by Fiona Harper
Only if you know where to start, Heather thinks wistfully. She wonders if she can find a birth certificate for Patricia Waites, if that would give her any leads, but instantly dismisses the idea. From what Jason has said, discovering the woman’s parents’ names and occupations, where and when she was born, aren’t going to answer any of the questions Heather wants to ask.
The conversation trails off as she ponders this, and the sky turns from a pale orange to a silvery mauve. Trees in the neighbouring gardens cast shadows over their garden, drawing the space in and making it seem more intimate even though they are sitting outdoors. Heather can’t think of anything else to say, despite racking her brains as hard as she can. She’s very relieved when, after at least five minutes’ silence, Jason opens his mouth to speak. ‘You’re very easy to be around, Heather. I like that about you.’
Heather is glad the twilight is masking the look of complete shock on her face. ‘Really?’
‘Really,’ he says, leaning back in his chair and making himself a little more comfy.
Heather frowns. ‘I’ve always thought I’m a bit too shy… not chatty enough to be interesting.’
He turns and looks at her. ‘Talkative doesn’t always mean interesting,’ he tells her sagely. ‘I have four sisters – I ought to know! Sometimes I couldn’t even hear myself think in my house because of the endless chatter. It’s nice to know that not all women need to spill every thought out of their heads as soon as it happens, especially if those thoughts mainly consist of boys and nail varnish.’
Heather chuckles. She’s sure he’s being a bit hard on his siblings. ‘I don’t even know the last time I thought about nail varnish,’ she says, regarding her short, unadorned nails.
‘There you go. Knew there was a reason you were easy to be around,’ he says with a cheeky glint in his eye. ‘And sometimes “interesting” is not in what is said but in what is left unsaid. There’s something appealing about a hint of mystery.’
He looks at her directly when he says this, and Heather swallows. Her heart is hammering again, as it so often does when she’s with him. She knows what he’s saying – that still waters run deep. The only problem is that she expects he’s thinking of coral lagoons or buried treasure hidden in exotic waters. Her depths are murkier, like a canal full of old shopping trolleys and toxic slime.
Faith’s words the last time they talked drift through her head. Her sister thinks she’s broken. Too broken for this man, certainly. She ought to go back inside, save them both the disappointment of him getting to know her better. Still, it’s another half an hour before she manages to make herself get out of the chair, thank him for the steak, and wish him goodnight.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
NOW
Heather’s heart is fluttering while she waits for Jason to answer his door. She woke up at 3 a.m. a couple of days ago, her dreams full of night air infused with honeysuckle and roses… and him. She’d sat up and pushed her hair out of her eyes. That’s when a thought dropped into her head. A solution. A possible way forward with her search for answers. It’s taken her a couple of days to work up to putting it into action, though.
This morning she got up early, went into her kitchen and carefully pulled a selection of ingredients from the cupboards. She mixed and baked her best gooey chocolate brownies, then cut them into precise squares while they were still warm. She hopes Jason isn’t the type to lie in bed until mid-afternoon on a Saturday.
He answers the door dressed and looking as if he’s not long stepped out of the shower. ‘I wondered if you’d christened that coffee machine yet?’ Heather asks, reciting her carefully rehearsed opener. ‘I was baking… and I thought these would be the perfect accompaniment.’
‘Well, yeah… I did.’ Her heart sinks. She knew this was a stupid idea. It was just sheer desperation that drove her to it. ‘But, you know, they’re not a one-use deal. I can always fire it up for a second round.’ He smiles and opens the door wider. She follows him inside.
She was right. His flat is almost identical to hers in layout, but it feels very different. More masculine. There is lots of wood and leather, and the hallway is painted a deep red. It should make the space look dark and pokey, but somehow it’s warm and inviting. Heather thinks back to her white walls and for the first time wonders if others find them a bit clinical.
They go into the kitchen. The cabinets are arranged differently, probably because of the lack of a back door, and there is a small circular table in one corner. Jason motions for her to sit, while he prepares the compact coffee machine on the counter. A minute later a steaming cup appears in front of her. He makes himself one, sits down opposite her, and immediately reaches for the plate, eyebrows raised in question. Heather nods.
He closes his eyes and moans after the first bite, causing her to glow with pride. She doesn’t bake very often, even though she’s really good at it. Mainly because there’s no one to share it with and it’s not healthy to eat a whole pan of brownies by oneself.
‘Amazing,’ Jason mutters when his mouth is free enough of chocolate to speak. ‘If I’d known you could bake like this, I’d have insisted you come up earlier.’
Heather flushes and she hopes it hasn’t turned her neck red. ‘I… I just wanted to say thank you for all you did regarding the flood.’
He reaches for a second brownie, not bothering with the silent request for permission this time. ‘I’d have been a bit of a bastard to leave you to drown on your own. Anyway, that was weeks ago.’
‘And for being so nice to me… cooking me dinner the other night.’
He smiles. ‘Well, you did half of it – and the complicated half at that. But if this is what a couple of charred steaks gets me, then I’m not going to complain!’
He smiles that gorgeous wonky smile as a third brownie ends up in his mouth. Heather starts to wonder if she’s done the right thing coming here, but it’s too late to back out now. She doesn’t say anything for a while, too caught up with finding the right words to find any at all.
Jason stops smiling and brushes the dark crumbs from around his lips with the back of his hand. ‘Are you okay?’
She nods. ‘It’s just… Just…’
He leans closer. ‘Just?’
Heather sighs. Here goes. ‘There’s someone I need to find – someone connected with my past – and I’ve run into a brick wall.’
‘I presume you’ve tried Google, Facebook, all that sort of stuff?’
She nods again. ‘All I know is their name and that they used to live in this area about twenty years ago. Other than that, all the internet searching I’ve done has resulted in a big, fat blank.’
‘How irritating.’
‘Irritating doesn’t even begin to describe it.’ Heather looks down at her hands and then adds, ‘Do you think…? I mean… I was just wondering if…?’
She glances up at Jason. He’s looking right into her eyes, waiting. If she ever felt safe enough with someone to ask them a favour this huge, it’s him. She doesn’t know why. Usually, she runs a mile from guys but she feels she can trust this one. ‘Would you be able to help me?’
She waits, her heart thudding unevenly in her chest, and then he grins at her. ‘Of course!’ He immediately jumps up and leaves the room, only to return with a laptop mere seconds later. Heather feels giddy. She had no idea it was going to be this easy!
He pulls his chair further round the curve of the table and positions the laptop so they can both see the screen. It’s already on, so he just has to wake it up with a password, and then they’re away. He opens the browser. ‘What’s the name?’
Heather stares at the screen. ‘That’s Google. I’ve already tried Google.’
Jason looks confused. ‘But I thought you wanted help?’
She shakes her head. ‘No. I mean, I do, but…’
The penny drops then. She sees the light go out of Jason’s eyes. ‘It’s just you want me to use my work access to records to help you find this person.’
He shuts the laptop and pushes his chair away so he can stand up. ‘I can’t do that,’ he says, his expression dark.
Heather feels as if she’s dying inside, shrivelling into nothing. But she can’t stop now. This is her only hope. ‘Not even if it was really, really important? Life-changing, even?’
He gives her a look of exasperation and disbelief – funnily enough, the exact same one Faith wears – and walks to the other side of the kitchen, where he backs up and leans against the counter, his long legs braced in front of him. He looks away and when he turns back he doesn’t fix his gaze on her but on the half-demolished plate of brownies in the middle of the table. ‘That’s what all this was about, wasn’t it? The brownies? And there was me thinking you genuinely liked me!’
She swallows. Even if she could talk in this moment, she couldn’t deny it. He must read the truth in her eyes because he makes a scoffing sound.
‘It’s not like that!’ Heather manages. She doesn’t want him thinking she doesn’t like him, because that really would be a lie. It’s not her fault he happens to have the perfect job to help her. To be honest, she’d have been much happier if it’d been someone else.
‘No?’ he says. ‘What you’re asking me to do is unethical, and even if it wasn’t I’m not sure I’d say yes. You’re using me, Heather – to find some crummy ex-boyfriend you can’t bear to be without, I bet – so I don’t care how many bloody cakes you cook, the answer is no.’
Heather’s eyes sting but she holds the tears back. She can’t humiliate herself further by crying in front of him.
‘I think you’d better go.’ He walks over and picks up the plate of brownies. ‘And you can take these with you.’
She wishes she could tell him he’s wrong, but she can’t. About the ex-boyfriend, maybe, but not about the rest. So she takes the plate, tucks her head down and hurries from his flat.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
SLIPPERS
I always thought slippers were happy shoes, warm, comforting and safe. I didn’t think a slipper was the kind of thing that could make you sad. But then, one day, I saw a lone towelling mule lying in the middle of the street. It looked odd there. Lonely. Bedraggled. I wanted to go and pick it up. I wanted to rescue it.
THEN
Heather’s dad is holding out his hand, waiting for her to take it. Heather wants to. She doesn’t want to disappoint him, but…
She turns and looks at her mother, who is still on the floor, crying, and shakes her head.
‘Sweetpea…’
‘No,’ Heather says. She doesn’t ever think she’s interrupted her father before, but this is something she has to do. This is important. ‘It’s being mean. We can’t leave Mummy alone.’
Her mum sniffs, then lifts her head. Sometimes Heather thinks her mother is too busy with all the stuff to notice her properly any more, but their eyes meet now. Her mum’s are shining with thankfulness and love. It feels as if her mum has come back, even though she didn’t go anywhere.
‘Heather!’ Faith says crossly. ‘Don’t be idiotic.’
‘Don’t say that!’ Heather shouts back. ‘You’re always making out you’re cleverer than me but you’re not! You’re just older. It’s fair this way. One grown-up and one kid.’
‘You’re mad! It’s a chance to get out of this house!’
Heather looks around at the bare walls and the clear floors. ‘But the house is nice now. I like it again. And I want to sleep in my new bedroom.’ She glances at her father. He’s listening, taking it all in.
‘Okay,’ he says slowly. ‘If you want to stay, I’m not going to make you leave.’ He turns to look at Heather’s mother. ‘Chris? You need to pull yourself together for Heather’s sake, okay? As for what happens next…’ he shrugs. ‘We’ll talk tomorrow.’
The reminder that he’s leaving sets her mum off again. She drags herself up off the floor and follows him and Faith down the stairs and out of the front door in her slippers. It’s getting dark now and a little bit cold, so Heather follows them as far as the front door then stops.
‘Please, Stephen! Please?’
Her dad and Faith are in the car now. The engine starts. Her mum’s crying gets louder. In fact, it doesn’t even sound like crying now, more like howling. Heather creeps down the path, even though she’s shivering, because somebody needs to look after her mum, and her dad clearly isn’t going to.
The car pulls away and her mum runs after it. Faith is staring through the back window, looking as if she’s in pain, but then her lip crumples and she shakes her head, turns around and slumps down in the seat.
Their mum runs off the pavement and into the middle of the street. Her slippers come off, first one and then the other, but she keeps going until the family’s red Sierra is a tiny speck in the distance.
A few of the neighbours have come to the bottom of their driveways and are looking this way and that, trying to work out what all the noise is about. Heather is standing at the gate, hugging herself, and she doesn’t like the way they’re looking at her mum, so she runs along the pavement towards her.
Before she reaches her, Heather spots one of her mother’s slippers and hesitates. She knows she’s not supposed to go in the road by herself, but it’s really quiet down their street – cars hardly ever come down it unless they belong to someone who lives there – so she hops off the kerb and picks it up. The other one is a bit farther along, so she grabs it as well.
She finds her mother flopped down on the ground like a rag doll. Heather can’t hear any sound, but her mum’s ribcage is juddering. She’s got to that bit in crying when the sounds don’t come. Heather knows what that’s like because she cries that way when Patrick Hull’s gang chases her after school.
She goes up to her mother and rubs her back like she’s trying to wake her up. Her mum flinches, but it’s a few seconds before she looks up.
‘Come on,’ Heather says. ‘It’s time to go back inside.’
For a moment it looks as if her mum doesn’t understand what Heather’s saying, but then she nods and reaches out and hugs her. Heather lets her, even though she’s really, really embarrassed that the neighbours are still looking. When her mum releases her, Heather holds out the slippers to her, trying to smile. That just makes her mum cry again. ‘My darling, darling Heather,’ she says between sniffs. ‘What would I do without you?’
Heather doesn’t say anything back. She just helps her up and leads her back inside the house.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
NOW
Heather can’t sleep again that night. She can’t stop thinking about Jason. She can’t stop seeing the look of disappointment and disgust on his face. She didn’t know she had the power to hurt someone that way.
She stews on it until the small hours, when she sinks into a fitful and restless sleep, and then she stews on it all the next day. She’s cataloguing letters at work, a job she usually enjoys, but they don’t hold her interest. She has to keep reading the date and address on each one several times before logging it, because she keeps forgetting.
That evening, before she can talk herself out of it, she buys a nice bottle of red wine on the way home and thinks about making her way up to Jason’s flat and knocking on his door with her peace offering. She thinks about it for two hours and twenty-seven minutes, even picking up the bottle and heading for the front door a couple of times, but she ends up scurrying back to her living room and dumps the bottle down on the little table beside her sofa.
It’s as she’s sitting there, head in hands, that she hears soft whistling coming from the back garden. She looks up to see Jason himself out there. He’s not looking in her direction. The sun set about twenty minutes ago and she hasn’t turned the light on yet, so he probably can’t see her, but she can just make him out in the twilight, strolling down to the end of the garden, breathing in the mild evenin
g air.
Before she’s even decided to move, she’s heading outside. She walks out into the garden, the grass cool and soft against her bare feet. Jason’s staring out across the valley, so he doesn’t spot her at first, but he turns when he hears her coming up behind him. When he sees who it is, he tenses.
‘I’m sorry,’ she says.
Something behind his eyes flickers. ‘Fine. Thanks.’ He turns and looks at the view again, dismissing her. Heather digs her heels into the lawn to make herself stay there and takes a deep breath.
‘Please… just give me a chance to explain?’
He sighs and answers without turning his head. ‘You’ve got five minutes.’
She nods. It won’t be long enough but it’s more than she deserves. ‘Actually, it’d be easier to show you than to tell you.’
He looks round. He’s still annoyed with her, but she’s caught his interest.
‘Will you come with me?’
He thinks for a moment, then nods, so Heather leads him back down the garden and into her flat. She carefully retrieves the key to the spare bedroom and silently unlocks the door, her hands shaking all the while. She hasn’t had a proper look in here since coming back from the hotel, and the sight of the stacked clutter makes her feel dizzy.
‘This,’ she says, ‘all belonged to my mother.’ She averts her eyes from the chest of drawers that contains the spoils of her Mothercare trips.
‘You said.’ Jason is looking at her. She’s not great at reading people, but she senses he’s not as angry as he was before, that maybe he even wants to understand but he needs more. Heather knows that, but the ‘more’ he needs is more than she’s ever told anyone, ever given anyone before.
‘My mother was… mentally ill,’ she says quietly. ‘She was…’ Oh, these words are so hard to get out. It feels as if she’s admitting something about herself, not her mother. In the end, she just spits it out fast. ‘She was a compulsive hoarder.’
