by Lana Newton
‘I have to go, I’m sorry.’
‘Are you sure—’
But Claire was already halfway down the dark staircase. Her headache was back, a thousand daggers furiously piercing her temples. She found Nina where she’d left her. The tiny ballerinas had long disappeared and in their place were three old ladies talking animatedly as they made their way towards their favourite café. When Claire got her breath back, she saw Nina looking at her with concern. It was important to maintain the illusion of a carefree excursion, otherwise Nina might tell Paul about their trip. Claire faked a smile and said, ‘I wonder how big Windsor is.’
Nina, who was busy eating a croissant, held up two fingers. Her face visibly relaxed.
‘Two thousand people?’ When Nina shook her head, laughing, Claire added, ‘Twenty thousand?’ That sounded about right. The town seemed tiny. Blink and you would miss it.
‘Two hundred thousand,’ said Nina. ‘I just looked it up.’
Claire wondered if she could stop two hundred thousand people, if she could ask the same question two hundred thousand times. Do you know me? Do I look familiar? Could she knock on every door, hoping for a spark of recognition inside her brain that was like an old car engine with its battery long dead? What was she even thinking, coming here? There were no answers here, only more questions.
‘What would you like to see now, Miss Claire? Museum? There is library here, too. And what about our picnic?’
‘Take me to the library,’ said Claire.
The library was a square white building next to the church. Claire imagined coming here as a young girl, to meet friends and read her favourite books. Telling Nina to wait in one of the cafés, she walked through the glass doors. Inside, the air was pleasantly cool. The library was almost empty. Understandably so – it was too nice a day to be cooped up indoors. But it wasn’t completely empty. A teenage couple in the corridor were glued to each other, half a dozen books by their feet. An elderly lady was using a computer. Claire found a desk as far away from them as possible.
At the counter, she asked if they kept old copies of the local newspaper. The librarian looked her up and down and in a bored voice requested, ‘What date, love?’ Her purple hair was caught in a knot at the top of her head and she was vigorously chewing a gum, as if determined to give her jaw a workout.
Claire’s breath caught in her throat. It took her a few seconds to reply. ‘2009.’ In 2009 she was 16. According to the police, this was when her family had suddenly packed up and moved to London. Claire didn’t know what she was hoping to find. Whatever had happened ten years ago had probably been a private matter that didn’t make the papers. But what if it did?
Without a word the librarian turned on her heels and walked through a set of double doors. She was gone a while, so long, in fact, that Claire contemplated leaving. Some things were better left in the past where they belonged. Even if they could shed light on who she was.
But she couldn’t leave. She had come this far.
The librarian reappeared, carrying a pile of old newspapers. ‘Here is all we have for 2009,’ she said, blowing a pink bubble with her gum.
Claire thanked the girl and took the newspapers back to her desk. She arranged the newspapers in chronological order, starting with the date of her sixteenth birthday. Painstakingly she read about a local poet winning a national competition, the town’s oldest resident, and the talent performing at Windsor Festival. Nothing seemed important to her until she reached the last newspaper – December 2009.
An article on the front page caught her eye right away. She repeated the headline twice to herself: ‘North Street Fire Tragedy.’ A sudden chill ran through her, a strange premonition that this was what she had come here to find. There was a photograph of a spacious family home, not unlike her parents’ house in North London. The house was engulfed in flames and the firefighters were struggling to control it.
A fire broke out at 11 p.m. on a quiet street of Windsor. Nathaniel Wright, an engineering student at the Royal Holloway University, died in the blaze. He is survived by his sister, Claire Wright and his parents, Tony and Angela Wright.
Nathaniel Wright, she whispered to herself. Nate Wright. The brother no one knew she had – not even Paul – had died in a fire ten years ago.
On shaking legs she stumbled out of the library. While she’d been inside, it had grown cold and the sky turned ominously grey. Like a drunk she staggered down the street, turning the corner and walking blindly – where, she didn’t know. She had a brother and now he was gone. There was an acute pain in her chest, an ache that had been there ever since she found out her mother was dead. But now her heart was hurting not only for Angela but for her brother, too. She walked quickly past the shops and the cafés and the houses. Soon it was dark but she didn’t care. Her phone rang but she ignored it. When she glanced at it, she saw missed calls from Nina and Paul. It didn’t matter. Only when she saw Nina running towards her with her hands outstretched, her face frantic, did she realise that she had come full circle. She was back at the library, where her world as she knew it had turned upside down once again.
* * *
It was a long and silent journey back, and when they finally pulled up outside the house, Claire followed Nina blindly, climbing the stairs to the front door slowly, mechanically. Gaby’s car was in the driveway. Claire barely noticed it. She could feel a start of another migraine, like a drill boring its way through her skull.
She could hear soft music coming from the living room. Freddie Mercury wanted to live forever and Steven Tyler didn’t want to miss a thing. Without pausing to take off her shoes, she locked herself in the study and searched through every photo album that contained her childhood photographs, yearning to see her brother. Out of all the things she had forgotten, she wished she’d remembered him the most. She wanted to know the colour of his eyes, his favourite food, his favourite books. But most of all she wanted to know what it felt like to have an older brother, someone to look up to, someone to turn to when she needed it the most. There were thousands of photographs of Claire as a child but none at all of a little boy slightly older than herself. It was as if Nate had never existed. Why would she tell everyone she was an only child? Why keep her brother a secret? She didn’t know what hurt more, that Nate was dead or that he seemed forgotten, all memories of him gone without a trace. Didn’t he deserve better?
Lost in thought, she didn’t notice the key turn in the lock and the door open. Suddenly, Paul was standing over her. Her heart in her throat at the sight of him, she jumped up, spilling the photographs all over the floor. If only Nina had driven a little faster, if only Claire hadn’t walked aimlessly around Windsor but returned to the car immediately, Paul wouldn’t have known she’d been out and wouldn’t be looking at her with anger. To her surprise, she realised she didn’t care anymore. She was beyond caring.
‘Where have you been? I’ve been worried sick.’ Paul didn’t raise his voice but Claire could see his mouth twitching.
Without saying a word, she pulled her shoes off. She left them by the desk and, without a backwards glance, set off for her bedroom.
‘Claire!’
Still she didn’t turn around. She needed to get away from him, so she could be alone to think about her brother.
In three giant strides he caught up to her and grabbed her hand. ‘Where do you think you are going? I asked you a question.’
She sighed wearily. ‘I was out. I needed some air. Please, let go of my hand. You are hurting me.’
‘You were out this late in the evening?’ He didn’t let go.
‘I’m not a child. I can take care of myself.’
‘So when Nina calls me at work, interrupting an important surgery, and tells me you are missing and she doesn’t know what to do …’ His voice was trembling. In anger? She felt herself trembling, too. If he didn’t let go of her hand immediately, she would have a breakdown right here, in front of him. Was that what he wanted? Did he want to see her br
oken and upset? She pulled away and this time he didn’t try to stop her. ‘Where have you been?’ he repeated.
‘Why don’t you ask your spy?’
‘Nina is not my spy. She was worried and, frankly, so was I. You shouldn’t have—’
Gaby appeared in the doorway, as always clutching a glass of wine as if her life depended on it. ‘Leave the poor girl alone. She told you she needed some air. It must be terrible being stuck in this house all day.’
‘I understand,’ said Paul quietly, stepping away from Claire. ‘But next time please don’t disappear without letting us know first.’
Relieved, Claire smiled at her friend. ‘Gaby! What are you doing here?’ She had never been more pleased to see her. She knew Paul was unlikely to lose his temper in front of Gaby.
‘Just stopped by to see how you’re doing …’ Gaby looked like she was on her way to a nightclub. She had on a short miniskirt, a skin-tight top under a Chanel jacket, jewellery in excess and Jimmy Choo sandals. Her raven hair was curled to perfection and framed her face impeccably, her lips were ruby and her eyelashes charcoal.
‘Why don’t you tell us where you’ve been?’ asked Paul, his eyes boring into Claire.
‘Stop questioning her!’ Gaby’s hand went on Paul’s arm as if trying to restrain him. ‘She hasn’t done anything wrong.’
‘It’s okay,’ said Claire. ‘I went to Windsor.’
‘The castle is beautiful.’ Gaby nodded her approval. ‘I always feel transported to another world when I visit.’
‘I didn’t see the castle. The police came around asking questions about my years in Windsor as a child. And about my brother.’
‘You have a brother?’ asked Gaby.
‘She doesn’t,’ said Paul. ‘Did you take your meds today?’
Claire wanted to put her hands over her ears and scream. What an effort it was, to stand in front of them and answer their questions, while they talked about her like she wasn’t even there. All she wanted was to be alone so she could say her brother’s name out loud in the hope it would trigger something inside her, a memory or a feeling that was long gone. ‘I’m sorry. I’m not feeling well. I’d better take myself to bed. It was nice to see you, Gaby.’ She stumbled to her room, where she lay fully clothed on her bed. ‘Nate,’ she whispered to herself. But even though her eyes were swimming in tears, her mind was blank. Once again, she was mourning someone she remembered nothing about.
Chapter 15
A knock on her bedroom door reached her as if from a great distance. Claire realised she had been asleep. After hours of tossing and turning, she must have finally drifted off. It couldn’t have been for long. Her eyelids felt heavy. Groggily she rubbed them. Was it early? It was dark but that didn’t mean anything. Her room was always dark, curtains drawn, keeping the world at bay. Her gaze fell on the clock on her bedside table. Eight in the morning. Claire rolled to her side and pulled the blankets over her head.
But whoever was at the door was insistent. Through the haze of sleep she heard another knock, and another. What if something had happened? The thought propelled her out of bed, making her throw off her blanket and walk to the door. Outside stood Helga. In her accented voice she informed Claire that Tony was asking for her.
As soon as he saw her, he sat up in bed and grinned. He always had the kindest smile waiting for her. ‘Hey, Teddy Bear.’
‘Hey, Dad.’ She felt the familiar warmth spreading through her at the sight of him, at the sound of his voice. Tony was watching her with such tenderness. The ice block of heartache she had carried inside for the past few weeks seemed to melt a little when she was with him.
‘I heard shouting yesterday. Is everything alright? Why do you look so sad?’
The mask she was trying to put on didn’t fool him. He was so tuned in to her feelings, he instantly knew something was wrong. How did she tell him about Windsor and about Nate? He’d been through so much, how did she bring up what was possibly the most painful period of his life? She shrugged and shook her head. ‘Tell me a memory. Something to cheer us both up.’
‘I know just the thing.’ He reached for her hand and squeezed it. ‘One day, your mother came home with a bucketful of kittens.’
‘A bucketful of kittens?’
‘She found seven of them by the side of the road. Someone must have dumped them. She didn’t want them to get scared in the car, so she placed them in a bucket and walked two kilometres home, while they meowed and tried to escape. They scratched her all over but I’d never seen her so happy.’
‘What happened to them?’
‘We kept them.’
‘All seven?’
‘All seven. Your mother and you couldn’t resist their pretty little faces. And I could never say no to you.’
‘What did we call them?’
‘Pluto.’
‘What about the other six?’
‘You named them all Pluto. You were obsessed with the cartoon. You said the name suited them. We tried to point out they were cats and not dogs. But you thought they were playful and fun, just like your favourite character. So they all became Pluto.’
‘That’s a wonderful memory,’ she whispered.
‘We were so happy then, the three of us.’
‘How old was I?’
‘Eight or nine.’
He turned his own brave face to her but just like him, she could see right through it. ‘The four of us, you mean?’ He looked up in surprise but didn’t say a word. She added, ‘I know about Nate.’
Something seemed to shut down in his eyes at the mention of her brother. Claire could no longer read him. ‘Did you remember something?’ he asked.
‘The police mentioned him the last time they were here. Why haven’t you told me about him?’
‘Your brother died in a fire ten years ago when you were 16. I didn’t want to tell you and break your heart all over again, when there is so much already on your mind.’
She shuddered, not so much at his words as the expression of doubt and sheer heartbreak on his face. ‘All this time I thought I was an only child.’ She had lost a brother. She didn’t even want to imagine what that must have been like. But her father had lost a son. She took his hand, brought it to her face and kissed his rough skin. ‘Were we close?’
‘He loved you with all his heart. And you loved him.’ There were tears in his eyes. She moved her chair closer, moved herself closer, so she could hold him and make it all better. ‘It was a tragic accident. Your mother and I were away on a romantic weekend. Only half an hour away, and yet, we didn’t know what happened until we got back. That’s what kills me. That we went hours without knowing. We were still happy and he was already gone.’
‘What happened?’
‘Our house caught fire while Nate was asleep inside. Faulty wiring. I pray it was quick. I pray he didn’t suffer. Every day of my life I thank God you were at a friend’s house that night.’
Claire wished she could inject herself with memories, so she wouldn’t feel so empty and confused. ‘What was he like?’
‘He was very much your mother’s son.’
‘I’m so sorry, Dad. How do you live with something like this? How do you get over it?’
‘You don’t, not really. It stays with you forever. Like your mother’s death will stay with us forever. But as long as there is love in your life, it’s worth living. And my life is filled with love because I still have you.’
‘Poor Mum,’ she whispered. ‘Poor you. I’m so sorry, Dad.’ She sobbed in his arms and he stroked her shoulders, gentle touches that made her feel like she wasn’t alone.
‘Our family has been through a lot. But we’ve always been there for each other. We’ve always been close. And now there’s only you and me. Just the two of us left.’
‘Yes,’ said Claire. ‘Just the two of us.’ At that moment, as he rocked her gently like an infant, she knew she would do anything for him. He was the only one she loved and the only one she trusted. She had n
o one else but him.
Chapter 16
On the first truly warm day, Claire wanted to take her father to the park in his wheelchair but he refused, as if even a glimmer of joy would be a betrayal of his beloved Angela. He looked especially gloomy and the only thing that seemed to cheer him up was Angela’s Bible. Claire read to him until her eyes were weary and her throat dry. And then she closed the Bible and asked, ‘What were your parents like? My grandparents?’
‘My mother was a saint, with a heart of gold. When I think of her, I remember her kindness and tenderness and her singing a quiet lullaby as I drifted off to sleep.’
‘She sounds wonderful. Have I ever met her?’
‘She died shortly before you were born. I loved my mother more than anything. And then I met Angela. She reminded me of Mum. She was just as kind, just as beautiful and always knew the right thing to say to brighten up your day.’ Tony gritted his teeth as if fighting back tears.
‘What about your father?’
He was about to say something when they heard Paul’s voice. ‘Claire, can I talk to you?’ A second later his head appeared in the doorway. ‘Alone?’
‘Anything you want to say, you can say in front of Daddy.’ Claire didn’t want to be alone with Paul. She wanted to stay with her father.
‘Very well. I found this in the kitchen sink.’ He held up something small and with horror Claire recognised one of her pills. Paul didn’t say another word but seemed to wait for her to explain. When she didn’t, he added, ‘How long have you been doing this?’
‘What I do is up to me. It’s none of your business.’
‘You are my wife, which makes it my business. I only want the best for you. I’m sorry if you can’t see that. Now you are lying to me, pretending to take your meds—’
Tony lifted himself up on one elbow. ‘Who are you to talk about lies?’
Claire could see the colour rising in Paul’s face. Suddenly he looked angry enough to strike her father. But he didn’t. His voice remained calm when he said, ‘This is a family matter. Please, stay out of it.’
