No Greater Love - Box Set

by Prowse, Amanda

  A nightmare wrenched her from her rest. The song that she thought she had banished forever swirled in her head.

  Hey, little girl,

  Comb your hair, fix your make-up.

  Soon he will open the door.

  Don’t think because

  There’s a ring on your finger,

  You needn’t try any more

  The relief upon waking had been instant and sweet. It was just a horrid dream and she was safe. Mark was gone and could not hurt her any more. She sat up in the bed and wrapped her arms around her bunched-up knees. The fingers of her right hand snaked to the back of her thighs, where they ran over the bumps and dents of her scars, never more than a fingertip away. She shivered.

  Whenever Kate dreamed like this, she always spent the next few hours with a slight tremor to her hand and a quiver in her voice. The memories of her old life sat like a tiny echo at the base of her thoughts. They unnerved her.

  After gulping down a wake-up coffee, she welcomed the sun against her skin as she wandered the garden. The meandering paths that led nowhere in particular and the cottagey feel of the disorganised, mismatched planting suited her much more than… she suppressed the image of the school grounds, its manicured lawns and the regimental roses. A shudder ran through her. At the washing line she brushed her hand over the soft pale lilac sheet that pulled against its anchorage like a spinnaker in the Cornish breeze. Kate had not washed a sheet for many years. It had been one of two unshakeable resolutions, the other being to wear jeans every day.

  She negotiated the steep path down to the sea and spread her blanket on the sand. The Life and Loves of a She Devil fell open against her palms, revealing her bookmark. Every time she looked at the saccharine pink, glitter-coated rabbit, her breath stuttered in her throat.

  Kate ran the pad of her index finger over the scrawled text inside the card: ‘happpy birday mummy’. Her heart swelled with pride and sadness in equal measure. How she had loved being called Mummy. How she missed it. Lydia’s signature was surrounded by an oval of kisses, an unbroken chain, created when everything in her daughter’s world had been perfect. A time when her little girl lived unaware of the wolf baying at the door, before Kate had broken everything.

  The words of their telephone call floated to the front of her mind, always there for perfect recall. ‘Sometimes, Mum, I pretend that you are both dead, and that makes it easier somehow. I pretend that you were both killed in an accident and then I don’t have to think about you doing something so horrible to Dad or about the horrible things that Dad did to you. I don’t like to think about it, Mummy.’

  She looked towards the horizon and studied the sun diamonds glinting on the water, framed by the rocky cliffs on either side of the bay. It was as good as any beach anywhere. Maybe not as stunning as her St Lucian horseshoe paradise, but better in some ways because it was her beach, her special place. Somewhere for her to think. And no one was going to sell it from under her feet.

  * * *

  Bristol was buzzing and busy – or maybe Kate was simply transferring her own excitement and energy onto the city in which she found herself. Life in Penmarin was calm and quiet, just as she liked it. Bristol was entirely different. She enjoyed observing the university students clustered together in the entrances to buildings, in the way that only the young and carefree are happy to do. She laughed at how they had left school and abandoned their uniforms only to all dress the same now. And soon they would evolve again, perhaps joining the tribe of glamorous women who paraded the pavements clutching stiff paper bags stuffed with the day’s booty.

  The three friends had agreed to meet at Browns restaurant, a prominent landmark on the Bristol skyline. They sat outside at a table at the top of the steps. Apron-clad waiters bought them a cold jug of Pimm’s and salmon fishcakes with stick-thin golden chips. Nothing, however, could distract Kate from what lay ahead. On at least two occasions her heart skipped a beat at the sight of a dark-haired young woman on the opposite side of the street – for a split second they looked like Lydia and she had to quell the temptation to cry out. She was impatient to finish lunch and get to the gallery, wanting both to linger over her daughter’s work and to get the whole thing over with.

  ‘How are you feeling, mate?’ As usual, Janeece was more than in tune with her friend’s anxiety.

  Kate hesitated. How was she feeling?

  ‘I’m nervous, excited, scared and then nervous again.’

  Natasha placed a hand on her friend’s arm. ‘You’ll be fine, we’re right here with you.’

  Kate nodded, but Natasha’s reassurance did little to ease her angst.

  ‘She could be close by right now. I might be a few steps away from her…’ This Kate whispered, more to herself than anyone else.

  Janeece strode on ahead to check that the coast was clear, leaving Kate and Natasha to hover further down the street, waiting for the sign that they could proceed. It felt like an eternity, but it was in fact only minutes before she reappeared.

  ‘Right, had a word with a Mrs Ladi-dadi-da-pants in reception, who informs me that the artiste will be attending on Wednesday evening for the formal opening and then on Thursday only. So as today is Tuesday, I reckon we’re good to go!’

  Kate beamed. ‘Right. Let’s do this.’

  ‘You sure you are okay, honey?’

  Natasha knew only too well how revealing art could be and was worried that it might not be the positive experience her friend was hoping for.

  ‘Yep, I’m more than okay.’ Kate walked ahead alone.

  The building was beautiful: grand and full of marble, with Corinthian columns and a wide, sweeping staircase. Kate marvelled at the vast, ornate oils that lined the walls. Her little girl was in fine company. Imagine her daughter holding an exhibition in a place like this. Pride swelled in her chest and made swallowing difficult. Lydia…

  She lingered at the poster in the upper foyer – a blown-up version of the flyer that currently nestled in the bottom of her handbag. Lydia’s flawless complexion and liquid eyes were stunning. Kate breathed in sharply, realising how much she had missed. Although Francesca had emailed her the odd blurry snapshot over the years, this PR shot was of a different order altogether. The Lydia in her memory no longer existed: gone was the teenage skin and the wobbly application of heavy eye make-up. Now twenty-five, Lydia had found her style and become a woman.

  Kate studied each one of Lydia’s pictures intensely and read the titles carefully. Titles like Come Undone and Life Interrupted. Lydia was clearly talented; she had honed her skills considerably since Kate had last seen any of her work. Kate approached each piece with a mixture of pleasure and intrigue, even if she didn’t fully understand them.

  It was a strange and unique experience. Kate was certain that she would have known her children’s handwriting from the tiniest scrap, would be able to identify their voices from just one word spoken within a group, would know of their presence by nothing more than a cough. What she hadn’t considered was Lydia’s personality being so easily identifiable with every stroke of the brush. The bold colours and contemporary themes were as much elements of her character as her voice and humour. Kate could see that this work was the progression of all the sketches and paintings that had come before, going back to her childhood.

  When Janeece and Natasha caught up with her, Kate was transfixed by a large canvas, about fifteen feet square. She studied every square inch with a wide grin. Her hands fluttered at her chest. She wanted to whoop with joy!

  Natasha read the title. ‘My Background Noise – it’s an interesting title, what do you think it means?’

  Kate turned to her friend, the art expert, and with eyes brimming was able to interpret the meaning of the piece with confidence.

  ‘It means me, Tash. I am her background noise. Not cool, but like jam or a favourite pillow!’

  Kate ran her fingers over the daubs of paint that depicted a set of speakers with flowers, strawberries and dolly pegs coming from them i
n every shade of the rainbow. It was beautiful and it was a message that Kate read loud and clear. Happiness swelled in her chest.

  ‘Oh, Lydia, my clever, beautiful girl! I will be waiting for you.’

  As Natasha and Kate pulled into the driveway of Prospect House, they were still discussing the minute aspects of Lydia’s work. Kate knew that she would analyse and reinterpret what she had seen, time and time again. She felt close to her little girl; her hand had touched the paint that her daughter’s hand had applied. It was wonderful. But the state of excitement was not to last long, once the front door had been opened.

  ‘Ah, Kate, I’m so glad you’re back. We’ve got a bit of a situation on our hands.’

  ‘What kind of situation, Tom? Is the house burning down and you have forgotten the number for the fire brigade? Or have we run out of biscuits and cake will have to suffice? I’m really hoping that it’s closer to the latter; I don’t want anything to spoil my lovely day!’

  Tom shook his head and held open his palm, in the centre of which sat a plastic bag. Her time in jail and her work in the field of rehabilitation meant that she could instantly identify the irregularly shaped, off-white rocks as crack cocaine.

  ‘Oh please God no, not that! Is it Tanya’s?’

  ‘Well I think we can assume so, Kate, unless you have taken up the habit?’

  ‘Oh, don’t tempt me, Tom! Right, leave it with me. Where is she?’

  ‘In her room. I haven’t mentioned it to her.’

  ‘No, you did right. It would be today, wouldn’t it; the one day I am away.’

  ‘How was it, boss?’

  ‘Oh, Tom, it was magnificent!’

  ‘I’m glad. If that’s all, Kate, I think I’ll call it a night. Been quite a day. Stacey got off okay; phoned to say that she’d arrived at her mum’s and was doing fine. Said she’d be back in a few days.’

  ‘That’s good. Night, Tom, and thanks for today.’

  Kate saw the lamplight shining from beneath Tanya’s bedroom door. She knocked and waited.

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Can I come in, Tanya?’

  It was unusual for Kate to visit at this time of night, so Tanya instantly knew that something was up.

  ‘Sure.’

  Tanya was in bed, propped up on several pillows and cushions, reading a magazine and doodling in the margin with a biro. Kate noticed that she had drawn rolling waves over and over, making a frame around the article that she was reading.

  ‘Hey, Kate, how was it?’

  ‘Good, thanks, Tanya. Amazing, in fact.’

  Kate let out a long sigh.

  ‘Everything okay?’

  ‘Not really, Tanya, no. I’m sorry to have to ask you, but do you know anything about this?’

  Kate opened her hand to reveal the plastic bag with the drugs nestled inside.

  Do I know anything about it? I would say you have found someone’s candy. Judging by the colour, a good grade, not too cut. An eight ball probably enough for fifteen hours of bliss with a comedown so bad that whoever is using it would give anything, even sell their grandma for another high. That’s all I know about it.’

  ‘This isn’t funny and that wasn’t what I meant, Tanya, and you know it. Is it yours?’

  ‘Well it wouldn’t be Stacey Goody-Bloody-Two-Shoes, would it?’

  Kate sat on the end of Tanya’s bed. She rubbed her temples and ran her fingers through her hair.

  ‘I give you a lot of freedom, Tanya, because I think that’s the right way for you to explore where you are going and where you have come from. The one rule I have is no drugs and only moderate alcohol, you know that. This is a serious breach of trust. I’m really disappointed.’

  ‘Well welcome to my world. Now you know what it feels like to live my life. I am permanently bloody disappointed! Although let me tell you, Kate, that if the worst disappointment you have to face is the fact that I have a small amount of rocks in my pocket, then your life ain’t too bad!’

  ‘I’m not the one being reprimanded here, Tanya. You broke the rules. It’s not as though we have that many. And it’s not like you’ve snuck in some booze or are smoking out of the window, its crack cocaine! This is on another scale. People have been asked to leave Prospect House for much less.’

  ‘As I said, yet another disappointment for me. Go on, ask me to leave. I couldn’t give a shit. At least if I go, I’ll be able to eat what I want instead of all that organic shit Tom makes, and I’ll be able to smoke what I bloody like!’

  ‘Well, that is up to you, Tanya. I’m not asking you to leave; I’m just asking you to think about what you are doing.’ Kate held up the bag. ‘This is not what I want for you Tanya; you can do so much more than look for answers in this muck. You have to observe our rules. It’s how we keep you safe.’ She paused, not knowing quite how to wrap up this horrid end to an otherwise perfect day, ‘Quite frankly, it’s too late for me to deal with this right now. We can talk about it tomorrow when we are both less tired.’

  Kate walked to the door.

  ‘Good night, dear.’

  Tanya mumbled her response. Most of it was inaudible, but Kate could just make out the words ‘cow’ and ‘off’.

  * * *

  ‘Pancakes, Tanya?’

  Tom stood by the stove and waved the spatula in the air, indicating that he at least was in a jovial mood. A debate raged from the tinny radio in the corner: the voices were barely audible, yet it was enough of a noise to make the place feel like home.

  Tanya shrugged her pointy shoulders inside her oversized sweatshirt and let her fringe hang over her face as she addressed the floor.

  ‘Don’t know if I’m allowed pancakes. I might be on gruel rations if ma’am has anything to do with it. Or, worse still, no breakfast at all before I’m turfed out.’

  She was only half joking.

  ‘I’m sure it’s not that bad, Tanya. Kate’s got a lot on her mind, that’s all. She wouldn’t turf you out, love, I’m sure. She ain’t a pushover, but she won’t give up on you. I know that.’

  ‘Don’t know if I really give a shit actually, Tom. I was thinking that maybe I’d be better off heading back to London. It’s so bloody quiet here, it could drive you mad. Plus I’ve got things I should be getting on with, people that I should be seeing. I was thinking I might go and get a job, sort a few things out, stay with a mate for a while. Y’know…’

  Tom smiled. No, he didn’t know, and he had seen enough of Tanya and her slumped posture, nervous hair flicking and nail biting to see that she didn’t really know either.

  ‘You need to talk to her, Tanya. It’ll all come out in the wash, you’ll see. That’s one thing I can tell you about Kate and Tash: they only have your best interests at heart, love. I see how they worry and how they discuss the best way to help everyone that stays here. They’re good people.’

  Tanya shrugged with indifference and simultaneously curled her top lip to show aggression and dislike in two simple moves. This was in fact the exact opposite of how she was feeling. She wanted to sob, to apologise, to lie wrapped in the soft pink lambswool blanket with her head on a cushion in front of the fire. She wanted to be told that she could stay for ever and ever.

  ‘Whatever.’

  She wasn’t even sure who the bravado was intended for any more; it was a habit that she didn’t know how to break.

  ‘So is that a yes for pancakes or a no?’

  Tanya cracked a smile in spite of her best efforts. Her tummy groaned as she inhaled the buttery, vanilla scent of the batter that wafted from the hot pan.

  ‘Well, as you’re making…’

  It was a beautiful, clear Cornish day in the early flush of summer; one of those days when weather and mankind conspire to make a golden day of perfect memories. The sun was hot against bare skin, the sky bright blue with the merest wisp of cloud, as if painted by an artist’s brush stroke. The air was warm with a gentle breeze that lifted the flower heads just enough to show off their true beauty. Toddlers do
zed in pushchairs, couples held hands and strangers smiled, each playing their part.

  Kate mooched around the harbour, taking time with her chores and enjoying the moment. Every time she closed her eyes, one of Lydia’s paintings came into focus. She felt closer to her somehow. Seeing her daughter’s work had been like peeking into her diary, offering wonderful insights into her darling girl’s mind. She was so glad that she had gone to Bristol, despite her initial worries. Kate also had to acknowledge the tiniest hint of disappointment. Deep down she had secretly hoped to catch a glimpse of her daughter; it had been difficult not to envisage a full-blown running-with-arms-wide reunion.

  She wondered how Stacey was getting on at home and hoped that she would simply come back to Penmarin, collect the rest of her things and return to her mum and brother. As much as she would miss her, Kate knew that was where she belonged; it was the best thing for her long term.

  The previous night’s showdown with Tanya weighed on her mind. She would call Janeece and get some advice. Drug use and addiction were Janeece’s specialisation, although where Tanya was concerned, Kate suspected it was more a recreational habit born out of boredom than an addiction. She needed to occupy her more: maybe a job in the village, the pub? No, not the pub, silly thought. Bloody Rodney Morris; even the thought of him brought a fresh wave of anger.

  She would give it some thought and they would find a way through, whatever happened. Kate loved Tanya’s spirit, even if her energy was a little misdirected at times. In the cold, bright light of day Kate laughed to herself at the detailed description Tanya had given her of the small bag of drugs. Cheeky girl. She’d go back and talk to her now, so that they could all return to calm waters and move forward. Kate inhaled the fresh sea air. Life felt good.

  Tanya locked her bedroom door, turning the heavy key until the satisfying clunk told her it was safe to proceed. In her bathroom she removed her purchase from the white plastic bag. She unwound the thin strip of coloured cellophane, then peeled the wrapper off the rectangular box. With her jeans and pants bundled around her ankles like a nest, Tanya gave little thought to the task in hand. By mentally transporting herself somewhere else entirely, she could pretend for a little while longer.