But you can’t plead with Legion.
The box was pushed off the top of the wardrobe, only narrowly missing me; the lid ripped off and the contents scattered. I started picking up what I could but I was pushed as I was pushed on my first day here, as Mum was pushed, straight into the wall whilst every sheet was torn into a thousand tiny pieces before my eyes, a flurry of white, the only snowstorm I’d ever seen, and covering the carpet beneath me.
A scream sounded – far away but close – as though it had travelled down a long, long tunnel, and it was filled with agony. I closed my eyes, knew what it meant.
The one that guided my hand hadn’t been quick enough.
* * *
I tried to clean the mess as best I could but I didn’t make a very good job of it. Tiny pieces of paper clung to the pile of the carpet, refusing to give, determined to serve as a reminder. If Mum came in and saw them, I’d have to make up some tale about what had happened, say it was me who tore it all up and take the blame. Whatever I came up with, it was the least of my problems. My problem was simply trying to survive, and not only that but to ensure my family survived alongside me.
Aunt Julia arrived a few days later. I wondered if visiting Blakemort meant she was in danger too, but I could hardly throw a tantrum and insist she stay away. I’d grown out of tantrums, or at least I was trying to. Besides which, I craved the comfort of her company. Only coming into contact with the house periodically, she seemed the antithesis of us – life infused her, whereas ours was being drained day by day.
Mum was the one who opened the door to her this time and she literally fell into her arms, relief evident in her as well.
“Oh, Julia, I’m so glad you’re here, that someone’s here.”
She said it as if we weren’t – her own children, her flesh and blood.
Aunt Julia’s face was pinched with fury. “He’s a selfish bastard. Fancy getting married at Christmas.”
“It’s what she wanted apparently,” Mum replied, her voice low too. “What she’d always dreamt of, a Christmas wedding.”
“I don’t care. He’s got kids. It’s just… selfish,” she repeated.
Mum looked over her shoulder at us. “We’d better not do this now.”
She’d remembered us after all.
After we’d said hello too, we went through to the kitchen. Mum said she had wine on the go, and offered Aunt Julia a glass, which she accepted. Ethan hung around begrudgingly. He’d heard the initial conversation between them and looked sullen about it. In a way I didn’t blame him. A Christmas Day wedding seemed romantic to me too. I even thought I might like to do the same when I was grown up. I had visions of travelling to the church in a horse-drawn carriage through a winter white landscape, my dress a perfect meringue, my hair a mass of ringlets – a Barbie hangover if ever there was one. Even so, I could see how upset Mum was. She’d hardly eaten a thing since finding out and the weight was dropping off her. Her arms and legs were also red and sore; the rash similar to the one Ethan had developed a couple of years back. She kept scratching at her skin, making it bleed.
The fit that I’d had preoccupied Mum for a few days but then I heard her on the phone to Dad. She was having it out with him for introducing Carrie to Ethan without her consent.
“An accident?” she was saying. “A bloody convenient accident. Yes, I know they’re going to have to meet her, especially now you’re getting married.” A pause. “Christmas Day… no, it’s not just another day, Paul, it’s… it’s far from another day. I want them back in the evening. Are you going to drop them home? I don’t see why I should have to pick them up. I’ve got Julia here, we’ll be trying to enjoy ourselves.”
All her words were either laced with sarcasm or sadness.
As Christmas was coming round fast, it was deemed that I meet Carrie too, spend a day with her and Dad. Ethan came along, desperate to be out of the house I think, away from Mum and Aunt Julia taking it in turns to get riled up about the forthcoming event. Dad picked us up – without Carrie – and then we met her in a restaurant in Brighton. I didn’t know what I’d been expecting, from the way Ethan had spoken of her, someone young and glamorous, exotic even but she was fairly ordinary, of average height, with hair that was neither blonde nor brown but somewhere in-between and blue eyes. If anything, Mum was far more exotic, much prettier, or at least she had been up until recently, but now she was so thin, so pale, she looked like a ghost herself; this realisation startled me. I had to swallow hard, remind myself I was away from the house and to make the most of it, and that I was meeting my Dad’s new girlfriend, his soon-to-be wife, ‘our new step-mother’ as Ethan had whispered to me one night, although that was something I’d resolved never to call her. She held out her hand and I took it, surprised by her firm grasp. It reminded me of how Mum’s used to be: confident. Such a contrast to how it was now. Despite my misgivings, lunch was enjoyable – we had calamari to start with, a favourite of mine and Ethan’s, margarita pizza, and a huge slab of chocolate cake. We then went for a wander in Brighton’s Lanes, a network of tiny cobbled streets, home predominantly to antique shops, before tucking into an ice-cream sundae on the pier. Dad seemed relaxed, happy, and so did Carrie. They were discreet in front of us but occasionally I spied their hands brushing together, their fingers clasping.
By the time we were delivered home, I was going into a sugar-induced coma. I slept most of the way, waking as Dad’s tires hit the gravel drive of home. That word – home – it conjures up such comforts, especially at Christmas. It makes you think of roaring log fires, ones without screaming faces appearing in them, of the smell of baking, cinnamon, and allspice, not the stench of something rotten, of mould that can’t be eradicated. It’s a sanctuary, a haven from the rest of the world, not a snare, a trap, waiting to add you to its already extensive collection.
We got out of the car and Dad kissed Ethan goodbye and told him to run along. He put a hand on my arm, indicating for me to hang back. I looked up at him, at my Dad, the man who’d left us for another woman, who was moving on and leaving us behind. Sadness overwhelmed me and it hurt, it actually hurt.
I suppose it doesn’t take a psychic to be able to sense emotion.
“I’ll always love you, you know,” Dad whispered, his hand remaining where it was. “Carrie… she’ll be an addition to our family not a replacement. Someone you can grow to love and who will grow to love you. She’s really very nice you know.”
I did know. I’d just spent the day with her, but even so, she wasn’t Mum.
“She won’t drive a wedge between us.” Dad continued. “Now that you’ve met her, that Mum’s okay with that, it’ll be different. We’ll all get along.”
Mum okay with us meeting Carrie? Hardly. She simply had no choice in the matter.
“Corinna?”
I kicked at a few bits of gravel. “I suppose,” was all the reply I could muster.
“You do like her don’t you?”
“Uh-huh.”
He looked towards the house. “Do you like living here?”
That was a change of direction. He’d never asked me that question before. What could I say? How could I answer? What if the house was listening?
“It’s all right.” Still I was mumbling.
“Ethan seems to like it but it’s a colossal old place isn’t it, and I know your mum has trouble with the heating.”
She did, amongst other things.
“What if… what if I helped Mum out a bit and got you a place closer to Lewes, to me and Carrie?”
That got my attention. “We could move?”
Dad held up his hands but he was smiling, glad to have fired a spark of excitement in me. “Obviously I’ll have to speak to Mum, but we could work something out, I’m sure. Work’s okay for me at the moment, although I know Mum’s struggling a bit. If I can make things easier, it’d be good. And you’re my kids. I want you closer. Lewes is nice and you go to school there anyway, it’d be handy in many ways.”
“Oh, Dad, that’d be great, really great. Do you promise?”
“I promise, but don’t tell Mum, not just yet, let me broach the subject.”
He was laughing heartily now, whilst wrapping his arms around me. I think it was the first proper hug we’d had in a long time.
Eventually I extracted myself from him and stared defiantly at the house. Yes, we’re going to leave you. We’re getting out. Dad looked too and as we did I noticed movement at one of the upstairs windows, not Mum’s bedroom, that didn’t overlook the front; it was in one of the spare rooms. Was that Mum? It looked like it, even though, in the darkness, everything about her was dark too, no red glint of hair, instead she was monochrome. It was Mum! I was certain of it. What was she doing, spying on us? I shrugged. I suppose it didn’t matter, we had great news, and hopefully Dad would share it with her soon. I thought of lifting my hand to wave, started to but then I stopped. There was someone else in the room, standing right behind her. Aunt Julia? No, this woman didn’t have sleek hair; she had short hair, shaggy like a dog’s. There was no one in the house with short, shaggy hair, unless we had a visitor? As my hand reached out to hold Dad’s, to find comfort in him beside me, I realised that of course we had a visitor, but not one that was living. No living visitor would be doing what she was doing: standing so close behind Mum with her hands both sides of her face and screaming.
Blakemort Chapter Nineteen
Christmas Day arrived – the day of the wedding. Usually such buzz and excitement accompanies a wedding, as it’s a celebration of love with two people committing to each other for the rest of their lives. Or at least they say ‘I do’ with that intention on the day. Of course there was no such buzz in our house – far from it. Ethan was the only one even remotely excited, as he jumped from bed early that morning and pulled me from mine, dragging me downstairs to open our presents. I always expected to see our gifts violated on Christmas morning, packages ripped into, their contents mutilated, but as I’ve said before, the spirits weren’t that obvious.
There weren’t as many presents as in previous years. Mum had warned us there wouldn’t be. “You’re getting bigger now, both of you, and what you want tends to cost more. Besides, you know money’s tight, we’ll just have to make do.”
Aunt Julia had actually bought the bulk of presents, and I noticed there were several more for Ethan than there were for me. I glanced at Ethan who was looking greedily at his stash. Was it because Aunt Julia was still afraid he’d tell Mum what happened in the cemetery that day? He wasn’t her favourite; I knew that, even though she’d never actually voiced those words. I was. So why was she spoiling him? I didn’t know what the term was at the time but I do now – emotional blackmail. Is that what he was guilty of? Even now, I don’t know if that’s the case but I suspect it was. Ethan can be very manipulative when he wants to be.
The fact that Ethan’s pile of presents was bigger than mine, was another reason for discord. I couldn’t help but feel resentment.
Ethan strode over to the Christmas tree, its branches already brittle. He sank onto his knees, selected a present, and started to open it.
“Don’t,” I said. “Wait for Mum and Aunt Julia.”
He shook his head. “It’s not my fault if they’re still asleep.”
“Ethan,” I continued to insist. “Mum will be cross.”
“So? Mum’s always cross.”
“That’s not fair, she’s… just sad at the moment.”
“She’s always cross, she’s always sad and she’s always stupid, just like you.”
“Shut up! She’s not.”
“Yes, she is and when Dad marries Carrie I’m going to live with them, get away from you both.”
“Ethan!” I couldn’t believe he’d be so mean.
His eyes on what he’d unwrapped, he whooped in delight. “Yeah! It’s that new game I wanted – Titan Run.”
“You can’t leave us,” I said, not caring about yet another new game. “We’re a family.”
“We’re part of Dad’s family too.”
“But Mum’s not well, can’t you see that? Don’t you care?”
He looked at me then and I swear it wasn’t his eyes looking back at me. There was a look in them I’d never seen before and that made me recoil as it had such hatred in it, such loathing. “No, I don’t, not anymore.”
I stood there, stunned, knowing more than ever that we had to get away – the three of us, together. This house… it was infecting him.
There was movement behind me, a sleepy-looking Mum and Aunt Julia entered the drawing room.
“I went to your rooms to wake you,” Mum said, it was something she always did. “Why’d you come down first, why didn’t you wake me?” Glancing at Ethan, noting the open package, she sighed. “Oh, Ethan, why did you do that? You shouldn’t start without us.” She asked the questions but not once did she wait or even seem to expect an answer, instead she went over to the sofa, sat on it, and stared blankly ahead. Aunt Julia offered to make hot chocolate for everyone but our lack of enthusiasm meant she didn’t bother. She came and sat too.
“I suppose we’d better hurry,” said Mum, her voice as detached as her gaze. “Dad’s picking you up at eleven and you’ve got to get showered and dressed.”
I opened what presents I had, taking it in turns with Ethan, me running out before him and Mum and Aunt Julia looking embarrassed about it. But by then I’d ceased caring. After we’d opened our presents, it was the turn of Mum and Aunt Julia. Dad had taken us shopping for Mum’s presents and we’d bought her posh bubble bath, matching shower gel and perfume, which she smiled at but then put aside, seeming to forget about them. Aunt Julia, as well as spoiling Ethan, had spoilt Mum, with lots of expensive make-up, hair products, and a silk top in a gorgeous shade of emerald – a colour Mum used to wear a lot when she was married to Dad. Again Mum thanked her but her lacklustre manner matched mine entirely. Only Ethan loved what he got but I couldn’t be glad about that, not when it was ill gained.
We had a light breakfast, no one was particularly hungry, and then we traipsed upstairs to get washed and dressed. Aunt Julia helped me to get ready, plaiting my hair into two neat braids, adjusting the sash to my fancy new dress, and making sure my shoes were pristine. Dad wasn’t having a big wedding in a church or anything, Carrie had opted for a humanist ceremony, which sounded odd to me: I didn’t know what on earth a humanist was back then. Held in the grounds of her parents’ house, they’d invited very few people besides us, but Dad had helped us choose new outfits, and bought them as well, wanting us to do him proud.
It was ten past eleven when we heard knocking on the door.
Mum went to answer it. “You’re late,” she began but stopped when she saw Dad’s face.
“Late? Late? I’m hardly going to be late picking up my children on the day of my wedding am I? I’ve been out there for an age banging on this bloody door!”
“Rubbish,” Mum retaliated. “We’d have heard you if you had.”
“Don’t tell me it’s rubbish, I’ve been banging, shouting, the lot. God help me, I was about to kick the damn door down! What’s wrong with you? I know I got here early, but I thought you’d have them waiting by eleven at least.”
“Waiting? Like good little children you mean, to be trooped off to see their daddy marry another woman? Oh, excuse me for not pandering to your every whim.”
“It’s hardly pandering—”
“Yes it is. It’s exactly that. You want everyone to pander to you. It’s pathetic. You’re pathetic. Poor Carrie, I pity her, I really do. What she’s letting herself in for!”
“Let’s not do this now—”
Still Mum wouldn’t let him speak.
“Because I refused to pander to you, you went and got someone who did, didn’t you? A doll, that’s all you want, someone to fetch and carry for you, to be at your beck and call. I wish I could warn her. I should have thought of warning her before. I can’t think why I didn’t. And kids, do you plan on having more kids? Forgetting about the ones you’ve already got, replacing them like you replaced me.”
“Helena!” It wasn’t Dad who’d shouted at her; he seemed shocked by her outburst, dumbstruck. It was Aunt Julia, stepping forward and tugging on Mum’s arm. “Stop. You have to stop.” With her head she motioned back at us.
As though fury had released its stronghold, Mum came to. She turned to glance our way and then looked at Dad. She was so pale, so small, so bewildered. Borrowing a leaf out of my book, she burst into tears.
“I’m sorry,” she said, “so sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”
I thought Dad was going to continue shouting but he didn’t. Aunt Julia still had hold of Mum’s arm and Dad reached out too.
“Look, I’m sorry, okay, for everything. I wish…” he stopped what he was saying and shook his head. “There’s no point in wishing, what’s done is done. I can’t turn back the clock. I can’t change what happened. But I want you to know that I am sorry, truly sorry. I’ve got regrets, plenty of them. As for kids, I’ve already explained this to Corinna and to Ethan too, I’ve no intention of replacing anyone.”
Except Mum, as she’d pointed out. He’d already done that.
Dad looked at his watch. “I’m going to be late…”
“Kids, come on,” it was Aunt Julia, herding us along.
Psychic Surveys Companion Novels Page 11
