As the knife-sharp sting gradually subsided to a dull ache, Cassie returned to the present. The world flooded in around her once more and she lay there for a while just thinking about how much her life sucked. It sucked more than Jessica Goldstein making out with Charlie Simpson right in front of her at the rugby club dance last weekend. It sucked more than her mum telling her in no uncertain terms that she could not get her belly button pierced before she passed her A-levels. It sucked more than being stuck in her bedroom listening to the dull thump of Dora’s pop music while she tried to study. And it sucked even more than the incessant rain belting down outside keeping her trapped in the house like a prisoner, again. Yes. Life sucked, more than all of those things put together, and then some.
She pressed a tissue to her bloody arm and then reached out and banged on the wall. “Turn it down will you?”
Dora’s latest girl band fixation shrank a decibel or two until it was just a dull, unfathomable noise from the other side of the wall. She still couldn’t concentrate, though. The Reformation really was so dull and with Dora safely secreted in her bedroom, the house lay quiet and inviting below. Her mother had left over an hour ago—Violet was staying for a few days, and they’d gone off in her battered little car to trawl some local farmers’ market. Richard was safely ensconced at work, and the only other sound she could hear was the faraway buzz of a saw on wood, probably Bill tending to the garden somewhere.
She pulled her sleeve down over the wound, tucked the brooch back into its hiding place, and then silently left her bedroom, tiptoeing down the landing past Dora’s door before heading on to the guest room where Violet had set up camp. She tapped very lightly on the door, just in case, and then pushed it open, ducking inside and shutting it behind her in one smooth movement. She stood on the other side of the door, listening for a moment, but Dora’s music continued its muffled thump and she knew she was alone.
Violet’s suitcase lay open at one end of the bed, a colorful array of clothes spilling out across the floor. Cassie plucked at a few of the garments. Violet’s taste was tight and bright and Cassie winced at each in turn as she held them up to her body in the mirror. She replaced each item carefully where she had found it and then moved across to the dressing table. Violet was not a tidy woman. The surface of the table was strewn with bottles and jars, compacts of pressed powder, lipsticks and eye shadow, jewelry and scarves. She reached for a bottle of perfume and sniffed at the nozzle; a pungent floral scent raced up her nostrils. She put the bottle back and reached instead for an expensive-looking moisturizer. She gave it a suspicious sniff before smothering a dollop onto her face, then seized a ruby-red lipstick and smeared it over her lips. She finished the look with a heavy ring of black kohl around each eye and stood back to assess her reflection in the mirror. She looked like one of Dora’s old plastic dolls after a particularly frenzied attack with the felt-tip pens. Beneath the makeup Cassie saw bags the violet color of four-day-old bruises; she hadn’t been sleeping well recently. She wiped the lipstick off with a tissue and scrubbed at her ringed eyes.
Bored with the items on the dressing table, Cassie turned to survey the rest of the room. There was a splayed paperback lying on the bedside table that, according to the quote splashed across the front, promised a “raunchy and irresistible” read. Violet’s scarlet lace nightdress peaked out from underneath one pillow and several pairs of impossibly high heels stood lined up on the floor underneath the window ledge, but other than that the room held little of interest. Cassie let herself back out of the room and wandered downstairs in search of other forbidden treasures.
Her mother’s office was the next obvious place. Since Alfie, Helen had taken to spending even more time cloistered behind its door, her head bent over some book or another. Cassie sometimes wondered if she even remembered she had two daughters who were still very much alive, given the scant attention she paid them some days. Still, there were certainly benefits to being ignored. She got away with things most of her friends would have been grounded for weeks for.
The room was dark as she entered and she could smell a heady mix of paper, leather, and Helen’s familiar lemony scent hanging on the air. Cassie flicked on the overhead light and moved to the desk. She sat herself in the leather writer’s chair and swiveled round and round until she felt dizzy and had to stop. The surface of the desk was covered in papers. She plucked at a few and read a few lines of text before replacing them. More boring work stuff. She rummaged through the desk drawers, discarding a packet of extra-strong mints, some of her mother’s personalized stationery, elastic bands and paper clips, old pens and Post-it notes. She was about to give up when her fingers grazed the edges of something stuffed right at the back of the top drawer. Curiously, she grabbed at the object and pulled it out.
Cassie’s heart skipped a beat when she saw what she held: a bundle of Alfie’s baby photos. They were worn and tatty, as if aged by a thousand caresses and stained by a flood of tears. Cassie stared at them for a moment, taking in her brother’s wide toothy smile and brilliant blue eyes. In one he sported a large scab across his forehead: Cassie could still remember the awful sound of his head connecting with the coffee table and the piercing wail that had followed. In another he sat on a swing, his chubby little legs flailing wildly as he went higher and higher into the blue sky. And in another he peered up at the camera from beneath a voluminous, floppy straw hat with flowers decorating its brim, one of their grandmother’s, she supposed. As she sifted through the images an uncomfortable lump formed at the back of her throat. She shoved them back into the drawer and slid it shut with a bang. That would teach her to snoop.
She was just double-checking for telltale signs of her spying and planning her exit when the telephone rang. Without thinking, Cassie reached for the handset.
“Hello?”
“Helen, is that you? Don’t hang up.”
Cassie held her breath. She didn’t recognize the voice at the other end of the phone, but the urgency in the man’s tone kept her there, silently hanging on.
“Helen, just listen to me. Please. I’m going out of my mind here. I need to see you. I can’t eat. I can’t sleep. I certainly can’t paint. God knows, I’ve tried, but nothing feels right without you. I love you. It’s as simple as that. Don’t you think of me at all?”
Cassie was frozen to the spot, paralyzed by the words spilling out of the handset.
“Helen, say something, please!” the man urged. “I beg you.”
At a loss for what else to do, Cassie placed the receiver gently back on the hook and ran quickly from her mother’s study, her face burning with shock and anger.
She was shivering on the patio, puffing on an illicit Marlboro Light, when Violet came upon her.
“It’s okay,” Violet said as she leapt in alarm. “I won’t tell. Got a spare one?”
Cassie breathed a sigh of relief and handed over the packet. She watched as Violet, clutching a cocktail glass in one hand, struggled to free a cigarette, her bracelets jangling wildly with her endeavors. She eventually managed, stuck one between her red lips, and leaned in to accept Cassie’s offer of a light. For just a second the flare of the match lit up Violet’s round face, before they were both plunged into darkness again. They stood side by side, clutching themselves for warmth, and puffed on the cigarettes companionably.
“You wouldn’t believe it was almost summer, would you?” Violet laughed. “It’s bloomin’ freezing out!”
“No,” agreed Cassie. She thought she’d try a little small talk. “So how was the market?”
“Oh, muddier than Glastonbury and full of hippies selling overpriced organic honey and hemp clothes. Not really my scene to be honest.”
Cassie smiled in the darkness.
“There was a beautiful flower stall, though, with some gorgeous hand-tied bouquets. I enjoyed that.”
Cassie knew Violet ran her own florist shop and nodded politely. “You enjoy your work, don’t you?”
“Yes,” said V
iolet. “I do. I’m lucky. I couldn’t stand to spend my days doing something I hated, like so many poor people end up doing. I love flowers. Oh, I know lots of people think they’re frivolous and unnecessary, but imagine a bride walking down the aisle without an arrangement of beautiful flowers in her hands, sick people with nothing pretty to look at to cheer their spirits, or a grave without a floral tribute.”
Cassie winced at the last example but Violet was lost in her monologue and didn’t seem to notice.
“My work marks the passing of time, just like the very seasons the plants themselves grow from. It celebrates all those important moments in life, and follows us from beginning to end.” Violet shook her head in wonder. “A florist’s work is actually quite wonderful when you think about it.”
Cassie nodded. She’d never thought of it like that before.
“And how are you, Cassie dear? How is life treating you?”
“Oh, you know.” Cassie scuffed at the moss on a paving slab with the toe of her shoe. “It’s okay.”
“I remember my A-level year. Pure torture. All I wanted to do was hang out with my friends and party.”
Cassie nodded in agreement.
“So, any nice boys on the scene I should know about? Don’t worry,” she added hastily, “I won’t tell your mother.”
Cassie shook her head. “Not really.”
“You surprise me, a pretty girl like you. I’d have thought you’d have boys beating down the door.”
Cassie eyed Violet evenly in the darkness. For a split second she wondered about confiding in her, but then she changed her mind.
“What about Dora?” Violet continued. “Has she got a boyfriend?”
Cassie shrugged. “I don’t know. We don’t talk about stuff like that. We sort of keep to ourselves these days.”
Violet took another drag on her cigarette and exhaled smoke upward into the night sky. “It’s been tough for you girls, hasn’t it? How do you think your folks are holding up?”
Cassie shrugged again. “They’re miserable. We all are.”
Violet gave a little nod. “Yes, it’s going to take time. You must be looking forward to university, though? A fresh start?”
Cassie swallowed and gave a little nod. “Did you go to university?”
“Me?” Violet let out a little laugh. “Oh no. I wasn’t clever enough for that. Left that to your mother, didn’t I? I was very easily distracted back then…far too easily distracted. And between you and me, the thought of three more years of study horrified me. I couldn’t wait to get into the real world…get a job, earn some money, start being really independent.”
Cassie looked up at her with interest. “So you don’t regret not going?”
“Oh, I don’t know about that. Looking back now I don’t know why I was in such a rush to join the real world. Another three years of larking about wouldn’t have hurt—and it might have helped with the old love life too. Apparently almost twenty percent of people meet their future spouse at university. Did you know that, Cass?” Violet took another long drag on her cigarette. “Twenty percent! Just think, your Mr. Right is probably out there, waiting for you right now.”
“Hmmm…perhaps,” said Cassie with a small smile. “I’m sure your Mr. Right is still out there too, somewhere.”
“Do you think?” asked Violet. “Well, that would be nice. One can but hope.”
They stood side by side in silence, smoking and shivering, until Cassie had steeled her nerves enough to direct the conversation to where her thoughts had been all afternoon.
“Do you think Dad is Mum’s Mr. Right?”
Violet’s head swung up in surprise. “Yes, of course; why, don’t you?”
Cassie shrugged. “I’m not sure.”
“Your parents are made for each other, Cassie.”
“Mmmm…” Cassie thought again about the insistent voice at the end of the telephone: I love you…don’t you think of me at all? Who was he?
“Trust me, Cassie,” continued Violet, swigging at her cocktail, “what those two have been through is enough to damage the strongest of relationships. But they’ll be fine. It’s just going to take a little time to heal.”
Cassie looked up into the darkness. The heavy cloud had cleared finally and she could see a smattering of silver stars dancing in the night sky. A little time to heal. Was that really all they needed?
“Yes,” said Violet quietly, “it’s just going to take you all a bit of time.” She cleared her throat suddenly. “And in the meantime, roll on September…heading off to carve out your own future…it will do you good, Cassie. I bet you can’t wait, can you?”
Cassie nodded again, hoping the effects of the alcohol would encourage Violet to keep talking, but she suddenly seemed to have clammed up.
“Gosh, it’s really cold out here,” she said finally. “We should go inside, before they all start to wonder where we’ve gotten to.”
Cassie nodded, disappointed to have not even uncovered the slightest hint of who the strange man at the end of the telephone might have been.
“Oh, and not a word about the ciggies, okay?”
“Sure,” agreed Cassie, following a tottering Violet through the back door and into the warmth of the kitchen.
Cassie scraped by on her exams, and the relief seemed to temporarily jolt her mother and father out of their grief-stricken stupor. Richard even opened a bottle of champagne over one of Helen’s less disastrous dinners and they toasted her with Daphne and Alfred’s best crystal glasses.
“Well done, Cassie, you’ve made us very proud.”
Cassie knew she didn’t deserve their pride but she threw back the champagne anyway. It was sour and fizzy in her mouth.
“So I guess that means Edinburgh this September,” added Helen, a little sadly.
Cassie noticed Dora’s head sink a little lower over her plate. She didn’t envy her sister, stuck in Dorset, rattling around their ghost house for another two years.
“We’ll have to go shopping,” said Richard. “Go and buy you a few things for your new room. It will be fun taking you up there. I haven’t been to Edinburgh in years.”
Cassie decided now was as good a time as any to broach the subject. “Actually, Dad,” she started, “I was wondering if I could take the train up to Edinburgh—by myself? I think I’d like to do the first bit on my own, you know, get settled into halls, meet a few people.” She saw her mother and father exchange a glance but she carried on anyway. “You could all come and visit me after a few weeks, see how I’m getting on. I’ll be able to show you around properly by then, and I’ll be ready to see a few friendly faces from home. You could come too, Dora.” Her well-rehearsed spiel petered out and she waited with bated breath for their response.
Helen reached for her glass of water. Richard placed his cutlery down on his plate and folded his fingers together carefully, a sure sign that a “discussion” was about to take place.
“You want to go up there on your own?” he asked. “Take the train?”
Cassie nodded and cut into the last potato on her plate, refusing to meet his eye.
“But how will you manage all of your things?”
“I won’t be taking that much, not at first. Just a few clothes, some books, a bit of bedding. I can buy most things up there anyway, right?” She looked around at them all again and smiled encouragingly. “I just like the idea of striking off on my own, carving out my own future.” She deliberately chose the same words Violet had used. They sounded good, like something her parents would approve of. “You understand, don’t you…after everything that’s happened?” She held her breath. This was the closest she had come to mentioning Alfie since the funeral last year. She didn’t know if she’d overstepped the mark or not.
Richard gave a slow nod and cleared his throat. “I suppose I do. Helen, what do you think?”
Helen sighed. “I can understand you wanting some space. Are you sure it will be safe? Won’t it be a little lonely? Most of the other studen
ts will have their parents with them and we’ll certainly try not to embarrass you.”
“You can still come, Mum, just in a few weeks, once I’m settled in.”
“Well it would be fun for us to come and visit you there, wouldn’t it, Helen?” Richard tried again, summoning up an enthusiastic tone at last. “Maybe we could make the trip just before Christmas, combine it with some shopping and a nice hotel?”
“Yes,” agreed Cassie, seizing upon the idea. “It’s supposed to be lovely up there at that time of year.” Finally, they were getting somewhere.
“And you’ll be okay traveling all that way on your own? You’ll have to change trains in London. You won’t get lost?” Helen worried again.
“Mum, I’m about to leave home. If I can’t navigate my way from Dorset to Edinburgh on the train, then I’m really going to be in trouble, aren’t I?”
“Mmmm…,” murmured Helen. The worried frown had returned to her face.
“So your heart is set on it?” asked Richard one final time.
“Yes,” said Cassie.
“Well, I suppose it will be okay.” Richard paused again. “But if you change your mind, I’d be happy to drive you.”
“I know, Dad, thanks.”
“Could you pass the water, dear?”
Cassie breathed a small sigh of relief. It seemed to be the end of the matter.
Richard leaned over and passed the jug across the table to Helen. Cassie noticed Helen’s little jump of surprise as Richard’s fingers accidentally grazed hers, as if his touch had burned her. Yes, it would be good to leave.
The night before Cassie left, Dora tapped quietly at her bedroom door. Cassie let her in and watched as her sister eyed the oversize rucksack propped by her bed.
The House of Tides Page 21
