His gaze roved over her. “You look better. You’ve a neater skull cap now.”
He touched the strips of tape which now held the cut on her cheek. She felt his fingers go to her shoulder and brush across the grazes there. He stopped abruptly. The ward was filling with visitors, loud with chatter. He stood up and tugged her to her feet.
“Come on,” he said. “You and I have business to finish.”
Hand in hand, they left the ward and along the side corridor past the day room, past the bathrooms and showers right to the semi-darkness at the far end. Here were the consultants’ rooms and a secretary’s office, all now deserted and locked for the night. In an alcove, four plastic chairs had been placed, two on each side, to make a waiting area. A few leaflets littered a small table. The vinyl tiles were cold on her bare feet.
“This’ll have to do,” he said. He swung round and let go of her. “I believe you wanted to talk to me.”
She reached up and held her palm against his cheek. There was tension in him, trembling through his body, detectable through the tips of her fingers. Her words stumbled a little, fluency deserting her in the unfamiliarity of what she wanted to articulate, tripping over the hope and the fear and the doubt and the uncertainty that swirled in her strange and newly softened heart.
“I think… I mean… I would like to…” She took a deep breath and then unleashed a storm of unstoppable words – “I think I might feel about you the way you say you feel about me but you have loads to do yet, you’ve to go to university and have lots of new experiences and meet lots of new people, and meet other girls and get a job and I’m just someone you met one summer and liked for a while and anyway a relationship like this is way out there and I’m not sure that we could make it work and …” She stopped, gasped a breath. “…that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”
He froze. For thirty seconds he was immobile. Then, with a little smile, he reached for her. His cheek came down carefully onto the top of her head and his whisper caressed her exposed ear, the gentlest of breaths. “Yes, Robyn. Yes, we’ll talk.”
After a moment, he pulled his head back and, very gently, tilted her chin up. There was the uncertainty of youth in his look. She felt the lightest brush of his lips on hers, tentative, cautious. He stopped and his eyes, inches from hers, asked the question.
She whispered, “Do that again.”
He did.
“Let’s go away,” she said, low and longing.
“Anywhere you want.”
“I used to stand on the shore of Belfast Lough, looking at the ferry going to Scotland, and wish I was on it.”
“You shall go on it, if that’s what you want.”
“Tomorrow?”
“If we can,” he said. “Now be quiet.”
The long belt of the striped dressing gown trailed after them when they finally made their way slowly back. The main light was out in the ward. Robyn slipped off the dressing gown while David pulled back the bed cover. She climbed into bed and lay on her side. He pulled the cover over her and bent to kiss her goodnight, confident at last.
“We’ll make it work,” he whispered. “We’ll talk and we’ll make it work. Now close your eyes. You must count to twenty before you open them.”
Puzzled, she did as he said. When she opened her eyes he was gone. On the pillow beside her was a little felt rabbit.
32
IT WAS a long drive the next morning, but finally David left her at her flat to change and pack and went on to his own house. Robyn passed the dental surgery and mounted the stairs slowly. She was shaky, felt like a stranger. She turned the key and opened the door. This wasn’t a haven any more. It was a prison.
She walked into the tiny sitting room and looked at the chair, the bed, the table, the bookcase, the yellow cushions. She hated them. This was a place of fettered wings and a wounded heart, a place of guilt and shame, a place to shrivel and grow old. David had called it her burrow. It was more than that. It could have been her grave. She pulled her suitcase from the top of the wardrobe. She would never live here again.
David knocked on the landing door an hour later. His face was white. She drew him in.
“You should have let me go with you,” she said.
He held onto her. “There wasn’t time. But the place was cold, so cold. And empty.” She felt him shiver. “There were yellow hairs on Manna’s spot on the rug.”
“But your mother will be back. And Manna.”
“I rang her. She’s happy I’m going away for a bit. And she will be back. She said so. She sounded better.”
Robyn hesitated. “Did you tell her about me?”
“Not yet. I told her I was going with a friend.”
She pulled away and held him at arm’s length. He swung away and lifted her case. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”
Robyn followed him and slammed the door without looking back.
On the small section of open deck on the ferry, David stood with Robyn and watched the shores of Belfast Lough slip past. His visit home had been even harder than he had admitted to Robyn. His father was everywhere, seeming to inhabit the house even more because there was no-one else to fill the space. Both his parent’s cars were still in the drive.
But what had been hardest of all had been passing the weeping cherry tree. In his mind’s eye he saw it there now, alone in the empty garden of the empty house. It seemed like a betrayal all over again.
He looked back over the receding city, the hills, the smoke, the cranes of the docks, the high rise flats, the new developments along the waterfront. He loved this city. In a sudden surge of emotion he swung Robyn round into an embrace so strong she gave a squeal of protest.
“Robyn,” he said close to her ear as the engine note rose and the white wake churned, taking the ferry out into the open sea, “wherever you and I have come from, it’s where we’re going that matters. The only thing that matters.”
After a moment of silence, he heard her voice muffled against his jacket. “Can I breathe now, please?”
He held her out from him, laughing. She put a hand to the side of her face in a sweeping gesture, then dropped it again.
“I keep forgetting I’ve no hair. But it’s funny,” she pondered. “It’s good being able to look at things without hair getting in the way. There’s a gale blowing on this deck, but my eyes are clear. I can see everything.”
“You’re a new woman. And I can see your face properly now.”
“But I need to let it grow a bit.”
He ran a hand lightly over her head. “Two inches. I’ll hide the scissors till then.”
Robyn recognised the hotel from a tourist brochure. It was the one she and Gemma and their two friends had stayed in after their exams. David phoned. One of the private cottages in the grounds was available. He booked it.
They arrived in the early evening. It was a cool but dry autumn dusk as they followed directions around the hotel drive to the back and found their cottage. There were several together, but each one had its own front door and porch. There were only three rooms: sitting room, bathroom and bedroom.
In the door of the bedroom Robyn stopped. David went past her and put her bag on the bed.
“Fight you for the sofa,” he said.
She grinned, tension evaporated. “Race you to the bathroom!”
The green dress with its scooped neckline and cap sleeves, the defiant symbol of her embryonic independence, had travelled well. She clipped on daisy earrings and looked at herself in the cheval mirror in the corner of the bedroom. She had regretted the purchase back before the summer. When would she have an occasion to wear it? she had scolded herself. She smoothed the pale green lace inset at the fitted waist above the graceful skirt, angled her head to see the effect of the earrings on the stark jut of her cheekbones. She had allowed one narrow strip of bandage to stay on the cut. David’s voice sounded impatiently from the hall.
“Are you ready yet? I’m going to start eating the furniture soon
.”
She opened the door, self-conscious. He looked round. She stood still. Then he came towards her and set his hands on the lace at her waist. She felt the warmth of his palms through to her skin.
“I’m sorry I was so long…”
“I’m not,” he said. Holding her loosely, he brushed each corner of her mouth with his. When he lifted his head she smiled up at him. Unlike Neil’s kiss in the park weeks before, this time the wine was very pleasing.
The hotel was a converted hunting lodge and the dining room was wood panelled and elegant. They were on their best behaviour. David had had a quick shower and his hair glistened in the subdued lighting. Robyn linked her fingers under her chin and watched him as he examined the menu. She started at the wave on the top of his head and traced every inch of his face. His long black brows, his dark lashes lowered and moving slightly as he read, his fine nose, the cheekbones smoothing to the slightly rougher skin of his jaw. She was contemplating the point of his chin when he looked up.
“Happy?” he asked.
She just smiled, her eyes bright.
As they ate their hors d’oeuvres, she said: “There are some good looking waiters here. Spanish, I think.”
He bit a prawn. “Any more remarks like that and we move out tomorrow.”
As they ate their main course, he said: “This was a good idea.”
“I’m full of them,” she said.
Over dessert, she took his right hand. “Battlescars.”
He flexed his fingers. “They still work anyway,” he said.
Over coffee, he reached for her wrist and turned it over. He ran his finger down the faint scar. “So who did it to you, Robyn?”
She pulled her hand away and crumpled her napkin. “Shall we go now?”
He held her eyes for a moment, then pushed out his chair. “OK.”
33
A CRASH REVERBERATED through the cottage. It pulled David from a deep sleep. He sat up, his legs cramped from the inadequate length of the sofa. The thick curtains were slightly open, allowing a faint flush of moonlight to steal across the room. He clicked on a lamp and swung his legs to the floor, calling. There was no reply. Heedless of the chill on his body, he went into the hall.
Dark memories twitched in his brain, memories of the night he had been woken to look for his father. Irrational fear made his knees weak. As he pushed the door of the bedroom, he saw the glimmer of her body standing beside the bed. He turned on the light, keeping the dimmer switch turned low. On the floor in one corner lay one of a pair of bedside lamps. Its cream shade was bent askew and pieces of glass were mixed in with lumps of the shattered base.
Robyn had the other lamp in her hand. She jerked the flex from the wall and hurled it violently after its pair. With a deft movement, he caught it in mid-air. One lamp they could explain. Two might look like vandalism. Alarmed, he set it out of reach.
“Robyn, what’s the matter? What’s wrong?”
Her voice was taut with rage. “He should have loved me. He should have loved me!”
“Who should have loved you?”
“My father. He should have loved me the way yours loved you!”
He spread his hands in a helpless gesture. “I’m sure he did…”
“Oh no, he didn’t!” she cried. “He twisted me, he corrupted me, he made me believe I was a bad person.” Her voice lowered. “I used to look at the other girls in my class and think, well, they’re OK.” She spread her hands wide. “But I’m not like them. I’m worthless. Born manacled to ghosts. I don’t have to be cared for. I just have to be used.”
Shock cut through to his marrow. “You mean it was your father?”
Rage flared, white hot. “Yes! You know the one?” She jabbed a finger at him. “Daddy. The one who buys you sweets and helps you with your homework.” She paced across the room, stopped beside the bed. She leaned across it, challenging him. “You know, I used to go to church and I used to think the big holy guy who said ‘When you pray say: Our Father,’ had never met mine! Either that or God was a filthy bastard!” Her chin jutted. “Does that shock you?”
“No, it doesn’t shock me at all.” He crooked a smile. “In fact, it sounds just like you.” He saw her shiver. “You’re freezing.” He pulled the quilt from the bed and draped it round her shoulders. She looked up at him, her eyes huge.
He took her face between his hands. “Tell me.”
She was silent. Then she opened the quilt and hooked one side of it up round his shoulders, including him in its warmth.
“Hey, that’s good,” he said, closing the edges round them both to make a warm cocoon.
They went back to the sofa, their bodies wrapped tightly together. And there, her face hidden against his neck, she told him. Everything. From the age of four until she lay on the bathroom floor at the age of fourteen, trying to find the only way out that she knew. She spared him nothing. From early fondling until her father began to come into her room in the night. On and on she went while David froze in horror, nausea churning the pit of his stomach.
Finally she stopped. His arms were still round her as fast as ever, her head still nestled against his neck. But he was totally unable to speak. As the silence stretched into minutes, she lifted her head and looked at him, her eyes frightened.
“David? Please don’t hate me.”
Galvanised into action, he pressed her cheek to his, his words coming in a rush. “How could I ever hate you? Little wonder you ran away. Little wonder you were prickly.” His voice shook. “I know it happens. I knew something like this must have happened to you.” He spoke through gritted teeth. “But I’ve never seen the pictures before. I’ve never heard the cruelty, the evil, twisted, bloody barbarity.” He pushed himself forward, turning to face her. “And I never knew anyone could be a survivor of that and yet be as magnificent as you.”
He tried to gather her close again but this time she resisted, her hand firm against his chest.
“You have to know it all, David. You have to know the kind of woman I am.” She took a shuddering breath. “He got dementia. In the end he was in a home. I found myself alone with him one day. He didn’t even recognise me by then.” She paused, a thought amazing her. “I got up and went over to him. He was thin and wasted. I stood there and thought about what I could do to him if I wanted. I thought about it. And thought about it. Rehearsed it in my mind.” She closed her eyes and raised her face to the ceiling. “I looked down at him, an old helpless shell of a man. And the urge to kick him, to beat him, even to kill him, was so strong I was terrified. I turned and ran.” Her voice rose again, furious. “That’s what he made of me. A woman who could hate so much she could kill!” Both her hands clenched into shaking fists. “It’s been a black weight in me for so long.”
He took her chin in his hand and made her look at him, his voice quick, urgent.
“Everybody’s a killer if the need arises. I know what you felt. I could have killed Fraser the night he attacked you.” He put a hand on her shoulder and shook her a little. “I nearly did. But neither of us actually did it in the end.” His mouth twisted. “But if your father walked in here now, he’d be dog food in thirty seconds.”
“There’s such a rage in me. It fires out at all the wrong moments. Sometimes I don’t even know it’s going to happen. I did it to you. I nearly lost you.” She put her head on one side. “I nearly did, didn’t I? You were going to leave me, you were going to walk away. I forced even you to think about it. You started to ignore me.”
“Ignoring you was a temporary survival strategy. There was so much going on in my life, I had to do something to take control, to cope, just for a little while. Can you understand that?”
“Yes, but it would have broken my heart.”
“My own was getting a bit frayed round the edges.” He stroked her cheek. “But I would have been back. I would never have given up on you. I was much too afraid of you giving up on me.”
He settled back on the sofa, tightening the cover
round them both again.
She turned into him, her face hidden, her voice full of pain. “You’ve always waited for me, accepted me just as I am.” He felt her hand go up to his neck. “When I woke earlier, I came in here and watched you sleeping.”
“Did you indeed? Spy.”
“And I remembered the night you phoned me when I was in bed. And you told me that you wished I was beside you then.”
He remembered that very well. The need to talk to her, to see her, to touch her, had been a piercing ache.
“And I couldn’t deal with it then,” she went on. “I couldn’t bear being that vulnerable, giving up my self-possession for anyone. I never wanted to belong to anyone who would have power over me ever again.”
“And now?”
“Now?” He felt her body responding beneath the warm cover. “I watched you sleeping, knowing that now I’m so totally vulnerable. And it petrified me.” She started to shake against him. “And then suddenly I was choking with anger. Choking with it, blazing with it. It’s like something just exploded.”
A thought struck him. “Your mother?”
The question hovered. Then she said: “She knew. She knew all along.”
His breath left him in a rush as his head went back. “Jesus!” he whispered. Tremors of a fury of his own rippled through his body. He pulled her tight against him. “I’m not afraid of anger. Sometimes it’s a dagger to kill the devil.” He closed his eyes, trying to bring his spinning emotions under control. “And you couldn’t tell anybody.” It was a statement.
“No,” she whispered.
He went on. “You couldn’t tell anybody because no-one would believe you. And because, even if they did, you didn’t want anybody to know. You didn’t want people pointing at you in the street.” He paused. “Am I right?” She had gone very still, listening. “You didn’t tell anybody because he threatened you and because you believed him. You thought you really were a terrible person and that it was all your fault.”
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