Your Life For Mine

by Karen Clarke

  ‘It matters to me too.’ I made my voice conciliatory. ‘And we will have a nice time, but this is a big deal to me, Vic.’

  ‘I know it is, of course I do.’ He pulled into the fast lane, overtaking a row of cars, a lorry, a coach, as if making up for lost time. ‘But maybe we could put it aside until we get home. Try and beat one demon at a time?’ He was trying to make light of it, saying demon in a dramatic voice, but my laughter sounded forced.

  ‘Maybe,’ I said.

  His smiled widened. ‘This is just the beginning.’ His gaze flicked in my direction again. ‘Things are going to be different, Beth, you’ll see.’

  I bit the soft inside of my cheek and allowed myself to breathe a little easier. Reminded myself that Vic had my best interests at heart.

  He put the radio on, tuned into Classic FM. ‘This OK?’ he said, as the presenter announced a Bach symphony in G major.

  I nodded, settling back as the powerful music filled the car. It was a fitting backdrop somehow, as I replayed my conversation with Rosa and let my eyes drift closed, pretending to sleep so I didn’t have to talk anymore.

  As we drew closer to our destination it felt oddly like travelling back in time, to Jamie and me in the back of the car playing number plate bingo, while Mum and Dad chatted in the front, occasionally singing along to Radio 1, all of us dipping into a big bag of pick’n’mix sweets. We’d been so looking forward to that holiday, the four of us, the atmosphere party-like. We’d had no idea our time would be cut dramatically short and our lives – my life – would change. Today, I had the sense of things coming to a head; that coming back to where it all began – and ended for Mike Barrett – was meant to be. Maybe I really would overcome my fear of the sea.

  Maybe I’d even live to tell the tale.

  Chapter 24

  Our rented cottage was close to Porthen Beach, set well back from the winding, rocky cliff path that led to Perran Cove.

  Despite my misgivings, I couldn’t stop a gasp escaping at the view as I climbed out of the car, the scenery unfolding in a series of shades from my paint palette: Grecian blue sea, and cerulean sky streaked with titanium white; pink sea thrift and campion, and the blues and yellows of gorse and heather on either side of the cliff path.

  ‘It’s stunning,’ Vic said, on the other side of the car, stretching his shoulders and flexing his arms as he looked around with a slow nod of approval. ‘Like being in an Enid Blyton book.’ He already looked less tired, despite five hours of driving. He’d refused to let me take a turn at the wheel, and neither of us had wanted to stop at the services, making do with bottles of water and the foil-wrapped sandwiches and fruit cake Pam had made.

  Vic needed this holiday, I realised – maybe as much as I did. I just hoped I wasn’t going to disappoint him. What would happen if my fear couldn’t be conquered? He’d said it wouldn’t matter, the important thing was to try, but I couldn’t help thinking he might see me differently, see us differently, if I returned to Oxford the same person as the one who’d left. He’d had such a positive effect on my life so far. I knew it made him feel good, the idea that he was maybe as much of a saviour – a hero even – as Mike Barrett had been. If I couldn’t face going down to the cove after all, couldn’t bring myself to even paddle in the sea, how would that make him feel?

  Think about what you really want. You don’t need saving anymore.

  It was starting to feel as if Emma was here with me too. I badly wanted to call her, tell her what Rosa had discovered, but Vic was coming around the car, a boyish light to his face.

  ‘How do you feel?’

  ‘A mess,’ I said, looking down at my creased shorts and wrinkled top, the chipped varnish on my toenails. I pulled out my ponytail band and shook my hair free. ‘Like I need a shower.’

  ‘You know what I mean.’

  ‘It’s lovely,’ I said truthfully, wavering slightly after sitting for so long. ‘But I really need the loo and something to drink.’

  Expectancy leapt in his eyes. ‘You’re not …’ He gestured with his arm, encompassing the view. ‘This isn’t giving you flashbacks?’

  I glanced at the curve of the Atlantic, benign and shimmering beneath the sky, red and white fishing boats dotted here and there, seagulls turning in the air. I couldn’t quite locate the unwelcome tug of recognition I’d expected, or the panicky sensation I’d experienced in the past whenever I thought about returning to Perran Cove.

  ‘Not at the moment,’ I said. ‘I think it’s because we didn’t stay here last time.’ I pointed. ‘We were quite a bit further down and I can’t see the cove properly from here, so …’ I looked around once more. ‘In a way, we could be anywhere in Cornwall.’

  Except, the smell was exactly the same; a cocktail of sunshine and sea and the slightly sulphurous scent of seaweed mingled with manure – probably from one of the many farms in the area. Strange to be recalling that, instead of what came after. Maybe Rosa’s call had shifted my perspective. Or, perhaps my fear, fuelled by years of guilt, flashbacks and nightmares had simply burnt itself out.

  As if reading my thoughts, Vic’s face split into a grin. ‘Shall we go for a paddle right now?’ He was joking, but his words fanned a flame of panic.

  ‘Give me a chance.’ I cuffed his arm. ‘I really do need the loo.’

  We hauled our bags from the boot and made our way up a grassy slope to the granite stone cottage, the front door framed by two sash windows, a cluster of pots underneath blooming with pink and white flowers.

  ‘It’s pretty,’ I said, as Vic released the key from a safe fixed to the wall and let us in. ‘Nice and cosy.’

  ‘You mean tiny,’ he said good-naturedly, dropping his bag on the hardwood floor. ‘No room to swing the proverbial cat.’

  It was small and simple, a short, wooden staircase dividing the living room and kitchen, leading to a bedroom and bathroom on the second floor. It was decorated in typical seaside style, lots of red, blue and white, framed pictures of boats on the walls. There were two comfy armchairs, a sunken sofa covered with mismatching cushions, and a small TV in the corner. I wished Hayley was with us. She’d have already found a nook and made it her own. ‘It’s perfect,’ I said, doing a slow spin. ‘Nice wood-burning stove.’

  ‘Not that we’ll be needing it.’ Vic crossed the living room in about three strides to unlock a pair of balcony doors, throwing them wide to let some air in. ‘Remember there’s no Wi-Fi.’

  ‘That’s fine,’ I said. There wasn’t a strong phone signal either, but we’d checked that there was a working landline at the cottage. ‘What’s that?’ Seeing a folder on a low table by the wood burner, I went to have a look.

  ‘House instructions,’ Vic said, joining me. ‘There’s a list of tide times too.’ He picked up a laminated printout and studied it. ‘Looks like we’ve missed today’s low tide.’

  ‘What a shame,’ I murmured.

  He looked at me, one eyebrow raised. ‘I’ll make some coffee.’ He crossed to the sink beneath the kitchen window, which offered more views of the sea and sky, and when he turned on the tap, I dashed upstairs to the bathroom.

  *

  ‘I still can’t believe I’m here,’ I said later, as the setting sun cast an otherworldly glow across the landscape, streaking the sky with pink and gold.

  We were on the balcony decking, sharing a bottle of wine that the owner of the cottage had provided, after eating the steaks that Vic had brought in a cool box and cooked on the little stove, with mushrooms, and green beans from Pam’s garden.

  I’d spoken to Hayley on the landline, and she’d made it clear she had better things to do than talk me through everything she’d done since leaving the house that morning.

  ‘We’re sleeping in a big tent in the garden tonight, and Daddy’s not allowed to come in, but he’s going to keep watch like a captain,’ she said, clearly in her element. ‘And Granny Turner says we can make some bread in the morning, and that I’m a clever girl.’

  ‘You
are,’ I’d said, blinking away tears, longing to feel the weight of her in my arms.

  ‘Love you, Mummy; night, night, sleep tight.’ She’d hung up in the middle of me trying to describe what the cottage looked like.

  Matt had texted right away. All good, don’t worry. Hope you are too. X

  I’d looked at the kiss until Vic said, ‘Everything OK?’

  ‘Missing Hayley.’

  He’d nodded and reached for my hand. ‘Imagine how excited she’s going to be when we tell her we’re taking a trip to the seaside next half-term.’

  I looked at him now, leaning back in the wicker patio chair, his long legs sprawled out, a half-smile on his lips. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen him this relaxed.

  I surreptitiously checked my phone for a message from Mum. I’d texted earlier to let her know we’d arrived and sent a photo of the cottage, and a selfie with a view of the sea in the background, captioned: Looks good from a distance! It had taken a while to send because of the patchy reception and she’d no doubt been fretting since.

  There was no message. I checked again, then looked at the signal bars on my phone. Enough for a text to have come through, or even a call. The ground seemed to shift slightly as it dawned on me that she hadn’t replied because she was angry with me. I felt a curious sense of abandonment, as if something precious had been snatched away.

  I started when Vic spoke. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Just Mum,’ I said lightly. It was ridiculous to feel put out that my mother hadn’t sent me a text, when in the past I’d complained about her messaging me all the time.

  His indulgent smile hid a flash of irritation. ‘Why don’t you switch it off?’ he said. ‘Everyone’s got the landline number.’

  ‘Good idea.’ I glanced at the screen once more, just as it pinged with a text. It was from Emma, sent three hours ago.

  Tell me you’re not in Cornwall.

  I am, I typed quickly, in case I lost signal again. It’s surprisingly OK so far. Great view. I’ll call tomorrow. I’ve got news xx

  I attached the same photos I’d sent Mum, of the cottage and me in the bedroom.

  I’ve got news too, she replied. Did you know Vic Berenson’s not his real name?

  A cold feeling slid through my stomach. What are you talking about?

  ‘Your mum again?’ Vic asked drily, reaching for the bottle of wine while I waited for the message to send.

  I nodded, not daring to catch his eye as he topped up our glasses.

  ‘Maybe we can take these up to bed.’

  It wasn’t dark yet, barely 10 p.m. but the day had been long and was catching up with us both. We’d been yawning in tandem for the past ten minutes.

  ‘I’ll be up in a minute.’

  ‘Tell her you’re in good hands,’ he said as he got to his feet and stretched. With a final glance at the deepening sky, he picked up the wine and his glass and bent to kiss the top of my head. ‘See you up there.’

  ‘Won’t be long.’ I resisted the urge to cover my phone screen, hoping he hadn’t looked. The wine I’d drunk curdled in my stomach. When he’d gone, I checked to see if Emma had replied.

  Ask him, she’d written. I don’t trust him, Beth. Come home.

  I thought about calling her on the landline, but Vic would hear and would want to know what was happening.

  What’s his real name? I replied, hating that I was even asking. I’d looked him up myself. Of course he was Vic Berenson. I’d seen his name on the hospital websites, his LinkedIn profile. There’d been other links online too: a paper he’d written, a write-up of a talk he’d given. Of course he was who he said he was. Whatever Emma was doing, whether she thought she was helping me or not, she’d gone too far. Maybe pregnancy hormones were affecting her judgement. When I was pregnant with Hayley, I’d cried and slept a lot during the first few months, my mood all over the place for weeks after that as I came to terms with the changes happening inside me.

  The message wouldn’t send. I got up and walked around in the dying light, trying to find some signal, then stood for a moment, feeling the thud of my heart. I moved closer to the ribbon of cliff path and stared at the sea, which had dulled to a calm expanse of pinkish grey. I could hear it pushing into the cove; a shushing sound that belied its power. I remembered the rush of water filling my nostrils, the freezing grab of a wave folding me under. Bile rose to my throat. I turned back to the cottage, throwing my phone on one of the armchairs before closing the doors and locking them, pulling the nautical-striped curtains across the glass so no one could see in. As if anyone would be casually passing this way. All the same, I’d felt for a moment the feeling I’d had back home, as though I was being watched.

  ‘You coming up, Beth?’

  The sound of Vic’s voice made me jump.

  I stared at the ceiling, picturing him lying on the bed, waiting for me to join him, wondering what I was doing.

  I rubbed the nape of my neck, wishing I could erase Emma’s message from my mind. What if she was right, and Vic wasn’t who he said he was?

  What if coming here was the biggest mistake of my life?

  Chapter 25

  I dreamt I was in the sea again, the water choppy as I struggled to tread water like Dad had tried to teach me once, doing the motions in front of the television to make me and Jamie laugh. I fought to keep my face above the surface, but the weight of water made my body ache as I heaved against the pressure, and terror surged as I felt myself pinned down.

  I woke with a jolt to find Vic half on top of me, his arm across my chest, pinioning me to the bed. Rolling gently from beneath him, I swung my legs from under the sheet and sat on the side of the bed for a moment, getting my bearings.

  We were in Cornwall, only a few hundred yards from Perran Cove.

  I rubbed my eyes and glanced over my shoulder. Vic’s arm had flopped back down. He hadn’t stirred, clearly worn out. Did he have an ulterior motive for bringing me here?

  It was the thought that had kept me awake long after he’d fallen asleep, as I lay on my back, staring at the wooden beams above me.

  I nearly said it, when I came upstairs. The oddest thing just happened. Emma says Vic Berenson’s not your real name.

  Then I imagined him passing it off as Emma trying to discredit him, and what if he was right? He’d be so disappointed I’d listened to her. We’d have it hanging between us, and even if she was right, there could be a simple explanation. Lots of people changed their names for reasons that weren’t sinister. But if he had, why not mention it?

  In the end, I’d decided I would call her today and ask for more details before tackling him about it. I’d barely acknowledged, even to myself, that I didn’t ask him because I was worried it was true, and me knowing might make him angry. Now I knew he had a side that wasn’t as calm and accepting as I’d thought, I wasn’t keen to provoke it. At least, not while we were here.

  He’d held out his arms as I came into the bedroom, which had been softly lit by a lamp shaped like a dolphin by the bed, and the idea that he might have anything but love for me had seemed outlandish. His kiss had been tender, his fingers gentle on my skin. He’d tasted of wine and his skin smelt warm and salty, but I was glad when he pulled away with another wide yawn.

  ‘God, I’m shattered,’ he’d said dropping back on the pillows. ‘I’m sorry, Beth.’

  ‘It’s fine,’ I said, guiltily relieved when he quickly slipped into sleep.

  Looking now at the rise and fall of his shoulders, I couldn’t believe he was anyone but Vic. If he had anything to hide, he wouldn’t sleep so well, and Vic never had trouble sleeping. It was a running joke between us.

  It was light outside, a strip of sunshine slanting through the single window, highlighting a painting of brightly coloured boats in a harbour on the whitewashed wall. Penzance, by the look of it.

  I picked my phone off the bedside cupboard and peered at the time: 7.45 a.m.

  Moving quietly on the ancient floorboards, I
pulled some fresh clothes from my open bag and slipped into the bathroom next door to wash and dress. It was compact, like the rest of the house. The plumbing was noisy, but there were no sounds of movement from Vic.

  I pulled a brush through my tangled hair, half-expecting to hear Hayley’s footsteps, pounding from her room to ours to demand breakfast because she was so hungry, and I felt a fierce longing to hear her voice.

  In the shaving mirror on the windowsill, my eyes were glassy with tears, the shadows beneath them proof of my restless night. So much for a relaxing break. Apart from where we were – Perran Cove lurking like a monster – my mind was a hamster wheel of anxious thoughts. You’ll need a holiday to get over this one, my grandmother had said when she came to see me in hospital after the accident, her attempt to make light of what had happened belied by a storm of tears. Somewhere far from the sea.

  I didn’t need a holiday. I wanted to be at home with my daughter, nesting on the sofa with a bowl of popcorn in front of a Disney film.

  Downstairs, I padded to the kitchen to look for my phone charger, groaning when I spotted the dirty plates and pans from dinner last night in the sink. My charger was coiled by the toaster and I plugged my phone in and switched the kettle on.

  Through the window, I watched a pair of seagulls glide past, carried on a breeze. Waiting for the kettle to boil, I unlocked the balcony doors and stepped outside, breathing in a lungful of fresh air. It felt cooler today, a stiff wind blowing off the Atlantic. The sky was duck-egg pale, the sun a hazy ball, and the rolling surface of the sea had a silvery sheen. A pair of surfers were battling the waves, and the sight of them made me shiver, remembering the man who’d brought me back to my parents.

  The kettle was steaming in the brightness when I returned to the kitchen. I made two cups of coffee, grateful the owner had provided fresh milk, as well as bread and butter and a dozen eggs. Perhaps I’d make breakfast, surprise Vic in bed – put everything out of my mind for a while, and postpone going outside.