What Have I Done?

by Amanda Prowse

  Tanya’s mother had declined to attend, saying it was ‘best that she didn’t’. Best for whom? Kate wondered. Ironically the woman was probably right, as neither she nor Natasha could have guaranteed civility, and that was a battle they were too weary to undertake.

  Rodney had paid for the whole funeral, his way of apologising, no doubt. It was too little too late as far as Kate was concerned. What was it he had said? ‘Where Tanya is concerned, my curiosity is more than satisfied.’ The bastard.

  There were many ‘if onlys’ bouncing from the Norman joists. Rodney thinking if only he had walked the beach early enough to catch her in the act. Natasha wishing that she had pushed Tanya a bit harder in her art classes. She had already identified her as extremely vulnerable; if only she had delved deep enough to uncover Tanya’s plan and prevent it.

  Tanya’s body hadn’t yet been recovered. That was a good thing, Kate thought, allowing them all to remember her freckled form and ready smile. The bodyless coffin stood on its trestle at the front of the church.

  Kate thought about the day of Tanya’s arrival in Penmarin.

  ‘I have been reliably informed that if you swam as far as you could, the first country you would hit would be Canada.’

  ‘Canada near America? You’re shitting me?’

  ‘No, it’s true – if you swam until you hit a beach, you’d probably be handed a towel by a Mountie! Imagine that.’

  ‘I can’t swim.’

  ‘Would you like to learn?’

  ‘No.’

  Tanya’s answer had been loud and emphatic.

  She thought about the last few days prior to Tanya’s death. Had she taken her eye off the ball? Been too hard on her? She should have handled things differently, offered support and understanding instead of reprimand. What wouldn’t Kate give to have Tanya here now, high as a kite, but still here…

  She looked up at the open-armed, smiling saints that filtered the sunlight through the stained glass windows, allowing it to fall in shades of green and teal across the congregation. Some of the words from Tanya’s final letter played over and over in Kate’s head:

  I’ve always messed everything up, Kate, and I’m sorry that I let you down as well. Carry on without me. The world won’t miss Tanya Wilson – who was she anyway?

  Kate whispered into the ether as the congregation mumbled in familiar prayer.

  ‘I will miss you Tanya Wilson, I will miss you always.’

  Kate shook her head to clear the image. She wished she could stop thinking about the funeral. She wanted to remember Tanya with her flame-red hair and air of mischief, not this sad occasion that summed up their biggest failure. Maybe in time…

  Her words cut through the silence and were unexpected.

  ‘I’m closing Prospect House, Tash. I don’t want to be here any more.’

  Natasha was silent for a full minute.

  ‘I think it’s too soon for you to make a decision like that, Kate. You need time to let your thoughts settle. See how you feel when things are more back to normal.’

  ‘Back to normal? I don’t think things will ever go back to normal, whatever “normal” is. And actually I’m not sure I want them to. No, I’ve decided. Surprisingly, it’s quite an easy decision for me. The fact is, I thought I could make a difference, but I can’t… I didn’t… or she would still be here and that is that.’

  ‘It doesn’t work that way, Kate, and in time, with a clearer head, you will see that. You have helped a lot of girls, most of whom are now thriving, and have changed lives because of you, because of us. Don’t lose sight of that.’

  Kate studied the mug of strong tea between her hands. The only thing that eased her shivering core was the constant, slow sipping of hot tea.

  ‘I keep thinking that I should have handled the drugs thing differently. Maybe I was too aggressive or dismissive. If only I had been a tad more understanding. It was because I was tired and my head was whirring with all that I’d seen at the exhibition. I can’t even remember what I said exactly, but I wish I’d done it differently. What Tanya needed was my help and yet I went into her room, played the heavy. Maybe if I hadn’t…’

  Natasha smiled grimly. ‘Kate, you wouldn’t know how to play the heavy if your life depended on it and the girl had crack cocaine in our home – that is not a small thing. What was the alternative, not mention it? Of course you had to. You can’t beat yourself up about this, Kate. You can miss her, yes; grieve for her, of course, but please don’t blame yourself. It won’t do you any good and it won’t bring her back.’

  ‘Do you think I don’t know that, Tash?’

  ‘Yes of course you know that, but my job is to remind you that Tanya had a whole stack of problems before she ever came into our lives, problems that you and I can’t begin to fathom, especially with so many pieces of the jigsaw missing. It is never, ever one thing that pushes someone to make a decision like that. It’s something that simmers and grows over time; the decision might have been made long before she even met us.’

  ‘I know that sounds logical, but she was making such good progress. She was happy here, I know she was.’

  ‘Yes, she did seem happy, but we were only just beginning to scratch the surface and you know as well as I that often what we see on the outside is not always a true reflection of what is going on inside.’

  Kate pictured herself at Mountbriers, painting on a bright smile, pulling back her shoulders and trying to convince everyone that all was well with her world. She continued as though her friend had not spoken.

  ‘I think Dom was right: I’m an amateur psychologist hiding away down here. It’s no good. I just don’t want to be here any more.’

  ‘Did you see the letter Stacey sent? If nothing else, then look at what you did for her. She’s back home, she’s on the road to full recovery and you did that!’

  ‘Or maybe she would have bounced back anyway; maybe I’m just muddling in where I shouldn’t.’

  ‘Look how far you have come, Kate. Look how different your life is!’

  ‘Oh it’s different, granted, but recently I’ve been feeling as if I simply got off a rollercoaster and onto a roundabout and I’ve had enough.’

  Natasha shook her head. She had never seen her friend this negative.

  ‘Why don’t you take a trip? A change of scenery might put things into perspective a bit.’

  ‘How much more perspective do you think I need, Tash? We’ve just had Tanya’s funeral, just buried an empty coffin that represented her pointless little life! All she wanted was a bloody coffee machine. It wasn’t much to ask, was it?’

  She instantly regretted raising her voice.

  ‘I’m sorry. I’m not shouting at you.’

  ‘I know that, honey. It’s fine, you can shout as much as you want to. I just think that maybe you need to get out of this environment. Why not go and see Simon? You’ve been talking for a while about going and seeing the mission’s new building.’

  ‘No, that’s the last place I want to go. I don’t need reminding of all my good intentions when I started here; it would make it worse somehow.’

  ‘Well, I’m going away, Kate. I’m taking a month to go up to the Lakes to walk and paint. I’ll stop off at Fran’s en route. Why don’t we talk about this again when I get back? But please don’t make a decision until then. I think we both just need a bit of time.’

  ‘Stop off at Fran’s…’ Kate tucked her lips over her teeth and bit down. The casual aside that Natasha would be going to see her children did nothing to cheer her. It was as ever a dagger that cut her heart… My children.

  She nodded, more to placate her best friend than in any belief that things might be different with the passing of four weeks.

  ‘Okay, Tash, we’ll wait a month, but I think my mind is made up.’

  ‘More tea?’ Natasha raised her empty cup for the fifth time that evening.

  Kate nodded. Yep, more tea…

  * * *

  Tom made a big show of lugging
his small suitcase along the path; he really did not want to go.

  ‘Are you sure you don’t want me to pop in and prepare you some food each day, Kate? I wouldn’t mind at all. I’m around anyway and truth be told I feel a bit redundant.’

  ‘That’s very sweet, Tom, but a holiday means a holiday – enjoy it! A whole month to yourself. Do something great! Go somewhere!’

  ‘I feel guilty though, being paid and not working.’

  ‘Don’t. Otherwise what’s the point of a break? You won’t enjoy it.’

  ‘I was thinking I might and go and visit me sister up at Bodmin, spend some time with her and the kids, if you sure you don’t need me?’

  ‘Tom, give me your house keys; it’s the only way to stop you nipping in and force-feeding me lasagne!’

  He reluctantly handed them to his boss.

  ‘Good. Now go! Don’t make me change the locks!’

  Tom sauntered off down the drive, leaving Kate alone. She locked the door and slid the bolts before pulling down the blinds and drawing the sitting room curtains. She wanted to be alone and in the dark. She wanted to curl up and withdraw from the world, just for a bit.

  She glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. Tash would have just arrived at Francesca’s en route to the Lake District. She would probably be conversing right now with Lydia, talking about art or simply passing the time of day. She swallowed the bile that threatened to rise in her throat. Life could be bloody unfair.

  Paying no heed to the time of day, Kate climbed the stairs and headed for ‘Wish’. She stepped into the room and stripped down to her underwear. Pulling back the duvet, she slid between the crisp white sheets and fell into a deep slumber.

  It was approaching midnight when Kate was jolted from her sleep. Whether awake or dreaming she wasn’t sure, but she had heard the voice of her husband as surely as if he was standing over her.

  ‘Hello, Kathryn.’

  She jumped and simultaneously yelped. Her head smashed into the headboard as a fine film of sweat covered her skin. Laughing with relief, she rubbed her scalp. It was just a horrible dream. She settled down once again with the duvet pulled up under her chin. She shivered despite the warmth of the room; he still had the power to do that to her.

  At 3 a.m., Kate reluctantly woke once more. Her pillow was wet from tears shed in her sleep. Her eyes were swollen, her throat dry. She didn’t know why she had been sobbing, but it felt horribly familiar, reminding her of so many mornings in the headmaster’s house at Mountbriers. There she had often woken in floods of tears at the utter misery of her life. She would cry for the night she had been forced to endure and for the day ahead that she was yet to experience, all the while painting on her smile and stepping outside with her basket of linen.

  She decided that a slug of whisky might be just the thing to send her back to the land of nod. Tom had a bottle squirrelled away at the back of the larder. Like his afternoon siestas in his van, it was another thing that she feigned ignorance of. Bless him.

  Kate poured a healthy measure and carried it to the sofa. It tasted foul. She could stomach the odd glass of plonk, but this was something else. She carried on sipping and surprisingly after her first glass the taste was almost palatable. Gradually it warmed her throat and started to numb her pain. She welcomed the escape. Her head lolled forward, against her chest. When she opened her eyes, Mark was sitting in the chair opposite her.

  ‘Hello, Kathryn.’

  It was once again the unmistakable, polished tones of her husband.

  He was wearing his dark grey suit, a starched white shirt and a pale blue tie. His legs were crossed, his slender trouser leg hitched up just so to reveal a pale blue silk sock. His interlaced fingers formed a pyramid shape and rested against his chest. He looked tanned, relaxed and happy. He was smiling. Her nostrils filled with the unmistakable scent of Floris No. 89. Her breath came in short bursts. She was trembling. She closed her eyes, hoping that when she opened them he would have disappeared. He had not.

  ‘Are you not talking to me, Kathryn?’

  ‘Go away. You are not here any more!’

  ‘Kathryn Brooker, did I teach you nothing? Where are your manners? It’s only polite to converse with a guest that comes into your home, whether invited or not.’

  ‘I can’t talk to you because you are not here any more!’

  ‘Is that right? Then who are you looking at, silly girl? Who is it that is in your sitting room right now?’

  ‘I don’t want to talk to you! I don’t want to talk to you ever again!’

  ‘Ah, sweet Kathryn, but you are talking to me!’

  ‘I’m Kate now.’

  She was aware that her words were slightly slurred. He chuckled.

  ‘Is that right, darling? And how long have you been Kate?’

  She considered this.

  ‘I have always been Kate, but I wasn’t allowed to be for a while, not until you were gone.’

  His voice was steady, unwavering.

  ‘No, darling. You will never be Kate. Never, not properly. But you know that deep down, don’t you, Kathryn?’

  ‘I am Kate, not Kathryn, and you are gone, Mark. You can’t hurt me any more!’

  She thrashed her head from side to side, trying to make him disappear. Mark laughed quietly. He leant forward, his voice barely more than a whisper.

  ‘You don’t really believe that, do you?’

  ‘Yes! It’s true. You can’t hurt me now. I am free of you, Mark.’

  ‘Oh, Kathryn. What was it you said to me? I will become all of the things that I thought I might… Have you achieved that, darling? Have you become all the things you thought you might? Did you think you might become lonely, old and childless? Is that what you thought? And as for not hurting you, we both know that I still hurt you every single day, despite all your brave words. It would take more than throwing on a pair of jeans and not making a bed to get rid of me! I am lurking over your shoulder when you look in the mirror, I am breathing down your neck before you fall asleep and I am the reason that the kids hate you. You’ve lost them, Kathryn. But you know that too, don’t you?’

  Her sobs were loud and unrestrained.

  ‘They do NOT hate me! That is a lie. They are my children, they do not!’

  ‘Then where are they, Kathryn? Where are they right now? Why have there been no responses to all the pathetic letters you write? How hard is it for them to pick up the phone? Why didn’t they ever visit you? Why don’t they now?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘I don’t know why and I don’t know where they are.’

  ‘And Lydi surprises me still. I would have thought that in her you had found an ally, especially with your life experiences being not that dissimilar.’

  ‘Our lives were never similar!’

  ‘Were they not?’

  Mark raised his eyebrow, his smile widened.

  ‘Think about it, Kathryn, think about it logically.’

  ‘Mark, if you touched her, I swear to God…’

  ‘What, darling? What will you do? Kill me?’

  He laughed loudly.

  ‘I only stayed with you to keep them safe, and if they weren’t safe…’

  ‘That’s right, darling – it would all have been for nothing. Ironic, isn’t it? Oh, Kathryn, what a price you have paid. Was it worth it, amor vitae meae?’

  Kate slid down onto the floor. Her tears snaked into her mouth.

  ‘NO!’ she screamed into the ether. ‘It was not worth it! I want my kids back! I want my children and I would go back to that life in a heartbeat if it meant I got to see my babies every day! It was NOT worth it, Mark! You have won! Are you happy? You have won!’

  Her throat was raw from shouting. She lay in the small gap between the sofa and the coffee table and she slept where she fell.

  * * *

  Kate busied herself with tidying the mess from the night before, vacuuming and plumping the cushions in the sitting room. She couldn’t control the tremor that
dogged her right hand as she wrote out cheques in the study. That was all the bills up to date. A few more lines were penned and sealed in envelopes and she was all set. Dishwasher on. Loos cleaned. Plants watered. Laundry folded. Bed made.

  Kate pulled the front door behind her and relished the feel of the morning sun on her cheeks. This had always been her favourite time of day. As the path flattened out and the stones gave way to sand, Kate’s faltering steps turned into strides. She ran the last few metres with a smile on her face as the salt-tinged breeze lifted her fringe and buffeted her chest.

  Kate removed her T-shirt, folded it neatly with arm holes and hems together, and laid it on the sand. Next she slipped out of her jeans, which she placed with precision on top of her T-shirt. She unhooked her bra and let the straps fall along her muscular arms and finally she stepped out of her pants. Her clothes sat in a neat little pile, like laundry waiting to be collected and put away on wash day. She was done.

  Kate felt the bite of small stones and shells on the soft soles of her feet. She did nothing to ease the discomfort, figuring that it mattered little compared to the journey that she was about to undertake. A second or two of foot pain meant nothing in the grander scheme of things. She ran her palms over the backs of her thighs; she’d had worse. ‘Good morning, Mrs Bedmaker… Good afternoon, Mrs Bedmaker… Mrs Bedmaker… Mrs Bedmaker…’ She always noticed, always.

  She walked forward to the dark shadow on the sand where the water lapped, staining it the colour of dark tea and pitting it with fizzing holes in which small worms and crabs bathed.

  Kate trod gingerly, feeling the shock of the icy current on her exposed flesh. It was colder than she remembered for the time of the year. Her mind flitted briefly to the warm Caribbean Sea that had caressed her under a hot sun all those years ago. She remembered throwing herself into the balmy current and feeling the heat smooth the knots from her muscles; she remembered dancing in the rain at Carnival and wearing green feathers. She recalled being held in strong arms with nothing but a towel between her nakedness and a beautiful man; she remembered a kiss that had been full of love and promise. That had been a perfect day.