by Gayle Curtis
‘I’m so sorry, I am so, so, sorry,’ she whispered into its dirty flank, her heart settling and her body calming. It was just a ghost.
Eventually, Cecelia stood up, brushed the muck off her jeans and wiped her hands with a tissue she’d found up her sleeve. Using what little strength she had left, she pulled the creature as best she could to the side of the track, onto the grass verge.
Still shaking, she got back into the car and drove to the hospital to see Yvonne. For the first time in many years she realised she needed her mother. It had been many years since she’d last seen her, apart from the odd glimpse in the town. Yvonne was part of a horrible time in her life and, as she’d wanted to do with Sebastian, she’d separated herself from memories of her past life. But now there were things she wanted to talk to her about, the green suitcase being one.
The person she discovered in the hospital bed was familiar to her, but the connection that she was her mother seemed to have slipped away.
Shock turned to apprehension and then a slight smile on her mother’s face as she realised who it was.
‘I’m pleased you’ve finally come.’ She pushed herself up in the bed. She was weak but there was still harshness in her tone.
‘What have the doctors said?’ Cecelia patted down her blond hair, still dishevelled from earlier.
Yvonne ignored her question. ‘Where’s Caroline, I haven’t seen her in so long?’
‘I’ll bring her another time.’
‘Has she left school? She must be at college by now.’ Yvonne coughed, her chest rattling.
‘Sixth form. She’s just started her second year.’
Yvonne nodded. ‘Are you all right? You look a bit . . . well, a bit of a mess to be honest.’
‘I’m fine. I hit a deer in the road. Shook me up a bit, that’s all.’
‘Did you give it first aid?’ Yvonne nodded towards Cecelia’s jacket, to the blood stains patterning the left side.
‘I’m not here to talk about a fucking deer, Mother.’ She snapped, startling Yvonne somewhat. ‘Sorry, but I’m not in the mood for jokes.’
‘OK, what are you here for then?’
‘I just need to ask you something.’
‘I know what you’ve come for, you want to know why I signed half the farm over to you despite the fact you killed your father.’
Cecelia flinched at the words, as they hit her like shards of glass. She walked over to the window so she could think about what to say next.
‘If you knew that, why did you sign half the farm over to me? Why not give it all to Sebastian.’
‘I didn’t know for sure. You just told me.’
They were briefly interrupted by someone with a tea trolley and irritatingly for Cecelia, Yvonne chatted to the waitress as she poured her a hot drink. She sat down in the plastic chair in the corner of the room, arms folded, protecting herself until the woman had left.
‘So, now you’ve given me something you don’t think I deserve, you can have it back.’
‘I’d have still signed it over. I like the feeling I’ve given you something we both know you don’t deserve. You keep it, or sell your half to your brother.’
‘Nice.’ Cecelia got up to leave.
‘Before you walk out all indignantly, what was it you came here to ask me?’
‘I didn’t even come here to talk about the fucking farm!’ Cecelia was crying, tears streaming down her face. She felt like a child again, like she used to around her mother.
‘Then sit down and say what you have to say.’
Cecelia didn’t sit down, she stood at the bottom of her mother’s bed, feeling as though she was a stranger.
‘It doesn’t matter now. I’ll work it out for myself.’
‘Come and sit down.’ Yvonne patted the space next to her. ‘This might be the last time we see each other. Let’s not part on bad terms.’
Reluctantly, Cecelia sat down towards the end of the bed. She wanted to let it all go, release the anger she felt towards her parents, but memories flickered in her mind of times when she’d been frightened of Roger, times when her mother left them to defend themselves and then the last time, when they’d thought she was dead.
‘Tell me about that green suitcase in the loft.’
Yvonne fell silent. ‘What do you want to know about that for?’
‘I don’t know why but I keep dreaming about it. Ever since I saw it. I just wondered whose it was and why it appeared in the loft after you left?’
‘You thought I was dead that day, didn’t you?’
‘What day? What are you talking about?’
Yvonne tipped her head slightly. ‘The day I left the farm . . .’
‘Yes . . . I did . . .’ Cecelia snatched some tissues from her mother’s table and wiped her nose. ‘It was an accident, Mum. You and Dad were arguing; I didn’t mean to hurt anyone.’
Yvonne took a deep breath. ‘The case was your father’s. It was filled with photos of his mother, things she gave him before she left.’ She sounded terse, abrupt, as though she’d had enough of the conversation.
‘I don’t understand.’
‘I don’t expect you to. You’ve never understood anything outside your own life. Never tried. Your Dad kept the case. We had a deal after we got married and he saw that I struggled with things . . .’
‘What things?’ Cecelia was becoming increasingly agitated.
‘Having you and Sebastian changed me . . . I couldn’t cope with it sometimes. You must remember me going away when you were little?’
‘Occasionally, yes . . .’
‘Your Dad made me promise that if I ever felt like I might do something rash . . . if I felt out of control – that I might hurt myself or one of you – that I would take that green suitcase, pack it with my things and never come back. It would be a code between us that I had reached my limits, that I couldn’t cope anymore. His mother left the case behind and he told me he knew, even at that young age, what she’d gone to do. He thought it was better for a mother to leave her children rather than commit suicide.’
‘I still don’t understand. Is that it?’
‘Yes, that’s it. His mum killed herself when he was a child and he didn’t want you and Sebastian to suffer the same. If I was ever to come downstairs with the green suitcase, he would know that was it, our marriage was over. Whenever I went away without it, he knew I was going to come back.’
‘He told us his mother left them all and he never saw her again.’
Yvonne sipped her tea. ‘Suicide was really taboo in those days. Most doctors wouldn’t even write it on a death certificate.’
‘It didn’t stop him being an arsehole though, did it?’
‘You need to appease your conscience, I understand that.’
‘Don’t preach that religious bollocks to me.’ Cecelia got up from the bed, collecting her car keys from the table. ‘You were terrible parents and didn’t deserve to have children.’
Yvonne laughed. ‘You barely gave your father a chance to show you what a good parent he could be.’
‘A good parent? You have to be joking. You’re mad!’
‘Say what you like, Cece. You’ve always blamed us for your life, never taken responsibility for your own decisions.’
‘That’s rich! You’ll be telling me next it was my fault Lydia died!’
Yvonne shrugged and stared at her, inflaming Cecelia’s already frail temper.
‘Do you know what? I wish I’d put that bullet right through your head.’ She spat the words out, watching them slide down Yvonne’s face.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Sebastian moved casually through the throng of teenagers as they chatted, completely distracted by school gossip, their mobiles, and who had what food to offer.
They naturally moved to make way for him, without even noticing his presence.
He paused amidst the jostling to retrieve a cigarette from his jacket pocket and check his phone, wanting it to loo
k like he just happened to be walking that way.
A mixture of young adolescents pushed past him and he swayed in time with their movements. He looked up from lighting his cigarette just as Caroline came into view with her friends. He’d seen her in the distance some minutes before as she’d pushed her way from the entrance to the school along with all the other teenagers desperate to leave the confines of their education.
Stepping off the pavement, wanting to seem casual, he put himself in line with her path. They’d chatted the last few weeks, even gone for coffee. They shared a love of art and he had impressed her with talk of his original techniques. He knew Cecelia had told Caroline about his time in prison to try to convince her to stay away from him, but it hadn’t worked. Caroline had seen something different within the picture her mother was painting for her – the numbers weren’t matching up with the colours.
Walking more slowly, he allowed the crowds to pass, intent on looking busy with his phone until, stepping back onto the pavement, he was exactly in her eyeline as she approached with her friends. He turned just as she spotted him. A glint of a smile lifted Caroline’s lips as recognition lit her face. It was working, he thought to himself. She was warming to him. He had been casually bumping into her since their first meeting and he could see that contrary to what she’d been told, she was making her own mind up about him.
Caroline’s friends acknowledged him briefly and moved on with the crowd as Sebastian and Caroline stood on the pavement as everyone passed.
‘Going straight home today?’
She hesitated. ‘I don’t have to . . . We could go for coffee again?’
Sebastian looked at his phone to give her the impression that he was busy.
‘Sorry, I thought you were asking –’
‘No, no, it’s fine. I was actually going to the café anyway but I’ve just remembered I need to get home for a delivery.’
‘OK.’ Caroline shrugged and looked along the school crowds, at her friends up ahead, wanting to catch up with them.
‘Tell you what, why don’t you come over to mine for a coffee?’
Sebastian knew the answer to this because he’d watched her over the last few weeks and observed that she never went straight home to her parents, instead choosing to go to a café if she wasn’t required to work in the bookshop.
‘I’m not sure . . .’ She shrugged again. ‘What would Mum say?’
He leant in towards her, a wry smile across his lips. ‘Does she need to know?’
Her hesitation was endearing. She wanted to go with him but needed his reassurance.
‘Look, you go for coffee with your friends after school, right? What’s the difference coming to mine? I’m your friend, aren’t I?’
‘It’s not the same though, is it?’
Sebastian stepped off the pavement, tilting his head back slightly. ‘It’s not a problem; let’s leave it for another time. Catch up soon, hey?’ He began to check the road for traffic so he could cross.
‘No, wait! I’ll come with you . . .’
They began to walk along together, him filling the light summery air with questions as he tried to find out as much as he could about her. She answered his queries amiably and without suspicion, even though she still seemed slightly shy around him, nervous almost.
‘I don’t really remember much about your house but I know I stayed here when I was younger,’ she said slightly meekly.
‘No . . . no, well, I don’t suppose you would . . .’ He was distracted as he put the key in the door.
‘It’s where you and mum were brought up, isn’t it?’
‘No.’ Sebastian frowned, pushing the door back so that Caroline could enter first. ‘What made you think that?’
Caroline ran her hands along the piles of newspapers that now lined the walls through the hallway. ‘Mum said.’
‘This is where your grandmother lives but it’s not where we were brought up.’
‘What are these for?’ Caroline opened a broadsheet from the top of one of the piles.
‘They’re archives, I collect them . . . for reference.’
‘Oh. There’s a lot.’ She laughed.
And there were piles of them everywhere. A daily collection had accumulated rapidly into something monumental. They were all neatly stacked from floor to ceiling in most places, as though he was fashioning a new kind of wallpaper. The collection had grown even faster since Yvonne had gone to hospital, somehow signifying her absence.
Caroline stepped into the sitting room which was similarly lined with newspapers. She wandered tentatively around and it reminded him of Alice exploring the rooms down the rabbit hole. She suddenly looked really tiny. He watched her frowning at all the broadsheets: stacks of them making their way towards the entrance like giant paper buildings. Her hand moved to her throat and he waited for her to comment further but she didn’t. Old familiar feelings from the past resurfaced and he could feel the draught rising in his stomach again. He needed to regain order, she was formulating a judgement and he hadn’t been given time to make her understand, to see it from a different perspective. He walked across the sitting room to a small table in the corner and began straightening some correspondence he had laid there.
Looking up he caught her smiling at him – not in jest or repulsion but a real smile. He felt the draught subside and it was quickly replaced with an overwhelming urge to make her happy.
‘Come and look at this!’ he grabbed her hand and pulled her into the passageway, leading her up the steep staircase.
When they reached the top floor, he opened the door to a large and impressive room. All the walls had intricate Victorian cornicing visible which had a fresh coat of white paint, and even the floorboards had been sanded and glossed. Just recently he’d hung some deep teal coloured, taffeta curtains above the large windows and they were stark against everything else, drawing the colours from his portraits. He’d made a lot of changes in the room since he’d moved in; his art now filled almost two large walls. In one half of the room he’d placed two long white, leather sofas so you could view his work from all angles. In the middle was a rectangular glass coffee table held up by a carved granite sculpture. An ostentatious crystal chandelier hung directly from the centre of the ceiling. All items he’d picked up from junk yards and restored. It was all too much for the tall terraced house but he knew it was mesmerising nonetheless. He’d finished it over a week ago and he still loved it when he walked in, reminding him of art galleries he’d seen, where he pictured his work being displayed in the not too distant future. It was pristine, not an ornament or book in sight. The contrast from the dusty darkness downstairs to upstairs made them both blink – it was so clean and bright. Caroline was speechless. She was so shocked that she hadn’t even noticed her fingers were still loosely entwined in his, reminding him of days with Cecelia. He pulled his hand from Caroline’s, the balance not the same.
‘Look,’ Sebastian said as he grabbed her arms and turned her towards the main wall.
Caroline followed his gaze to the largest portrait behind the door, his latest work. It was a painting of Cecelia, but it was covered in blotches of oil paints in so many colours that only Sebastian would know what it was.
‘Who is it?’ The uncertainty in Caroline’s voice was clear.
He hesitated, unable to hide his surprise that she could decipher a face.
‘You can see it’s a person?’ He watched her for a few moments, willing her to recognise the familiarity.
‘Of course I can see it’s a person.’ Caroline tipped her head to one side until she was almost bent over.
‘Male or female?’ He gestured to the painting with his hands.
Caroline stared for a moment at the vibrantly domineering picture.
‘Female, I think . . .’
Sebastian toyed with the idea of telling her who it was but decided against it. She’d lost the thread of the picture and he didn’t think she’d understand.
&n
bsp; ‘It’s a woman crouching.’ She tried again, wanting to impress him. ‘Is she naked?’
‘Look at these.’ Sebastian pointed to the linen etchings, distracting her from the picture, wanting to keep the mystery of who it was to himself. Caroline was beautifully intriguing, but she wasn’t Cecelia and he was feeling the loss of his sister more keenly than ever before.
‘I love that smell.’ Caroline lifted her head, breathing in the atmosphere filled with turpentine and oils.
Sebastian smiled, leading her over to his most recent artwork. Ava’s eager participation had meant his rooms were filling up quite rapidly.
‘How did you do this? Who is it?’
‘It’s a technique I started using when I was studying for my A levels. I find something I want to etch, cover it in linen and use a mixture of charcoal and powdered paint to project the image onto the cloth. It’s a friend of mine.’
‘Are they all parts of the body?’ Caroline was tipping her head again, making Sebastian want to straighten her frame.
‘They are, yes. Although some are clearer than others. The shoulder blades didn’t have the right result. I think I’ll just stick to hands and feet. Maybe faces.’
‘Have you tried doing anyone’s face?’
‘Yes, they’re all in the other room. I’m trying to keep them separate, so I can build up a portfolio of faces.’
‘You can try it on me if you like? I don’t mind. Why are they all parts of the body?’
‘Because that’s what I’m most interested in.’ Sebastian examined her face, the exaggerated features she’d inherited from Cecelia.
‘So, do you want to?’ Caroline said, piercing his thoughts.
‘Do I want to do what?’ He reached into his back pocket and removed the tobacco pouch where he had some cigarettes.
Caroline snatched one from his hand, looking at him defiantly while she waited for him to get his lighter out. She was trying to impress him, assert herself, see how far the boundaries were set. He was intrigued to see where she would stretch it to.
