by Maggie James
From the corner of my eye, I spotted a leather jacket slung over an armchair. Not my friend’s - her tastes ran to silk, velvet, cashmere. Richie’s, I presumed, left by mistake when he hurried off home. As keen to avoid me as I was him.
I clamped down hard on that line of thought.
‘Make yourself comfy.’ Caroline sank into one of her huge armchairs, her feet tucked under her bottom, gesturing at the sofa opposite. I followed suit, my feet mirroring hers. It had been that way between us forever, or so it seemed. Sometimes I forgot where I ended and Caroline began, despite our differences.
‘So,’ she said. ‘Spill the beans. How’s Ellie?’
‘Not good. I don’t get it. When we last talked, she seemed so happy.’
Caroline sipped from her glass, her expression thoughtful. ‘Wasn’t she back working part-time as a store assistant?’
‘Yes. Her website was doing well, too.’ A while ago, with my help, Ellie had set up an online shop for her custom-made handbags and wallets. Her sewing abilities had always astounded me. By her teenage years she was creating gorgeous bags and purses, each one a masterpiece, her embroidery exquisite in its detail. Once I’d shown her the basics, she’d surprised me with how well she handled running her own business.
‘Any idea what caused it this time?’ Caroline asked.
‘She’s not talking. The usual, I suppose. I doubt she’ll ever get over Alyson’s death.’ The knotted rope, the two overdoses – they all led back to the car crash.
Caroline stood up, breaking the tension. ‘Feck, I forgot the chocolate. Back in a minute.’ She headed towards the kitchen.
I leaned back in my chair and closed my eyes, my mind flitting over the events of seven years ago. Our parents had given Ellie a course of driving lessons for her eighteenth birthday. She’d needed three attempts to pass her test, becoming sick with nerves before each one. After she managed to get through, Dad bought her a used Nissan, along with the insurance and tax. I worried every time she drove it, but kept my fears to myself. Had she known, Ellie would have misinterpreted my concern as further proof she was a failure.
Back then I’d been waiting for the results of my final accountancy exams. The day I got the notification that I’d passed, I felt as though the world had knelt at my feet, begging me to conquer it. I saw myself being promoted at work, painting in my spare time and maybe even earning money from my art one day. Life was sweet. Until Dad’s mobile rang just before ten o’clock that night.
Ellie had been involved in a serious accident while driving. She’d lost control of her car, ploughed off the road and into a tree. A broken collar-bone and three shattered ribs were the result, but what concerned her doctors more was the extent of her head injuries; a fractured skull, inter-cranial bleeding, damage to her front temporal lobe. The latter, thank God, had been slight. Her neurologist explained the likely effects of her brain injury, how any change would be permanent but not extensive.
And change she did. The effects were subtle, but noticeable. Always shy and lacking in confidence, Ellie withdrew even further into herself. Her behaviour turned erratic, impulsive at times. She also became evasive, prone to distort the truth. On a day-to-day level she coped fine, but bigger issues tended to derail her. As for the car crash, she swore she’d swerved to avoid an oncoming vehicle, the driver of which had rounded a bend too fast and on the wrong side of the road. No witnesses came forward to disprove her story, but her manner told me she was lying. Whatever took place that night, Ellie hadn’t driven since. I doubted she ever would.
She’d fared better than her passenger, though. When she awoke from her coma, Dad faced the grim job of breaking the news that Alyson Hart, Ellie’s best friend, had died in the crash.
Caroline breezed back in, tossing a slab of dark chocolate onto my lap. She settled into her armchair again, breaking a chunk off her own bar. ‘So what will happen next with Ellie?’
I released a long slow breath. ‘We’ll have to wait until she’s allowed to leave Southmead. When she does, I’m hoping she’ll be more forthcoming.’
‘You’ll think she’ll open up to you? Given enough time?’
‘Yes.’ Ellie had operated that way after the last two suicide attempts. Stony silence at first, followed by a deluge of words. We’d talked for hours, Ellie’s insecurities pouring forth along with her pain. I’d listened, and I’d tried to help her, but clearly my efforts hadn’t been sufficient.
I sucked in a breath. ‘I suppose Alyson’s death might not be the reason she tried to kill herself. Maybe things went wrong with this guy she’s been dating.’ Too late, I realised I’d not told Caroline that particular detail.
Surprise flickered across her face. ‘Ellie was seeing someone?’
‘She didn’t tell me much when we spoke on the phone. Just that she’d met a guy. That they’d become an item.’
‘How long had that been going on?’
‘A couple of months. She clammed up when I probed too hard. I admit I was concerned. What with how she is.’
‘Ah, feck. You were worried it might end badly.’
‘Yes.’ I exhaled the tension I’d been holding. ‘She’d never cope with getting dumped.’
‘Has your mother met this guy? He wasn’t at the hospital, then?’
‘No, to both. Mum doesn’t realise Ellie’s been dating someone. You know how interfering she can be. Ellie didn’t mention anything to her, and asked me not to.’
‘Will you tell her?’
‘It depends. On whether I can get Ellie to talk, I mean. Maybe this guy had nothing to do with her suicide attempt.’
‘He’s not exactly playing the concerned boyfriend, though, is he?’ Caroline drained her wine. ‘I suspect you’re right. He must have broken up with her, and she couldn’t cope with the rejection.’
My protective instincts arose full-force. If that was how it happened, I wanted to kill the bastard with the nearest blunt instrument.
A brittle laugh escaped my friend. ‘And you wonder why I stick two fingers up to monogamy. Who needs that shit?’
My eyes strayed to the photo on the windowsill. Richie, his dark hair in a ponytail, his smile radiating from the silver frame with the force of a thousand suns. I do, I thought.
I’d almost had it, too. Until I ruined everything.
Caroline must have noticed the direction of my gaze. ‘You can’t avoid him forever.’
I didn’t trust myself to speak.
‘You do realise he’s never got over you?’
‘Don’t.’ Impossible to deal with that comment.
Caroline seemed to sense my withdrawal. ‘You look exhausted, lovey. Forget any daft notions about driving home, especially after half a bottle of wine. You’re staying here tonight.’
Later in bed at Caroline’s, Ellie’s pale face haunted me. Despite my fatigue, I couldn’t relax. Instead, I lay against my pillows, my shoulders tight with tension. Had I really been in Spain that same morning, a brush between my fingers, lost in painting another seascape? When I’d return to Andalucía, and my art, was anyone’s guess. Both Ellie and Mum needed me, and I’d not let them down. I wouldn’t book my flight back until I was convinced my sister wasn’t suicidal anymore.
I remembered I needed to arrange with Mum about visiting Ellie in the morning. With that in mind, I sent her a text.
Within seconds, my phone rang, her name flashing on the screen. ‘Lydia,’ she said when I answered. ‘Are you okay?’
‘Yeah, I’m fine. Just peachy.’ Irritation edged into my voice. What did she expect? No, I wasn’t fine; Ellie had almost killed herself yet again. If Mum hadn’t come round when she did ... and with that thought my anger faded. She’d saved my sister’s life, the same as both previous times Ellie had attempted suicide. Mum and I might be fellow control freaks who often grew prickly around each other, but I’d never doubted her love for me. Or for Ellie.
‘I’ve no idea how to help Eleanor anymore,’ she said, despair in every syllable.
I already had a plan for that. ‘I’m going to take her to the cottage.’
Memories of Devon washed over me. Our favourite walk along the cliff top. The steps to the tiny beach. Seagulls screeching as they whirled above our heads. If anywhere could heal my sister, it would be our family holiday cottage.
‘That’s a great idea,’ Mum said. ‘With any luck, she’ll confide in you why she got so unhappy again.’
‘Yes. Although whether she tells me the whole story is another matter.’ No disagreement from my mother on that front. Both of us were familiar with Ellie’s tendency to skirt around uncomfortable truths, to lie outright on occasions. Not that she was dishonest by nature - lying was the coping mechanism she’d adopted over the last seven years. Used whenever she believed, wrongly of course, that her family might think the worst of her.
‘I wish you’d move back to the UK, Lydia. It’s not right, you being so far away. Not with Eleanor the way she is.’
My mother was on a roll. ‘You can’t tell me you wouldn’t be better off here. Your former boss would snap you up in an instant if you asked for your job back.’
‘Not going to happen.’ I took a deep breath, pinching the bridge of my nose, while reminding myself Mum didn’t mean to be overbearing. I’d had a gutful over the years of her attempts to control me, though. Besides, I’d established a life for myself in Spain. My villa, all pink tiles and whitewashed walls, its tiny courtyard fringed with almond trees. The annexe containing the art gallery I’d worked so hard to set up. My burgeoning career as a painter.
‘I’ll talk to you tomorrow.’ Cutting my mother short, I ended the call. I still struggled to sleep, though. Somehow I had to coax Ellie to reveal what had prompted her latest suicide attempt. Unless my sister got to grips with her mental health issues, chances were one day she’d succeed in killing herself. She’d struggled with depression for years. Her self-esteem, along with her confidence, had always been patchy, but since the car crash both had been non-existent. Her first suicide attempt came just two months afterwards.
‘I killed my best friend,’ she had sobbed against my shoulder. ‘I deserve to die. Can’t you understand that?’
Back then I’d grasped the depth of her despair, sure, but it hurt on multiple levels. The accident wrenched a chasm between us; we’d been close once and I missed the easy affection we used to share. Six years her elder, I’d always been fiercely protective where Ellie was concerned. When she’d been at school, I’d loved playing the supportive older sibling, aware she’d never attain the same level of academic success I’d achieved. In the evenings I’d tutor her with her maths and correct her homework, happy to help. No matter that she’d failed most of her exams, I’d always told myself. As her big sister, I’d be there whenever she needed me. Hadn’t I promised Dad I’d look out for her?
And I would. Whatever it took. I’d set her world to rights. The alternative was unthinkable.
‘I won’t let you down, Els,’ I whispered into the darkness.
2
It took several days before her doctors judged Ellie fit to be released, and only then because I promised to look after her. She left Southmead medicated, pale and withdrawn. But at least she was talking, even if sporadically and only to me. Our mother looked every bit as haggard as her daughter. I’d noticed her hands trembling earlier, the way she stumbled as we left the ward. She was in no state to care for Ellie.
Hence my decision to do so myself. My sister would stay with me that night, and tomorrow we’d drive to Devon. We’d stroll along the cliff path, eat fish and chips in the local pub and at some point she’d tell me why she’d tried to kill herself. One way or another, I’d prise the truth from her. Failure was not an option.
‘I’ll call you tonight,’ I promised Mum after I dropped her off at our family home in Sneyd Park. In the back of the rental car, Ellie remained silent, closed off.
‘Want to sit up front with me?’ I asked, but she shook her head. I decided not to press the issue. Given the accident, I judged it a miracle she’d even ride in a car.
It didn’t take long before we arrived in Kingswood, at the house I’d bought six years ago, persuaded by my rising salary as an accountant to purchase a property. I pushed my key into the lock, safe in the knowledge that Amelia would be at work. She’d been my lodger well before Andalucía became more than a distant fantasy, and I was happy for her to stay, despite the higher rents I could command if I let the house in its entirety. It suited me to know my room was still available whenever I returned to Bristol.
Ellie looked lost, standing in the hallway, her expression blank. I squeezed my arm around her shoulders. ‘Let’s get your stuff upstairs, then we’ll eat. We’ll leave first thing tomorrow.’ I’d allow her no choice in the matter. The fewer decisions she needed to make, the better. I judged it best not to discuss her suicide attempt that night. She was still too raw, too bruised, and the timing wasn’t right.
That evening, over the steak supper I’d cooked, Ellie seemed less withdrawn, which gave me a measure of comfort. Once we finished eating, she began - her voice hesitant - to ask me questions. I sensed her desperation to keep any probing into her own life at bay. No problem. I could respect that. For the time being.
‘How’s the art gallery going?’ she enquired.
I shrugged. Our father had left Mum, and his two daughters, financially secure after his fatal heart attack four years ago. Before he died I’d been unsure whether I possessed enough talent to make painting my primary occupation. The inheritance money offered me the choice, although I continued to dither. Two years later, spurred on by my failed relationship with Richie Maston, I quit accountancy for life under the fierce Andalucían sun. My legacy from Dad, which I’d invested with care, subsidised my life in Spain, as did Amelia’s rent, meaning I didn’t need to make a profit from my art to stay afloat. So far I had no regrets, despite Mum’s wish for me to return.
‘Ticking over. There are dozens of retired ex-pats in Andalucía, all keen to depict the local landscape.’ I laughed. ‘I’m not likely to run out of stock anytime soon. And I’m painting lots myself.’
‘Do you think ...’ Ellie paused. ‘That you’ll ever come back?’ The hope in her voice hung in the air between us.
When I didn’t reply, she continued her probing. ‘It was because of Richie Maston, wasn’t it? Why you moved to Spain, I mean?’
‘Not something I want to discuss.’ My tone had been too abrupt, and she flinched. Ellie had hit a sore spot, though. My engagement to Caroline’s brother hadn’t ended well. Not the only reason I’d gone to Spain, but the main one.
‘He was part of it,’ I admitted. ‘But I also wanted to paint and try life in a different country. Besides, I’d had a bellyful of figures. All that time spent poring over balance sheets, when what I yearned to do was earn my living as an artist. I’m not there yet. But I’m getting closer.’
She smiled, her lips unmatched by her eyes, and I sensed she’d endured all the small talk she could manage for one evening. ‘You look shattered,’ I said. ‘Why don’t you get an early night?’
‘Good idea. I’ll see you in the morning.’
Once I was alone, Richie Maston refused to quit my thoughts. Two years had passed since I’d last seen him, our parting filled with hurt on both sides. I’d known Richie since I turned eleven, but back then he was simply Caroline’s older sibling. After university he emigrated to Australia, but returned to live in the UK when his father’s health declined. One day I went to visit Caroline and Richie was there, and blow me if he hadn’t turned into a rock god, minus the musical career. In my eyes, anyway. His dark hair, soft smile and oh-so-blue eyes reeled me in like a fish on a hook, the attraction on my side instant. On his too, it seemed. He called the next day to ask me for a date.
Things moved with lightning speed after that. We’d discussed marriage, the number of children we’d have, growing old together. For the first few months of our relationship, I couldn’t have b
een happier.
After a while, though, events from my past conspired to destroy our bliss. The man I adored told me he loved me, but we no longer had a future together. Caroline took the news well, despite her disappointment. From what she said, I deduced Richie hadn’t told her why he’d broken off our engagement, and I didn’t either, too ashamed of the way I’d acted.
Tears stung my eyes, and I realised the wound was still raw.
The August sunshine penetrated my bedroom curtains early the following morning. As I showered, dressed and cooked breakfast, hope crept into my mood. Ellie’s latest suicide attempt seemed different to the previous two. This time she’d reached out to Mum before swallowing the pills, something she’d not done before. A cry for help, then, rather than a genuine desire for oblivion. In addition, she’d recovered faster this time. Everything considered, I judged I had good reasons for my optimism. Later that day we’d drive to Devon, and I’d do my best to heal my damaged sister.
We set off at eleven. The journey didn’t take long, not on a weekday morning with sparse traffic. By the time we arrived on the south coast, so had one o’clock, and the sun beat fiercely on my skin once I exited the car. Ellie remained in the passenger seat. She’d not spoken a word on the way, but I wasn’t bothered. Wasn’t it enough to have her alive and in my care, instead of catatonic in a psychiatric ward?
I walked round to open her door. ‘Come on, Els. In you go. I’ll fix lunch for us.’ She stood up, moving like an automaton to the boot of the car to retrieve her suitcase. While she did, I leaned against the bonnet, the wind whipping my hair around my face. Above me, seagulls circled, the harshness of their squawks familiar and welcome. In front of me was the Hunter family cottage.
