‘Why not use your talent on canvas where it can be displayed in galleries?’
‘Because it’s not living… It’s not personal enough. My tattoos will stay with someone for their entire life.’
She relaxed onto the bench again, shoulders slumped as if the trees had bent over to rest their boughs on them.
‘Everything okay?’ I asked and put down my pad. She didn’t reply. I tilted my head and examined her skin – the age spots and nose to mouth lines, the mole in the middle of her left cheek. ‘If you’re not in a hurry could I sketch you?’ I said. ‘I haven’t done a portrait for months. It won’t take long.’
‘Me?’
‘Why not?’
I’d been longing to sketch Ben’s face for a while now. Those freckles and soft lips, the way his mouth looked crooked when he felt shy, the eyes that crinkled in the corners if he was making a joke. But for some reason, asking him, it would feel so intimate.
I faced her and started with the eyes that were slightly hooded with folds at the corner and heavily shaded underneath. The nose had a slight curve half-way down and small nostrils. I studied her straight teeth sitting like rows of matching chair backs. My fingers ached as I finished drawing the curls in her hair. Finally, I flexed my hand and showed her the drawing.
‘Good lord. I’m the spit of my mum, that’s her nose exactly – although she always appeared happy with her lot. I look a right misery guts.’
‘That’s not what I see. To me the drawing portrays a strong-featured person who’s got through tough times.’
Her face brightened.
‘That’s the exciting thing about art, everyone’s got their own interpretation.’
‘Fred used to say that about his writing.’ She threw down the leaf. ‘I wish I didn’t still think about him. The other day… what I said about the haunting being so much worse than I first thought… I feel you should know what I wanted to tell you then… Fred… he was laughing behind my back about being frightened.’
‘What? So he wasn’t really scared? Not even about the teddy bear covered in blood?’
‘It wasn’t real, Lizzie. He made it all up.’ Eyes glistening she went on to explain.
Frederick’s paranoia had been an act. He’d used Trish as inspiration for the main character of his new book who falsely believed she shared her house with a ghost. Fred had got up early and walked through the house in wet shoes. He’d screamed to wake her up and swore the noise came from the stream and Fred bought an old teddy bear from a charity shop. Plus he’d talked incessantly about the area’s witchcraft history and his supposed fears, to build up a picture of an author who believed in what they wrote about.
‘What a bastard. How did you find out about his lies?’
‘I became suspicious. That blood-covered teddy bear was like a prop out of a horror film. He’s an egotist so I flattered him, said I understood if he’d made it all up; told him he’d been so clever to pull it off. Fred couldn’t help bragging. He said his new novel was going to make waves in the literary world and was glad I realised, for that any sacrifice was necessary.
‘I was emotionally vulnerable at the time. That’s the worst thing. I think Fred realised I would be susceptible to his deceit. I was the perfect victim and he was desperate for inspiration. His publisher was losing patience because the delivery deadline had already passed.’ Trish wiped her eyes. ‘He said he was truly fond of me but he didn’t even stop when he knew the doctor had put me on tablets. He was that obsessed about having another bestselling book…’ She sat up straight. ‘I think he honestly thought I’d be honoured that he chose me to help with his research. You see his new novel is a gaslighting story about a cheating husband. He tries to convince his wife she was mad and needs to be sectioned as she’s refusing to divorce him. Fred wrote it so that the reader wouldn’t know whether the witch was real or not, until right at the end.’ Her cheeks flushed. ‘The perfect twist from a twisted mind.’
‘Did you report him to the police?’
‘No. He couldn’t understand my angry reaction, said I took it too seriously and that it would be his word against mine. He called things off between us and said people would just think I still loved him and wanted revenge…’
Out of nowhere a Labrador bounded up. Trish jumped up to avoid its wet tongue. The owner followed in its tracks full of apologies but emboldened by living with Taz, I bent over to pet the dog. When I stood up, Trish had gone.
I made my way back to the cottage. When I got there, Ben was chatting to Jill whilst she dug in the front garden. He waved and walked onto the pavement, coming my way. At that moment a car drew up – red and sporty-looking.
I gasped as the driver got out of his car.
‘Ash? What are you doing here?’
25
8 years ago
Sanskrit is an ancient Indian language and popular in the tattooing world
I hugged Amelia and Phoebe. ‘Okay. I’ll ask Mum and Dad tonight.’
‘I’m so excited,’ said Phoebe and pulled down her bobble hat. ‘Thinking about this is going to get me through next year’s exams.’
‘And hopefully divert your thoughts from your decidedly uncool crush,’ said Amelia and pulled a face.
‘It’s those hands and the way Mr Hargreaves holds the baton – imagine how he’d conduct himself in bed.’
I forced a laugh, relieved to see Mum’s white Range Rover pull up. I sensed this was going to lead into one of those conversations to which I’d have nothing to contribute. Phoebe lost her virginity last year, on her sixteenth birthday, under a tree. It sounded so romantic – she said it wasn’t. Amelia hadn’t slept with Callum yet but they’d done lots of stuff I didn’t know about. I’d had to Google words she and Phoebe had mentioned over the year so as not to appear too dumb.
‘How was orchestra practice?’ said Mum as I got in. She turned on the windscreen wipers as sleet began to fall.
‘We’ve started a new piece.’
‘Great, let me take a look when we get home.’ She pulled up at traffic lights. ‘Did you get your marks back for that maths homework we worked late on, last week?’
‘Eighty-one per cent.’
‘Fantastic, well done, darling.’
My chest glowed.
‘Grandpa and Grandma will be so proud. We’ll Skype them this weekend.’
Mum missed them since they’d moved to France.
The lights turned green. ‘How about a slice of the carrot cake I made when we get back? Dad’s finishing work early and seeing as it’s Friday we could watch a movie.’
I looked at my phone and my classmates’ chat about their Friday night. Those who’d already turned eighteen this term, like me, were off out clubbing with colleagues from their Saturday jobs or younger school friends willing to risk using forged ID. I’d been invited to a party but it was easier to say no. It was worse being the only one to have to leave early than not going at all. And I felt guilty if I turned down my parents’ suggestions of spending time together. They’d already started saying how empty the house was going to feel when I went to university.
The car stopped outside our house and I walked past the Roman pillars. Mum let me in. I took off my shoes, hung up my coat, glad that the timed central heating was on. I went up two flights of stairs to my bedroom and changed into comfortable jogging trousers. A deep voice sounded in the distance. I looked in the mirror and crossed my fingers. When I got downstairs three slices of carrot cake were waiting. As I sipped my decaffeinated coffee my stomach knotted.
‘How was your day, Dad?’
‘Not bad, Peter was retiring so we went out for an Italian at lunchtime.’ He smiled at Mum. ‘Remember that weekend in Rome we took, to celebrate you saying yes after I finally managed to get you on a lunch date so that I could propose? I’ll have to take you and Elizabeth to this place. The tortellini was just as good.’
‘I’m really lucky with all the holidays we’ve been on,’ I said. ‘None of my frien
ds have seen so much of Europe and that’s one reason why Phoebe and Amelia are going inter-railing around Europe next summer before we go to university. They’ve asked me along. We’ve done the research, I’ve drawn up a list of how much the tickets will cost and—’
‘I’m sorry, love,’ said Dad and he looked at Mum. ‘It’s out of the question. You are far too young.’
‘Dad, I can get married now if I like. Soldiers travel the world from the age of sixteen. And you and mum have taken all sorts of trips in the past – trekking through the rainforest in Peru… didn’t you even hitch-hike around the States one summer, when you first got together?’
Mum looked at Dad. ‘That was a long time ago. Times change. Age brings you a wisdom you don’t have when you’re younger. The answer’s no, Elizabeth. How many times do we hear on the news about a young English woman getting murdered abroad, whilst travelling? It’s not worth the risk.’
I wished I could just stand up to my parents and say I was going inter-railing whatever they thought but I’d never done anything without their support. What if I messed up? I’d just turned eighteen but had never smoked, nor had sex. I’d never even walked alone in the dark.
Mum and Dad were only looking out for me.
26
Now
Ivy is an evergreen plant that continues to grow in the toughest environments
‘Lizzie, it’s been a while,’ said Ash and he gave me a warm smile.
I studied the fitted shirt, the crisply ironed jeans. We were both a world away from the people we’d been in the first year, that very first term, when we met.
‘How…? But why…?’
Ben’s voice interrupted. He looked awkwardly between me and Ash.
‘Hi, Lizzie. I won’t keep you. About tomorrow afternoon’s book signing – how about I drive you there? I could pick you up straight after my round. We could grab lunch out beforehand.’
Ash smiled and held out his hand. ‘Ash Kharal. Pleased to meet you.’
Ben hesitated before returning the gesture.
‘Do you want me to give you a lift anywhere, Lizzie?’ asked Ash. ‘I’m happy to help. I thought we could spend a couple of days together.’ His phone bleeped and he took it out of his pocket.
I still couldn’t find any words. What was Ash doing in Leafton? Ben filled the silence after glancing at the car.
‘No problem if you’ve made other arrangements, I didn’t know you had a visitor,’ he said. ‘Nice to meet you Ash. Right, I’d better get back – weeding calls.’
‘No, Ben, it’s not…’
But he’d gone. Ash swiped a message off the front of his phone and put it back into his pocket. He looked up at me.
‘Aren’t you going to invite me in?’ His eyes twinkled.
I’d forgotten how they did that.
He followed me indoors and into the lounge. We sat on the sofa. The bottom of my denim shorts was frayed and they revealed the green climbing ivy tattoo I’d had done after Ash and I split. It crept from my knee to the top of my thigh.
‘Nice,’ he said, looking at it. ‘Love that shade of green.’
‘Thanks.’ I met his gaze. ‘Ash, what are you doing here? You couldn’t even ring first?’
‘I- I called by the tattoo studio. I wanted to tell you something but then Katya explained about you taking unpaid leave.’ He took my hand and I remembered how soft his fingers felt. ‘I’m worried about you, Lizzie. I know we’re not together now, but all those years… they meant something. Just because we’re not a couple doesn’t mean I don’t care.’
‘I just needed a break from work.’
‘Why here?’
‘I… look, you don’t want to hear all of this Ash. We’re not together. It’s all a bit of a mess, to be honest.’
‘Lizzie, of course I’m interested. You were a big part of my life.’
My eyes tingled and I gave a small smile before it all came tumbling out. I showed him Dad’s letter. I also mentioned Frederick’s book.
A couple of hours passed as we talked it all through. Like I’d done a hundred times, Ash tried fruitlessly to work out the reasons Mum and Dad had kept this place secret.
He frowned. ‘What’s that noise?’
I listened. An indignant meow.
I jumped to my feet. ‘Oh, poor Taz, I completely forgot about him.’ Ash followed me as I hurried into the kitchen. He stared as I emptied the litter tray, as I hugged Taz and poured biscuits into his bowl.
‘Wow, Lizzie, you owning a cat?’
I couldn’t help laughing. ‘I don’t own him. It’s a long story. But yes, guess I’ve really overcome my fear of germs.’
I made us both juice and sandwiches whilst Ash played with Taz. During the first years of our relationship I’d often pictured us older, in a house a bit like this, with a family.
‘So your parents had three properties, along with their home in Devon?’ he said, in between mouthfuls. ‘That was quite a portfolio.’
I shuffled in my chair.
‘Lizzie, no, I wasn’t making a point. Sorry, that was tactless. I completely understand, now, why you didn’t want to touch your parents’ money when we were together. It was wrong of me to ask.’
I put down my glass. ‘It wasn’t, Ash. I’ve had time to think too.’
His cheeks coloured up.
Taz jumped onto Ash’s lap again and he picked up the stick with a feather on it. I stood up to make us coffee, my mind drifting back to the moment Ash found out I had thousands of pounds in the bank, as I filled the kettle…
‘How much?’ Ash had said nine months ago. ‘Is this a joke?’ We’d been picnicking in the most scenic local park, even though the autumn blew cold. I thought it might be romantic, us huddled up together under a rug – I’d try anything to cheer up our flagging relationship. We couldn’t afford to do anything expensive at weekends. My earnings paid most of the bills and anything spare was siphoned off into a meagre savings account for our future. Ash earned the minimum wage as a barista and contributed what he could, frustrated that interviews in art therapy had been thin on the ground. He had plans, big plans for the future and was raring to go.
‘It’s the final total after cashing in my parents’ financial policies and selling their home in Devon and the investment properties in Spain and Bournemouth. A large part of the estate also went to charity. They’d bought wisely.’
Ash had put down his sandwich and sat up. ‘I didn’t know they had a property portfolio, let alone had left anything worth that much to you. Why didn’t you tell me before?’
‘It didn’t seem important. I don’t consider it mine. Mum and Dad didn’t want contact and I’m sure they wouldn’t have wanted me to have their money. I’ve no doubt, at some point they would have changed their will so that it was all left to Aunt Fiona or good causes.’
‘But that’s mad. We’ve been under so much stress. Just a bit of that would really take the pressure off and give us a good start, helping us buy a home and move on with our lives.’ He’d spoken with such excited tones.
‘I’m not touching a single penny. I just can’t.’
‘See it as a loan,’ Ash had implored. ‘We’ll pay it back. Lizzie, you can’t be serious about us staying in that crappy little flat now.’
‘Leave it,’ I’d snapped. ‘It’s my decision not yours.’
He’d packed up the picnic and virtually pulled the rug away from my legs. ‘Remember when my great-uncle’s money paid for the insurance on your first car? Okay, so it was a small amount but I thought we were a team, Lizzie. We share. This is the break we’ve been waiting for. You deserve it after everything your parents have put you through. I can’t remember the last time either of us had dinner out or bought a new pair of shoes.’ He shook his head. ‘You know it’s not about the money per se – I love the bones of you whatever your bank account says, but with an amount that big, we can fulfil all our dreams.’
Could we? Increasingly I’d felt my heart wasn’t in his p
lans for fancy cars and mansions. I’d longed for a simpler life, after growing up with my high-falutin’ parents, whereas Ash had plans for a luxury life – not at the expense of a personal one, or a fulfilling job, helping others, but working hard and reaping the benefits inspired him.
‘Ash, I’d do anything to take the strain away – to help you get the job I know you’d love, but can’t you understand? I’ve forged my way in life with no help from my parents. They always said tattooing would never earn me enough money for a decent life. I was adamant that they were wrong and prejudiced. If I use their money to get the life I want, it’s as if they’ve been right all along and me standing up for myself was all for nothing.’ I’d squeezed his arm. ‘We don’t need their help. We can do this, Ash.’
But the argument had continued all afternoon. The next day we hardly talked and he’d gone to his parents for dinner. As time passed, and he hated his barista job more, resentments on both sides meant the sex and then communication completely stopped.
But then three months later, he’d asked me to marry him…
‘He’s a feisty little chap,’ said Ash, bringing me back to the present. Taz had jumped onto the floor and was playing with Ash’s shoelaces.
I sat down opposite him. ‘It must have hurt you, me not wanting to use Mum and Dad’s money. I’m so sorry. Please forgive me.’
We stared at each other and his brow relaxed. ‘There’s nothing to forgive, Lizzie.’
‘But I should have supported you in the way you’d always supported me.’
‘It’s okay. Honestly. Recent months have given me perspective too. Grief skews logic, it was a tumultuous time for you.’
‘But what I said… when you proposed… it was cruel… I hope you know I didn’t mean it.’
‘About me only being after you for your money?’ He sucked in his cheeks. ‘I can’t lie, I felt blindsided, but time helped me see that wasn’t really you talking.’
‘It was a self-defensive mechanism, my way of rejecting the proposal and keeping myself safe, because you asking for my hand in marriage made me realise until I understood my parents’ rejection, I’d never be able to settle down. The three of us had been so close yet they’d broken all contact and, illogically I feared being married and then being cut off by a husband and having to go through that sense of loss again.’
Summer Secrets at Streamside Cottage Page 16
