‘You are a bossy madam.’
She squealed and pummelled on his back until he placed her back on the grass, then slipped her small hand into Lucy’s. ‘Close your eyes.’
‘Is that safe? What about the dangerous ditches round here?’
‘I won’t take you to the ditch.’ Maisie waited patiently. ‘You’re peeping.’
Charlie’s deep, warming laugh rang out and he took Lucy’s other hand. ‘Come on, trust us.’
The tree was old and gnarled. Bigger than Lucy had expected, spreading its ancient boughs over the ground below as though it wanted to protect the land from the elements.
There was something magical about the way the thick branches twisted and turned, earthwards and skywards, like a magic tree, the type you drew as a child, the type you read about in fairy stories.
‘It’s amazing.’ She spread her arms wide and turned slowly, the weak winter sunlight shimmering through the mass of barely clad winter twigs.
‘You should see it in summer.’ Charlie’s soft voice was at her ear, his breath bathing her neck.
‘Look, look.’ Maisie was dancing around with excitement like a demented imp, and took Lucy’s hand to try and drag her closer. ‘MY name, look, and that’s Daddy’s, isn’t it?’ She glanced up, and Charlie nodded. ‘And Uncle Jim’s.’ She’d taken to calling him uncle after he’d found her, and Lucy wasn’t sure if they’d reached some kind of agreement that day, or if it was just Maisie making sense of things in her own way. ‘That’s Jim’s ditch.’ Maisie waved a hand in a vague direction. ‘And that’s the pond, but Jim called it a pit. That’s the headmaster’s scratchy bit.’ She turned back to look at Lucy, her face solemn, her big, trusting, brown eyes wide. ‘You’ve got to scratch your name, then you’ll belong too.’
Lucy was surprised to realise her hand was shaking as she reached out to scratch her initials in the bark of the tree. She’d never felt like she belonged anywhere, well not since she’d been the same age as Maisie. But now, at last she knew she’d found her peace, found her place, in a tiny village called Langtry Meadows. Now she was ready to say a final goodbye to the one demon in her past – her father.
Charlie put his warm hand over hers. ‘Okay?’
She nodded, blinking away the tears and smiling – the last thing she wanted was for Maisie to think she was sad. Now was not the right time to talk about this. ‘I’m good.’ She’d got a job here, she’d bought a house – well very nearly bought one – and she’d be spending Christmas here with her mother and the man she loved. A man who was so much more of a father to Maisie than her dad had ever been to her. Seeing Charlie and Maisie together had made her realise just how fractured her own childhood had been. Made her see how little he’d done for her, how lucky she was to have a mother like Trish.
Charlie covered her hand in his, helped as she formed the letters, squeezed her against his warm body.
‘We all belong now, me, Daddy and you.’ Maisie pointed at each of them in turn. ‘Now I’ve just got to tell Mummy to do it. Can we go and get hot chocolate now?’
Ah, out of the mouth of babes, thought Lucy as she caught Charlie’s eye.
‘We certainly can, first one back gets extra marshmallows.’ He grinned, and pulled Lucy into his arms, not giving her time to object, as with a yell Maisie set off as fast as her little legs would carry her.
‘I don’t know why, but I’ve got a feeling next year is going to be better than this one.’ He rested his forehead against hers for a moment, staring into her eyes with a look that was so much like Maisie’s, then he brushed his stubbled cheek against hers and kissed her neck. ‘Whatever happens, Maisie’s happy and she’ll always come back here even if she has to leave.’
‘She will.’ She caught his face in her hands, ran her thumb over his lips. She hoped like mad, for all their sakes, that Maisie wouldn’t have to leave, but she didn’t want to say the words out loud. Tempt fate.
‘Come on, or she’ll be trying to make that hot chocolate on her own and you know what happened last time she had the run of the kitchen.’
They ran across the field hand in hand, until they were slightly breathless, catching up with Maisie before she reached the gate.
***
‘You’re quiet.’ Charlie had tucked a tired Maisie in bed and joined Lucy where she was curled up in front of the fire. Piper half on her knee, Roo sprawled across her feet.
‘Sorry, it’s just …’ She didn’t want to spoil a perfect day, but ever since she’d found the article on the internet it had been gnawing away at her insides.
‘Go on.’ His voice was soft as he pulled her against his solid body. She glanced up. ‘You can tell me anything you know.’
‘I know. It’s just …’ she took a deep breath. She could tell him anything, everything, and she had to. She wanted to get this off her chest, see what he thought she should do. Even if, in her heart, she knew she couldn’t let it lie. ‘I know I shouldn’t, it was silly, but last night after the party, everybody was so happy, you and Maisie, and Elsie had told Jim and …’
‘Go on.’ He nudged her gently, willing her to continue.
‘Mum’s always been brilliant, she’s done everything for me.’
‘I know, but …’
‘But even though I know everything she’s said is true, and that we had to run away from dad, and that he was horrible, mean, and he was never a proper dad to me …’
‘You want to know what happened to him?’ Charlie’s voice was little more than a whisper.
‘I didn’t want to see him, just to know, is that crazy?’
‘No.’ He shook his head, then rested it on hers. ‘He is your dad.’
‘Was.’
‘Is, Lucy.’ His voice was soft. ‘He still fathered you.’
‘No,’ she shook her head. ‘Was. I couldn’t sleep so I googled him, I know I shouldn’t I just wanted, well I don’t know, but …’ Maybe she’d hoped to see some picture of a monster, a man easy to dismiss, she didn’t know. She shook her head. ‘It doesn’t matter, but I found this.’ She picked up her mobile phone from the sofa, opened the tab she’d saved.
Lucy really hadn’t known what she was looking for, but this was the last thing she’d expected to see. A local newspaper report, a hazy picture of what could have been her childhood home, a woman, a child, a man who had familiar features. There was something of her dad hidden deep in the face that stared out at her – the line of his nose, the piercing gaze directed at the camera, the thin lips that he’d so often pursed in disapproval when she hadn’t been good enough. But his hair was thinner, shorter, his face broader. It looked like him, it looked like the house that was once her home. But she couldn’t be sure, not absolutely sure.
Charlie scanned through the report, then put the phone down without a word. Shock was spattered across his face, and he cleared his throat, swallowed before speaking.
‘That’s him? Your dad?’
‘I think so.’
‘He did …’
‘I think so.’ She didn’t need to read the report again; the words were imprinted on her mind, words that would be hard to shift. The man who’d fathered her, but never really been a dad had hung himself. But first he’d killed his family.
The news had been splashed over the local papers, but been of no interest to anybody else. It was cut and dried, a note had been left explaining everything. Her father’s wife had wanted to leave, but she’d not been as clever as Trish. She’d told him. And he’d wreaked the ultimate revenge – nobody was going to show him up.
‘I can’t tell Mum until I’m sure it’s him.’ She felt strangely detached; he’d been a stranger for so long. She was sure that the shock would hit, but right now all she could think was that could have been them.
She’d cried into her pillow not because she’d lost her dad, that had happened far too long ago, way before the last time she’d seen him as an eight year old girl. She’d lost him when she was younger, when the mental abuse had fi
rst started. No, she’d cried for his family, she’d cried for her mother, she’d cried for Charlie who was a real dad but could lose his daughter, and for the injustice of it all. Then she’d fallen into a deep uninterrupted sleep.
‘I need to go back to Stoneyvale, Charlie.’ She met his gaze. ‘I need to check the graves, see our house and know it’s the one in this photo.’ She needed to know for sure that it wasn’t some weird coincidence, then she’d tell her mum.
‘You don’t have to, we can hire somebody, check out it’s him without going.’
‘No. I need to go. I can’t move on completely until I’ve gone back, but don’t tell Mum, will you?’ Today, at the oak tree, her resolve had strengthened. She belonged here, but going back would mean she’d banished the bad part of her past forever. She’d know he could never come back and hurt her. If it was him.
‘Of course I won’t tell her, not if you don’t want me to.’
‘I don’t want to upset her, not until I know for sure.’
‘I’m going with you.’ He kissed the top of her head. ‘No arguments.’
‘Thanks.’
***
‘You’ll be okay, Mum?’
‘Of course we will, won’t we Maisie?’
‘We’re going to make mince pies.’ Maisie folded her arms and gave a heavy sigh. ‘If you ever go.’
‘You’ll be okay too, won’t you love?’ Trish’s eyes sought out Lucy’s, and there was a question in them. ‘You’ll be careful, you won’t …?’
‘We’ll be careful, I’ll look after her, I promise you.’ Charlie’s reassuring voice swept over them in a comforting wave and Trish relaxed slightly.
‘He won’t be there, Mum.’
Trish twisted the tea towel in her hands, and Lucy felt a pang of guilt. Her mum had been happy since she’d accepted Elsie’s job offer. She’d only been here for a few days, but they’d been perfect. Now she was risking it. Upsetting her mother. But she had to go. She had to close this last door before she flung open the new one. In a very real sense as well as in her head.
She’d moved on so much since arriving in Langtry Meadows in the spring, but she wanted to tie up this one last loose end before December was out. She had to see for herself.
In a few days’ time, the school term would end, and then before she knew it Christmas day would arrive and a new year would be looming. A bright, shiny year full of hope. She wanted closure on the part of her life that had given her, and her mother, so much sadness and hurt. That had fed childhood insecurities until they bloomed like mushrooms in the dark.
She’d mentioned it to her mum, knowing that she wouldn’t like the idea, but the force of Trish’s vehemence, the fear in her eyes, had surprised Lucy. ‘I can’t ever go back to that place, Lucy. I said my goodbyes a long time ago.’
‘I understand, I really do, but can you understand that I have to?’
‘But what if he talks you into staying, Lucy he’s clever, he’s …’
‘I’m not going to see him, Mum. He won’t be there.’ She wanted so much to show her mother the report, to set her mind at rest. But what if it wasn’t him? What if she’d made a mistake? Then it would be far worse. ‘I’m going to see our home, my school, the village. I’m going so that I can remember the good bits, not the bad. I won’t see him. Promise.’ It was hard to put into words, but the need to go back had been growing in Lucy over the past few months. She couldn’t close the door on the past hurt, the feeling of failure, until she’d proved to herself it no longer had any power over her, it didn’t scare her.
Knowing her father could be dead hadn’t lessened the need to go, if anything it had strengthened her desire. Because if she didn’t there would always be that question mark.
‘Promise.’
She’d hugged her mum close. ‘I promise, Mum. Trust me, okay?’
So here they were, mum looking after Maisie, and her and Charlie setting off to cover the relatively small distance that felt as wide as an ocean. And, probably just as deep and dangerous.
‘See you soon.’ Lucy waved at Maisie, who tugged at Trish’s hand. But all of Trish’s attention was on her daughter. Her eyes were pained as she looked straight at Lucy, the worry etched into her face.
‘I’m sorry.’ She said the words softly, but she knew they wouldn’t help. ‘I’ve just got to do it.’
‘I know, darling.’
‘We can make mince pies now, can’t we?’ Maisie was tugging at Trish’s sleeve.
‘We can.’ As Lucy climbed into the car, she watched Trish push the door shut. At least Maisie would be a good distraction.
Lucy’s palms started to sweat before they’d even left Langtry Meadows, and by the time they joined the motorway she was having to take deep, calming breaths or she knew she’d start to panic. Dad had tried to trap them in that house, he’d bullied her mother, he’d scared off her friends. But she’d not understood, not known. She’d loved him, he was just Dad back then.
What if this article wasn’t about him, what if he was still there, what if she saw him?
The warmth of Charlie’s hand drew her back to the present. ‘You don’t have to do this you know? You’ve nothing to prove, just say the word and we’ll turn round.’
‘I do have to do this.’ Her voice was raspy even to her own ears. She swallowed hard, trying to take the dryness away. Be brave. ‘You know how sometimes you have to do something, you have to prove you’re brave enough?’
‘I do.’ He squeezed her knee, his lovely mouth set in a twisted smile. ‘I keep getting this voice in my head saying that when everything is settled with Maisie, then I have to do a DNA test.’ He shrugged. ‘I know it’s stupid, she’s my daughter whatever, but some tiny part of me …’ His voice drifted off and he put both hands on the steering wheel as though he needed to concentrate on the road. ‘One day,’ he swallowed hard, ‘I need to be able to tell her if she’s not mine.’ He rolled his shoulders back. ‘Not far now, this is the turn off isn’t it?’
Lucy glanced down at the map on her phone. The little red marker taking her ever closer. ‘It is.’ The dot on her phone hopped forward and she looked up, gazed out of the window, waited for a familiar landmark.
There was none. The sigh escaped. Part frustration, and part relief. She’d not had any idea how she’d feel when she returned to the village she’d been brought up in.
Fear that she’d see the bullying father they’d run away from? Anxiety that she’d feel unwanted still? A worry that those old feelings of not being good enough would bubble up and set her heart pounding?
But the rush of emotion didn’t hit. This wasn’t the Stoneyvale she’d known. It was different, it had moved on – like she had.
She was fairly sure that they’d always followed a country lane, with open fields as they drove into the village. But now there was tarmac and bricks. Modern houses had sprung up on both sides of the road – which was wider than she remembered.
If she hadn’t seen the sign as they entered the village, she’d have thought they’d taken a wrong turning.
Charlie slowed the car. There was very little about Stoneyvale that was familiar as they drove towards the centre of the village. It was bigger than Langtry Meadows, but it lacked the pretty features. There was no village pond or green, just a large play area for the kids.
The place had sprawled out in an ungainly fashion since Lucy and her mum had left. Langtry Meadows had managed to fight a lot of the developments, but Stoneyvale it appeared had surrendered.
‘Can we stop?’ Lucy had spotted the sign for the primary school, the place that had held part of her heart victim for far too long. It had seemed a vast lonely place back then, but now as she looked, a smile tugged at her lips. It was tiny. Not much bigger than the school she was teaching at now.
A new extension had been tacked on one side, to accommodate the new influx of villagers. Part of the playground, the corner she’d often stood alone in, was now rubber tiled.
She climbed out of
the car, and walked over to the fence.
‘This was your school?’ Charlie draped an arm over her shoulders, reminding her he was there for her.
‘It was.’ She pointed over to the small playing field. ‘That tree over there was our tree,’ she smiled and glanced up at him, ‘nothing like your oak tree. We’d sit under there and make daisy chains.’
‘Sweet! I can imagine you in your short skirt.’
He winked and Lucy laughed, and gave his arm a playful thump. ‘This was primary school you idiot!’
‘Shall we walk, or would you rather?’ He inclined his head towards the car.
‘We can walk.’ She said it lightly, but felt the tremor in the words as they crept between her lips. They wouldn’t bump into her dad, he didn’t do Sunday strolls, and anyway he probably wouldn’t even recognise her. She slipped her hand into Charlie’s. ‘I’ll show you where we got the tomatoes from.’
As they strolled down the main street there was a vague familiarity, a gentle stirring of recognition, but so much was different. She did a double take as she realised that the small glossy supermarket had replaced the corner shop which had been a favourite for sweets and ice-creams. Where once there had been a greengrocer’s there was now a café.
They turned a corner, and Lucy took a step forward, then ground to a halt. What had been a small entry lane leading to the nursery and allotments had been tarmacked over. The black surface was already pitted with the odd pothole, showing that it wasn’t a recent development. She stared, out of all the things she’d thought she’d feel she didn’t expect this to shock her most. Now the sweet smell of the vines, one of the really good memories of her childhood had gone forever and she felt hot tears prick at the back of her eyes as she stared at the group of modern houses, with their tidy front lawns that reminded her more of her home on the edge of Birmingham when she’d been teaching in the city. ‘I suppose that’s what they call progress?’
He laughed softly, the familiar sound curling round her. ‘It makes you realise how lucky we are in Langtry Meadows.’
Coming Home to Jasmine Cottage Page 24
