by K. L. Slater
The frown lines broke up when she smiled.
‘And like when Daddy bought my trampoline and set it up in the garden for when I came home from school? That was a good surprise, too.’
‘That’s right.’ I nodded, eager to move on from the mention of her father. ‘But sometimes life throws us a surprise we’re not quite ready for.’
‘Like having to change schools?’
I pulled her close and kissed the top of her head. She was as bright as a button. ‘There are times we really don’t want to do something and then find out it’s the best thing that happened to us.’ She looked up at me doubtfully as I continued. ‘Sometimes, we have to be brave enough to give life’s surprises a chance. Like moving to Adder House, like starting a new school. Do you think you can be brave, Skye?’
She nodded and blinked her watery eyes. I’d fallen short in my explanation, but it was the best I could do.
Sometimes, life was just so damn hard.
Even after our chat, Skye had a bad night. We both did.
After her waking for a third time at 4 a.m., I didn’t go back to sleep. I drifted a little before finally getting up at six and making coffee.
Now I still feel a bit shaky.
I haven’t seen Skye upset like this since those first awful weeks after Lewis died.
Last night took me by surprise when her night terrors returned. To witness her sitting bolt upright and calling out with those wide, sightless eyes . . . I thought we’d seen the last of it after her therapy.
I open the window a touch. I can hear a blackbird singing even though I can’t see him. He must be sitting in the foliage of the magnificent oak tree that stands adjacent to the main window, blessing us with his song.
If he visits us regularly, I get the feeling his singing will quickly become a joyous part of our breakfast, and goodness knows, we both deserve a little joy.
Skye looks up from the rug where she lies now, half-heartedly colouring. She tilts her head to listen to the birdsong and we smile weakly at each other.
I sip my coffee. I’ve calmed down a bit now. Yes, the Marsdens are a bit odd, but I can put up with that. Soon I’ll work out their routine and how best to avoid them.
I don’t know who sent the anonymous gift and note to Grove Primary; perhaps I’ll never know. Whoever did that was undoubtedly spiteful and mean. They’d be delighted to think they were responsible for our upset and worry.
The most powerful thing I can do for myself is not to fret endlessly who it was, but to put it out of my mind.
As I sit here, I feel much more relaxed and I know it won’t be long until it feels like home. Skye will slowly settle down.
We’ll build a routine like we had at our old house: eating breakfast together and chatting about the day ahead. Soon Skye will be telling me about her latest dream. They’re always so vivid, and sometimes the details stay with her throughout the day, particularly if she’s had a nice one.
Like the time she relayed the pure joy she’d experienced riding on a unicorn.
‘She just grew and grew, Mummy, until she was the size of a real horse and then I climbed on her back and she flew so high! Over mountains and trees and lakes . . . I saw it all!’
It was wonderful to listen and to watch her excitement; it was as if the experience really had happened.
The last few years, until taking this career break, I’d worked in a clinic within a hospital. It’s situated in a smart standalone building and it specialises in phobias. Sadly, some of the clients there experienced the power of Skye’s dreams but at the opposite end of the scale.
As the senior administrator, I had sight of client records, people whose sleep was continually and severely disrupted because of recurrent nightmares that seemed as real to them as events that happened during their daytime waking hours.
Night terrors. The thing they feared the most would crawl into their slumbers, torturing them all night long and impacting their careers, relationships, and in the worst cases, their mental health.
One woman in her early forties suffered from arachnophobia. She was constantly plagued during the day by the fear that a spider might descend from the ceiling and become entangled in her hair. But at night, her dreams were filled with spiders that poured out of the ceiling-light fitting, landing on her face and getting trapped in her hair and ears.
Through the night, it happened again and again, making sleep almost impossible. As she was employed as a private driver for a prominent politician, the cumulative sleep deficit made carrying out her job safely and efficiently pretty much impossible.
Another patient suffered from koumpounophobia; he was terrified of buttons. Funny, right? But think about it.
Buttons are everywhere, and when just setting eyes on one can put you into a state of abject panic, such a phobia can become very dangerous.
The client was a high-school teacher before his phobia became unmanageable. Surrounded by students, all wearing the standard uniform featuring buttons, it became impossible for him to function.
This is the power of our minds, our dreams. Defying logic and common sense. Our imagination has the power to control us and ultimately destroy us.
If we’re willing to let that happen.
17
Skye clambers up from the rug and ambles over to the window to look for Mr Blackbird, as she’s now named him.
‘Mummy, there’s a lady in the garden. She’s feeding the birds!’
Encouraged by the sudden interest in her voice, I cradle my coffee cup and walk over to the window. When I look down into the garden, I see there’s a diminutive older lady there who appears to be deep in thought, methodically stocking the bird tables that are dotted around the lawn from a bag full of what looks like seed.
‘Can we help her, Mummy? Please? I want to help feed the birds.’
We’re in no rush today to be anywhere. Thanks to last night’s telephone call from Kat, I’ve decided not to send Skye back to Grove Primary.
Yes, there are probably a hundred boxes still to unpack in the apartment, but I figure that feeding the birds and meeting a friendly neighbour is exactly the sort of thing that might help Skye feel a little better.
‘Come on then,’ I say, slipping on flat sandals and grabbing a cardy to drape over my thin floral dress. ‘I don’t know who the lady is, but I’m sure she won’t mind a keen little helper.’
Skye rushes to the door, pulling up her wrinkled pink leggings as she moves and shoves her feet into her My Little Pony pumps without unlacing them first. ‘Quick, Mummy, or the lady might go back inside!’
It’s refreshing to see the change in my daughter’s mood. My eyelids feel a little less heavy.
I think about brushing Skye’s hair before we go downstairs, but her urgency to get out there is infectious and, anyway, what does messy hair matter?
Five minutes later, we’re walking around the side of Adder House and into the garden. Although it’s still quite early, the sun kisses my face and warms my shoulders. I feel brighter already, and judging by Skye’s purposeful stride, she does, too.
Once we get into the open garden, the air feels a little cooler in the shade of the leafy green canopies and the shadow of Adder House itself.
‘Hello! Can I help you feed the birds?’
I feel so pleased at Skye’s forthright manner in addressing the lady. It’s not like her to turn shyly into my side as she does whenever Dr or Mrs Marsden speaks to her.
The woman turns and I see she is a good deal older than I first thought, possibly in her early eighties. She wears a gentle, soft expression that instantly puts me at ease. Her hair is silver and her eyes a very pale blue. I immediately feel myself warming to her.
‘How kind! It’s not very often I have a little helper around here; what’s your name, sweetheart?’ Her voice is strong and clear and sounds like it belongs to a much younger person.
‘My name is Skye Miller. And this is my mummy, she’s Freya. We’re new here.’
I think my heart might burst with pride. Skye’s eyes are wide with amazement as she stares at the plethora of different varieties of birds clustered on the various feeding tables dotted around the edges of the garden.
‘Well, now this is a surprise. I heard you were coming to live at Adder House, and I’ve been very much looking forward to meeting you both. I’m Lilian Brockley and I believe I’m your downstairs neighbour at number four.’
I smile and step forward, holding out a hand.
‘We’re in number six, above you. It’s very nice to meet you, Miss Brockley.’
‘My friends call me Lily.’ She shakes my hand and smiles at Skye, who is still distracted by the wildlife. ‘I get the feeling we’re going to be good friends because I can see you love birds as much as I do.’
Skye nods, her eyes darting from one bird table to the next.
‘A goldfinch, a chaffinch, and . . . ooh look over there, Mummy, it’s a collared dove!’
‘Now, that is impressive!’ Lily immediately furnishes Skye with a handful of seeds from her carrier bag. ‘If you stand on that log, you can reach to sprinkle them here, see? It’s where most of the birds land . . . that’s right, perfect! I can see you’re already a professional at this, Skye.’
Lily winks at me.
‘I’ve nearly finished now, all today’s seed is gone, but do you think you could help me tomorrow morning at the same time . . . and perhaps at the weekend, too?’
‘Oh yes,’ Skye says. ‘I can help every single day, Lily.’
‘And what partners we will be!’ The old lady turns to me. ‘Now that we’re properly introduced, I’d like to invite you both this afternoon for tea and cake at three, if you’re free?’
‘We are free, aren’t we, Mummy?’ Skye jumps in.
I smile. ‘Thank you, Miss Brockley. That would be lovely.’
As I turn to walk back towards the house, a sudden movement at one of the upper-floor windows catches my eye.
I look up, expecting to see one of the other residents waving, perhaps, but to my surprise, there’s no one there at all; so perhaps someone just walked past the glass without pausing to look out.
I do a quick calculation in my head, working out what number apartment the window must belong to, and I conclude it’s apartment number three, which is the home of Matthew and Susan Woodings.
18
We say our goodbyes to Lily and go back upstairs. We both have a renewed spring in our step after such a positive intervention in our morning.
Back in the apartment, Skye grabs her favourite red fleecy blanket and lies down on the sofa, holding the corner of it up to her mouth for comfort. I stroke her hair and her eyes begin to close. She’ll feel so much better if she can claw a few hours of sleep back.
I’m tempted to join her, but there’s something more pressing that needs sorting out.
I’ve saved the number for St Benjamin Monks Primary into my phone. I creep into the kitchen so I don’t disturb Skye and close the lounge door quietly behind me.
Two minutes later, I end the call in frustration. Apparently, the snooty office manager informed me, there’s ‘no possibility’ of Skye starting school so late in the term.
‘I’m afraid it’s quite impossible,’ she said haughtily.
‘My daughter’s very upset about having to leave her old school,’ I implored her. ‘It would really put my and her mind at rest if she could just come in and—’
‘As I say, it simply can’t be done Mrs . . .’
‘Miller.’
‘It simply can’t be done, Mrs Miller. Mrs Grant hasn’t a single space for an appointment in her diary before the end of term.’ She sighed. ‘The best I can do is relay your message to the class teacher.’
Reluctantly, I thanked her and ended the call.
There is no sense in making an enemy of the school office, but why is this proving so difficult? We’re talking about a five-year-old for goodness’ sake, it’s not as if she has advanced geometry to catch up on.
Meeting new classmates and possibly making some little friends she could see again over the summer would have really helped her make the leap from the upset with Petra and what happened in class and put Grove Primary firmly behind her.
Now it’s abundantly clear that’s not going to happen anytime soon. Then I have a bit of a brainwave. Maybe all’s not lost.
I creep into the hallway and peek through the gap in the lounge door.
I can tell by her breathing that Skye is now sleeping deeply, and judging by her fractious night, she’ll probably stay that way for a good couple of hours at least.
Should I risk it? It’s still strange and unfamiliar here in the apartment to her, but it’s not as if we’re in a hotel somewhere. We’re home. And Skye knows she’s safe here.
If my little plan works, then it could make a big difference to her settling in here. I slip my feet into scuffed ballerina pumps and head for the door, praying she doesn’t stir.
I’ll be back in a few minutes and Skye will be none the wiser.
I stand on the ground floor and ring the doorbell by the grand entrance door of apartment one. I feel a bit cheeky just turning up like this. I ought to ask for Dr or Mrs Marsden’s telephone number and then I can call first if I need them.
I hear footsteps on the other side of the door, and Audrey herself appears. She’s dressed in tailored jeans, a white pussybow blouse, and a knitted navy jacket with white edging. I feel like a slob in comparison.
‘Oh, I’m – I’m so sorry,’ I stammer. ‘Did I catch you as you’re going out?’
‘Not at all, dear.’ She smiles. ‘I’m at home all morning, but I’m afraid you’re too late for Michael, he’s already at his gentlemen’s club.’
Gentlemen’s club? Sounds a bit dodgy . . . aren’t those places full of young, scantily clad dancers and expensive drinks? She must be the only woman in London who doesn’t give a jot that her husband so openly frequents one.
She cranes her head around me, this way and that. ‘No little one with you today?’
‘She’s upstairs asleep,’ I say, and then worry she’ll think me a negligent mother. ‘She had a bad night and didn’t get much rest. I didn’t want to wake her.’
She nods and shifts her weight from one foot to the other. Cartier Love Bracelets clash prettily on her wrist, and I can smell her distinctive perfume.
The Marsdens are always dressed so formally. Don’t they ever crash out in their comfies like the rest of us?
I stifle a grin at the thought of Audrey in a onesie and force my thoughts back on track.
‘I hope you don’t mind, Audrey, I wanted to ask you something.’ I hesitate. ‘It’s a rather big favour, actually.’
‘Of course!’ She beams. ‘Name it, my dear.’
It becomes fairly obvious I’m not going to get an invite inside and it makes me feel slightly flustered again, as if I’m disturbing her.
‘I’ve got a problem with St Benjamin’s, they—’
My flow of words is interrupted as I catch movement behind her at the end of the hallway. The lounge door is open, flooding the wood-panelled space with light, and a tall, broad figure has just walked across the room. A man.
Audrey raises one eyebrow slightly. She knows I’ve spotted someone in there but clearly doesn’t feel the need to explain herself.
‘You were saying there’s a problem with the school. In relation to Skye’s admission there, I gather?’
I explain how Skye is becoming increasingly anxious about starting at a new school and that I think it would be really beneficial for her to at least visit there before the end of term.
‘I’m afraid the office manager wasn’t very helpful. She said it was impossible to arrange anything this late in the term.’
‘Leave it with me. I’ll speak to Iris Grant, the head . . .’
Her voice fades out a little as I wonder if the man in the lounge is Dr Marsden. But why would she say he’s out at his club if, in fact, he’s home? T
his man is taller though, I’m sure of it.
Audrey’s brow furrows very slightly but not as much as it should do. Probably a touch of Botox, I conclude.
‘Freya? I asked if anytime is good for you if I can get you an appointment.’
‘Sorry, yes! Yes, thank you, anytime is good.’ I take a step back, remembering I’ve left Skye sleeping. ‘I’m really grateful, thank you.’
I head for the stairs and she calls me back again.
‘There was something I wanted to ask. Have you got a moment now?’
‘Yes, of course.’ I walk back to the door.
‘We’ll need to get a security camera fitted in your apartment,’ she says briskly. ‘Unfortunately, we didn’t have time to complete the work before you moved in. It’ll be sometime this week, but there’s no need for you to be in while the work is being done.’
She nods as though in telling me, it’s already been agreed. But I’m puzzled. ‘Do you mean you want to put a security camera inside the apartment?’
‘Yes, dear. Just inside the hallway.’ She smiles tightly. ‘It’s standard procedure here at Adder House where all the apartments benefit from our internal CCTV system.’
‘I see. Well, I wouldn’t want you to go to the trouble of installing one in our apartment,’ I say lightly. ‘It’s only tiny, anyway, with nothing valuable in it, and I feel quite safe here.’
Audrey stares at me, her nostrils flaring slightly.
‘Better to be safe than sorry, that’s always been my motto. It’s a lovely area, but you can never tell when there might be . . . an unpleasant incident.’ For just a second, the corners of Audrey’s mouth curl down, but then, when I don’t reply, she smiles brightly. ‘Right. That’s settled then. I’ll tell Michael you’re happy for him to go ahead.’
I chew the inside of my cheek and I don’t walk away. It all seems a bit odd. I’m familiar with external security measures like this, but it seems an invasion of privacy to have someone monitoring what’s happening inside our home.
