The Hidden Years (53 page)

She had been like an animal fascinated by the danger of
fire, wanting its heat and light and yet knowing that to allow herself
to get too close could destroy her—and yet still she had
lingered within sight of the flames, resenting their power over her,
hating herself and hating him, because, despite the strength of her
love for Scott— a kind of love which had a clean, sharp
purity about it, a simplistic, wholesome innocence—she had
still been conscious of the darker side of her nature, had known it was
slowly gathering force inside her, had known that it responded to
everything that was male in Daniel in a way that no part of her had
ever responded to Scott… Had known that Daniel had the
ability to reach out and touch that innermost part of her that she kept
hidden and locked away not only from others but from herself as well.

In those days she had feared that deep core of sensuality;
had compared it to her mother's icy purity, to David and Faye's
idyllically romantic relationship, had felt the deep yawning gap that
existed between the emotions she perceived in them and those she knew
herself to be so unwantedly capable of feeling, and had angrily
repudiated her sensuality, seeing it as the whole centre of her flawed
personality, sensing with burgeoning maturity that still clung too much
to childhood to allow to her to assess it either accurately or with
detachment that it represented danger to her, that it exposed her to
vulnerability and to emotional and physical abuse. She had felt she was
not as the other members of her family; that those deep, dark tides
that moved within her were almost an ancient and destructive curse
which she must learn to control and deny, so that the moment she had
looked at Daniel and felt them rise inside her in a wild, fierce
rip-tide of responsiveness to him, she had hated him with all the
intense passion of her still untamed nature.

Someone not knowing her as well as she knew herself would
undoubtedly wonder why after being repudiated by Daniel she should have
flung herself headlong into what appeared to be a series of intensely
physical affairs.

The reason was that those men with whom she had enjoyed
the physical expression of her deeply sensual nature had not had the
power to touch the equally intense emotional core of her.

Physically she had desired them, had found their
lovemaking pleasurable, had even with some found them intellectually
stimulating, but always, always she had taken care never to become
involved with anyone to whom she might become vulnerable emotionally.

The lessons of her life had been hard learned. None of
those whom she had loved had ever returned the intensity of that
love—all of them had seen the flaws in her and rejected her
because of them: her father, her mother, Scott. She was safer by far
allowing herself only the physical, sexual expression of that
intensity, and now even the pleasure of that had palled. Like a child
sated on too many sweet things, she had found herself turning away from
those pleasures, abandoning their reckless pursuit, finding a longer
lasting pleasure and satisfaction in her work than she had ever found
in the arms of a lover.

Now when she looked back she viewed the woman she had been
with distant amusement. For the first time in her life she had begun to
feel at ease with herself, to accept herself as a whole person, flaws
and all, to acknowledge that she could never be her mother, that she
could only be herself…to accept herself. As she watched the
companions of her early twenties marry and settle down to produce
families she remained aloof from their—to
her—lemming-like desire to fulfil their hormonal destiny. She
was a loner; she liked it that way, she was content with her life, or
at least as content as any human being could expect to be. She was well
past the age when she had believed that the only real value of a human
life came from sharing that life with a twin soul; had long since
abandoned the restless searching of her growing years for that part of
herself she had always felt was missing, that cooling sanity of mind to
still the heated frenzy that was her own emotional burden. In Scott she
had believed she had found that person, had believed it so intensely
and so passionately that to lose him had been like losing a part of
herself.

She had long since accepted that had they married she
would ultimately have destroyed him, that in ail the wrong ways she was
the stronger of the two, and yet those months she had spent with him
had had such a softening effect on her, had made her feel so different
about herself…

Daniel Cavanagh… Even now she had not forgotten
that final collision between them. That night when she had gone to him
in an agony of need and despair, when she had deliberately blinded
herself to everything she knew both about herself and him, when she
had…

Stop it, she told herself fiercely. Stop it…
Hadn't she writhed for long enough on the acid fires of self-hatred and
contempt? So Daniel had rejected her. She ought to be thankful that he
had. If they had become lovers…

Against the darkness of her mind, she had a moment's
brilliant awareness of how many dangerous memories were still stored in
the sensors of her body, of how she could still conjure up so clearly
the sensation of those long-fingered hands touching her skin, of how
the shocking thrill of that contact had run along her nerve-endings,
drawing tight the pulsing flesh of her nipples, spiralling an aching,
restless heat through her belly, making her want to reach out and touch
him in turn, not gently, or virginally, but with hunger and need, with
all the deep yearning heat that boiled inside her.

Yes, she ought to have been grateful that he rejected
her… To have given in to that need would ultimately have
destroyed her, and yet the shadows cast by his rejection still darkened
certain areas of her mind, still lay like bruises against her pride.
There were still nights when she woke up, her body aching and her mind
confused, tears on her face, heat under her skin, aware that somewhere
in her dreams she had been pursuing the touch of hands so much needed
by her body, so intensely desired by her emotions that she was destined
to pursue it ceaselessly throughout eternity and beyond. And then
reality would sweep away the darkness of her dreams just as she
banished what she considered to be an illogical weakness. She hadn't
thought about Daniel in years now, not since she had finally grown up
and accepted that she was more than capable of being her own person,
that she could survive alone, that she had more strength, more
will-power, more pride than she had ever allowed herself to admit.

She didn't need Daniel Cavanagh in her life.

So why was she deliberately seeking him out? She
wasn't… At least not for any personal reasons. She was
simply using him because he was there. That was all there was to it.

She moved restlessly, pushing aside the bedclothes, and
swinging long slender legs to the floor. It was time to get up and stop
dwelling on the past. She had far more immediate and important things
on which to focus her mind.

When she got downstairs Faye and Camilla seemed to be
arguing. She paused on the threshold of the breakfast-room, frowning as
she listened to them.

Camilla's voice was indignant and angry, Faye's sharper
than usual.

'I'm sorry, Camilla, but I don't want you to go. For one
thing, you've got your A levels coming up…'

'And one evening off from studying is going to make the
difference between passing and failing?' Camilla retorted indignantly.
'Come off it. You don't want me to go because you don't want me to
enjoy myself.'

'Camilla, that isn't true,' Faye protested. 'Of course I
do—'

'No, you don't. Otherwise you'd let me go. Everyone else
is—'

'Everyone?' Faye asked her wryly. 'I thought you said you
were going in a minibus?'

Sage saw her niece flush angrily. 'Well, almost everyone.
Look, I don't see why you don't want me to go.'

'Don't you? You say you're going to a party, but you don't
seem to have any real idea of where it's being held. You say you're
going with friends from school, and that one of their boyfriends will
be driving this minibus, and yet you don't seem able to give me any of
their names. I'm sorry, Camilla, but I don't feel that I can allow you
to take off with a crowd of young people I don't know for a destination
you don't seem able to give me to attend a party. You must have seen
for yourself the dangers of attending these Acid House affairs
and—'

'This isn't anything like that,' Camilla protested.
'Honestly, Mother, do you really think I'm so stupid? And anyway, why
should my generation take the blame for something started by yours? It
was all right for you when you were young. Everyone knows what the
sixties were like. Drugs… sex… Anything went, and
what do
we
get? Everyone lecturing us about drugs
and promiscuity.'

Over Camilla's head Faye gave Sage a helpless, pleading
look.

Coming to her rescue, Sage said quietly, 'Your mother's
right, Cam. It's sheer irresponsibility these days to take off anywhere
with people you don't know properly—and you're right as well.
Our generation does have a lot to answer for. Recklessly we thought we
could break all the rules, and now it's your generation that's paying
the price for our so-called pleasure. I can understand that you want a
break from your studying, though,' she added calmly, sitting down and
pretending not to be aware of Camilla's sullen pouting face.

None of them was the same person she had been before her
mother's accident, Sage reflected inwardly. All of them had changed and
were still changing, Camilla perhaps most of all, because in so many
ways she had been the closest to her mother. Underlying her present
recalcitrance there ran, Sage suspected, a frighteningly fast-flowing
flood of fear. Camilla was at that very vulnerable age when to lose
someone she loved and relied on could have far-reaching consequences
that would remain with her for the rest of her life.

She personally had never heard mother and daughter
exchange a cross word before and had often marvelled a little enviously
at the harmony that existed between them. Now with her mother's
accident that harmony had vanished, and Faye, like Camilla and herself,
had changed. Sage had never seen her so on edge, so… so
human—as though the fine bubble which had always seemed to
protect her from reality had finally burst, leaving her exposed to the
rough abrasions of real life.

She even looked different, Sage reflected, studying her.
There was more colour in her face, more fire in her eyes, and an
unmistakable air of tension about her movements.

'Oh, I might know you'd side with Ma,' Camilla
expostulated, and then added bitterly, 'If Gran were here, she'd
understand—'

'Don't be ridiculous, Camilla,' Faye interrupted her
crossly. 'You know quite well that your grandmother would no more have
sanctioned this party than I would. Please be sensible. You've got your
exams to think about.'

'Exams, exams… Is that all you think about? Is
that all I mean to you? A set of A level passes you can brag about to
your friends? Only I forgot—you don't have any friends, do
you? But I'm not like you, Mother, I can't spend the rest of my life
shut off from everyone else. I want to live. I'm sick of studying, sick
of doing what I'm told. I'm almost eighteen. I'm not a child any
longer—'

'Then stop behaving like one.'

Sage sighed under her breath. Couldn't Faye see that all
she was doing was alienating Camilla even more? Couldn't she see that
the underlying cause of her rebellion was probably her fear of losing
her grandmother? That this bid for independence, this furious teenage
anger, was probably sparked off by that fear?

Sage flinched as Camilla stood up abruptly, pushed her
chair back, tears thickening her voice as she claimed, 'I might have
known you wouldn't understand. Well, whatever you say, I'm not a child.
I have a right to choose what I want to do with my life, not to have
you make those decisions for me.'

'Camilla, come back here.'

Faye stood up too, angry spots of colour burning along her
cheekbones as she stared in disbelief at Camilla's retreating back.

'Let her go,' Sage counselled.

'I can't understand what's got into her. She's always been
so sensible…'

She saw the way Sage looked at her as she asked drily,
'Isn't that rather dangerous? Sensible behaviour from a
teenager… a sign perhaps of hidden unrest and turmoil
beneath the surface?'

'You mean that you think that Camilla's been deliberately
repressed?'

'No… What I mean is that Camilla is reacting
fairly predictably. She's young and she's frightened. Alongside
yourself, the one person she can normally rely on to listen to her and
to guide her, the one person she has always felt she can rely on, has
suddenly become frighteningly vulnerable herself Right at this moment,
she's probably lying on her bed, crying her eyes out, wondering why on
earth she feels . furious with Mother for having this accident and
feeling guilty because she does feel angry. Is this party really out of
the question? It might do her good to relax, let her hair down a
bit…'

'Absolutely. For one thing she can't or won't tell me
who's organising it or where it is. All she will say very vaguely is
that a crowd of girls from school are going, and some boys that they
know.'

'Mm…it does sound rather suspect. How about
organising a rival distraction? A sort of pre-exam fling…
There's plenty of space here and I'm sure Jenny would be only too
pleased to help out with the food et cetera. It might even be an idea
to get Camilla and her friends to do the catering themselves. Give her
something other than Mother and her exams to occupy her
mind…'

'You mean let her have a party here… now, with
Liz still desperately ill and—'