Nathalie had had enough of this. She was getting more angry by the minute.
‘I want to go in there,’ she said through gritted teeth as she pushed him away. Her dad wasn’t a huggy, touchy-feely type, and he rarely discussed his emotions. So why now? Why was he trying to crowd her when all she needed was to make sure this wasn’t Mackenzie and get the hell out of here? Was it too much to ask? She didn’t need any more freaky behaviour. There was enough of a horror show going on.
They walked slowly down one corridor, then another. The light hurt her eyes and her legs were so stiff she felt as if she’d been leaning on them awkwardly and they’d gone to sleep.
When they got there, the morgue was a lot brighter than she’d expected. She realised she’d been visualising a dark, basement-style place with rows of drawers like massive filing cabinets. Like on a TV show. Instead this was more like a regular hospital room. There was a large window overlooking a neat, architect-designed garden with perfect round grassy features and little brick-built paths. Fleetingly Nathalie wondered why the room containing dead people had one of the better views at the hospital.
‘Hello, Dr Conway,’ the nurse said.
‘Hi,’ he answered. ‘This is my daughter Nathalie. She’s having a bit of trouble coming to terms with the news. I know from experience that this can be an effective way of fathoming this kind of trauma.’
The nurse nodded.
‘What my dad really means is that I don’t believe Mackenzie is dead. She’s not. She can’t be. You see, we were going home from the prom and we were in a limo. It was all fine …’
‘Hello, darling,’ the nurse said kindly. ‘Your friend Mackenzie is right over here.’
‘Riiight,’ Nathalie said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. ‘Come on then, show me the person you think is Mackenzie.’
‘Nathalie, you need to listen to the nurse,’ Max said. The nurse hesitated for a moment. Max nodded for her to continue.
‘Her face and body are covered by a sheet. When you feel you are ready, I will pull the sheet back so you can see her.’ The woman’s voice was clear and sympathetic. While Nathalie appreciated that she was simply trying to sound kind, she wanted to punch her. Why was everyone treating her like a moron? Mackenzie was OK. She was probably at home in bed resting. Nobody else knew that, clearly. But Nathalie was certain it was all a big mess. The sooner it was sorted, the better.
‘Thank you,’ she said robotically. Her eyes were drawn to the bed and she stopped in her tracks. Her chest felt as if it had been thumped with a large brick. Beneath the pale sheet she could make out the strong Kelly-green colour of what looked like a prom gown. Scrutinising the form, she decided the girl’s feet were bare.
‘I’d like to see her now.’
As the nurse gently peeled the sheet back, Nathalie inhaled sharply.
It was Mackenzie all right. She looked so different, though.
‘Her cheek is bruised,’ Nathalie said as she stared, almost unable to breathe.
‘I know, sweetie.’ Max placed his hand on Nathalie’s shoulder protectively. She shrugged him off. Stepping forward, she tugged at the sheet and brought it down to Mackenzie’s waist.
‘Your gown is fine, Mackenzie,’ she said tenderly. ‘You still look beautiful. There’s no need to freak out. You’re like a pretty mannequin.’ She raised her hand; it was shaking violently but she moved it towards Mackenzie’s face. It hovered there for the longest time.
Then, taking a deep breath, she lowered it palm first towards the bruise on her friend’s cheek. Only her fingertips grazed the waxy skin at first. It was shockingly cold. It was a weird type of cold. Not like holding hands at the indoor ice rink when they were kids. This was different. It was hard, as if Mackenzie had turned to marble.
All at once it was as if the universe had begun to spin in a different direction. The world she’d taken for granted and assumed was filled with nothing but love, life and joy had been wiped out. Instead, she was faced with this new and unknown existence where her best friend since she was three had departed. She’d been hoping with all her heart that she’d see somebody else in this room and that would be that.
Nathalie was certain her friend hadn’t wanted to die. She’d liked Jonas for ever and they’d only just got together. It made no sense that she was gone. None. A noise that had never emanated from her body before filled the air. Right at that moment, if she’d had the chance, she’d have gone with her.
‘Where are you, Mackenzie?’ she whispered. ‘I want you to come back. I need you here, baby girl.’ This was like being in a bad dream, except she wasn’t going to wake up.
‘We’ve been best friends since kindergarten,’ she told the nurse. ‘I met her the morning we started. She was crying for her mamma and I offered her a piece of play dough. We held hands all day long. I even took her to the bathroom when I needed to go. She never said, but I knew she was scared.’
‘That’s lovely,’ the nurse said as tears poured down her face.
‘Mackenzie would help me too. I hated math. She was a whizz at numbers. She’d sit and explain how to figure the problems and it would all suddenly seem easier.’
‘I’d say she was a very clever young lady,’ the nurse said.
‘She didn’t like science, though. Said it freaked her out when we had to dissect stuff. That’s why she was going to do accountancy and I’m doing medicine.’
Max and the nurse nodded, neither of them able to verbalise anything.
‘She saw the good parts of everyone. Even when Whitney looked down her nose at her because she didn’t have as many clothes as some of the girls … Mackenzie would say that it was kind of sad. That Whitney must have some issues and some day she’d be happier.’
Nathalie stared at her friend’s frozen face. Why had Mackenzie been ripped away from her? What was the point? She had so much to live for, so much to enjoy. Where was the justice in the world?
‘I don’t understand where you’ve gone, sweetie. But please know that I will miss you and love you for every day of my life until we meet again.’
Nathalie stroked her friend’s hair for the last time before turning to shuffle from the room. The smell of death was pungent now. All the doubts had been ripped away and there was no pretence remaining. Mackenzie was dead, and Nathalie was afraid of what life looked like without her.
Chapter 3
Clara had always enjoyed walking. Up until recent times she’d been a regular sea swimmer too. The invigorating sensation of the salty water had been one of her favourite things. But lately the cold had become all-encompassing and had a habit of seeping into her bones and making her feel so chilled she’d have to return to bed just to thaw out.
As she posted the letter to Nathalie, she leaned against the post box for a moment. She had no way of knowing whether or not her granddaughter would respond; all she could do was hope.
The warm May air spurred her on as she walked towards the shop that Ava now owned.
Her daughter was proud of telling customers that the shop had been running for sixty-two years and she was the third-generation owner. As Clara walked in the door, she had a clear flashback to the day her mother had started this business.
Clara was eighteen years old at the time and thought it quite normal for her mother to do such a brave and bolshie thing. Her mother had done so many incredibly courageous things that nothing had ever surprised her in the end.
Clara had kept her mother’s name above the door, and Ava had chosen to do the same. As the years rolled by, Clara became increasingly grateful for this shop, her mother’s legacy.
‘Hello, Mama,’ Ava said, rushing to hug her. ‘What brings you here so early?’
‘I was out walking and I have news,’ she said gingerly.
‘Riight …’ Ava glanced over her shoulder as she put a dress on to a satin padded hanger.
‘Ooh, that’s a beauty,’ Clara gasped, stepping over to stroke the dark green silk evening gown. ‘It reminds me of my g
raduation gown. The one that set Mama on the path to opening this place.’
‘Yes, I know,’ Ava grinned. ‘I got the inspiration from the photo of you and Dad taken on that night.’
‘Mama made me a matching coat. It was the same shade of deep olive green but made from the most exquisite silk velvet I’d ever seen. She hand-stitched tiny seed pearls and sequins down the front panels and attached miniature hooks and eyes so it looked as if it were being held shut by magnets.’
‘She was so talented,’ Ava said tenderly. ‘We both get our artistic eye from her.’
‘She would be so proud of you, my dear,’ Clara said, for the umpteenth time.
‘So,’ Ava said, spinning on her kitten heel and marching to the original mahogany desk that was still in use. ‘What’s your urgent news?’
‘I’ve found Max.’
‘I beg your pardon?’ Ava spat. Her eyes narrowed as she leaned the heels of her hands on the desk. ‘Has he turned up looking for money or something? No, don’t tell me, he’s realised he has nobody to turn to so he’s here cap in hand begging forgiveness?’
‘No … nothing like that. Ava, please, lovey. I need you to try and forget the bitterness.’
‘Huh, well that’s asking way too much,’ Ava scoffed.
Clara lowered herself on to a spoon-backed chair and waited patiently for Ava to stop huffing and puffing.
‘OK, go on …’
‘I used a private investigator to trace your brother. He’s a doctor and lives in LA. He’s married and has a child … a seventeen-year-old …’
‘Oh …’
Clara winced; she could virtually see Ava’s haughtiness dissolving.
‘Is … is the child … the teenager … a boy or a … a girl?’ Ava swallowed, glassy-eyed.
‘A girl,’ Clara said quietly. Ava nodded vigorously, and tell-tale tears seeped down her cheeks.
‘I see. And she’s seventeen?’
‘Yes.’
Just as Clara was about to stand and walk to her daughter and take her in her arms, Ava held her hand up and flicked her head back. ‘I don’t want to know anything about Max or his family.’
‘But Ava—’
‘No. Mama, I’m a grown woman and I have the right to make my own decisions. If you want to play happy families with Max after twenty years of silence, that’s your lookout. But I don’t want any part in it.’
‘Ava, this isn’t a stranger we’re talking about here. It’s your brother. My son.’
‘If he valued either of us, even a teeny-tiny bit, he wouldn’t have left without so much as a backward glance. Too much water has flowed under the bridge for me, Mama. As far as I’m concerned … Max is dead.’
Clara had heard Ava say those icy words so many times before. But she’d somehow hoped that the news of her brother’s marriage and daughter might change her mind.
A gaggle of excited women arrived in the door of the shop, forcing Clara to move. Ava welcomed them and said she had the bridesmaids’ dresses ready for them to try on. Clara smiled to let her know she would man the desk as she led the ladies upstairs.
When Clara and her mother had first opened the shop, they’d only managed to rent a fraction of the space Ava now occupied. The back was a dedicated sewing room where everything from pattern cutting to embellishments was done. Back in the day, the shop part housed two rails and an old-fashioned mannequin.
Clara smiled as she stood at the familiar wooden desk and looked at the refurbished and beautifully lit show rooms that Ava had made her own. Her mama would be thrilled to see just how far they’d come. Clara was certain that her mother had never fully grasped how incredibly ahead of her time she’d been.
The bell above the shop door pinged as Ruth, Ava’s assistant, bustled in.
‘Oh Clara, thank goodness you’re here,’ she said, attempting to catch her breath. ‘I missed my bus and ended up half running, half walking the entire way.’
‘Once you recover, you’ll feel all the better for it,’ Clara said calmly. ‘Nothing like a bit of invigorating exercise to kick-start the day. Now you need a nice cup of coffee and you won’t know yourself.’
‘Is Ava upstairs with the Parker wedding party?’
‘A group of women with hair and skin scarily like a family of orang-utans?’ Clara raised an eyebrow.
‘Yup, that’s them,’ Ruth grinned.
‘Then yes. She’s doing their final fitting.’
Clara waited for Ruth to settle before making her way back out of the shop.
‘Tell Ava she knows where to find me, should she want to continue our little chat.’
‘OK,’ said Ruth.
Clara grinned as she wandered back down Lochlann main street towards her house. She knew Ruth would be busting a gut to find out what they were discussing. She was a curious sort, which Ava found infuriating at times.
‘She’s interested, that’s all,’ Clara defended her.
‘A nosy little bee, more like it,’ Ava huffed. ‘She gets full details for people’s entire weddings. Right down to the price of the bridesmaids’ underwear. I don’t need to know the ins and outs of people’s bank accounts.’
Ruth was a precise seamstress, however, and Ava knew she wouldn’t find her attention to detail elsewhere.
‘Nobody’s perfect, Ava,’ Clara said. ‘We all have our little quirks. The trick is to find someone who finds them endearing rather than exasperating. That’s when you know you’ve found your soulmate.’
Clara inhaled the sea air and tried to envisage it cleansing her body and mind. She loved living here in Lochlann and was proud to call it her home since moving here from Austria.
She’d learned to dismiss unimportant things, or as Ava said, to not sweat the small stuff. In fact, she’d lived by that mantra for a long time now. But she wasn’t getting any younger and she wanted to have one last-ditch effort at getting her little family back together. She knew it was a long shot, but she didn’t want to find herself on her deathbed harbouring major regrets. Turning thirty hadn’t bothered her, she’d embraced forty, fifty felt grown-up yet still young, sixty was a sort of proud milestone, seventy was pushing it a bit. But when she’d turned eighty, last month, an odd urgency had engulfed her. She’d had a sudden compulsion to straighten out her affairs. She only hoped she could do it before it was too late.
Ava barely noticed the morning passing. By the time she’d finished fitting the six hyperactive bridesmaids for the Parker wedding, there were two customers waiting to see her on the shop floor.
Neither wanted to deal with anyone else and both were regulars.
Ruth was busy with a ballgown with brain-numbingly intricate detailing on the never-ending yards of hemline, so Ava dealt with her customers alone.
At times like this, she wished Clara were still here. She’d have taken one of the ladies and made her feel as if she were royalty. The first customer was easy enough to organise. She wanted a repeat of a previous dress in a different colour. Then came Mrs Regan. Clara used to be brilliant at handling that woman, Ava mused. She certainly wouldn’t have allowed her to order a bright green fishtail-styled evening dress.
Ava knew she was hardly backwards at coming forwards when it came to giving her opinion, but Mrs Regan’s mouth was almost as big as her bank balance, and she hadn’t the wherewithal to argue just now. She could almost hear her mother in her mind …
‘Tell her she’ll look like a great big snot. She hasn’t the belly, bosom or bottom to appear in that design. She looks in the mirror and sees the Little Mermaid; the rest of us see a grassy knoll …’
Ava sniggered. Clara never meant to be cutting. Perhaps it was the language barrier, but she had a habit of saying it as it was. Often times, people were shocked and thought she was being offensive. But that couldn’t have been further from the truth. Clara was simply honest, and her intention would always be to make a dress that suited her client and made the most of her figure.
‘Are you all right there, Ava?’ M
rs Regan asked.
‘Yes thank you. I was just thinking about my mother. She says the funniest things, you know!’
‘Ah, your mother is a character for certain. When I met her at first I wasn’t quite sure what way to take her. She has an unusual way of expressing herself at times. I always put it down to the fact that she’s foreign.’ Mrs Regan sniffed as she said the last word, as if being from overseas were akin to having leprosy. ‘But I soon realised she is always right. She has an impeccable eye and I’ve never left this shop with a dress that doesn’t do me justice.’
Ava took a deep breath. ‘No, you haven’t, Mrs Regan,’ she said. ‘Which is why I feel I must try and dissuade you from the green you’ve just ordered.’
She deftly showed the woman a different design, saying it was the next big thing in gowns. Mercifully Mrs Regan went for it and Ava made the necessary adjustments to her order book.
‘See you next week, Mrs Regan,’ she said in a saccharine-sweet voice, then, grabbing her coat, she took the cash from the safe and let Ruth know she was off to the bank.
Once she’d lodged the takings from the last couple of days, Ava made her way to the park. It was the pride of Lochlann town and many of the residents took turns weeding, adding to the flower beds and ensuring the benches were freshly painted. Clara had brought Ava and Max here as children. They’d thought it was the size of a racetrack as they’d navigated the bends and booted up the straights on their scooters.
So Max was alive and well. Ava had guessed he might be. For months after he left, she’d lain awake at night and worried about where he’d ended up. As time marched on, her tears dried and anger and bitterness hardened her heart towards him. Hearing this news about him was like rekindling a fireball of rage. How could he have stayed away so long? How could he have denied his wife and child the chance to get to know his family? Hadn’t he thought of burying the hatchet over the years? For crying out loud, she was an auntie and sister-in-law and had unwittingly shirked both responsibilities over the years.
The Secrets We Share Page 3
