by Jane Holland
I stop in the shade of the wall and turn to him, forcing a smile so he does not see how turbulent my thoughts have become.
‘So,’ I say.
‘So,’ he repeats, our hands still locked.
The word sounds like a hiss.
‘Wh … what about my old diary, then? Why did you say I need to look at it?’
He’s smiling back at me. His dark eyes have narrowed on my face though. ‘I take it you don’t remember?’
‘Remember what?’
‘What you told me about your diary.’
‘What I told you about my diary,’ I say back to him slowly, as though taking dictation, the words going round in my head like an echo in a cave. I have no idea what he’s talking about. I certainly can’t remember ever mentioning my diary to him either. And for good reason. Because it would have been suicidal to admit to its existence. The things I wrote about us, about him specifically … ‘Okay, so I told you about my diary. When, exactly? And where? Maybe if you give me the details, I’ll remember.’
‘For God’s sake, Caitlin –’
‘Humour me.’ But he’s dropped my hand, turning away. I grab his arm. It flexes under my fingers. Pure muscle, tensed with anger. ‘Stop, please. Don’t walk away again. I can’t remember telling you, that’s all. Is forgetfulness a crime now?’
He swings back to stare down at me, his face dark. ‘When your honesty about it meant so much at the time, yes.’
‘I’m really sorry.’
‘Find it, like I said before. Read it.’ He shrugs, but he’s still angry, I can tell from his voice. ‘The diary must still be there, where you used to hide it from Emily.’
That shakes me still further, the implication that he knows how scared I was that Emily might find and read my diary.
‘Which is … where?’
I know, but I’m testing him.
‘I have no idea. Somewhere in your room, you told me.’ He frowns. ‘Somewhere safe, if that means anything?’ He thrusts both hands into the pockets of his black denim shorts. They sink lower on his hips, his tanned abdomen on show. ‘I’m done with this conversation.’
‘Robin …’
‘No, that’s an end to it. I hate arguments.’
‘Me too.’ I’m trying not to cry, the world misty with tears. My voice comes out as a whisper. ‘I’m sorry if I hurt you. I’m so fucking sorry.’
He looks at me, then sighs. ‘Come here, baby.’ He wraps me in his strong arms, and I lean my head against his warm chest. I listen to the steady rhythmic beat of his heart, and close my eyes, wishing I could recall telling him about the diary.
I thought I remembered everything about that summer. Everything.
But I don’t remember that.
I catch my breath.
‘Robin, there’s something else I can’t remember.’
‘What’s that, babe?’
I lean back my head to look up at him under the brim of my hat. His eyes meet mine. Our bodies are still joined intimately, at chest and hip and thigh. I suddenly remember him inside me last night, and it’s hard to breathe.
‘I can’t remember why Tamsin sent me away. That is, I have a vague memory of hearing a noise in the night, and going downstairs after everyone was asleep. But it’s so confused … I’d had so much to drink, you see, and then Emily came to see me after you’d gone that night. With a bottle of champagne. We smoked some pot, and she told me ... Well, girly secrets, you know the kind of thing.’
I see his face begin to change, closing up again. It’s like he’s shutting me out of his heart. Like he knows something I don’t. Something awful.
‘Robin, what is it? What the hell happened that night after Emily went to bed?’ I hear the panic in my voice and can’t seem to control it. ‘I must have done something terribly wrong. I mean, why else would Aunt Tamsin have sent me home to England the next day?’
‘Good question.’
‘Emily didn’t say anything to you about it?’
‘Not a thing.’
‘I remember screaming.’
He’s very still, staring at me.
‘I know I saw something that night. Something … horrible.’ I hesitate, frowning. I’m scrabbling after lost memories, memories that hurt and leave ghosts on the vision as soon as I look at them, like squinting into the sun too long. ‘If only I could …’
‘Hey,’ he says.
I meet his eyes, waiting.
But Robin kisses me instead of replying, his mouth unexpectedly hard. My hat tumbles off. His hands tug on my hair, dragging my head back, exposing my throat. The pain he inflicts is delicious, exciting, even dangerous. Familiar too. As though it’s always been there, waiting in the dark for me, until I was finally ready to experience it.
I hang onto his shoulders, sunlight dazzling on my closed lids, and let him show me how bad it hurts, this love between us.
‘No, listen,’ he says at last, pulling back. He lays a finger on my lips when I protest. ‘I need you to stop worrying and start trusting me, Caitlin. You don’t want to spoil this, do you?’
I meet his eyes.
‘No,’ I agree huskily, and on impulse kiss the finger guarding my lips. His skin is rough, slightly calloused. Whatever else might be going wrong, he’s right about that. ‘I don’t want to spoil this.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
I put my hat back on, and we explore the ruins together for a while, stumbling over the uneven ground hand-in-hand and staring down into the foundation pits of long-lost structures. I am intrigued, not least because my job back home as a tour guide is all about finding new meaning in ancient ruins like these. And having Robin with me is an added pleasure.
My mind begins to drift pleasantly into a fantasy future, imagining the two of us falling in love properly this time, as adults.
We could settle down in Cornwall, maybe run a tour business together. That’s been my job a few years now, it would be easy to make the transition to being my own boss instead of working for Madern. With my expertise and his natural charm, we’d be well-placed to make a good living within the Cornish tourist industry.
But we’re a long way from Cornwall here.
‘This place is incredible,’ Robin says from behind me, and snaps a shot of me running my hand over a wall, studying the medieval brickwork. ‘I just wish there was a way to take a photo of the outside walls on this level. But we’re too high up.’
‘Two hundred and five meters,’ I say, reading from the guide book.
‘It must be a cold, lonely place in winter.’ He turns away, gazing at the remaining walls of the chateau. Someone is scrambling through one of the gaping holes that looked like eye sockets from the approach road, a mournful face staring down at visitors, almost sinister in its bleakness. ‘That looks dangerous. I bet a few desperate souls have thrown themselves off this place from time to time. Hell of a way to die.’
‘Ugh, don’t.’
I guess from his swift backwards glance that we’re both thinking about the same person.
Emily.
Except I’m still not sure how suicidal she was. If she was suicidal at all.
‘I’m going to explore,’ he says, his tone unrevealing.
‘Catch you up, then.’
He turns away silently, and I let him go.
Guide book in hand, I scramble up the first flight of rough steps that I can find, holding onto the iron railings for safety, until I reach what look like stone battlements above. At the top, I glance back down at the remains of a large hall below the steps, one end dominated by the blackened stones of a former hearth. From up here, I can see almost the whole of the site. It’s enormous. Siege engines and even an old windmill are situated on a plateau to one side of the fortifications, while the wrecked interiors of the chateau are at my back.
The chateau at Les Baux must have been a stupendous sight back in the Middle Ages, vast enough to terrify attackers and make them think twice before mounting an assault. Though it’s almost as imp
ressive now, a heap of broken stones punctuated by gaps, like vast eye sockets staring blindly over the plains below, land stretching flat into sun-haze as far as the eye can see.
I cough, and reach for my water bottle. My throat is so dry. A fine white dust seems to permeate the air here, coating even the wild shrubs that spring from every crack and crevice, turning their leaves a chalky white.
I turn to call Robin up to admire the view too, but he’s disappeared. I call a few more times, then wander along the top of the stone battlements, staring out across the valley below.
There’s no sign of Robin.
It’s windier here, an occasional gust catching at my straw hat.
‘Bloody hell.’
I drag off the hat before it can blow away on its own, and weight it to the dusty ground with a small rock.
It’s ridiculous to come all the way up here and be too scared of heights to admire the view properly. Besides, there are safety railings all the way along the battlements, no doubt to stop tourists falling to their death.
Holding tight to the railings, I peer over.
The drop is sheer and dramatic, heavily screened with bushes and rough grasses growing out of the cliff face below.
Hell of a way to die.
The skin prickles on the back of my neck as though someone is watching me from behind. Then I hear a faint sound. Footsteps?
The wind gusts again, its fine, whirling dust temporarily blinding me. I turn my head and catch the shape of a man looming behind me.
‘Robin?’
I blink rapidly, still blinded by the irritating grit, and rub my eyes with the back of my hand. When I peer again, my eyes sore and stinging, there’s nobody there. Just an empty space, sunlight dazzling off the white stones.
‘Robin? Hello, is that you?’
Still no response.
Maybe someone else was coming up to admire the view, then changed their mind, finding me here before them. But where is Robin? It must be half an hour since we parted. The site isn’t that large. I’m getting worried. He was behaving so oddly before, charging off in a temper for no reason. Where on earth has he gone now?
I squat beside the cliff edge and hunt for my phone. I turn on the screen to ring him and stop dead, staring.
There’s a text from Madern.
Call me. Urgent.
The text arrived over an hour ago. I must not have heard the buzz of an incoming message.
Urgent.
The word frightens me.
All thoughts of Robin pushed aside, I check the signal – there are three bars up here – and call my boss back in Cornwall.
Madern answers on the fourth ring, sounding breathless. ‘Caitlin, thank God.’
‘I got your text. What’s wrong?’
‘It’s bad news, I’m afraid.’ Madern sounds unhappy, off balance, which scares me even more. He’s usually such a calm person, not given to dramatics. ‘Where are you, Caitlin? Are you on your own?’
‘I’m out sightseeing with … with a friend.’ I hate lying, but what else can I do? This isn’t the time or place to discuss Robin. ‘Look, Madern, you’re scaring me. Please just tell me what’s happened.’
‘It’s your dad.’
I wait, suddenly silent.
‘I’m sorry, Caitlin. He passed away during the night.’
I hear the words but for a few seconds don’t seem able to comprehend them. Then the truth sinks in.
My father is dead.
My heart stutters. It feels like I can’t catch my breath. ‘Tell me you’re joking.’
‘I wish I could. The vicar found him this morning. She got in touch with the police and his MacMillan nurse, sorted everything out. Then she came and found me.’
I shake my head in immediate, obstinate denial. ‘No, I don’t believe it. I only spoke to him a day ago.’
‘Apparently it can happen like that with end stage cancer. The patient seemingly fine one minute, and the next …’ I bow my head, too choked up to reply. ‘I called round to see him myself a few days ago,’ he continues, ‘and he was in a great mood. Never mentioned that he was having any issues. I left my number on a notepad in case he needed anything. The vicar saw my number and asked me to let you know, as his next of kin. She thought it might come easier from a friend than if the police rang you out of the blue.’
I stare out at the beautiful, hazy view stretching into the distance, the green and brown valley, the isolated farmhouses, the road cutting through dust clouds. Nothing like the dark green, rainy fields of Cornwall. I didn’t realise how far the sickness had progressed. I thought we still had time. I’ve been so selfish. I should have been there with him. Not here with Robin, enjoying myself, falling in love all over again, forgetting my responsibilities …
He was my father. And I failed him.
‘I’m coming home,’ I say.
‘Okay.’
‘Not today though,’ I add, with sudden frustration. ‘I’m not at Tamsin’s place at the moment. I need to get back there and tell her in person.’
‘She already knows.’
‘What?’
‘When I couldn’t get through to you on the mobile, I called the chateau. The woman who answered didn’t seem to speak English very well, so she put your aunt on the phone. I’m afraid Tamsin asked immediately what was wrong.’ He sounds embarrassed. ‘I couldn’t not tell her.’
‘Oh God.’ I close my eyes. ‘Poor Tamsin. What a terrible shock for her.’
‘Poor Caitlin too.’ He sighs when I don’t reply. ‘Look, I know you like to be independent. But I’m here for you, okay? Whatever you need, an extra few weeks off work, a shoulder to cry on, you only have to ask.’
‘Thanks, Madern.’ I hesitate. ‘Can you possibly get things moving there until I’m back? You know the undertaker, don’t you?’
‘Yes, I’ll speak to him for you.’
‘Thank you.’
I finish the call and drop the phone back into my bag, then cover my face with trembling hands.
Oh, Daddy …
‘Caitlin, what is it?’
I look up, surprised. Robin is behind me, standing at the top of the steps up to the old ramparts. There’s white dust on his clothes. Has he been climbing among the ruins, despite the warning notices? He’s smiling but uncertainly. As though he caught the tail-end of my phone conversation and isn’t quite certain what’s going on.
There’s no point dressing it up for him. He’s never been to England as far as I know, never met my father.
‘That was a call from home,’ I say flatly. ‘My father’s died.’
The smile vanishes at once. He comes and puts his arms about me. He holds me close, the warmth of his body is reassuring. ‘I’m so sorry.’
‘I should never have stayed away so long.’
‘It’s not your fault.’ His hand strokes down my back, then lower. It’s meant to be comforting but feels sexual too. I pull away, not entirely easy in my mind. ‘Hey,’ he says softly, reaching for me again. ‘What’s the matter, babe? I’m on your side here.’
‘What do you mean?’
He shrugs. ‘The sick room. It’s not for everyone.’
I shake off his hand, not quite sure I’ve heard him correctly. ‘Hold on, you think … You think I stayed in France deliberately? That I stayed here because I was waiting for him to die?’
‘That’s not what I said.’
I say nothing, but turn away and stoop for my bag and hat. The wind is gusting again, gritty and choking, and the sun is too hot.
I’m suddenly uncomfortable with Robin. I keep remembering what we did together during the night, the unnerving games he likes to play in bed. Perhaps I was wrong to play along, to let him do those things. But it had seemed harmless at the time, in the privacy of our own room. Nothing too risky or dangerous. Just a few steps beyond the edge of what’s normal …
‘I’m leaving. I have to book a flight home to Cornwall,’ I tell him, avoiding his gaze. ‘As soon as possible
.’
‘You’re kidding me? You’re leaving right now?’
‘He’s my father, Robin. What did you think was going to happen?’ My voice is unsteady. ‘I have to bury him.’
‘What, with your own hands?’
I stop trying to arrange my hat so that it won’t blow off, and turn to glare at him. ‘You know, for someone who’s had some pretty crap things happen to him, you can be incredibly insensitive towards other people.’
I shoulder my bag and head off back towards the village without him, hoping I can find the right way. The place is a honeycomb of tracks and dusty ruins, much of it unsignposted. In my distress, all the paths seem to look the same, so I choose one at random and hurry down it.
‘Hey, Caitlin,’ he calls after me, ‘wait.’
But I keep walking.
There’s a narrow passage between high walls a little further along, not quite wide enough for two to walk abreast, with overgrown bushes at either end. The wind funnels through it with a low howl, driving grit into the air.
Robin catches up with me halfway along the passage, and drags me back by my top. ‘Hey.’
I gasp, turning to push him away, but he thumps me against the stone wall. I jerk upright at the last second, and just miss cracking my head.
‘I told you to wait,’ he snarls, his face a couple of inches from my own. His bare forearm is across my throat, strong and muscular, effectively pinning to the wall. ‘Don’t fucking ignore me.’
I meet his intense stare, frightened now.
‘Jesus, Robin. That really hurt.’ I’m not only winded, but alarmed for my own safety. ‘What the hell is wrong with you?’
Robin is breathing harshly, glaring at me like he wants to kill me. Then he sucks in a long breath and says, with an obvious effort, ‘Okay, I’m sorry if I hurt you. I didn’t mean to.’ He takes a careful step backwards, releasing me. ‘I don’t know why I did that.’
I rub my throat, saying nothing.
He makes a face. ‘That was pretty fucked-up, wasn’t it? Shit, I’m sorry.’ He slams a hand against the stone next to my head, clearly angry with himself. There’s a hard red line across his cheek. ‘I don’t want you to go home, Caitlin, that’s all. I need you here with me. I … I’ve fallen in love with you.’
