by Knight, Ali
But she had obviously managed to turn her life around, because she resurfaced a few years later in Brighton, where she began studying to be a social worker. Lauren’s suicide must have sent a shockwave through her family: the report showed that her parents separated soon after and her mother moved to Melbourne. Her father had died two years before Olivia was arrested.
There was nothing in Orin’s notes about a baby. That didn’t mean he didn’t know about it, though; Orin was a wily operator and had sent this stuff to woo Darren. He would be keeping information to himself if it suited him, and maybe there was a reason he wasn’t revealing it to him.
Darren got out his laptop and typed Olivia’s name into the search engine. After two hours of searching and reading, he closed the lid. There was no mention of a child anywhere. Fleet Street’s finest tabloid reporters, the courts – none of them had noted anything. He dropped to the floor and did thirty press-ups, sat on the floor in a yoga position to stretch his legs. So Olivia had a secret. He didn’t know how she felt about this child, but its existence was information he wasn’t supposed to have. And that meant he had something he could use.
He thought for a moment about this son. He would be about Darren’s own age. Did he know who his mother was? That would be a shock to discover. Darren thought with shame about what he himself had done – tried to track down his birth parents without telling his mum and dad. He’d done it in his first year at college, the freedom of living away from home stirring a new sense of independence in him, a curiosity to know what a life without the pain of Carly’s disappearance could have made him into. The agency was neutral but helpful, the systems all in place to help the thousands of children separated from their biological families for one reason or another.
At the last moment he had backed away. The file was there if he wanted to look, he had been told. But he didn’t have the courage. It had felt too disrespectful to his parents, to Carly. He wouldn’t have been able to contain the emotions that would have sprung up had he taken that step – finding a new family, maybe biologically connected brothers and sisters, when his own sister was gone. He had been a coward, he believed now, to duck the opportunity.
Darren got back up, itching to do something he’d been thinking about for a while. He picked up the drawing he had started a few days ago and examined it again. It was perfect.
He cycled to Streatham High Road and locked his bike up outside the tattoo parlour. Once inside, he sat in the old barber-shop chair next to a console with needles attached to containers of ink. He stared at his face in the mirror. It was as if he didn’t know himself.
‘You look miles away, mate, on another fucking planet!’ An Aussie tattooist in a tight T-shirt was standing behind him, both arms green and black with tattoos. But Darren barely noticed those, because right across the man’s face was etched a spider web. ‘What can I do you for today?’
Darren handed him the design.
‘Cool mate. Where d’you want it?’
Darren tapped the back of his neck, under his mane of hair.
The man made a wincing sound. ‘On a bone there, it’ll be more painful.’
‘Good.’
The man grinned as he pulled a piece of tracing paper towards him, piercings in his ears and nose jangling as he moved. ‘Pain is part of the process, man. Nothing is created without the pain of birth. Now nose to the floor and let’s get this baby started.’
42
Darren saw Chloe walking across the park and waved, pushing himself off the bench he was leaning against. She was in jeans with a rip across the knee and a tight T-shirt, with a small bag hanging diagonally across her body.
She came up to him and he bent down to kiss her on the cheek. She smiled at him, weight shifting from one small foot to the next. ‘So … where you taking me?’ Her lips were dripping something pink and glossy.
‘Dunno. This is your manor.’
She shrugged, looking vacantly about. ‘I don’t mind. We can do whatever you want.’
They paused, neither feeling the need to actually head anywhere. ‘Fancy a horror movie?’ Darren asked. ‘There’s one on nearby, I checked.’
‘I love horror movies.’
‘Great. That’s what we’ll do.’
Neither of them moved. The evening was warm and sultry and they lingered on the grass by the flower beds chatting about nothing at all, until Chloe realised they were going to be late for the film. They ran down pavements and across roads to get to the cinema on time.
The place was almost deserted; the guy selling popcorn gave them extra and the woman checking tickets told them they could sit anywhere. They sat back in their seats as the adverts screamed out their slogans on the screen.
‘I can’t believe you agreed to go out with me,’ Darren said.
‘You didn’t even ask me!’
‘Well, you know what I mean. What happened to the Audi guy?’
She shrugged again and rolled her eyes. ‘Let’s not talk about him.’
‘So tell me what you really want to be doing with your life.’
‘Well, I hate cooking. Who could like it after the people I’ve cooked for? I’m only doing that job for money before my course starts in October. I want to be a midwife.’
‘You certainly love hospitals. Maybe the smell of disinfectant is addictive.’
‘I’ve got to get more money first. Mum wants rent off me, I’ve got to get some savings.’ She took a long slurp of cola. ‘I heard you went to college already.’
‘I did an art degree.’
‘How was that?’
He picked up some popcorn. ‘Great. I loved it. Bit of a crash back to earth now, living at home, all that.’
‘Don’t you like home?’
‘No, it’s fine. Though, there’s Mum and Dad and there was Chester, our dog, but he just died. And my mum’s ill. She’s got cancer.’ He felt his chin wobble as he confided in her. It was so nice to sit close to her and talk things through.
‘I’m so sorry.’
He changed the subject, not wanting to get maudlin. ‘What about your family?’
‘Just me and Mum, but she spends a lot of time at her new boyfriend’s in Thornton Heath.’
He was mesmerised by her face, the dimples that appeared and disappeared in her cheeks as she munched her popcorn. He reached over and put his hand on her face, drew her gently to him and kissed her. She smelt of peaches and cola and she was soft and lovely and full of promise.
When the film ended he took her hand and they wandered out of the cinema and into a loud crush of people in a bar. There were just the two of them, insulated in a bubble from the noise and movement around them.
‘Did you meet nice people at college?’ she asked him.
‘Yes, loads.’
‘Any nice girls?’ she asked flirtatiously.
‘I went out with a girl called Amy. A mate got us together because her brother was dead. He died in a climbing accident in the Alps.’
She frowned. ‘Why would that make him get you together?’
The bubble burst. He was back in a raucous Croydon boozer, about to tell lies to a girl he knew he could love. The most defining thing about him had to be hidden from her.
He couldn’t remember what he’d told other people at the hospital. Would she know that he had a sister? The confusion of keeping all the lies straight made his head spin.
‘Darren?’
‘My sister died when I was young, that’s why.’
‘Oh Darren, I’m so sorry.’
He changed the subject fast. ‘But after a year and a half, Amy and I broke up.’ He took a long drink. It was partly true. He felt bad lying to Chloe; she deserved better.
‘Did she leave you?’
He shrugged. ‘Yeah, I guess so.’
She looked up at him through thick eyelashes. ‘Maybe you’re bad news, Darren Smith, one to avoid.’
He winced as she used his fake name. It felt wrong. ‘Don’t say that.’
; ‘Maybe I’ll just have to get closer to find out. Do you want to come back to mine?’
Darren watched her as she slept, snuggled next to her in the single bed in her tiny bedroom. There was something about her that he found compelling: her energy, her joy at simple things, her acceptance of the world the way it was.
And the same feeling came to him that he had had when he first got together with Amy. Carly had never had the chance to fall in love, to be as happy as life could possibly make you. This was just another of the many things that had been stolen from her.
And so his night with Chloe, so rich with promise and excitement, ended with him lying awake, twisting and turning in his new girlfriend’s spongy bed, thinking of Olivia.
‘You sleep like a baby.’
Darren opened his eyes to find Chloe stroking the side of his face. He stretched, his ankles hanging off the edge of her bed. She was sitting in a pair of knickers and a vest, holding out a cup of tea.
He sat up on his elbows. A weak sun was coming through the curtains, holding the promise of a beautiful summer day.
‘You’re lovely,’ he said.
She smiled and climbed back into bed and he snuggled down next to her, wrapping his long arms round her, pressing his erection against her.
‘Your hair is amazing. The colour is mega,’ she said. He grinned at her, Roehampton seeming like a bad dream from another century. ‘What’s that tattoo on the back of your neck?’ she asked. ‘I was looking at it earlier while you were sleeping. Are those initials?’
His happiness drained away. The initials C.E. that he’d forgotten about, entwined round each other and emblazoned in black ink on his neck. The closer he got to Chloe, the more tangled in his lies he would become. But he couldn’t stop himself, because he just wanted to spend time with her. ‘It’s my mum’s initials.’
‘Oh, that’s lovely.’
One lie was no better or worse than another, he thought; he was telling her so many. He pulled her down close to him and looked at her face, her high cheekbones, the clear blue eyes, her hair’s lovely dark roots where they showed through the blonde curls. He had woken up next to her and hadn’t felt the need to be away as quickly as possible, his desire spent and his attention on other things.
He knew deep down that she was a keeper, but he had no idea how to do that – keep her – when with every lie he told he sent her further from him.
‘What are you doing this weekend?’ she asked.
He looked at the sun again and wondered if there was a way to blast Roehampton from his brain, at least for a while. He picked up his phone and checked a weather chart. He grinned. ‘Fancy coming surfing with me?’
43
The sun was a yellow disc in the sky, the music loud on the stereo. Chloe was beside him rolling joints as he threw his mum’s car round the bends in the country lanes. Once they had decided to go west for the weekend, it was easy; he phoned Mum and pleaded for the car, Chloe threw some stuff in a bag, they tracked back to his house, threw his gear in the boot, strapped his surfboard to the roof and headed off. By mid-afternoon they were nearing the beach.
Darren roared round a corner and the beach appeared below them. ‘Corduroy!’ he shouted and pulled into the car park, executing a donut on the gravel that made Chloe squeal. ‘Fuckin’ a-mazing,’ he sighed.
The waves were dark, even lines forming offshore and marching beachwards before crashing in white walls onto the sand. A northern, pale blue sky hung over the fields dotted with sheep. A warm wind blew straight from the Caribbean.
They carried their gear down to the beach. The surf was dotted with children, couples, boarders, kayakers and boogie-boarders in a joyous free-for-all in the miles of waves.
He liked teaching Chloe how to surf. She looked scared at the big waves, but he managed to get her on her knees on the board in the smaller breaking waves close to the beach, her perfect bottom skywards in her blue bikini bottoms. Chloe screamed and then laughed as she was toppled by a wave.
They sat in the shallows for a while giggling and canoodling. Darren could see large sets of waves further out to sea, their dark faces plunged into shadow when they rose to vertical. He strapped on his ankle tie and picked up his board. ‘I’m going out. You OK hanging here for a while?’
‘I’m loving it.’ She smiled. ‘I’m going to bodyboard. I’ll watch for you.’
He kissed her; her mouth was fresh and salty. ‘In Hawaii they know the surf’s up because the pictures fall off the walls.’ He imagined Chloe with a flower behind her ear and a grass skirt he could put his hand through. One day he’d go to Hawaii, try to surf the massive breakers of the North Shore with her by his side. He’d live his life, instead of waiting for it to start.
He pushed the board out into the water. He liked the idea of her watching him, driving him on, her simple devotion. He got on his stomach and began to swim out beyond the breaking waves.
The first waves smacked over his head and he struggled for the surface. He began to swim. Harder and faster, diving under the churning surf, gripping the board hard, breaking the surface and ploughing forwards as the next wave formed a mountain ahead. Darren was six feet tall on the beach, but when he lay on his board he was less than one.
The waves were six feet high, clean and even. He could see the next one breaking and dived under the wall of foam that smashed into him, gripping the sides of the board. He surfaced, spitting water, preparing for the next one, swimming hard. He saw a bigger, steeper wave approaching and swam hard to dive below it as it broke right over him. The next was easier and then suddenly, panting and exhausted, he was out beyond the breaking waves, the sea calm, the beach far away. He bobbed lazily up and down with the swell of the waves moving beneath him, one wetsuit-clad figure in a line of surfers.
He watched the waves forming beneath his board and began to swim into the correct position to catch one. The water rose sharply behind him and he was lifted skywards, but he just missed the lip of the wave and didn’t commit, sitting back up instead. A few minutes later he caught a wave but didn’t manage to stand up. He bailed and swam back to the line-up.
The waves were increasing in size, the ocean shifting continually. He looked at the beach. He and Chloe could have a fire there later and watch the sun set, erect the tent in the campsite in the dark, wake to the gentle breezes of a British summer and a massive fry-up in the cafe.
He felt a shadow fall across his shoulder. A mountain of a wave had risen up behind him in the couple of moments he had been daydreaming. He scrambled to get flat, his arms propelling him through the water. The face of the wave formed beneath him, bigger and steeper than he had expected.
Waves are measured not in feet and inches, but in increments of fear. And on the fear scale this monster was a ten. He took off and whipped his legs underneath him in one movement as he swooped nearly vertically down the face of the wave, the water curling over him. He struggled for balance, his arms wide, his body low. He shot along the line of the wave as it curled over him and suddenly he was in its centre, the calm spot in a surging, boiling mass of water weighing many tons.
Time slowed to a stop; it was a moment of transcendental joy. And Carly came to him. She had been a better surfer than him; she had been magnificent. It was her love of surfing that had been the reason he had started; she was the reason he was here now, racing beachwards, suspended in the green room. She was here with him now, her wet hair flying free from her face, her lips tightly puckered in concentration, knees bent, one arm touching the side of her board.
The wave shifted and the face he was traversing grew too vertical, the tunnel in front collapsing, tons of water coming down on his head. The wave changed into a monster and in the next instant that monster was Olivia. She was the devil that had risen from the deep, that had swamped his family and crushed their joy. He jerked backwards and was sent plunging to the ocean floor, slamming his head into something hard, the boiling mass of water collapsing down on top of him. He fought to get him
self up, broke the surface disorientated and was immediately thumped down again by another wave. He felt his leg being yanked by the cord, his head spinning, vision turning white, the boiling water disorientating and endless. He started to panic, unsure which way was up and which down. He was tossed on to the beach like a piece of driftwood and lay panting on the sand.
Someone touched his shoulder. ‘You OK, mate? Major wipeout you had there.’
Two surfers were standing over him as he nodded.
He lay on the sand, spent and exhausted. Chloe jogged across and leaned over him, the sun making her shadow into a blanket over him. ‘You OK?’ Her face was twisting between concern and happiness.
He coughed out salt water and lay back. ‘Best surf I’ve ever seen. It nearly ate me up.’
She knelt down and kissed him. He lay back on the sand and closed his eyes and she lay down next to him. He let her soft contours and warm smell pull him to a safer place.
‘I love you.’ It was too soon to tell her this, she would think him desperate, but he couldn’t stop himself. He felt a terrible fear that he needed to seize the moment because he was running out of time to spend with her.
She smiled and ran her hand across his face, grains of sand scouring his cheek as she pulled his face towards her. ‘I love you too.’
They climbed the steps away from the beach to the car park and put the surfboard on the roof. They sat smoking a joint and staring at the sea.
‘There’s something you need to know,’ he said.
She had her bare feet on the dashboard, her bare legs radiating heat next to his arm. He stared at her as the sun sank low on the horizon. ‘I’m going to leave Roehampton. On Monday I think.’
‘Really?’
He nodded. ‘A lot more things will become clear when I do that. It’s time. I’ve got to stop.’
‘Stop?’
‘I mean leave.’
She nodded, not disagreeing. ‘I’m not surprised. It’s not the best place to work in south London.’ They both smiled, staring out at the car park and the beach and surf beyond.
