by Lara Swann
“Ah, no…no, it wasn’t. This time wasn’t pretend.” I agree.
There’s no point denying that anymore - especially when I haven’t stopped doing it.
She nods with a slightly self-satisfied air. I think for a moment that that’s all she’s going to say about it, and I’m not sure whether to let the whole thing drop or not - if she doesn’t seem bothered—
“Do you like kissing Kelsey, Daddy?”
The question pulls me back and I feel myself getting inexplicably hot.
What the hell? Since when do I do that?
“Yes.” I finally answer, figuring the best I can do here is the truth - whatever might come out of it. “I do like kissing Kelsey.”
I like it a lot.
“Do you mind, sweetie?” I add. “If I like kissing Kelsey?”
That’s the real reason I started this conversation at all. If she knows about this…I need to make sure she’s actually comfortable with it, that she understands, as much as she can do. I don’t want her worrying that this will affect the two of us or mean something it doesn’t - or jumping to the wrong conclusion.
Okay, the latter might have been a large part of it, too.
My little princess is slightly prone to flights of fancy.
I almost hold my breath as I wait for the answer, her hands still cartwheeling around her and slightly reassuring me that she’s not terribly upset, at least. I hope if she was, I would have heard about it before now anyway.
“Nooooo…ooo…” She says, drawing it out - and I’m not sure if that’s because she’s still thinking about it, or she just really means it. When she finally stops, she comes to stand beside me again, looking up at me with the kind of expression that definitely means trouble. “Is Kelsey your girlfriend, Daddy?”
Yep. Trouble.
“Um, no. No she isn’t, sweetie.”
Maya frowns. “But you like kissing her. Katy said that if two people kiss each other and they like it, then they’re boyfriend and girlfriend now.”
Oh damn it. One year. Katy is one year older. You wouldn’t think one year could make that much difference…but the things Maya has been coming out with…
“It’s a bit more complicated than that, princess. Kelsey is my friend, and I like kissing her, but she’s not my girlfriend, okay?”
I have no idea how to explain this to her, and I’m not at all sure I want to try.
Maya folds her arms, huffing slightly. “Grown ups always complicate things.”
My lips curve in a small smile. I’ll give her that one - she’s probably right there.
“Is it because you haven’t asked her?”
“Yes.” I take that. “Yes, it’s because I haven’t asked her.”
“Oh, okay.” She says, and I almost breathe a sigh of relief before she continues brightly. “Do you want me to ask her for you?”
“No!” It comes out more strongly than I intend and Maya blinks at me, slightly shocked, before I temper it down again, my heart racing slightly. “I just…that’s not the way it works, sweetie. I think Kelsey would be upset if you asked her.”
“Oh.” She says again, seeming to consider that. “But I asked her about the fairy pond when you didn’t.”
I bite my lip, not sure if I feel like laughing, or crying, or tearing my hair out.
“Yes, that’s true. You did well there. But this is different, okay? Promise me you’re not going to ask her, Maya.”
She frowns up at me for a time, before huffing again. “Fine. I promise. But I don’t understand.”
“Thank you, sweetie.” I sigh, relieved. Maybe it was a good thing I had this conversation after all. “You’ll understand when you’re older.”
“That’s not fair.”
“I know. Things often aren’t.”
Like this whole conversation, for example. Somehow, this doesn’t quite seem fair. Okay, maybe I was the one that created this situation, but still…
She mutters something under her breath that I don’t catch - probably about grown ups - but before she can go back to wandering around me instead of next to me, or ask another awkward question, I bring up the other thing I need to say about this.
“Maya, did you tell Mark about me kissing Kelsey?” I ask, making sure to keep it gentle enough not to get her defensive.
“Uhuh.” She nods again.
“Okay.” I nod along with her. “That’s okay, sweetie - but please don’t tell anyone else, okay?”
She frowns again. I swear she’s spent this whole conversation thinking I’m totally ridiculous.
“Why not?”
“It’s not always nice to talk about who is kissing who. It’s private. Most people like it to be just between them.” I try to explain. “I want you to know, of course, because you’re my little girl and you’re the most important person to me in the world. But I don’t think it’s something to tell anyone else.”
“Oh.” She says, her face full of concentration, like she’s trying to understand something largely incomprehensible. I don’t blame her. Relationship social cues are really not something an eight-year-old should have to know. “Huh.”
She’s silent for a long time, seemingly trying to work it out in her mind, and eventually I have to nudge her again about it.
“So, you won’t tell anyone else, Maya?” I ask again.
She blinks, looking up at me for a moment before shrugging. “Yeah. Okay.”
“Thank you, sweetie.” I say, with real gratitude. Mostly that this conversation might be over.
I squeeze her shoulder in appreciation, and I’m slightly surprised when she doesn’t shrug me off.
I almost have a moment to relax before the next question comes.
“Are you and Kelsey getting married, Daddy?”
I close my eyes for a moment, fighting back the groan.
“No. No, princess, Kelsey and I aren’t getting married. You don’t need to worry about it—”
“I’m not worried about it.” She chips in, unhelpfully.
“Okay, well…that’s good. But it’s still not happening. We’re just kissing, nothing that you even need to think about, okay?”
“Just kissing.” She repeats, in an exaggerated tone - rolling her eyes as well for comic effect. I bet she got that from Katy, too.
“Yes.” I repeat. “Just kissing.”
Though as I say it, my mind flashes back to that conversation with Mark and the strange way it left me feeling - and I wonder, just briefly, whether she’s the one who’s got the wrong idea here.
Chapter Eighteen
Kelsey
“I had a call from the Mayor earlier.”
I look up, startled, as Anderson pulls a chair over to sit in front of my desk. I’ve been jumpy and on edge like this all week, little things spooking me at the slightest provocation as I can’t get that visit to Margaret out of my head. I feel impossibly torn between being certain now that something really is wrong here and guilt over what happened at her house - and what else it might mean if I start stirring things up.
The frown marring Anderson’s face only makes my stomach sink further.
This isn’t going to be good.
“He said you’d been over at his house the other day, asking things that caused Margaret quite a lot of distress. He wanted to know if we were doing a story he should be aware of. Do you want to tell me what that’s about?”
I open my mouth, ready to launch into my story of going over there with the cupcakes and how everything spiraled from there. It wouldn’t even be a lie. I might have asked Margaret a few things about the accident, but they were questions that would have come out in the same situation even if I hadn’t originally been going over there to pursue this investigation.
But then I hesitate - tired of dissembling and keeping all this to myself and wondering whether I actually should finally lay it all out. Tell someone. See what he would do with all this. He’s a reporter at heart, too.
Before I can decide, he continues, f
illing the noticeable pause with a deeper frown.
“He also mentioned you’d been asking questions of the workmen clearing the sewage blockage—”
How did he know that? They told him? That wouldn’t get back to him, surely, unless…
“—I asked Amanda whether that was part of the research piece she’s been working on, and she said she didn’t know anything about it.”
I wince, not even trying to hide it, and he clears his throat, folding his arms and narrowing his gaze at me.
“You were asking about Margaret’s accident here too, a while ago.” He adds, and I curse that he has the kind of investigative mind that would remember a small detail like that, and pick up on it weeks later when it becomes relevant. No one has ever been able to say Anderson isn’t sharp, however eccentric he can be at times. He can put too much together too easily. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on, Kelsey? Why I’m getting concerned calls from the Mayor I know nothing about?”
I flush, feeling guilty all over again as I glance away for a moment - but at least it makes the decision easier. I can’t not tell him now, and there’s some part of the tension inside me that eases at the thought, like letting out deep breath after holding it for too long.
“I never meant to upset Margaret.” I say, looking back at him in appeal, wanting him to see the emotion in my eyes. “I didn’t even—I wasn’t going to ask anything—I went around with some cupcakes from Liam’s store, thinking that she might not have tried them, and…and it was lovely.”
I take a deep breath, something trying to hiccup inside of me, and I realize belatedly that I need to talk about this. That brief hour I spent with her has stuck in my mind ever since.
“I haven’t seen her for a long time now but she really enjoyed the cupcakes and…she even seemed a little like herself, almost. It made me think I should visit more often.” I say, shaking my head. “I’m not sure why I haven’t before. Okay, maybe the reason I went was because I wanted to ask a few things, but…being around her for a little while, I changed my mind about that. I wasn’t going to ask anything - I just wanted to spend a little time with her - but then she talked about how she wished she could see Liam’s store. All I was trying to do was tell her that she could. I couldn’t see any reason why not - it was a terrible accident and she’s got the wheelchair now, sure, but it was a long time ago and we could always take her down there…”
I trail off as I think back to it. It doesn’t make any sense. I didn’t really do anything.
“I’m not sure what happened, exactly, but she seemed to freak out at the idea of leaving the house. I wasn’t trying to upset her - I just wanted to help…”
Anderson sighs sadly, the expression on his face shifting from the grim way he approached me into sympathy.
“I know. I think we’ve all wanted that, but I’ve heard the same from everyone who’s tried…after the accident, she’s withdrawn. She seems afraid of leaving the house for some reason. I don’t know why exactly, maybe she’s worried something else will happen - especially with her in a more vulnerable state now - but it’s not like we wouldn’t look after her—”
“That’s just it.” I say, seizing on his own uncertainty to say what I really want to. “It doesn’t make sense - if she was involved in an accident, sure, it would be an awful thing to go through—but this traumatic? It’s not something you’d be afraid of happening again—”
“If?” Anderson asks, his gaze narrowing again. “If she was involved in an accident?”
I flush, but I push on anyway. “When she freaked out, it was like she was looking past me - into the distance, back to when it happened, maybe - she kept saying ‘I can’t’ and ‘stop’ and ‘no’, shouting for someone to get away from her. Look, I know it sounds crazy, but what if it was more than an accident? What if someone did this to her? What if what she’s afraid of isn’t a freak accident - but whoever did it to her?”
He looks at me for a long moment, one hand drumming on the other arm. “And those were the questions you wanted to ask her - the reason you went?”
I should have known he’d get back to that. I can tell by the expression on his face that he’s not considering my suggestion - just trying to understand what I’m doing.
“Well…sort of. But I didn’t actually ask her anything, it’s just—you weren’t there—it was so strange. Like it was the kind of trauma you wouldn’t get from an accident—”
“Kelsey.” He says, in a far too patient tone. “Look, I understand it’s difficult to see these things - to think how fragile people really can be - but accidents can cause all sorts of trauma. We don’t know what happened, but so many accidents could have led to her crying out that way—”
“Don’t you think that’s strange? That we don’t know what happened - that no one knows?” I persist. Now that I’m finally trying to talk to someone about this, it’s all bubbling up inside me, impossible to contain. Everything I’ve looked at for weeks wants to spill out, all at once.
“I think it’s fair enough for them to want privacy.” He frowns, trotting out the same line he always has whenever this comes up. “And most people can respect that.”
I wince at the pointed rebuke, but shake my head anyway.
He continues before I can object. “Just think about what you’re saying, Kelsey. If it wasn’t an accident, what are you suggesting? That someone in this town secretly wanted to harm Margaret? And managed to cover it up? And neither Margaret nor Ken have said anything about it?”
The skepticism is obvious in his voice - but that’s the best opening I’m going to get.
This is it.
Time to tell him everything.
I take a deep breath and try to calm myself down. My palms are sweating and I know it’s going to take a lot for him to believe me - to really consider it - but I have a lot. All the work I’ve done has led me to exactly this.
“Okay, just…listen, okay? I know it sounds crazy, but hear me out. I’ve been looking into something for the last few weeks, and…it’s alarming, okay?”
His gaze is still narrowed at me, but he gives me a nod and I can tell I’ve got his attention.
“It sounds unlikely - and I refused to believe it for a while, even as I looked into it - but I think there’s something going on here in Ashton, with the Mayor and all these infrastructure projects, and what happened with Margaret.” He blinks, clearly not expecting that. “That’s why I was talking to the workmen on the sewage site, and asking you about these things a while ago. I think it’s all linked. I’m not sure anyone has really noticed, but we’ve had infrastructure problems in Ashton for years now. Ever since Ken became Mayor, over twenty years ago. Every time, we’ve raised the money as a town to deal with it and been relieved that it’s sorted. Every time, you and Amanda and I have reported on it - but not once have I seen any solid information about what was wrong. It sounds insane, but…I had reason to start wondering if maybe, we were all being scammed. And not just by the Mayor - I think there’s something more behind it, too…”
He listens to me as I talk, not interrupting, but I can see the incredulity written all over his face. That’s one thing I have going for me, though - Anderson does know how to listen, and think, before jumping to any conclusion. I’ve had years of presenting article ideas or discussing pieces of work together to get used to that.
At least that’s what I’m hoping.
When I finish explaining my theory and what I’ve been investigating, I fetch the folder I keep in the bag I carry around with me and lay out everything I have. The documents about each infrastructure project, and their infuriating simplicity. Everything I’ve been able to find out about the company the workmen come from, even though that doesn’t entirely help my case. Our bare-bones articles from every one of these events. The endless questions I have of things that just don’t make sense if there’s nothing going on.
But at the end of it, I can tell he’s less than impressed.
He waits for
me to trail off before finally unfolding his arms and coming out of the stone-faced expression he’s gradually fallen into over the course of my explanation.
“That really is…one hell of a story, Kelsey.” He finally says, and my stomach sinks. “I’m not quite sure where you got that, or how you came up with it all…but, looking through all this, I don’t see a single piece of evidence. I hear a lot of ‘I think that’ and ‘maybe this’ but all you’ve got here are links you’ve drawn and questions you have. Most of those could have any number of answers.”
“But—”
“I see a lot of suspicion here, but not much else.” He gives me a totally baffled look. “I don’t even know where all this has come from, Kelsey. I mean, sure, if your concern here is that we’re not reporting in enough detail on these infrastructure projects, this is a pretty good audit of our paper, but—to accuse our Mayor of scams and implicate him in his own wife’s accident—I don’t understand why you think—”
“I heard something.” I blurt out, before I can stop it.
The one part I haven’t told him yet - that I wasn’t even sure I was going to. He just raises an eyebrow, waiting for me to continue - and I finally relate the last part. That terrifying, crazy moment in the town archives when I was researching one of my travel pieces. The travel pieces that have been moving so very slowly as my enthusiasm for them has gradually been sucked away into all of this.
The things I heard the Mayor say, the awful man he was talking to who made threatening comments and dark remarks, and the secrecy of their meeting.
When I’m done, he simply asks. “Do you have any evidence of this conversation - a recording, or anything else?”
The way he says it tells me he doesn’t really expect me to. The knot in my stomach gets bigger as I shake my head.
“No, but—”
“So this is just what you remember of that conversation? And you haven’t thought you might have been mistaken in what you thought, in your interpretation—”
“Of course I have. That’s why I looked into it.” I argue. “I wanted to disprove it, but everything just points to something being wrong. It all feels off, and the way Margaret was when I saw her…”
