Thrown (3 page)

It’s time I felt something. Something intense.

I place the razor on the skin of my upper arm and without hesitating, I draw the blade across the flesh in a line that turns red with blood immediately. The sting makes me exhale through gritted teeth but at least I’m feeling something now. I take in a deep breath and position the razor blade a half inch below the cut I just made. I quickly make another and wince as the metal slides through my skin, parting it in a neat line.

I place the bloody razor on the nightstand and close my eyes, feeling hot tears spill down my cheeks.

‘I miss you Aunt Beth,’ I whisper. ‘I miss you Mom.’

I start to sob, my chest hitching and my breaths coming out as gasps.

Why did they leave me here? How am I supposed to go on without them?

I can’t do it, I’m not strong enough.

As the blood trickles down my arm in two perfect red rivers, I sob into the night.

CHAPTER THREE

Memories

Stoker

The road winds down from Promise House towards town. I can be home in twenty minutes if I just follow it down to Main Street then take the hill road out of town that leads to our house.

I’m not ready to go home just yet.

The night air is cool and clears my head. I want to stay up here on the cliffs a bit longer, feel the breeze against my face, hear the sea crashing against the rocks far below. I scramble through the hedge that separates the road from the cliff tops. The hedge is supposed to make it safer for motorists and keep them from driving off the edge but if a car hit this tangle of thin branches and leaves, it would go right through and drive over the twenty feet of grass on the other side before tipping over the cliff and smashing on the rocks below.

The cliffs are a great place to walk and look out over the sea and forget about everything for a while but they are also deadly. A few people have met their deaths here over the past few years. Mainly holiday-makers who stray too close to the edge and don’t know how fragile the rocks are in places. Once, a car did go through the hedge and ended up in the sea but the tide was in and the drunken lads inside escaped unhurt after swimming for the shore. I stood on the beach with a lot of other townsfolk and watched as the car was pulled out of the water by a mobile crane. An older man next to me muttered that strangers had no business up on the cliffs because they didn’t know the dangers.

But what about Beth? She knew the area like the back of her hand, walked up here every night no matter what the weather was like.

And on a clear rainless night, she fell.

I reach the edge of the cliff and peer over at the sea below. The tide is going out, revealing the sand and rocks of the beach. I’m nearly three hundred feet above those rocks. To fall now would mean sudden death.

Just like it did for Beth.

With her gone, my future feels like its been set adrift on a stormy sea.

Everything was so clear before but now I feel trapped. I can’t see a way out anymore.

The girl at Promise House, Amy, was really attractive. I saw her at the funeral today but she didn’t see me. No one saw me behind the trees. If my dad found out I went to Bethany Anderson’s funeral, he would kill me so I stayed out of sight. But I couldn’t not go. Nothing could have kept me away. So I sat behind the trees and listened to the preacher as he said nice things about Beth and before it was finished, I slipped away.

I look up at the cloudy night sky. I was there, Beth. It was nice. A lot of people came out to pay their last respects. Rest in peace.

A tear blows across my cheek and I’m not sure if it’s the wind stinging my eyes or if I’m crying. I sit on the grass and look out to the dark horizon and when I feel a second tear spring from my eye, I know it isn’t the sea breeze.

I look across at Promise Cove, at the cluster of lights that shine from the houses, pubs and shops. This place is many people’s idea of heaven on earth; a quiet town by the sea. For other people like me, its hell. It doesn’t matter where you are or how idyllic your hometown is, you can’t get away from the tragedies that have struck your life like cruel, unexpected lightning.

It doesn’t make sense. None of it. At the cemetery today, before Beth’s funeral, I visited Mum’s and James’s graves. I need to put flowers on them the next time I go. They seemed neglected, even though I go at least once a week. The flowers I put there die so quickly. I don’t know how long it’s been since Dad visited the graves. He probably doesn’t know either.

Mum, James and Beth. All gone.

And I’m still here.

Even though I shouldn’t be.

I rip up a handful of grass and throw it into the breeze, watching it float out over the cliff edge and down to the beach.

There was a time when life seemed good and simple. When Mum and James were here, I could do as I wanted. Mum and Dad were focussed on my older brother and left me to my own devices. I spent a lot of time on the beaches just hanging out with friends and spending carefree days swimming and exploring the caves around the cove. Alone, I would sit on the cliffs for hours with my portable easel as I painted the cove or the sea or a flock of gulls. Or I would get a coffee in Sarah’s Coffee And Cakes and sit at one of the tables, sketching customers for hours.

That time of my life seems like a half-remembered dream now.

For the past year, I have lived a secret life. Secret time at the beach waiting for dawn to break. Secret hours spent in the caves not for the pleasure of exploration and discovery but as an escape from the turmoil that my life has become.

Secret calls.

Secret jobs.

Secret visits to Promise House.

Maybe those visits were the only thing that kept me going after the accident. Gave me hope of a future.

Now that’s all gone.

Why did I give Amy my number? Why did I say I’d teach her to drive her aunt’s car? Am I so desperate to keep some connection to Beth that I’m going to try and make friends with her niece?

No, when I gave her the card, that wasn’t in my mind at all. I liked her. She seemed a bit nervous but that could be because she had a house full of strangers and she was far away from home. It wasn’t pity I felt for her, or a need to keep my connection to Beth.

Was it a sense of guilt?

No. Don’t even go there.

I push the thought from my mind.

Maybe Amy will ring me and maybe she won’t. Either way, I’ll be seeing her again; Promise Cove isn’t a large town and I know where she’ll be working.

I feel my chest shake and I realize I’m laughing as I remember that she asked me if I read. I wipe the tears from my face and let the laughter come out. It sounds loud in the quiet night. If she saw the over-stuffed bookshelves in my room, she would realize how ridiculous the question was.

Maybe she’ll see my room someday. Maybe I’ll get to know her a lot better.

No, don’t go down that route. You really think she’d be interested in someone like you? You think you’d be good for her? Of course not. No need to court disaster.

I stand up and brush the grass off my jeans before starting towards town. I stay on this side of the hedge and walk parallel to the road along the cliffs. It’s slower this way but I’m in no hurry. Hopefully by the time I get back, Dad will be passed out on the settee. It’s much easier that way.

A car drives by beyond the hedge, headlights cutting through the night as it takes the narrow road towards Promise Cove. The revs of the engine slow down and the red brake lights suddenly glow as the vehicle pulls over to the side of the road. I hear the metallic clunk of a door opening and closing. I stop in my tracks, frozen in place. It’s almost midnight and I’m isolated up here. Why would the car stop? Did they see me from the road? It’s possible the headlights picked me up as they turned the bend further up the road. So why stop?

I listen. The only sounds I can hear are the low thrum of the idling engine, a far off chanting that sounds like drunks staggering home from the pub in the cove and the beat of my own heart.

Then a voice cuts through the night. ‘Dean?’

It’s Dad. And even though he isn’t the person I want to see most in the world right now, I breathe a sigh of relief and feel the tension in my body relax. I walk across the grass to the hedge. He’s standing next to the Astra, leaning on the roof as if to steady himself, squinting at me. ‘Dean, is that you?’

‘It’s me, Dad,’ I say, climbing through the hedge. I have no doubt he’s been drinking…by midnight he’s usually passed out…but drinking and driving is a new one for him. We don’t have many police around here and the nearest police station is in Penzance but he could still hurt himself or someone else driving around under the influence.

‘You didn’t come home,’ he says, ‘so I came looking for you.’

‘You didn’t have to do that, Dad.’

He nods too emphatically, his actions exaggerated by alcohol. ‘Yes, yes I did. But I didn’t have to look very far. Do you know why?’

‘Why?’ I walk around to the driver’s side of the car. No way is he driving home in the state he’s in.

‘Because I knew you wouldn’t be able to stay away. It’s her funeral today. You’ve been to her house, haven’t you?’ He narrows his eyes accusingly.

‘I was just walking on the cliffs, Dad. Give me the keys, I’ll drive us home.’ I hold out my hand.

He looks at me and furrows his brows then tosses the keys at me. I catch them and he staggers around to the passenger side. He’s had a lot to drink, I can tell from his movements and the way his eyes are heavy-lidded. He’s damn lucky he didn’t kill himself. But then he’s probably past caring about that anymore. Mum and James are gone and I’m not the son he wants me to be. I’m just one more disappointment in his disappointing life. In fact, I’m probably the biggest disappointment for him.

I slide into the driver’s seat and he clambers into the passenger seat and I pull out into the road, casting a sideways glance at him every now and then. He’s sitting forward slightly, his head drooping against his chest. He smells of alcohol and sweat and motor oil because he’s still wearing his overalls from the garage. He didn’t even bother to get changed, just got home and started drinking.

He mumbles something but it’s so low, he must be talking to himself.

His eyes are closed so maybe he’s asleep and dreaming. ‘What did you say, Dad?’ I ask quietly.

’Shouldn’t go walking along the cliffs at night. Anything could happen.’

‘I’m OK.’

‘You’re OK but she isn’t. She isn’t OK at all.’ His head droops further and a tear falls from his face to join the grease stains on his overalls. He always gets like this when he’s drunk. It’s pitiful to watch him drink himself into a pit of sorrow every night and cry his heart out. Sometimes he cries himself into unconsciousness. Occasionally he turns violent. I prefer the unconsciousness.

I don’t reply to him. He misses Mum and James. We both do. No need to exacerbate the situation by talking about it with him because he’s already lost in his own thoughts and heading down the path to despair.

Anything I say can only move him along that path more quickly or make him lash out at me. So I stay quiet and concentrate on the road ahead as it takes us into Promise Cove.

The shops and pubs of Main Street slide past the window and in the light from their windows seeping into the car, I can see that Dad is asleep, his tears drying on his cheeks. As I take the road out of town that leads to the garage, my mind slips again to Amy Anderson. I keep thinking about her standing on the porch of Promise House in her black dress, her blonde hair blowing slightly in the sea breeze. She’s attractive for sure but I think my attraction to her goes beyond her looks. When I saw her standing there in front of the big house, I got the sense that she was as lost in life as I am. Her vulnerability seemed to surround her like a shimmering aura. I don’t know much about her apart from the fact that she is Beth’s older sister’s daughter and they moved to America when Amy was young. Beth mentioned her a few times and said Amy wrote poetry and stories and one day I might see a book by her in Promise Books. Beth also told me that her sister’s grave isn’t in America at all but is in the Sea Road Cemetery, close to where Mum and James are buried.

Beth was Amy’s only living relative. And now she’s gone. So Amy is alone in the world. Like me.

I pull into the forecourt of Stoker Autos and drive past the garage’s Reception doors to the stairs that lead up the side of the building to the door of our house on the second level. There’s no way I can get Dad up there while he’s asleep.

‘Dad,’ I say, shaking him a little.

He stirs but doesn’t reply.

‘Dad,’ I say louder.

He opens his blurry eyes. ‘What? What is it?’

‘We’re home.’

He squints out through the windscreen.

‘So?’

‘So you need to get upstairs and to bed.’

He lets out a whiskey-ridden sigh and opens his door. I climb out and get around to the passenger door before he falls out onto the concrete. As I pull him up and hook his arm around my shoulder, I grab his waist and lead him to the foot of the stairs. He looks up to the door on the second floor.

‘That’s a long way up.’

‘Come on, we can do it.’ I start up the stairs, half-dragging, half-supporting him. He leans heavily against me and we get to the door after a few minutes of clumsy manoeuvring and staggering. I dig my keys out of my pocket and unlock the door. As soon as it opens, Dad stumbles inside and makes it to the settee before falling face down onto the cushions, one arm hanging over onto the floor. He’s already snoring.

There’s no point trying to get him to his bedroom now so I take off his boots and place them neatly on the floor under the coffee table. I arrange the cushions so they’re supporting his head like a pillow and I go to his room to grab the blanket from his bed.

As I open the door to his room, I see the scattering of photos on his bed. He’s taken the shoebox of photographs from the back of his closet where he keeps it and he’s pulled out handfuls of pictures and laid them out on the sheets. The ones he’s taken out are mainly of him, Mum and James. I’m in a few but only incidentally. The photos of just me or where I feature prominently are still in the shoebox.