by Rebecca Bryn
‘That’s three questions.’
She shook her mother hard. ‘Mum answer me. I can’t live with all these questions going round and round in my head. I need to make sense of my childhood. I have to lay these ghosts.’
‘It’s all about you, isn’t it? What about me? I did it all for you, everything. Just for you.’
‘You did what for me?’
Mum lurched to her feet and pushed Alana aside. ‘I need a drink.’
‘Mum, no. You can’t avoid this forever.’
Mum grabbed a bottle from the sideboard and unscrewed the top. ‘Mother’s ruin, my gran used to call it.’ She laughed and put the bottle to her lips.
‘Mum, please. I need to know. Did you take me from my mother without her knowledge?’ She grabbed the bottle and tried to wrest it from Mum’s grip. The bottle flew from her fingers and smashed on the hearth. ‘Mum…’
Mum knelt, trying to pick small pieces from the hearthrug: she was crying. ‘Yes, we took you from your mother. She didn’t deserve you. Yes, I forged the deed-poll letter. Yes, we framed Nerys. Happy, now? I wish I’d never set eyes on you… left you to rot.’
She took out her phone and scrolled to Dad’s number. A sleepy mumble answered. ‘Dad, it’s Alana. I’m at Mum’s. She’s drunk. I can’t leave Saffy here. I’m taking her home with me.’
‘Give me… an hour, and I’ll be there. Your mum isn’t your problem, Alana.’
‘I won’t be here. If I don’t leave now, I won’t be home in time for the unveiling… the Arts Council funding depends on it. And I have to get some sleep.’
Dad sighed. ‘I’ll see to her.’
‘See she gets help, Dad, before she drinks herself into the grave.’
‘I will. Take care, Alana. I’ll see you soon. Maybe Emma and I can come and visit?’
‘I’d like that. Dad, I have to go.’ Mum had a child seat in her Citroen, whereas Minnie didn’t have rear seat-belt fixings, and Mum’s car would cut a couple of hours off the journey. She lifted Mum’s car keys from their hook in the kitchen, packed essentials for Saffy and stowed them in the Citroen.
Back inside, Mum was still trying to piece together the gin bottle. She hurried up the stairs and lifted Saffy from her bed. Saffy put her head against her shoulder, barely waking as she carried her down the stairs and out into the car. Safely strapped in, she covered her with a blanket and ran back into the house.
‘Mum, I’m taking Saffy. You’re in no state to look after her.’ She put Minnie’s keys on the table. ‘And I’m taking your car. I’ll leave you the Mini.’
‘Don’t take my baby.’
‘Mum, I can’t leave her. She’s not safe. Dad will be here in a little while. He’ll look after you.’
‘Derek’s coming?’
‘Yes. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?’
‘Yes.’
Mum was telling the truth this time, she was certain: she was too drunk to think up a convincing lie. This was it, then. This was who she was. Her search for herself was over. ‘I’ll be in touch, Mum. I promise. I love you.’
She ran from the house before manipulative hands dragged her back, as they always had. But that was before she’d discovered she’d been abducted from a couple who’d died not knowing if their only child was alive or dead. The difference, this time, was that she felt no guilt at leaving.
She glanced at Saffy, asleep in the back of the car, and floored the accelerator, putting as much distance as she could between the woman she’d grown up thinking was her mother and the daughter who had yet to grow to know hers.
***
The early sun hung low over the coast. The air was heavy with the scent of bluebells. Rhododendrons made bright splashes of colour over garden banks, and across the green a silver dusting of dew shimmered. The village slept.
Rhiannon held a kitchen knife at the ready and stepped lightly onto the grass. She glanced around her: The Haggard was shuttered. Alana’s old Mini had left the evening before and hadn’t returned. The connection she felt to the girl resurfaced: she’d had dreams too.
Pushing the thought aside, she crept silently towards the row of four closely-spaced shapes that rose nearest to her. She slashed through the bubble wrap of the first and pulled it away to reveal a sculpture. It was a work of art, to be sure, but she already knew the girl had talent. That wasn’t what forced the breath from her lungs. It was a child dancing, more than that the shape was unusual: the shape confirmed her worst fears, the shape was Kaunaz.
Heart pounding, she ripped open the wrapping on a second sculpture. A child in a ballet pose, arms and one leg swept back: Ansuz. C.A. She had to be sure. She tore away more wrapping. Two children, kneeling back to back, holding their feet with their hands, heads thrown back. It had to represent Dagaz. The fourth must be Isa, judging by the straight tall shape. Did Alana know what the runes meant? Had she read what the stones said?
She whirled around: still the village slept. Anyone who knew runes would know exactly whose name was spelt out. Fresh green tracks led to the stones straight from her door. She hurried back to the house and found the coal hammer, but this time took a different route, walking backwards and forwards across the grass until tracks led to and from every house. Then she hefted the hammer and smashed it against the top of Kaunaz. A lump flew off. She attacked Ansuz, broke off two pieces and threw them into the bushes.
A light went on in one of the houses. She took a quick swipe at Dagaz and fled back to her house. Trembling, she drew out her bag of runes.
Nauthiz, yet again: patience was required. Why was patience constantly cautioned? Necessity, need, absence, sadness, tiredness. This was all too true. Existing on less than enough: hadn’t she always? Pain and strife, yes, but learn from the experience to overcome difficulty rather than becoming bitter. Bitterness was her middle name. Greed and desire will only prove destructive.
What if destroying the runes had simply drawn attention to them? Why hadn’t she consulted the runes first? She should at least have spoken to her spirit guide. What had she done?
***
Eight o’clock in the morning, and the Citroen rounded the bend into Coed-y-Cwm. A small group of people had gathered around the stones. Alana climbed stiffly from the driver’s seat, exhausted after twelve hours driving overnight with only an hour’s sleep in a lay-by west of Brecon, and gathered Saffy in her arms. She’d remove the child seat, and get it fitted to Minnie when she got her back. ‘Home now, Saffy. You hungry?’
Saffy wriggled to be put down. ‘Want Nana.’
She held out a hand for Saffy to grip. ‘Just you and me, now, Saffs. Let’s see what’s going on, and then we’ll get breakfast.’
She edged between Stuart and Martin. Someone had unwrapped some of the sculptures. ‘What the hell…’ The runes that formed her name looked as if someone had attacked them with a hammer. They were ruined. ‘Who did this?’
Harriet frowned. ‘I don’t know, Alana. They were like this when I came out with Bramble.’
‘The woman from the Arts Council… Harry John… if I can’t get this mended…’ She plucked Saffy from the ground and held her close. ‘They won’t fund me, now. I’m finished.’ Tears pricked her eyes. ‘I can’t do all this again, not on top of everything… especially, not now I have Saffy. What the hell am I going to do? I’ll have to sell the cottage, Harriet.’
‘Is this your little girl?’
She nodded dumbly.
Harriet put a hand on her arm. ‘What can we do to help?’
She stared at her blankly. ‘Help?’ She cast about for an answer, so tired she could barely think. ‘Find all the pieces… some look to be missing. See if they can be stuck back together? I have to see to Saffy. I can’t do this, not now.’
She walked away, despair dragging at her feet. What did two-year-olds eat for breakfast? Where would Saffy sleep? With her? What if she fell down the stairs in the night? How would she afford all the things a child needed? She hadn’t even thought to bri
ng Bunny. She was a useless mother. She couldn’t do this, alone. She couldn’t do any of it.
A knock came at the door. ‘It’s Harriet.’
She opened it, tears running down her cheeks.
‘Oh, love. Don’t cry. You look done in.’
‘I’ve been driving all night. This is the last thing I need.’
‘Let me see to little Saffy. You get something to eat and have a rest. What time are the Arts Council people coming?’
‘Three.’
‘Then we have seven hours to get this thing fixed. Stuart’s found some of the missing pieces, chucked in the bushes. Martin’s gone to find glue that’ll stick stone. He reckons if you grind some stone dust to mix with it, you’ll hardly notice the joins. They look to be clean breaks, mostly.’
‘There’s stone in the back garden. Files in the shed.’
‘Do you have eggs and bread?’
‘Yes, why?’
She squatted down to Saffy’s level. ‘Do you fancy a dippy-in eggy, Saffy?’
Why hadn’t she thought of that? ‘I’m sure she’d love it, Harriet. Thank you.’
‘Don’t you worry, Alana. We’ll have everything fixed up just fine. The Arts people won’t notice the difference if we can steer them away from the worst of the damage. Come on, Saffy. Let’s find you an egg.’
She let Harriet take over, too tired to argue. Harriet bustled efficiently around the kitchen and brought her a cup of tea, exactly the way she liked it.
‘Everyone is so kind. I don’t deserve it.’
Harriet clucked like a mother hen. ‘Take this to bed. Get your head down for a bit. I’ll take Saffy next door when she’s had her breakfast. Is she in nappies? I’ll bath her if you like. Do you have clean clothes for her?’
‘I don’t know… I packed odds and ends. What little I brought’s in the car. It’s not locked. Who’d do this, Harriet? Months of work.’
‘I don’t know, love. Maybe, just kids… vandals.’
She grabbed Harriet’s arm. ‘You won’t let her out of your sight, will you?’
‘She’s quite safe with me, love.’
She left Harriet to it, and flopped onto the bed. What had made her think she could be a mother?
***
The sound of voices woke Alana. For a moment, head still groggy from lack of sleep, she thought she’d overslept. Reality touched the cobwebs of her mind like the prey of a waiting funnel-web spider. Someone had destroyed the sculptures. More to the point, someone had destroyed the runes that spelt Cadi.
Eleven o’clock? She grabbed her clothes and threw them on. Four hours to the unveiling… if it could be called that, now. She should ring and cancel. She flung open her front door. Most of the villagers were on the green. The sculptures had all been unwrapped. She hadn’t seen them all together, set up as she’d intended. She drew a long breath and released it slowly. A ring of children danced in a circle that had no beginning and no end. The circle of life, full of youth and energy and joy.
‘Alana!’ Stuart had spotted her. Heads turned towards her and a slow smatter of applause gained strength.
She walked towards them, running her hands over the sculptures as she went. Dagaz: the break had been clean, as Harriet had said. Her fingers felt the imperfection, but at a glance the damage could hardly be seen. Ansuz had suffered worse, with two breaks someone had some a good job of hiding: the chips that couldn’t be repaired could be filed to make a slightly different shape. Martin was working on Kaunaz.
The faces blurred before her. ‘Thank you all so much. I don’t know what I’d have done… thank you.’
Martin straightened. ‘I’ve done my best, but they’re far from perfect. If you can smooth the joints a bit more I don’t think they’ll show too bad.’
‘We still have time. I’ll fetch a file.’ She turned away before she wept all over him. Harriet met her at the gate with Saffy. She’d totally forgotten about Saffy.
‘You feeling better, Alana?’
‘Much better, thank you, Harriet. How’s Saffy been?’
‘A little tearful. I think she’s been missing her mummy.’
‘It’s a huge upheaval for her, coming here. She’s been living with my mother, until now.’
‘Ah. She kept talking about Nana. I expect Nana’s missing Saffy, as well.’
She’d forgotten about Mum, too. ‘I expect so.’ She prayed to the god of reluctant mothers for guidance. What was she supposed to do with her daughter while she finished mending the sculptures? She couldn’t impose on Harriet forever. ‘Come on, Saffy. You can help Mummy play with the big stone dollies on the grass.’ She gave Harriet what she hoped was a confident smile. ‘Thank you so much for looking after her.’
After the fourth time Alana had run after Saffy, as she toddled back to Harriet’s, her neighbour took pity on her. ‘I’ll keep an eye on her till you’ve finished, or you’ll never be done in time.’
She smiled gratefully. ‘I need an extra pair of hands, and eyes in the back of my head. No wonder children go missing.’ Her smile faded as she realised what she’d said.
Harriet seemed to read her thoughts. ‘Saffy’s going nowhere. Go and get ready for the Arts Council.’
Two hours of careful filing made good the most obvious damage. She stood back to survey the effect. She’d done her best. Her future was out of her hands, now.
A voice behind her made her turn. A Picasso smile greeted her. ‘Alana. They look… words fail me.’
‘Harry. Do you like them? You have to remember the final work will be twice the size. Are they good enough?’
‘They’re fabulous. I love them.’
Cars arrived in a stream and parked on the roadside. One of them was a Mini Cooper. Had Dad returned her car for her, despite his disturbed night? Mum struggled out of the car. God… a hung-over mother raring for a fight was all she needed. Pray Harriet kept Saffy out of sight. A familiar figure got out of another car and took Mum’s immediate attention. Raised voices confirmed that Dad had come, too, and had brought Emma with him.
She prepared an internal nuclear bunker, ready for the apocalypse. Maddy and Greg hurried across the green towards her, huge smiles on their faces, but she barely paid them attention. On the far side of the green a solitary figure caught her eye. She ran towards him.
‘Tony?’ She stopped short of him, waiting, hoping: not daring to pray to any god in case she asked too much.
‘I’m sorry.’ He opened his arms and she walked into them. ‘I’ve been a fool, Alana. I can’t live without you any longer.’
‘And Mike and Saffy?’
‘Mike’s gone from our lives.’
She searched his eyes. ‘What have you done?’
‘He’s got a job abroad, and I told him I’d go to the police if he ever came back. I had to tell Dad… He knew something was up between us. He threatened to kill Mike if he came near any of us. I don’t care that Saffy is his. He doesn’t know she exists and as far as I’m concerned, he never will. I love you. I want us to be a family.’
She couldn’t speak. Home had never felt so good. Sobs, two years in the making, rose up and engulfed her. He put a finger beneath her chin and hot tears washed her cheeks. His lips touched hers tenderly, gently. Please God, she wasn’t dreaming. If she woke now to a different reality, she would never dare sleep again. ‘I… I’m not…’
‘It’s okay. Everything’s okay.’ He let her go at a touch on her shoulder. ‘I think you’re wanted.’
She didn’t care. She gripped Tony’s hand.
‘Miss Harper?’ An austere woman in tweed stared at her as if considering her demented. Jenny Bloom. Arts Council Wales. I see you’ve got media interest.’
She hadn’t noticed the TV crew, or the reporter talking to Martin. Maddy was already tapping her i-phone: she’d be in a hurry to get her pictures and story back to the papers. How much would she say about the runes and the missing children? Greg, walking slowly round the circle, had been buttonholed by Stuart.
‘I take it these are the sculptures? Miss Harper? Can we get on before the television people want to talk to you?’
‘Sorry.’ She shook the outstretched hand with her free one, her own fingers slick with sweat and tears, and grimy with stone dust. ‘I’m pleased you agreed to come.’ She was pleased. She was delighted. As long as she didn’t wake up, everything was right with her world. Mum could go jump. If the Arts Council turned down her application, they did. Her cheeks cracked with a broad smile and she squeezed Tony’s hand tighter. ‘Come and meet the children.’
Chapter Twenty-Four
Alana floated through the crowd like the leading lady at a first-night party. Congratulations showered her from all sides, even though the final decision about funding wouldn’t be made until the end of May. Jenny Bloom had been optimistic about the outcome and Harry John had promised to send a cheque for the rest of his loan by express carrier pigeon.
For the first time since Saffy had been conceived, life was good. She pulled Tony along behind her, trying to avoid her parents, and thanking people for their help as she passed them. She had two hurdles yet to cross, and the first was Saffy. Harriet was sitting in her front garden, Saffy on her knee.
She opened the gate, heart thumping, and took a deep breath. ‘Tony, this is Saffy.’ She took Saffy from Harriet and placed her in Tony’s arms: they looked so right together. ‘Tony?’ She bit her top lip, waiting.
‘She’s beautiful, Alana. She’s so like you. She has your eyes.’
‘Do you think…’ She looked at Harriet, who raised a questioning eyebrow, and back to Tony. ‘Do you think you can grow to love her?’
‘She’s part of you, so how can I not love her?’
Her head swam, lack of sleep catching up on her. ‘Harriet, I can’t thank you enough for today.’
