by A. M. Castle
When the gong sounds this time, it’s less like some bonkers stage play and more a familiar part of this weird castle life. It’s been the oddest day – all revolving around Gita and her child, of course – and now we have to face whatever Rachel has in store.
‘That’s just the first gong, darling,’ Geoff says, reassuring now as he drags me in for a hug. ‘You’ve still got time to get yourself all glammed up.’
I thought I’d already done that. I hesitate, then disengage so I can peer into the mirror. Apparently I need more make-up.
I fidget with the mascara wand. Rachel’s cloak is like a bin-bag on me and I realise it will completely cover the dress I spent so long choosing. I wonder if everyone has these capes, or whether Rachel just doesn’t trust me to get it right. I suppose I can’t blame her after last night’s fleece, but I don’t want my nose rubbed in it. I sigh. Suddenly the whole weekend seems like a nose-rubbing of epic proportions. And that horrifying mention, out of the blue, of my long-ago abortion, my worry that Vicky heard it all. ‘Why did we even agree to come?’
‘Don’t be silly,’ says Geoff. ‘You’re going to look gorgeous, my darling. And we’re having … quite a time. Look at this place. It’s how the other half lives. You never know, maybe they want to give me some business.’ I see a gleam in his eye that hasn’t been there for those long weeks and months of worry. Whatever has been gnawing at him seems to be dissipating in this strange place, despite the near-death of a little girl and a gathering storm that is now trying to take the roof off Rachel’s castle. If he can block it all out, and think only about the positives, I suppose I can.
‘You’re right,’ I say. As long as he’s on my side, as long as he never knows, I can get through anything. Rachel has promised to keep quiet. And, if Vicky heard, why would she ever say anything? Unless she drinks too much. Then all bets are off. She doesn’t realise what she’s saying or who she’s hurting. I remember her shouting at little Raf, way back at Ruby’s christening. He must have been all of ten. ‘Stop whining, lad, no wonder Daddy left,’ she yelled – just before she passed out.
But I can’t go on thinking like this. I’ve spent my life held hostage by this damned secret. I deserve an evening off. Now Geoff is sweeping around the room, his own cape easily as long as mine. I squash my worries and try and look mysterious and gothic – and carefree – as I get up and join him in a little impromptu swishing. I can play-act for a few hours, can’t I? And then opt for an early night.
Yes, it’ll soon be all over. And tomorrow, thank Christ, I’m going to take Geoff and get the hell out of this place. No one can stop me.
Breathless, I whirl to a halt. ‘I’ve just remembered, I left my handbag downstairs. So stupid. I’ll just nip and get it.’
‘Do you want me to fetch it?’ offers Geoff, ever the gentleman. ‘And I can finally have that little chat with Rachel.’
‘With Rachel?’ For a second, I’m surprised. I didn’t think they were exactly on ‘chat’ terms. But then I remember that time, a couple of months ago, when I went for a Sunday walk, and came back to find Geoff on the phone. To Rachel, of all people. He was pink in the face, with that shiny, wrung-out look he gets when dealing with difficult clients.
Geoff flung me the receiver as though it were radioactive, and scuttled off outside ‘to look at the runner beans’. Rachel and I had a desultory conversation and signed off. She was just about to get on a flight, and had just been with the most fabulous people. Talking to me in our little cottage must have been the dreariest of contrasts.
I suppose I’ve been preoccupied too. The blow from the publishers, all my usual regrets. Now I remember Geoff was saying something when I walked in. It sounded like: ‘You wouldn’t dare.’ It finally strikes me there might be a connection, with whatever has been eating away at Geoff these past months.
If he can get things sorted out at last, I’m all for it. So I leap at his suggestion. ‘Oh, could you fetch it, darling? That would be so kind. Then I can keep on getting ready.’
He takes off his cloak, blows me a kiss, and shuts the door carefully behind him. Once he’s gone, I take a deep breath.
I do hope I’m doing the right thing.
Chapter 33
Geoff
Mount Tregowan, 31st October
I don’t like to deceive my wife, in fact I consider subterfuge abhorrent. But occasionally, things crop up that she simply doesn’t need to know about. I bracket keeping them from her with my other essential duties as a caring husband, in that I am helping to preserve her all-important peace of mind. Regrettably, what I am about to do falls into that benighted secret category.
I am in my stockinged feet as I descend, and I am therefore all but silent. I find Jane’s handbag sitting at the foot of the stairs and pick it up. Just as I am approaching the door to the library, hoping to be granted a brief audience with the ‘lady of the house’, who should shoot out but Rachel herself.
‘Oh, it’s you, is it?’ she says, in perhaps not the friendliest tone. ‘You do look silly with that bag. You’d better come next door.’
I follow obediently, and find myself in the morning room. I can’t help noticing it is, in fact, afternoon – but I guess that a jest on the subject will fall on stony ground.
‘I suppose you want to talk about the obvious?’ Her question unfortunately doesn’t suggest an open mind or even a receptive ear, for that matter. But it may be the only chance I get.
‘Many thanks for letting me take this opportunity …’ I begin.
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, can you get on? I’ve got to do my make-up. It’s my big night, tonight,’ she says, not quite suppressing a yawn. As she seems to be caked in cosmetics already I am surprised there is space for more paint, but I decide now is not the moment to venture that opinion.
‘You must realise, it’s all been a terrible …’
‘Mistake?’ she breaks in, then laughs. For a woman in a tearing hurry to cover herself with rouge, she really spins her cackles out. Her manners are beyond appalling.
‘A clerical error, I was going to explain. You see, these things are easily done, the work of a single moment of inattention on the part of a junior colleague …’
‘I’m pretty sure Jane told me you’re a one-man band in that titchy office of yours.’ Rachel sniffs. ‘So don’t try and blame anyone else. Ross says …’
‘You’ve told your husband?’
‘Don’t squeak! For God’s sake, Roderick’s voice is bad enough. Of course I haven’t. Yet. He just says in general, don’t deal with the little people … and now I see why. But I will tell him. Unless you sort things out.’
I swallow. ‘I also wanted a moment with him. To ask whether there were any legal services I could offer whilst I’m here …’
Rachel’s second peal of laughter is still ringing in my ears, long after she has swept out of the morning room and up the stairs.
When I’ve collected myself sufficiently to leave the room, I bump straight into Vicky. By the looks of things, she has been celebrating young Ruby’s return to the fold in her own room. With rather too lavish a hand. She sloshes her drink all over me.
‘Whoops! Doesn’t matter, though, does it? Got to get changed, Geoffy. Chop chop.’
I don’t bother trying to explain that I am already in my evening attire. I am about to go back upstairs when she grabs my arm.
‘Just want to say, I really admire you. The way you’re taking it.’
I look at her. Do I even want to know what she’s talking about? We’re standing in the corridor but she carries on as loudly as though addressing the crowds at Speakers’ Corner.
‘About Jane’s, you know, op. Back in the day.’
I just look at her blankly, but she sails on.
‘Lot of men might have seen her as damaged goods. The way she could never stay up the spout afterwards. But you’ve been fran … frab … fantastic.’ She claps me heavily on the back and lurches up the stairs.
I am left st
aring after her, still clutching Jane’s bag, a succession of images in my mind. Jane, white-faced, bent double in pain yet again. The folding away of another miniature sleepsuit, destined to remain forever untenanted. Vicky cannot possibly mean what she has just said.
I am amazed I am managing to stand upright. Because the metaphorical rug has been pulled right out, from under my very feet.
Chapter 34
Rachel
Mount Tregowan, 31st October
There. The final touch. I put my eyeliner down and get up, ready to step into my robes. There’s a rap at the door and Ross appears, agitated.
‘What is it, darling?’ I say, going over to him. We embrace and, yet again, I realise I must get him started urgently on yoga. He needs more fluidity in his core. I can’t be hugging a mop.
‘Two things, my love. That little girl, Jane. The one in the erm, unsuitable clothes … she wandered into the library. Thinking of settings for a book, she said. Seems nervous about tonight. Something about one of your previous parties.’
The very idea of Jane’s mice cavorting in a place like this. I snort. ‘I suppose it’s her outfit. She’s got nothing to fear this time; my cloak will cover a multitude of sins. Although yes, now I think back, the silly thing did really overdo it, last time I had a Halloween thing. She had to get her stomach pumped. I wouldn’t dream of referring to it – it was too ridiculous. Why on earth would she bother you about it?’
Ross’s eyebrows raise a centimetre. ‘Ah, I think she finds you a little … intimidating.’
I laugh, but he goes on. ‘And then I’m afraid there’s Penny,’ he mutters into my hair. I pull away a centimetre and gaze into his eyes. Usually he can’t resist the swimming-pool depths of mine. But he just stalks off and stands by the window. I return to my dressing table. A flash of lightning strikes, then fades out over the sea. The storm is still a way off. But it’s drawing ever nearer.
‘Penny? What’s her problem?’ I adjust my tone enough for this to come out honeyed. He looks over at me but it’s dark again, I can’t see his expression. And vice versa.
‘All that business with the child just now. It took it out of her. Brought back memories. I’m not sure she’s up to – tonight. A tray in her room …’
I rush to his side. ‘Ross, no! She has to be part of the family group. Don’t you see? I’ve been planning this for so long. You know that. She mustn’t spoi … spend any time worrying about all that. Everything worked out fine with Ruby, didn’t it? I’ve had a word with Gita. Nothing to worry about there. Penny will enjoy herself tonight. Really she will. It’s important, darling. For all of us.’ I kiss him, and of course he concedes.
I send him on his way, to break the bad news to Penny. I can just see her thin features bunching, like the hood of a cagoule in bad weather. No one in this country seems to have heard of injectables.
God, that brings me to Jane. I hope she’s going to make an effort tonight, not be a wet blanket about something that happened twenty years ago. All right, I shouldn’t have mentioned the termination. I wouldn’t have thought it mattered. Everyone must have known years ago. Then she was twitchy about her mouse books, too. She’s turned into such a prima donna, I’m beginning to wonder why I asked her at all.
I thought Jane and Vicky were huge friends, but they don’t seem to be hanging out much. Vicky’s a bit off as well. And as for Jane’s husband, I’m glad I caught him skulking outside Ross’s study, before he worked up the nerve to go in. The cheek, suggesting he might ask Ross for work! I don’t think so. Ross has got lawyers aplenty, and they’re all better than Geoff.
He and Jane do serve one useful purpose, of course. They make up the numbers. I’m amazed people still haven’t noticed that there are thirteen of us yet. Vicky particularly. She can’t be too sozzled these days to perform simple addition, can she? Maybe it’ll hit her when we sit down to table this evening. I kept last night to a buffet especially so the penny – ha-ha – wouldn’t drop, but I’m beginning to feel none of this lot would appreciate my whole Halloween theme even if I asked them to stand up and be counted. And Gita, the one person I’ve told, seemed to think my idea was horrifying, instead of brilliant. Never mind. Pearls before swine.
Even these cloaks, though. Will they get that? I hope they do. I hope the events of that party twenty years ago – everything other than ditzy Jane ending up in A&E – haven’t faded completely from their minds. Surely Gita will remember? She was so starry-eyed, madly in love with Tom. I had to prise her off him to pick up the costumes beforehand. ‘Why are you buying so many cloaks?’ Gita asked, once we’d bundled them all into my car.
‘Hiring, honey, not buying. Do you think I’m made of money?’ Gita lowered her eyes at that. Mentioning my fortune is always like flatulence at a funeral. All right, we’re a couple of decades on from that night. And she’s had three goes of baby brain. But won’t the brand-new, lovingly made cloak in her room jog that memory?
It’s almost as if none of them want to cast their minds back.
But I’m sorry, they’re just going to have to.
Chapter 35
Vicky
Mount Tregowan, 31st October
I was that pleased about Ruby, I admit it. Been toasting her in the privacy of my room. Then popped downstairs for paracetamol – got a feeling I’m going to need some tomorrow. Finished my packet this morning.
Bumped into Geoff. Seemed a bit off. But he and Jane must have discussed everything, in the last, what, twenty years. Yeah, course. Close couple like that. Geoff did look a picture with that handbag.
Race back to my room for just one more sip and Tom is in the corridor. When isn’t he hanging around in the shadows? I slam my bedroom door on him and stand with my back to it. My hand touches something soft and warm and I wheel round. It’s a cloak, swinging from the hook.
I don’t like it, the way people wander around my room at will. I’m used to my space being my own, ’specially since Raf left. If I leave my cereal bowl on the counter at 6 a.m. before going to work, it’s there to greet me when I get home.
I switch on the light at last, calm my breathing. The bed has been turned down. It’s just Rachel’s house elves whisking around. But my eyes dart to the bedside cabinet all the same.
Now I’m looking at the cloak more closely. The velvet is shiny like polyester, though I’m sure Rachel would die at that idea. Inside, the lining is so red it hurts my eyes. God, it’s lush. I slip it over my shoulders. The satin is cold as a knife on my arms.
Instantly, I’m having a flashback. To one of the (many) other times I’ve been so drunk I’ve blacked out. I’ve read all about it. More aversion therapy. Apparently once you’ve sunk enough alcohol, your hippocampus, the memory-maker, becomes paralysed. The brain becomes incapable of recording. But explain these splinters of the past that come back to me, then. My faulty showreel.
This cape, but so many years ago. And Tom, the smell of him, sharp, feral. His sweat. The way our bodies contorted, on a pile of other capes. The plunge, taking the plunge, as his arse rose and fell between my legs. How could a thing that was so wrong, feel so much righter than right? Then the shock, as I opened my eyes for a second, seeing another face, over his shoulder. A perfect oval swimming into focus, with mouth and eyes stretched round. That shows how long ago it was – her features were fully mobile. Then a flick of long blonde hair as she turned. I hadn’t heard the door open, but I definitely heard it close, as Rachel left. Then the room was silent, apart from his panting.
Christ. I turn my head, so sharply I crick my neck. But it’s not as simple as that, shutting stuff out. How many years ago was that? I can’t kid myself. I know all too well. And since that day, the skulking around, the weight of the unspoken, lies between me and Gita. Rachel, too. And Tom’s sly eye, mocking me. The duty to keep on turning up, keep on being friends. My reason for never drinking again. And the reason I’m reaching into the bedside drawer now, pulling out the flask of vodka, slugging back some more.
/> Sometimes things come along that you haven’t planned for. You just have to make the best of them. Hunker down, keep quiet, respect the boundaries. That’s what I’ve told myself over the years. But I’ve been wrong. I’ve taken on all the guilt – I should have got angry instead, a long time ago.
The cloak is still round me as I crash onto the bed. I sink my fingers into the silk and satin, digging my nails into it, twisting and pulling, trying to rip and tear. But it’s too well made, the seams braided and bound, the fabric expensively woven.
Damn, damn, damn. Damn and blast. Scarlet dances across my vision, rivers of blood, of revenge. Sharp as those shards of memory. I’ve kept the secret – I’ve been forced to. They have all made me. And look what it’s done to me. I don’t want this anymore. And I’m not going to take it.
Rage finally rises in me at last, pure and cold as tempered steel. They say confession is good for the soul. But stabbing may be even better.
Chapter 36
Tasha
Mount Tregowan, 31st October
I hear the gong go a second time and I know that’s the signal to assemble downstairs. But I literally don’t know if I could actually move right now.
I don’t know how long it’s been since Rachel tapped at my door. I suppose it was lovely of her. She must have had so much to get ready, but here she was, checking on us kids, after the whole Ruby business.
So I welcomed her in. She sat herself down, right here on my bed. And what she said ruined my whole life.
‘I just wanted to see how you’re doing, after all the fuss over your sister,’ she said. ‘It’s lovely to see how well you’re all getting on. Raf, too. You must have seen so much of him over the years.’
