The Hidden Girl (20 page)

‘No, mate.’

‘. . . and the old man and lady who lived here gave you a toffee because you were crying,’ Laurie continued. ‘And Nan took you to the toilet.’

Hannah grasped Will’s hand, partly to show Laurie that she belonged here, too. ‘Seriously? Will, do you not remember?’

Laurie swung round. ‘Hmm. Was it not through . . . here?’

Off she strode. Hannah went after her.

Laurie pointed at the scullery. ‘There. It was in there maybe. The toilet.’

‘Well, I suppose it might have been. They redid the plumbing ten years ago,’ Hannah said. ‘Maybe they took the toilet out to make a laundry room.’

Laurie ran a hand over the wall. ‘God, you’ve done loads since last week, Hannah – how have you managed it?’

‘Oh, you know, painting all night,’ she half-joked.

She could hear Will discussing ZZ Top patiently with Ian in the study.

To her irritation, Laurie flung open the newly painted grey cupboards, revealing the scruffy insides. ‘And a guy in the village helped me move stuff around and filled the cracks in the hall,’ Hannah continued, not knowing what else to say to Laurie. She’d tried a few times to find something they had in common, but, beyond Will, she’d failed. ‘I have to say, it didn’t help Will being stuck in London because of the snow, but now he’s back I’m . . .’ Hannah mimed cracking a whip. She didn’t even know why she did it. It was not normally something she’d say.

A pained expression crossed Laurie’s face. ‘I was going to ask you about that. Do you think he’s managing, Hannah – I mean, to do all this, and the commute? He looks exhausted.’

Hannah turned and switched on the kettle, gritting her teeth. In eight years Laurie had never once visited Will in London. She knew nothing about his life there –
their
life there. The only way she seemed able to connect with her cousin was to drag him back into some 1990s time-capsule.

‘Well, we don’t have a choice really,’ Hannah said, reminding herself that she would be relying on Laurie next week when Barbara came. ‘If we want things to go ahead quickly with social services, we need to be ready for Thursday. After that, our social worker is tied up for a month, and it delays everything. Talking of which, it might be good to go through what Barbara’s going to ask you on Thursday, if that’s OK?’

Laurie brought over four mugs from the cupboard. ‘Ooh, don’t worry, I won’t tell her about Will’s wild years.’ She raised her eyebrows. ‘I’m not telling anyone about those!’

Hannah ignored her. ‘No, but obviously – you know – there are things it would be better not to say.’

Laurie walked to the fridge. ‘Like?’

Hannah picked her words carefully. ‘Well, I suppose what you just said: that Will’s really tired from his commute, and we’re spending all our time doing up the house. We don’t want to give Barbara signals that we haven’t got time for a child.’

Laurie brought over the milk. ‘Well, I think that’s a bit unrealistic, Hannah. I mean, who does have time for kids? Ian and I both work, but we still manage to juggle three of them. Everyone does.’

Hannah put down the kettle, her hackles rising.

‘It’s different, Laurie.’

‘How?’

‘It just is. You know what happened last summer. It might happen again. There might be other people interested in the next child, too, so we need to make everything appear as perfect as possible. It’s not about lying; it’s about showing them the best parts of us. That this is a nice, relaxed, safe home, and that we will be committed parents. That we have a nice family living up the road.’ She smiled, trying to keep Laurie onside. ‘That we don’t have other, bigger priorities. The thing is, if you only have one meeting with a child’s social worker, you have to make it count.’

Laurie poured the milk in, as Hannah found teabags.

‘Hannah, I’m just saying I’m not going to lie.’

Hannah gulped. ‘But we’re not asking you to, we’re just . . .’

The men walked in, and she shot Will a panicked look.

‘You know, it’s weird, this,’ Ian said, his skin ruddy under his sandy hair, from working outside all year. ‘I’ve lived in Thurrup my whole life and I’d never heard of Tornley. Not till we came to get the keys last week, eh, Lor? I’ve heard of Graysea, but not this place.’

Laurie suddenly banged her hand down. She stood dramatically, clearly waiting for a reaction.

‘What’s wrong with you?’ Ian said. ‘Got a wedgie?’

Hannah bit back a smile.

‘Do you know, I just remembered something. About being here. In this room. There was an argument.’

Hannah handed Ian a cup of tea. ‘I thought you said the old couple were nice to you?’

‘No, they were. It was something else. Someone else. I remember Nan rushing us out to the car, and being cross. Do you not remember, Will?’ She snapped her fingers.

Will rolled his eyes. ‘No – I was clearly too traumatized about pissing myself, Lor.’

Ian snorted. From outside came the shrieks of children.

Laurie walked to the kitchen window and regarded the high wall. Hannah took her tea over and, to her surprise, saw tears in Laurie’s eyes.

‘Are you OK?’

Laurie took the tea. ‘Thanks. Oh, you know. It just takes you by surprise sometimes. You think, “I’ll ask Nan, she’ll remember” and then you realize she’s not here.’

Hannah glanced at Will.

He stared into his tea.

She wanted to hug him. She knew Will couldn’t even talk about Nan Riley.

‘Footie?’ Ian said, slamming down his cup.

‘Yup.’ Will nodded, and they headed off to find the kids.

Laurie and Ian and the kids stayed for a while, playing football with Will on the forecourt in front of the house.

Hannah excused herself to carry on painting the hall upstairs, watching through the window as Will dribbled the ball between Daniel and Sam, and threw Caitlin high in the air with a squeal when she saved Ian’s goal, her blonde hair snaking in the sunshine. Laurie knelt at the side, weeding a flower bed, taunting the men and shouting encouragement to the kids.

If they were going to live here, she needed to find a way to get on with Laurie – but Laurie would have to accept her, too.

For a start, Hannah would have to break it to Laurie that her hints at Will’s dark past were wasted on her. Hannah knew all about him – and about Laurie.

Will had told her everything.

He hadn’t wanted to at first, but eight years ago, when they first started to bump into each other in the King’s Head, she’d made it clear that she was in no rush. That she didn’t respect the way Will lived his life, and that she wasn’t interested in being another of his many girlfriends.

So they’d become friends first.

She’d seen how much Will drank. So while she continued to throw herself into the challenge of learning how to run complicated press trips and attend conferences abroad, in Jane’s place, when she returned home she insisted they met in a cafe instead of the pub, and talked, sober.

They had coffee after work, went to a few gigs and sometimes had dinner at her flat – to which she always invited other people.

And during that time Will started to talk.

He told her about his dad leaving, and his mum’s depression and having to look after her when he was so young. About his goal of working in music, but how he kept messing it up. Missing sessions. Sleeping in. Getting wasted. She told him she thought it must be difficult, if other people didn’t expect things of you, to know where to set your own expectations.

Then he’d told her more. How his summers with Nan Riley had been the only time he was allowed to act like a child, and how he used to test the old lady to the limit. Nan, on the other hand, had seen both her own sons turn out to be losers, and was determined not to let him and Laurie go the same way. The night she found weed in the back of her old Ford Fiesta she’d slapped them both on the thigh, and threatened to take them to the police.

He told Hannah everything. About dragging a paralytic Laurie out of a party, aged fourteen, on the night her dad didn’t turn up for a visit. About escaping to London, and the guilt at leaving his mum to carers back in Salford. The endless one-night stands on the London gig circuit. How he knew he was wasting his life.

In return, Hannah had told Will that she didn’t care. She described to him the kind of officially sanctioned cruelty that she dealt with on a daily basis. In comparison, Will’s debauched years paled into insignificance and were his own business. He’d hurt no one but himself – and the women who should have seen him coming.

She also made it clear, however, that she wasn’t one of them.

Each time she came back from abroad, she saw a difference in him. He sobered up. Managed to hold on to his freelance assistant’s job at Smart Yak. He left his shared party-house in Camden, and moved in with another Smart Yak assistant in Ealing. He worked long hours. Found his confidence. Discovered he was good at the technical stuff, and that people trusted his ear and his ideas. It was the night he got his first full-time assistant’s job with a respected producer, and came round to see her – sober, his eyes alert with the possibilities of a new future – that she started to trust him.

Which was just as well.

Because the minute she’d seen him in the King’s Head that first night with Jane, his long, tanned arm on the bar, eyes shut behind curly hair, tapping and mouthing the words to ‘Blue Monday’, she’d known it had to be him.

It was difficult to let him go, but after the weekend in Tornley, Will went back to London early on Monday morning.

When she came downstairs, Hannah found a note in the kitchen. A smiley face and kisses.

She walked around with a coffee, her spirits raised. The difference in Tornley Hall was astounding. Even without fresh decoration, the sitting room felt bright and homely, now that the spring light was bursting through the windows. The house felt solid and comfortable and homely. She looked out through the trees to the houses of Tornley and miles of flat fields beyond.

This was a beautiful place. They could do this.

Just three more days.

A figure suddenly stepped onto the lawn, making Hannah start.

It was the Mortrens’ daughter, Elvie, whom she’d seen in the lane. She was carrying what looked like an electric strimmer. Loud chatter drifted over, and Tiggy appeared beside her, holding a rake, pointing at the grass. She waved at Hannah.

Close-up, Elvie was much taller than Tiggy. She had Tiggy’s dark hair, but her skin was pale and her jawline stronger. She wasn’t as round as Tiggy, with long, thin legs and arms and a thick middle, but everything about her appeared sloped. Sloped shoulders, heavy breasts. Even her eyes sloped downwards at the sides.

A motor started. Frank appeared on a large sit-on lawnmower. He gave Hannah a friendly salute.

A sense of well-being filled her. The upper and lower halls were painted, if you didn’t look too closely. The grass would be cut today, with the help of their new neighbours. The little donkey was happily eating grass in the field, so she could forget about Farmer Nasty for a while, at least.

Will would be back tonight.

Everything was fine.

She really could tell Barbara, with a clear conscience, that all was well.

A few minutes later Tiggy arrived at the door.

She wore black slacks and a snow-soft white jacket with a pink scarf. She held out an extension plug.

‘Morning, Hannah! Have you got a place for this?’

‘Hi, Tiggy. Yes,’ Hannah said, finding a socket for the strimmer. ‘Thanks so much for doing this.’ Frank waved at her. He was checking the wheels of the lawnmower. Elvie gave Hannah another shy glance. ‘It’s really kind of you.’

‘Oh, you’re welcome – and haven’t you got on fantastically!’ Tiggy effused, peering into the hall. ‘Olive and Peter tried, you know, Hannah, but it was getting difficult for them. Frank and I managed to make them get the plumbing sorted out, but after that, I’m afraid . . . Well, it’s a big house. There was no family, of course.’

The strimmer started up with a whine.

Hannah stood back. ‘Do you want to come in, Tiggy?’

Tiggy swatted the air. Gold bangles jangled. ‘No, thank you, Hannah. We’re just heading off again. Down to Devon to pick up stock, so we’ll leave you now with Elvie. And, Hannah, I’m only going to say this once, but you know where the gate is, in the wall? Hmm?’

‘Oh yes, I just saw that.’

‘Right. Well, in you go. Help yourself. No need to ask.’

‘Oh. Really?’

‘Absolutely. It was one of Olive’s favourite things, poor thing. Once a week she came in for her flowers. She’d bring a cake and we’d have a cup of tea and a chat. Once a week for nearly forty years, Hannah. And we miss her dreadfully – seeing her out there, with her basket. Loved her peonies and lupins.’

‘Aw,’ Hannah said, sympathetically.

‘At the end, Frank brought them in for her instead. Set them up in her bedroom by the window, and it would just light up her face. So sad, Hannah.’

Hannah pictured Olive in their garden, her plaits on her head.

‘Tiggy, I’d love to ask you more about the Horseborrows,’ she said. ‘It’s been strange moving into their house, without meeting them.’

‘Oh, yes. Any time! Now, listen,’ Tiggy pointed, ‘Elvie’s here with you now. Just leave her to it. She’s as happy as Larry on that thing. Just one more thing.’ She pulled Hannah close. ‘Now, I was telling you the other day that Elvie’s shy – huh?’

Hannah nodded.

‘Well, what can I say? It wasn’t an easy birth, Hannah. So what we do, at this time of year when we’re not as busy, is we find things for Elvie to do. It makes her feel useful. So when she’s cut that grass, if there’s anything else she can help with, just let her know. She was always over here, helping Olive and Peter in the garden, right from when she was a little girl, so it’s just great for her to have this opportunity, OK?’

‘OK, thanks,’ Hannah said uncertainly. Was Tiggy suggesting that Elvie work in the garden for money?

‘Good. Right, we’ll leave you to it. We’ll be back on Friday. Bye!’