by Wendy Clarke
The bedside table is awash with water. There’s a river of it running over the edge and onto the carpet, and I know I should do something about it before it soaks in. With relief, I realise the panic that gripped me when I first awoke is beginning to abate, the dread I’d felt giving way to a milder anxiety. Looking at the clock, I see it’s just after three. Maybe it’s the heavy lunch I ate at the pub yesterday that’s to blame. Even as I think it, I know I’m just fooling myself. The phone call I received yesterday is the cause of my dreadful fear. The call I’m trying to forget because to remember it means I’ve accepted that Ria will be part of my life again.
‘I knocked over my water glass.’ It’s hard to get control of the tremor in my voice.
‘Are you okay?’ Scott pinches a piece of my nightdress between finger and thumb, then wrinkles his nose. ‘This is drenched.’
‘It was a bad dream, that’s all, and the duvet made me hot. It’s still the winter one.’
‘It’s certainly been warmer recently,’ he says, shoving it down to his waist. ‘We should probably change it to the lighter one.’
I push the duvet aside and get up, rescuing my mobile from the lake and putting it on the floor. Then I go to the bathroom for a towel to wipe the water. I’m just passing Beth’s room when I stop. There’s a thin strip of light under her bedroom door. What’s she doing awake at this hour?
Putting my ear to the door, I listen, but there’s no sound from her room. As quietly as I can, I press down on the handle and push the door open a crack. Putting my head round the door, I’m relieved to see that Beth is asleep, the duvet bunched up around her. Wainwright is curled up at the foot of her bed, fast asleep. He isn’t allowed in the bedrooms, but I haven’t the heart to move him.
Stepping inside, I walk over to the lamp to turn it off, then stop myself. Maybe Beth meant to leave it on. Maybe I’m not the only one to fear the darkness tonight. Sitting down on the bed, I gently stroke my daughter’s dark hair away from her forehead. In the orange light of the bedside lamp, I see her eyes move beneath her translucent lids and wonder what she’s dreaming about. I doubt she’d tell me – with every day that passes I feel she’s moving further away from me.
As I pull the duvet up around her, I see a scrap of black wool poking out from beneath it. I recognise it as the mane of the stuffed horse Beth used to take to bed when she was younger, and I see she has it clutched to her chest. I hadn’t realised she still had it. As I watch the rise and fall of her breathing, I feel a rush of love so fierce that tears spring to my eyes. Inside her teenage body, she’s still my little girl.
With a last stroke of her hair, I get up and walk back onto the landing, closing the door behind me. I go to the bathroom, get the towel from the airing cupboard and mop up what’s left of the water. By the time I’ve finished, Scott is fast asleep and I climb into bed beside him, curling up against his back, matching his shape.
I’m hoping sleep will come, but it doesn’t. Instead, I lie and wait for daylight to filter through the curtains, unable to get rid of the feeling that things are about to change.
Six
Beth
Beth pushed open the classroom door, hoping she’d timed it right. She’d waited until the last minute to go in: not so late that she’d miss registration, but late enough that she’d not have to endure the hateful time before proper lessons began. It was this time that was the worst. This and break time.
‘Ah, Beth.’ Her form tutor looked up from a pile of books she was marking. ‘Better now?’
This was exactly what she didn’t need. She’d been hoping to come in without anyone noticing. Now, through her teacher’s unwanted concern, the attention she’d been hoping to avoid was drawn to her. Heads turned and the hum of conversation stopped. She felt herself colour.
‘Yes, thanks.’
Carina and three other girls were sitting in a huddle by the window. Their form room was a twentieth century addition to the original Victorian building and, through the wide panes of glass, a large sweep of lawn, with tennis courts to one side, could be seen. Beyond that was Lake Windermere, its flat blue surface broken only by the white sails of yachts. It would have been a beautiful sight, if only it were viewed from somewhere else.
As Beth walked over to her table, she felt the girls’ eyes on her, but she refused to look at them. She knew what it would be like. Carina would smile sweetly and pretend that nothing was wrong. She’d ask Beth how she was and what she’d been doing, include her in their gossip about clothes and make-up. For a while, Beth would buy into it, thinking that today would be different, that they liked her after all. The sense of relief would be all-consuming. Then, just as suddenly, it would all change. She’d ask a question and it would be ignored, or she’d say something that would make Carina look at her with arched eyebrows. What a bloody idiotic thing to say.
Mouths that had, up until then, been curved into smiles of friendship, would harden into sneers, and shoulders would turn inwards so that she was no longer standing within the group, but outside of it. And then, as she heard their sniggers, it would dawn on her that, once again, she had fallen for it. Once again, she’d been made a fool of.
She’d realised she was different on her very first day at Lady Edburton. The others lived in large houses in Windermere and Ambleside, and their parents were solicitors and doctors. Nobody lived in small miners’ cottages in villages that time had forgotten with a mum who made jewellery in her backyard and a dad who got paid for hiking the fells. If that hadn’t been enough, Beth had also been taller than the other girls and one of the few who wore a bra because she needed to. And when the others talked about their periods, she was too embarrassed to say that she’d started in primary school. That would have only added more fuel to the fire.
She’d hoped it would get easier as they got older, and it had for a while. No one had invited her to their house, or suggested she go to the cinema with them at the weekend, but at least they were civil to her. Then it had all changed again. A new girl joined the school. One who was pretty and confident and unlike Beth in every way. That girl was Carina and she drew the other girls to her like a magnet.
Walking over to her table now, Beth sat down and took her English homework out of her bag. She started to read it through, bending her head over it so that her hair fell across her face. If she didn’t say anything to anyone, they might ignore her.
She might have known it was never going to happen. The scrape of a chair next to her made her look up. For one horrible moment, she thought it was Carina who had sat down beside her, but it wasn’t, it was Keira. She was part of the group, but had always seemed a little nicer than the others. Although she had never defended Beth, she had never directly attacked her either.
‘Difficult homework, wasn’t it?’
Beth looked across at her, searching the words for any trace of sarcasm, but she couldn’t find any. Picking up the pages from the table, she flicked through them.
‘It wasn’t too bad.’ In fact, she’d quite enjoyed it. They’d had to study a poem by Owen Sheers called ‘Winter Swans’ and then write their own using a variety of figurative devices. She’d loved the use of personification in Sheers’ poem and had tried to emulate it in her own. Poetry was something she enjoyed nearly as much as drawing, and was the only other subject in which she applied herself. She knew her parents thought that she struggled because the work was too hard, but this couldn’t have been further from the truth. Even subjects like Maths and Science she found easy, but in lessons, all she could concentrate on was whether the other girls were talking about her or how she might answer a question without them sniggering.
‘Do you mind if I have a look? I struggled with my poem.’
Beth hesitated. She was so used to people ridiculing her work that she wasn’t sure she wanted Keira to see it.
‘Don’t worry if you don’t want me to. I’m like that as well. I always think my work isn’t good enough to be seen.’
‘Oh, I’m
sure it is.’ Beth started to relax. Carina and her cronies seemed to have forgotten her and were arguing about some programme they’d seen on television the previous evening. It was nice having a normal conversation. One where she didn’t have to be careful what she said and analyse each word in case it was misconstrued and used against her. She pushed her poem across the table to Keira. ‘I don’t mind. Have a look.’
Keira took the page and read it, nodding now and again as she did, her forehead creased in concentration. Beth watched her anxiously, waiting for the snort of derision she was expecting. It didn’t come.
‘It’s really good.’ Keira smiled and placed the poem on the table. ‘Really, really good.’
A warm feeling started to creep through Beth’s body. ‘Do you mean that?’
‘Why would I say it if I didn’t mean it? I like the way you compare yourself to a bird of prey. This part especially… my heart soars like an eagle when you smile. It’s really beautiful.’
Beth felt her cheeks redden. ‘Thank you.’
Keira looked over at their form tutor, who was picking up her bag ready to move on to her first lesson. ‘Looks like it’s time to go. I’ve got German now… Yuck. Maybe I’ll see you at break?’
Pushing back her chair, Keira joined the others who were queuing to get out of the door. Beth looked over her shoulder to see if Carina was there, but it seemed she’d already gone. Beth’s next lesson was Geography. Carina would be in that lesson too, but, for the first time in ages, Beth felt the knot in her stomach loosen. If she had someone to hang out with at break time, things wouldn’t be so bad. She wouldn’t need to go to the library and hide in one of the booths with a book until the bell for the next lesson rang. She wouldn’t have to wish that she was anyone in the world but Beth Travis.
Sliding her homework back into her bag, she left the classroom, walking slowly along the corridor so that she wouldn’t have to stand in the queue outside the geography room door with the others.
She waited until everyone was in and then seated herself in an empty seat at the back. Carina was sitting near the front with her best friend, Charlotte. They both glanced at her as they took their folders out of their bags, but their expressions were neutral and they soon looked away again. Perhaps they’d seen Keira talking to her. If they knew that someone was being friendly towards her, they might not be so inclined to have a go at her.
Buoyed by this thought, the hour went quickly. They were revising climate change and Beth found that, for once, she was actually taking it in. Maybe, when she got home, she’d have another look at her revision notes. Put in a bit more effort. That was for later, though. The lesson had come to an end and she needed to go outside to find Keira.
There was a large paved area with benches at the side of the school. When the weather was fine, the upper and lower schools took it in turns to use it. Beth got to the door just as the younger ones were coming in and stood back to let them through, watching them as they jostled and laughed down the corridor. Sometimes she thought it would be nice to be that age again, to go back to a time when things were simpler.
The last of the children had come in and Beth was just going through the door when she saw Mrs Snowdon walking along the corridor towards her. Instead of passing by as Beth expected, she stopped.
‘Beth, if you’ve got time, I’d like to have a word with you.’
With reluctance, she let the door close again. She glanced through the window. Keira was already outside; she could see her, leaning against the wall, her bag over her shoulder. She was looking around as though searching for someone. Could she be looking for her? If only she’d look this way, Beth could wave to her or signal that she wouldn’t be long.
Mrs Snowdon must have registered her reluctance to talk, for she continued quickly. ‘It won’t take long. I just want to talk to you about your coursework.’
Of all the break times to choose, it had to be this one. Her one chance to make a friend and it was going to be ruined. Keira was standing now, hitching her bag onto her shoulder.
‘I’m not sure, I…’
‘Don’t look so worried. It’s nothing bad, I can assure you.’
‘What about lunchtime?’ Through the window, she could see Keira moving between the groups of young people. She was probably going to join Carina’s crowd over by the netball posts. Soon the opportunity would be lost. ‘Couldn’t I see you then instead?’
Mrs Snowdon shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, Beth. I’m on duty lunchtime. Honestly, it will only take a few minutes.’
Beth dragged her eyes away from the window. ‘Okay.’
The art room was at the end of the long corridor and it seemed to take an age to get there. Beth followed her teacher into the room and stood awkwardly as she retrieved her polythene art portfolio from a trolley at the back of the room. The art room was light, its large windows looking out onto the playing fields. It was here, during her art lessons, that Beth felt the happiest. Instead of being confined to a desk, next to someone who would, in all likelihood, rather be sitting somewhere else, she could move freely around the large table, lost in her own little world of drawing.
Unclipping the plastic handles of the portfolio, Mrs Snowdon took out Beth’s paintings and drawings and spread them across the Formica surface of one of the tables.
‘I’ve been having a look at your work, Beth, and I just wanted to say that you have a lot of talent. You’ve mastered some tricky techniques and you’re one of the few students I’ve taught who seems to be happy working in any medium.’
She picked up one of the paintings and studied it. It was one Beth had done a few months ago – a watercolour and ink drawing of the head of an eagle, its yellow eyes looking straight out at whoever was looking at it. It was only on closer inspection that you could see the tiny reflection of a mountain crag in each of its pupils.
‘This one in particular. I think it’s very powerful. It’s good to make the viewer think.’ Mrs Snowdon pressed her palms onto the table and leant forward. ‘I wanted to ask you whether you’d be happy for me to enter this, and two of your others, into a competition. It’s called the Baxter Prize and is being run by a national newspaper for young people aged between fourteen and eighteen years of age. The theme is freedom and I thought these three pieces would fit the brief perfectly. Is it something you might be interested in?’
Beth stood with her arms folded, unable to think. ‘Would you be entering anybody else’s work?’
‘No, it’s only one entry per school.’
‘Surely there must be someone better than me. What about Carina? Her work’s amazing.’
Mrs Snowdon smiled. ‘If we entered this, I think you’d have a good chance of doing well. I’ve noticed a lot of your work follows a theme, Beth. Have you always had an interest in birds of prey?’
Beth looked at the paintings and sketches spread out on the table. One was a drawing of a feather done in a fine black pen, so delicate that it looked like it would lift off the page if a breeze entered the window. Another was an abstract, the page covered in talons of different shapes and sizes, giving the paper texture as well as colour. Her favourite, though, was the outstretched wing of a bird in flight.
‘I’m not sure. I think I must have.’
Mrs Snowdon walked over to the window and looked out at the distant fells. ‘Do you draw them from memory or do you use a picture or photograph?’
Beth thought of her favourite place above the disused Temple Quarry. At some time in the past, someone had made a bench there from the unwanted slate that was piled up in heaps. With her back to the midnight blue water that had collected in the chamber at the bottom of the quarry over a hundred feet below, she would sit on the bench and watch the kestrels that nested in the cliffs or the sparrowhawks with their dark plumage and bright yellow legs. Often, she would see nothing but, in those moments, she would just let her imagination run free.
‘Sometimes I photograph the birds, but mostly I just watch them and remember what I
see.’
‘But the eagles? There aren’t any of those around here.’
‘I know… but I know what they look like. I go onto the fells and imagine them there.’
Her teacher was silent for a moment. ‘And is that what you were doing last week when you were absent from school?’
Beth went cold. She looked at the floor and tried to think of something to say. How could she know?
As if reading her mind, Mrs Snowdon carried on. ‘Girls who are unwell generally aren’t seen at nine in the morning waiting at the bus stop with a rucksack on their back.’ She paused. ‘Especially when, twenty minutes earlier, they were seen being dropped off at the school by their mother.’
Pulling out a chair, Mrs Snowdon indicated for Beth to sit, then pulled out another for herself. Beth waited in dread for what she would say next. She didn’t know that anyone had seen her. Why hadn’t she been more careful?
‘I expect you’re wondering why I haven’t said anything to your parents. I certainly should have done and I’d probably get into trouble with Mrs Thompson if she knew.’
Beth chewed at a nail. ‘Why didn’t you?’
Mrs Snowdon shifted in her seat and glanced at the door. ‘I wanted to give you the chance to tell me about it first. It’s not like you to do something like this. One or two of the others, maybe, but not you. I’m thinking you must have had good reason to truant. Is there something going on I should know about? Is it problems with the other girls?’
The kindness and concern in her eyes made Beth want to cry. She’d always liked Mrs Snowdon and if she was going to say anything to any teacher, it would be to her – but she couldn’t. She just couldn’t. It would make things a million times worse. So instead of telling the truth, she chewed her lip and shook her head.
‘Everything’s fine.’
Mrs Snowdon gave a small sigh and Beth imagined how she would be wrestling with her conscience, wondering whether to push her further or whether to report her unauthorised absence to the head. She felt guilty for putting her in this position.
