by Terry Tyler
I shut my eyes, and drift off.
Reality mixes with dream-like images and the sound of Brody talking to someone about me, in a low voice.
"She's fine. Just needs time. No. I'll get Lita to call her tomorrow." Deep chuckle. "You're an angel, did you know that?"
Must be Queen Orange-Bonce on the phone, then. No, I mustn't start giving her cruel nicknames; she's saving my life.
Told you I am not worthy.
I fall asleep.
"We're nearly here, Lita."
Brody's voice jerks me awake, and I sit up, looking around. I can't see much; it's dark enough for me to know that we're in the depths of the countryside.
We turn onto a narrow road; I see silhouettes of trees against the night sky and feel oddly calm. Detached. Like I don't mind what happens to me, because I'm not really here. Not really anywhere.
Being the analytical person I am, I decide this is shock, a reaction to my hair's-breadth escape this afternoon.
I feel oddly happy, too. In a quiet, detached sort of way. Nothing can touch me, now.
"Here we are," says Will.
More trees, and a fence. I have a momentary fantasy about being in a horror film, in which I have been tricked; Brody is delivering me to another Hope Village. Nick and I would have laughed about that. He would have carried it on, embellished the story, and I would have joined in, though my ideas would not be as funny as his.
Nick.
Nick.
I miss you, sweetheart.
There are no guards here.
Brody winds down his window and leans out to enter a number into a keypad. No hand scans, either.
The gate slides open, noiselessly, and we move up a long driveway, ending at an old country house; motion-sensitive lights flicker on as we scrunch across the gravel.
The house is beautiful; old grey stone, huge bay windows, lights on in many of them. The sort of place of which you might catch a glimpse when out on a country drive, and drool over, longingly, because you know you will never live anywhere as wonderful.
Lucky old Jaffa. All this, and Brody too.
In the foreground, on what must have once been a fine front lawn, are the log cabins, also with lights shining from the windows. My heart cries out to be in one of them, in peace.
I follow the men's lead and get out; the night is silent, beautiful, and autumn scents waft up my nostrils; remnants of a bonfire, rotting vegetation.
I love it.
Brody smiles at me and puts his arm around my shoulders, just as the front door opens and light floods onto the gravel.
I brace myself, ready to meet my rival in love, but the only person I see before me is a woman in perhaps her late sixties, smiling at me like a mother greeting a long-lost daughter. She wears her mid-length grey hair parted on one side and just touching her shoulders, tucked behind her ears. Her face is kind, with small, regular features; I imagine she was once very pretty. She is dressed in a long cardigan, jeans and flat boots. I feel great warmth emanating from her.
Brody's new mum-in-law?
"Hello, Lita," she says. "I've got a lovely room prepared for you, for your first night; Brody's told me all about what you've been through, and I thought you'd appreciate it! I'm sorry we couldn't persuade your friend to come too, but perhaps we can have another stab at that?"
She holds out her hands, and I walk forward to take them.
"I'm Jaffa," she says. "Barmy name, I know; it comes from my long ago days at art school when I was under the misguided impression that bright orange hair suited me, and it stuck! It's actually Cherry, which is possibly worse. Now, shall we go inside?"
34
Lake Lodge
So much has happened over the past few weeks.
First, Kendall.
I phoned her the next day, told her how lovely Lake Lodge is, and mentioned that she could have her own room in Jaffa's house, if she wants, as she is pregnant.
I caught her at a good time, or a bad time, depending on how you look at it.
She'd had terrible morning sickness, but was still expected to prepare lunch.
"I kept having to run out to puke up, and the others were saying that it wasn't hygienic, but that crappy supervisor, she didn't care. I'm lonely without you; it was horrible last night, knowing you weren't asleep above me. Okay, I'll come. But I want to do it properly. I don't want to run away, like you did."
Her release interview was scheduled for two days later, and Brody went with Jaffa to collect her. I know, I know, I should have gone, but the thought of going anywhere near Hope 37 actually brought on physical symptoms of anxiety. I became short of breath, and dizzy; Brody said there was no way he was taking me with them.
Jaffa attended the interview and, I gather, made short work of any who expressed concern that an off-grid community might not be a suitable home for a pregnant woman. Brody thought it wise to stay in the car, out of sight, bearing in mind the fraudulent use of his DSC ID card.
Alas, Kendall became ill on the journey home. The cramps started half an hour into the drive, and they drove her to the nearest hospital.
Brody left Jaffa there, and returned to Lake Lodge to get me.
I arrived to be told by a Doctor Harriman that she had lost her baby, and was currently sedated.
After establishing that I was the nearest thing Kendall had to family, and with her permission, he led me into his office and updated me on her condition.
I took against him on the spot, when he expressed concern that she'd left the 'safety' of Hope Village to live on a 'glorified campsite' with no modern facilities.
I put him straight about Lake Lodge, which he didn't like one bit.
At the end of our conversation Harriman mentioned, seemingly as an afterthought, that her symptoms seemed consistent with those associated with Mistoprol, commonly known as the 'abortion pill'; a test found the drug present in her bloodstream.
"No way," I said. "No way on earth would she take that."
"Well, I'm afraid she did."
"She can't have. She was desperate to have this child."
He sat back, regarding me with disdain. "Kendall might have had all sorts of private doubts about this pregnancy, especially as her living situation is far from ideal. It's not unusual for a young woman to think she can bravely go it alone, and then get cold feet when faced with the reality. She wouldn't necessarily admit this to you, or indeed to anyone else; abortion often carries with it a degree of guilt."
"She would never have done that. I know Kendall."
He shrugged. "If the Mistoprol was self-administered, it amounts to an abortion. It's a product we consider perfectly safe if taken under medical supervision. Sadly, it's not beyond the realms of possibility that she obtained it from a 'private' source within Hope Village."
He eyed me suspiciously, as if I might have procured it for her myself.
I stared him out, and he began fiddling with items on his desk.
"I doubt very much that the medical staff at Hope Village would have permitted her release if they'd known she'd taken it," he said. "Generally, we're a hundred per cent happy with the medical care provided in Hope Villages; I've met Doctor Jakub Kacszynski on a couple of occasions, and actually accompanied him to a symposium at the Pennine Way Teaching Hospital, about new thinking in antenatal care."
I ignored this. "She wouldn't have taken it. For a start, she had no money, so she couldn't have paid whoever deals in black market Mistoprol in Hope 37, if such a person actually exists, which I doubt, because in the whole year I lived there I never heard of anyone getting pregnant. Someone must have given it to her without her knowing."
"Who?" He actually laughed. "I'm sorry, I don't deal in conspiracy theories. Clearly, Kendall acquired it by means known only to her, and took it without telling anyone but, as I said, it's perfectly safe. She's healthy, and it won't have any adverse effect on future pregnancies."
"It's not the first apparently healthy pregnancy at Hope 37 that's ended in a m
iscarriage." I fixed him with what I hoped was a steely glare. "If Mistoprol is in her bloodstream, someone at Hope gave it to her without her knowing."
"Who?"
"The medical staff. As I said, there are no pregnancies in Hope 37. A few women who've been pregnant on arrival have miscarried, though."
That stopped him smiling. "Miss Stone, that's a serious allegation, and quite ridiculous." His green, glassy eyes showed no expression. "Kendall must have decided on a termination, which is her right, and her business."
"But shouldn't it be looked into? Are you going to ring up Hope Village and talk to Doctor Kacszynski or the gynaecologist?"
He stared at me for a moment longer. "I will, yes. Just to clear the matter up."
Silence.
I folded my arms. "Go on, then."
He stood up. "I'm not taking instruction from you, Miss Stone. Now, if you don't mind―"
Half an hour later I was summoned back to his office.
"Both Doctor Kacszynski and Doctor Lamb have confirmed that the only way Kendall could have taken Mistoprol would be by obtaining it for herself; alas, there is a black market in all manner of pharmaceutical items, both legal and illegal, in Hope Villages. It's not something that can always be controlled."
"They're lying."
The glassy eyes narrow. "That, too, is a serious allegation. If you have a legitimate complaint about the care of your friend, appropriate forms can be downloaded from the NHS and DSC websites."
"Perhaps I'll do that."
He stood up. "In that case, I wish you luck. Now, would you mind? I do have patients waiting to see me."
We took Kendall home three hours later. I was surprised to see that her discharge paperwork claimed 'miscarriage' rather than 'termination', and there was no mention of Mistoprol. When I asked a nurse why this was, she shrugged her shoulders and said she didn't know, and that Doctor Harriman was unavailable.
We registered Kendall with the lone GP in Ireston, and when I went with her to see him two days later, he confirmed that she was healthy, and, yes, there was no reason why she should not have a successful pregnancy in the future. He also confirmed that no one was to blame for the tragic miscarriage; it was but a sad accident of nature that could happen to anyone.
I wasn't about to tell Kendall otherwise; she was broken up. To discover that it might not have been an accident would just about finish her off.
I hung back after she left, and asked if her blood could be tested for Mistoprol, but the doctor said that if she had taken it, it would be out of her system by now.
Of course. Following Doctor Harriman's conversation with Doctor Kacszynski, the whole question of Mistoprol faded away, as if it had never happened.
If challenged, I expect Harriman might deny our conversation ever took place.
Physically, Kendall was weak but improving daily. Her emotions, though, were a different kettle of fish. Though grateful for a room to herself in Jaffa's house while she was recuperating, she was more depressed than I have ever seen her.
"I feel so empty," she told me. "It's like having the best dream of your life, and waking up to find you're back in the dorm at Hope Village."
"Well, that's never going to happen." I tried to comfort her, but I knew there was nothing I could say to make her feel any better.
Several weeks on, she's perked up a fair bit, but I can see it there, all the time, in her eyes.
We're sharing a little log cabin. It's lovely. Home. And I have a tiny bedroom, all to myself.
I feel myself coming alive again.
Back there, I was just coasting along. I think I switched my brain off, for a whole year, so I could deal with it. Now, I'm living again. I love Lake Lodge. If it wasn't for Nick and the anger that stabs me about once an hour and makes me want to go and burn down Hope 37, I'd be completely happy.
Now, Jaffa and Brody.
No, they're not a couple, but you've guessed that.
I recall the snatches of conversation I misinterpreted, and I feel such a fool.
I don't know how Lita would feel about us living together.
The 'us' was him and me. Living here, together. He didn't know how I felt about him, because I never told him―I was so careful not to, wasn't I?
He decided not to mention Lake Lodge to us until he'd got to know Jaffa better. Didn't want to raise our hopes, in case she was unwilling to take in three broken souls with zero cash, who'd never wielded a spade or a hoe in their lives, and were online each morning before they'd even opened their eyes―I actually used to log on before I went downstairs, and scroll through Twitter when I was sitting on the loo. I really did.
Meanwhile, Brody did the best he could for us.
It's only temporary, I promise.
It wasn't a platitude at all.
As for those words that I've played back in my head so many times over this past year: I think that's all over, actually―he was referring to my previous life as a 'social media influencer'. I use the phrase with my tongue firmly in my cheek, I hasten to add.
I didn't know he loved me. That he had, for some time.
"I could never quite reach you," he told me. "I always felt that I shouldn't encroach too much on your personal space; I thought you didn't need me. Not like I was starting to need you."
We erect our walls to keep us safe, but they can keep happiness out, too.
Jaffa is actually the cousin of CJ's mother, which, I believe, makes CJ her cousin once removed.
She said I remind her of herself; she was 'into anything and everything' when she was in her teens and twenties, gigs and raves and taking stuff she didn't ought, then she 'got her head together' and started working in TV post-production in the mid-1990s, moving on to write the TV section of a couple of the major Sunday newspapers.
"Back when real newspapers were still a thing," she said, a little sadly.
Her life was spent dashing hither and thither in London, then back to affluent Putney to host dinner parties for media types, with her advertising mogul husband.
"As I fell out of love with him, I fell out of enchantment with our superficial lifestyle. And I was as bad as any of them, worrying about getting the right caterer for Richard's birthday party; was Thai a little passé? Would trad English be seen as a quirky novelty, or unimaginative?" She laughed at herself, telling me about that. "I was fed up with my job, too. You can analyse and critique until you're blue in the face, but at the end of the day it's only an opinion. And there was so much bias; I had to big up certain productions, whether I liked them or not. When the internet exploded, we had to dumb down, to gain wider appeal. Then, around the time I realised I couldn't stand to look at Richard's smug face across the breakfast table for one more morning, I lost my father, gained this house, and decided to change my entire life."
Lake Lodge has been a self-sufficient, off-grid community for eighteen years. On my second evening, in front of the open fire in Jaffa's living room and accompanied by lots of blackberry wine, she elaborated about why some members had not worked out.
"One or two thought they were going to put on their wellies, start growing tomatoes and find spiritual fulfilment by the end of the week. It takes longer than that, if it happens at all. Mostly, it's just bloody hard work, but it's how I want to live. I'm lucky enough to be able to afford to, and to give others the opportunity to do so, as well."
How lucky I am to be here.
CJ (how I misjudged her!) thought that Jaffa would get on with me; it was she who suggested to Brody that he introduce the idea. I'm ready for it, now; I go whole days without looking online. Yes, me, the girl who couldn't watch a TV programme without one eye on Twitter to see what the world was saying about it.
We have access to old-style burner phones if we need them, for calls and texts. Jaffa has a laptop and tablets in the main office; on these we can email family, or obtain any information we may need.
"The internet is a wonderful tool, but that's all it is, here."
Social me
dia is banned, but we can buy Kindle books and look at the news sites, because, as she says, we need to know what's going on in the world.
"Becoming completely cut off from society can make you weird, and scared to re-enter it in any way. Lake Lodge isn't about escape, but giving priority to different values."
Brody was right; how well he knew me. Before I went into Hope, leaving the internet behind would have been like cutting off my arms. I would have been one of those who sneaked in a smartphone, or started blogging about my experiences.
I am angry with myself. If I hadn't rejected Brody, we might have moved here sooner.
If we'd left earlier, though, we would never have found out the dark truth about the Hope Villages.
But if we hadn't, Nick would still be alive.
That's what nags at me. Over and over.
"You can't say that if you hadn't done this or that, such and such would or wouldn't have happened," Brody reminds me. "Life doesn't work like that; it's random, and any combination of other stuff might have occurred, and had a domino effect that we can't imagine."
Nick's life was sacrificed for nothing, though. For that stupid post that most people have now forgotten. I believe, and will always believe, that he was silenced―and murdered. Brody and Jaffa agree with me. Meanwhile, that all-important evidence from Andy is still at June's shop, but I can't use it.
There―something else I feel guilty about. June was so kind, but I never went back after Nick died.
I've talked to Jaffa about what we unveiled. Another long conversation by the fire, with Lake Lodge wine.
She listened to the whole story before speaking and, when I'd finished, just said, "Okay. What do you want to do about it?"
