The Drowning (20 page)

“No. You and Elwyn might be able to, but I can’t. Everywhere I go in St Ives, people know me. I can hear them thinking,‘There goes poor Mrs Pascoe. She lost her little boy.’ I can see the pity in their eyes. It burns me up. The house, Benjie’s room, the Cockleshell. They’re like a death trap. I must escape them to survive.”

Jenna fought back tears. “If . . . when you leave, where will you—”

“Back to London.” Lydia crushed out the cigarette. “I’ll rent a flat in the suburbs, get a job in a West End store.” Her eyes were sad. “Apart from Tamsyn, nobody knows me in the Big Smoke any more. No one at all.”

“What about Dad?”

“He’ll cope.” Lydia leant forward to pat Jenna’s hand. “I’ve given him the best years of my life. Make sure he won’t expect
you
to do the same.”

Jenna stared at her mother. “What do you mean?”

“Nothing and everything.” Lydia drained her cup, buttoned her coat. “Shall we go back? I’ve got some music to face.”

They stepped out of the Café Pasta on to the harbour. Bands of gold streaked the horizon, warming the cold grey-greens of the swirling sea.

Jenna remembered the day she’d told Leah she wouldn’t be coming back. Sobbing her heart out on the road to Carbis Bay. Dragging herself over the harbour sands that now stretched ahead of her. How little she’d wanted to go home.

She longed for it to end: the grieving, the looking back, prodding at the past. She felt a desperate longing to move on; knew suddenly she had come to the end of the line.

Lydia took her arm again, but this time Jenna pulled away.

“I’m taking the rest of the day off. You can help Dad in the Cockleshell. It’ll give you time to talk.” She swallowed. “I’d rather
not
be around.”

Lydia gave a start of surprise. “Where are you—”

“To see a friend.” Jenna wound her scarf more tightly. “We might have supper together.” She looked her mother in the eyes. “Don’t wait up for me.”

Lydia held out her hand. “I’ll be leaving soon,Jenna. No point prolonging the agony. Tomorrow, I may not get a proper chance to say goodbye.” She moistened her lips. “I want to wish you luck. When I’m settled in London, perhaps we could meet?”

Jenna took her mother’s hand, as if she were accepting a peace offering.

After all these years, she’s calling a truce.

She summoned every ounce of her composure. “Perhaps.”

And then she turned away.

She started to walk: fast, determined, purposeful. Along the harbour towards Lifeboat House, up St Andrews Street, past the huddles of cottages – Beachside, Driftwood, Chimneys, Blue Mist – up to the brow of the hill.

She began to run. Towards Tregenna’s woods, through the gate, past the splashing fountain, on through the trees to the Castle. She crashed into the foyer, raced past a startled receptionist, along the corridor and down the flight of stairs.

One of the staff sat at the health-club desk.

“Just come to see Meryn,” Jenna gasped.

She pushed through the doors into the stuffy heat of the gym, up the wet, heavy-slabbed steps, into the cool glass dome of the swimming pool.

Meryn crouched at the edge of the pool, watching a young woman swim towards him. “That’s it, Lois! Good girl! You’ve done it . . . It’s all about confidence, isn’t it?”

He looked up, startled, as Jenna raced into his arms.

“Hi! What a wonderful surprise . . . Gaby told me everything as we walked home. I had a spectacular row with Phil—”

But it’s all too late . . .

“Really hauled her over the coals. She’s sorry, Jenna.”

Everything’s breaking up . . .

“Really sorry . . . and so am I.” He hugged her closer, felt her body shaking with sobs. “Jenna? My darling girl . . . Here, come and sit down.”

Back in Meryn’s cottage, they lay quietly in each other’s arms.

The fire flickered the other side of the room.

“I’m glad you came to find me,” Meryn said. “All those tears . . . Thought they would never stop.”

Jenna raised her face to look at him. “I’ve had to be so strong . . . to face the twins, talk to Gaby, cope with Mum, make her see sense, tell her about Benjie, give her the diary. And then listen to her tell me she’s leaving us for good.”

She ran her fingers over Meryn’s cheekbone, down his chin to the hollow of his neck.

“I thought, I can’t take any more: other people’s cruelty, other people’s problems.”

Meryn drew her closer.

“No more tears, I promise . . .” Her voice choked over the words. “Kiss me again.”

But as he did so, Jenna knew that a chapter in her life had closed.

Early next morning, a taxi arrived for Lydia and drove her away.

Dad stared at the empty road. “It’s only a matter of time,” he said. “She’ll be back.”

But his face was pale, his voice lacked conviction, and he couldn’t meet Jenna’s eyes.

“Of course, Dad. She’ll be back.”

And pigs might fly.

But her heart went out to him.

All day they worked on automatic pilot, piling dirty dishes in the sink, heating soup, cutting bread for toast, making endless pots of tea. Jenna longed for Dad’s tuneless singing, but the pots and pans rang coldly to the sound of silence.

Over supper, Jenna said, “Next week, do you think Hester could cover for me?”

“How long for?” Behind his glasses, Dad’s eyes flashed with fear. “You’re not leaving me too?”

Jenna leant forward to grip his hand, shocked by how cold he felt.

“I want to stay with Tammy. I rang her this morning. She got back from New York last night. Please, Dad, may I? Just for a couple of days.”

At Paddington she caught a taxi.

It’s half-past two . . . I’d better go straight there before I lose my nerve . . .

“Could you take me to the Urdang at Finsbury Town Hall, please?”

The cab wove bumpily through the crowded London streets.

Stick to your guns, girl . . . Tell it like it is.

Jenna stood rooted to the pavement as the taxi lurched away.

In front of her stretched a long, red-brick Victorian building, utterly unlike anything she had ever seen before. Two storeys high, its walls were set with tall, graceful stained-glass windows that seemed to peer down at her expectantly.

Her heart missed a beat.

Then she took a deep breath and crossed the road.

Inside, she said to the receptionist, “I’m so sorry, but I haven’t got an appointment. I’ve come all the way from Cornwall. Could the Head of Dance see me? Just for ten minutes? There’s something terribly important I need to tell her. Please?”

Phone calls were made. Jenna hopped up and down, trying to take in the size and spaciousness of the building.

The receptionist smiled. “The Head of Dance will see you. Go up the first flight of stairs and turn left. Her office is at the end of the corridor. Wait outside until she calls you in.”

“
Thank
you,” Jenna squeaked. She turned to face the stairs, willing her trembling knees to climb the cold marble steps.

She reached the first floor – and stood transfixed.

Through the corridor windows on her right she saw a vast hall, filled with lights. Mirrors with glittering frames hung on the walls, reflecting the lights, throwing them back into her eyes. She blinked. The clusters of tiny lamps were held by alabaster angels, high on the walls. Each held their cluster as if they were making an offering; calling her into their space. The stained-glass windows she had noticed from the outside of the building now gleamed, delicate and elaborate, filled with pale blues and shimmering pinks.

In the centre of the hall stood a group of twenty students. Jenna stared at them. They stood at barres, swishing their legs in time to the piano music, their arms open, their heads high and poised, their feet immaculate.

Jenna’s eyes stung with tears. She recognised two of the dancers. They had auditioned with her all those months ago . . .

An office door opened.

The Head of Dance said, “Jenna Pascoe?”

Jenna turned, frantically trying to hide her tears.

A firm handshake and a pair of smiling eyes greeted her. “I’m delighted to see you again . . . Come in and take a seat.”

The door to the office closed. The light blue eyes looked squarely at Jenna.

“Please. Take your time.”

Jenna spilled out the story of the darkest summer she had ever spent.

The Head of Dance listened, never interrupting, letting Jenna reach the end.

“And what I’ve come to ask,” Jenna said, her mouth dry, her throat sore, her eyes stinging with hope, “is this. Will you . . . is there still room for me? Next term. In January, could I take up my place?”

The Head of Dance frowned. She slid her glasses over her nose,rummaged for a file,flicked it open. “I remember your audition clearly . . . We wanted you to come very much, it was a unanimous decision . . . But after you wrote to me, I offered your place to someone else.”

I knew it . . . I’m too late . . . It’s hopeless . . . I’ll have to go straight home . . .

“However . . . another student, Monique, she broke her ankle last month. Her parents asked her to go home to Paris. And she’s decided not to return.”

Jenna’s heart leapt. “Does that mean—”

“We
do
make exceptions, Jenna. We’re all human, we all have lives beyond the Urdang in which tragic things can happen.” She took off her glasses. “You’ve had a terrible time, but you seem to have come through it remarkably well.” She took Jenna’s hands in hers. “You’ll have missed a whole term, a crucially important one which sets the goals for so much else. You’ll need to work really hard to catch up. Are you prepared for that?”

“Yes, oh, yes, of course . . . I’ll do everything and more.”

“We assess the progress of our students at the end of every term. If you’re not up to standard at the end of
next
term—”

“I will be, I promise.”

“It’s going to be tough, I’ll make no bones about it. This will be the only time I can ever make you an exception.”

“I understand.”

“And between now and the beginning of January, I want you to dance and sing as much as you can . . . Serious, hard, steady, sensible work. Go back to your teachers in Cornwall. Pick up where you left off.”

“I will.” Jenna’s voice shook with joy. “Does that mean you’ll—”

“Yes, Jenna.” The Head of Dance sat back in her chair and smiled. “I’m delighted to tell you . . . It looks as if we will!”

Jenna stood outside the Urdang and took a deep breath. Her legs shook with relief and excitement.

I did it! I dared to ask . . . Nothing venture, nothing gained. Isn’t that what they say?

Drab London looked suddenly transformed. People laughed and teased each other as they jostled past. Couples hugged on corners. Shop windows glittered with Christmas offerings. Frosted gold and silver stars hung over the pavements, caught the breeze and fanned the twilight air.

Resisting the temptation to skip along the street, Jenna hailed a cab.

Aunt Tamsyn is going to get the biggest surprise of her life.

“Did you have a good time?” Dad collapsed over a cup of tea at the kitchen table. “Hester and I have been rushed off our feet . . . So, tell me all about it. What did you get up to?”

“It was great.”

“And how’s that sister of mine?”

“She’s great too.”

“And?” Dad frowned at her. “Come
on,
Jenna. Talk to me . . . Spill the beans.”

Jenna said slowly, “There are a lot to spill.”

Dad crashed his cup on to the saucer. “Ah . . . I see . . . That sparkle in your eyes. It means more than just ‘I had a lovely time. ’ ”

“Yes, Dad. Can you guess?”

“Oh, Jenn. I think I probably can.”

“I’m going to dance again . . . The Urdang have said they’ll take me on. I’ve missed a term, but better late than . . . I’ve tried so hard to give it up. But I can’t.”

Dad said quietly, “I never asked you to.”

Jenna gaped. “I thought you’d be furious . . . I thought you’d want me here.”

“I do . . . I did . . . Only because I was trying to respect your decision.”

“But—”

“My dearest Jenna, I’ve done everything I possibly could to encourage you . . . Paid for your lessons, built you your own studio, fought cat and dog with Mum over it.” His eyes behind his glasses were bright with tears. “That day when they accepted you. What did I promise? That nothing in the world could stop you now?”