head whenever the telephone rang, and from the soft sighs her mother emitted every time Cassie’s name was mentioned that they were desperate for news of life up in Edinburgh.

‘She’ll call tonight,’ Richard mused over dinner on the third night, the furrows in his brow deepening. ‘She’s having too much fun to worry about us – off meeting people and finding her way around, sorting out her classes. Quite right too.’

‘Yes,’ agreed Helen. ‘It must be hard to find a phone. Everyone will be queuing up to call home, don’t you think? I wish she’d taken that mobile we offered her.’

‘Yes, she was funny about that, wasn’t she? Very independent. You know, I admire that in her. Don’t worry, love, I’m sure she’ll call, just as soon as her hangover has eased off a bit.’ Richard was trying to lighten the mood but it wasn’t working.

Dora sat in silence. Personally, she thought Cassie terribly selfish not to ring. Surely she would know better than most how much their parents would worry? Just because she got to escape Clifftops and start again somewhere new, well, it didn’t mean the rest of them were so lucky. It was bad enough to feel so jealous, but to then have to listen to her parents make excuses for her sister . . . it was enough to drive Dora more than a little crazy.

She was still silently railing at Cassie as she made her way into school on the bus the next morning. Rain poured down, fat drops splattering onto the window and streaming diagonal rivers across the glass. The bus was already steaming up – the driver reaching every few minutes to wipe the windscreen with a grimy cloth – and worse, everything smelt – of wet sports shoes and the revolting sulphuric stench emanating from Billy Cohen’s lunchbox as he ploughed through his egg sandwiches. She leaned her head against the window, gazing out unseeing at the passing landscape as she channelled her anger towards an imagined image of her sister swanning around Scotland.

If the last few nights were anything to go by, the next two years of sixth form were going to drag. She simply couldn’t stand being the only one left at home with their mum and dad. Sure, her parents were there in body, but in spirit? Not so much. It was a bit like living with those zombies you saw in the movies: two pale, silent bodies drifting around the house, seemingly devoid of life until suddenly they turned on each other, lashing out in a rampage of vitriolic anger and gnashing teeth. In truth, Cassie hadn’t been much better to live with, but at least she’d offered some form of distraction with her music and her make-up and a different wardrobe of clothes to borrow from. Now that she had left, there was yet another gaping void in the house, another echoing space that couldn’t be filled. There was no one to talk to; no one to hang out with. It was the loneliness that ate her up.

‘Hey, how’s it going?’

The greeting pulled Dora from her thoughts. She looked up and found herself staring into Steven Page’s calm blue eyes. He gazed down at her from the aisle, his floppy brown hair streaked with rain and falling messily across his face and Dora felt her heart skip a beat.

‘Is this one taken?’ he asked, indicating the empty seat next to her.

She was a rabbit in the headlights. She blushed and shook her head, watching in disbelief as he slid in next to her and rubbed roughly at his hair, sending droplets of water cascading over them both.

‘Sorry,’ he said, drying the drops on her arm with his sleeve. ‘I got drenched waiting for the bus.’

Dora’s skin tingled where he had touched her and she was conscious of the sudden warmth of his thigh pressing against hers. She swallowed. Say something, she willed. Anything. ‘Yes,’ she said finally, ‘it’s really raining out there.’

It’s really raining out there!
Was that the best she could do? She turned to look out the window again, desperate to hide her hot cheeks.

‘Are you OK? I haven’t seen you around much lately.’ She could feel him studying her and Dora felt the flush across her cheeks deepen.

‘Yes,’ said Dora, ‘I’m fine.’ She felt anything but.

‘It’s strange, we’ve hardly spoken since that summer . . . since your brother . . .’ His words petered out and they were left awkwardly staring at each other. ‘I came to his funeral, you know?’

Dora nodded. She hadn’t seen him at the time, but Cassie had told her afterwards that he’d been there. She swallowed. ‘I know. Thanks, you didn’t have to do that.’