“Get inside, before you freeze to death in that dress!” he called, not bothered about annoying anyone in the neighbourhood. With a final laugh, Imogen turned, towards the door, the stairs, and finally falling into bed – despite the fact that it was only ten o’clock. Weddings were tiring…
Chapter Nineteen
The weak sun shining on the first of February belied the snow that had fallen in the previous few days. Now, however, the roads of Wiltshire were cleared, and the only remnants of the snow were on high fields that hadn’t quite warmed up enough, and in the snowball that Abby had insisted was to be placed in the freezer.
It amazed Imogen, the way that Evangeline and Daryl managed to keep their relationship so secret. Sure, now that she knew about them, she would see little sparks between them; knowing glances, the occasional flirting. But she was pretty certain she would never have spotted that they were a couple if she hadn’t been told – hey, she hadn’t noticed it beforehand, and she was usually pretty observant.
“What’s the deal then, with you and Daryl’s secrecy?” she asked one day, as they sat in the grounds of Monroe Manor, enjoying the crisp breeze whilst wrapped up in layers of jumpers. The little stream that ran through the garden was frozen over, and a light dusting of ice still remained on the grass. However, Imogen reckoned that the sun would have erased all traces by the end of the day – the sun was weak, but was definitely warmer than it had been so far that year. The feeble sunbeams were attacking at every angle, and out of the way of the wind it was almost comfortable to sit outside. “I mean, how long have you been together? Why would Zach stop you seeing him?”
The two were alone, which wasn’t unusual; their friendship had only strengthened since the first day they’d met. Imogen spent most of her time at the Monroes’, with one or the other of the Monroe siblings. She felt comfortable enough to ask these questions too – questions that had been confusing her. Could Zach stop her seeing him? It had always seemed to Imogen that Eve had her big brother wrapped round her little finger.
Eve seemed to be formulating her response – beginning with a shrug of her shoulders. “It’s just – look, I don’t wanna affect your views on Zachary. He’s my brother, and I love him – but I love Daryl, too. And Zach – well, he hasn’t got the best reputation. He’s lovely one minute, not the next – people who get on the wrong side of him, well, they’re scared of him. He knows that, he uses it.” She shrugged once more; “Zach wouldn’t think Daryl is suitable. Probably because he’s too much like Zach, to be honest.” She laughed without looking amused.
“If he said I couldn’t see Daryl, I’d keep seeing him. And I don’t want Daryl ending up beaten up, scared off by Zach.” This knowledge surprised Imogen a little: sure, she knew Zach could be a bit cruel to those who got on the wrong side of him, but he wasn’t a nasty person – she was sure of that. Would he really hurt someone his sister loved – not a real enemy, but a friend?
“He only wants to protect me,” Eve added quietly, with a softer look in her eyes than normal. “But I don’t need protecting, not from Daryl.” The sunlight caught on strands of her blonder-than-blond hair as she ran a hand through it.
“He loves you, I can tell that. And he’s a different person now he’s with you – probably a better person. There are a lot less fights, anyway.” A wry smile accompanied this fact. “I’m not willing to risk my relationship by telling him though – but I don’t want to have risked your relationship with him, by saying this stuff. I’m not scared of him – just of losing Daryl.” Her eyes pleaded; “Don’t tell him what I’ve said. Don’t let it ruin anything; Zach’s happy, so I’m happy. And don’t tell him about Daryl either. Please.”
Zach’s happy, so I’m happy. Hadn’t Imogen uttered that same sentiment many times before, about her and Abby? She hadn’t seen the similarities between her and Abby’s relationship and Zach and Eve’s, but now she thought about it, it was all there. Both sets of siblings couldn’t depend on their parents; they both just had each other as true family, with nothing else to fall back on. Zach cared for Eve in the way Imogen did for Abby: the older sibling, trying to bring up their younger sibling, and keep the bad stuff away. And Eve saw Zach the way that Imogen saw Abby, the way she hoped Abby would see her, once she was old enough to be able to understand her emotions properly. Wouldn’t she do anything for Abby? Wouldn’t she hurt someone, if she thought they were endangering her sister?
Probably.
She wasn’t really sure what to say – Eve’s revelations, and her own internal revelations had surprised her a little.
“No, of course I won’t. Don’t worry.” A mobile vibrating saved her from having to say anything more for the moment, until Eve addressed her once more.
“It’s Dally – he wants to know if I can sneak out…” She glanced at Imogen.
“What are you waiting for then?” Imogen asked with a grin. “I’ll cover for you – you were here with me all day.”
“Are you sure you don’t mind, being on your own?” Eve asked, but, truthfully, Imogen wanted to be on her own. She wanted to think.
“No – now get going, he’s waiting for you!”
“Thank-you thank-you thank-you!” The grinning teen didn’t even bother going through the house; she ran to the back gate of the garden, and slap bang into Daryl, waiting for her on the other side. Imogen couldn’t help but smile, as she raised a hand and waved. Daryl immediately looked concerned, but Eve grabbed his hand and dragged him off, no doubt telling him he had nothing to worry about on the way.
Imogen closed her eyes to the sun, as she allowed her thoughts to take over. She’d always considered Zach a bad-boy, hadn’t she? Why should this change anything? She’d never really thought about it properly… people were scared of him. But then people were scared of her too – and that didn’t bother her. She quite liked it. Was this her father showing through in her?
She disgusted herself, thinking that she was anything like him at all. His blood may have been running through her veins, but that was it – she was nothing like him. She knew that, she told herself vehemently. Her mother hadn’t been worried if she had power, if people were afraid of her. That hadn’t meant she would attack people though. Imogen’s thoughts were a jumble as the sun moved slowly overhead.
***
Evangeline’s words stayed with her when she returned to Kingsley Mansion an hour later, assuming that if Zach did return, he would just assume that Eve was at the Kingsleys’.
‘He’s a different person now he’s with you’.
Imogen was a different person now that she was living here. It wasn’t a conscious decision; she’d not planned to act the way she did before, and she didn’t plan on changing her behaviour. But here…she was doing well at school, she had friends, she had a boyfriend, and there weren’t the fights that there had been before. She was also getting on all right with the Kingsleys, something she wouldn’t have thought possible. Was Zach the main reason for that? Going to school was certainly a more attractive option with Zach there, that was true; she never had any reason to fight, perhaps because people were too scared of Zach to ever upset his girlfriend.
But maybe all those changes were to do with Zach, and Eve, and Carrie, and Violet… everyone here. Because, she reasoned with herself, she was definitely happy here; happy enough that she didn’t want to be chucked out of school, or enter into screaming rows with her adopted guardian. When Sara did her head in, she could easily just sigh and roll her eyes, rather than feeling the need to shout, or throw things. Her anger was definitely more controlled than it had been since that evening… that evening that had changed her life forever.
***
Rather than doing her homework that night – she was definitely a different person now she lived here, but that didn’t mean she had to be the person who always did her homework! – she continued to mull through her feelings for Zach. It was silly that the conversation was plunging her into such deep thought, but it gave a slightly different
slant on the way she saw Zach. Not a totally negative one, but one that gave her something to think about all the same.
She shrugged off her earlier worries about the way Zach would react if he found out about Daryl, and replaced them with thoughts of her own feelings for Zach. She’d not really thought about it properly, and his admittance on New Year’s Eve (although technically it had been New Year’s Day by then) had gotten her thinking. It wasn’t that she didn’t know how she felt about him: she knew how much she liked him, how her life here had been made bearable by him, and how her current life was pretty much unimaginable without him. But, like he’d said that night, the strength of her feelings was actually quite scary. She’d never felt like this about someone; never let anyone get this close to her.
She’d let Zach in further than she’d ever let anyone before. Not only had he met Abby, he’d also befriended her; he knew that Imogen’s parents were dead, although didn’t know the true circumstances (yet – she didn’t know how long she could keep him from asking); he knew her better than most people in her life did, despite the fact they’d only known each other about five months. Possibly the best five months Imogen could remember, since she’d been an orphan, anyway. Orphan…she hated that word. It made her sound so weak; so dependent; so alone.
As if these thoughts had highlighted how important he was to her, not that she hadn’t known it already, all her earlier worries were erased. All this information had done was confirm her earlier view of him – that he wasn’t necessarily a little angel. With her past, she could hardly judge anyone, anyway; whatever he did, or had done, she doubted it would be as bad as what she’d done. She’d been willing to do a lot to protect her family; he was willing to do a lot to protect his. Another similarity.
Her thoughts calmer, she allowed herself to drift into a light sleep, dreaming of the few parts of an earlier life that didn’t agitate her.
Chapter Twenty
The following weekend in the Monroes’ manor was like one of those scenes from a romantic movie – the ones you think are exaggerated, and never happen in real life. Zach was sat on the sofa, with Imogen curled up, leaning against his chest. Their fingers were entwined, and Zach had his other arm around her. It was freezing outside – a light dusting of frost covered the ground, and the sun was setting. Two large mugs of half-drunk hot chocolate sat on the floor, and Zach’s lips brushed against Imogen’s hair. To someone looking through the window, this romantic scene would belie the subject that was being discussed.
“So. You know how you promised me the unabridged version of your family life, before the Kingsleys?” Zach asked, broaching the subject with a little caution, but without the pity or sympathy he knew Imogen hated. Imogen pressed her eyes shut for a second, but did not move; her fingers remained interlocked with his, her head softly resting against his shoulder.
She’d always known she was going to have to explain this at some point: from the very beginning, when she’d taken that detour in the hope of bumping into him on the way to school, that had been a decision – perhaps not a conscious one, but one that affected her. That was when she had changed, and let him in – let him get close enough that she could fall for him. And now, keeping secrets from him wasn’t an option; she was too far gone for that.
She’d known that, some day in the not too distant future, he would mention her past, and she’d known that she would tell. Because you couldn’t keep secrets that easily when you were in love – and not a secret as big, or as important as this one. And she did know she was in love with him – even if she hadn’t told him yet. Despite the fact that she’d known this day would come, she didn’t relish the thought of having to tell him – there was always a chance (and not that slim a chance, with this particular secret) that he’d finish things once he’d heard the truth. And she really did not want that to happen…
“Are you sure you want to know?” she asked, taking a couple of deep breaths to try and slow her furiously beating, nervous heart. “Because…well, my past…it doesn’t exactly show me in that good a light. And I wouldn’t blame you for asking me to leave once I’ve told you…although I really, really hope you don’t.”
“Imogen.” His tone of voice made it clear he thought she was being ridiculous. “I’m not going to ask you to leave. I want to know, because I want to know you better. Because…well, I’m sure you know it, even though I don’t say it, because that’s not really me, but…Imogen, I love you. And whatever’s happened, whatever you have done; it cannot change that.”
Imogen hadn’t known that. She’d known the strength of her own feelings, but she hadn’t had a clue if he felt as strongly about her. Despite her apprehensions at what she was about to tell him, she couldn’t help but smile at those three words. It was like an automatic reaction – and then the words were right there on her lips.
“I love you, too.” Saying it aloud made it scary, it made it real – but it was a good kind of fear. “I love you, and that’s why I’m going to tell you this stuff…I’ve never told anyone all of it. The basics, the facts, I told the…social workers. And I assume they’ve told Ella, but I don’t think they know all the details. They don’t know them from me, anyway. So you’re the first to hear all of this.” She attempted to raise a weak smile, turning her head to gauge his reaction, and received an encouraging smile in return.
“So. I told you my parents are both dead. It’s a little bit more complicated than that.” She pressed her eyes shut again, this time not opening them: it was easier to talk when she didn’t have to focus on anything else but forcing the words from her mouth.
“My father had been hitting my mum…ever since I can remember. I don’t know if he thought I was oblivious – but I saw him doing it enough times.” Imogen didn’t notice, but her fingers were not laced through Zach’s anymore; they were gripping them. To speak calmly, without tears, about her mother, and the way her father had treated her, was difficult for Imogen, even though she wasn’t the crying type. Zach didn’t mention her tight grip on his hand, but sat silently, waiting for her to continue.
“The only time he stopped was the nine months she carried Abby. That was nearly four years ago…” She paused, swallowing, but did not open her eyes. “I was eleven. Mum had a whole nine months without bruises, broken bones, excuses about walking into doors or tripping up. I think she thought he’d changed, that it was over… but it started again a week after she’d given birth.”
Her other hand began to pick away at the spine of an old school book on the arm of the sofa; anything to distract her from the details she was recounting.
“Abby wouldn’t stop crying: she had croup. Mum tried to calm her, but she couldn’t – and my father decided that was her fault. That’s when it started again – and it was also the last time he ever hit her. I screamed, I did, I told him to stop, that he was going too far, because she’d stopped screaming. I could see the blood, and she wasn’t responding to anything, not my screams, or his fists.” The words were coming out faster and faster now, in desperation to get this story over with. It opened wounds that Imogen wanted to be kept closed, because they showed a weaker side to her – and they hurt. She took a deep breath once more, trying to continue her story in a calmer fashion.
“He stopped, eventually. He stopped, took one look at her, one look at me and left the house. She was dead – I could see that without checking. It was like I could feel it. Not that that stopped me. And then I went to phone an ambulance, the police, anyone – but he’d taken the phone. And Abby was crying. And all I could do was bring Abby down, comfort her, and wait for him to get back. I didn’t let go of mum’s hand until he got back… he pulled her hand from mine, without looking at me.”
As if to stop it happening again, she gripped Zach’s hand even harder. “And he was the one rang the ambulance in the end… with a story that his wife had fallen down the stairs, having tripped over one of her kids’ toys, and he thought she was dead. He played his part well – the tears, the carefully pl
aced body and toy. He sent me upstairs, and I took Abby and waited until all the blue sirens had gone, and she’d been pronounced dead.”
She ripped the spine of the book, but still did not open her eyes. “They questioned it, of course they did – she didn’t look like she’d ‘fallen down the stairs’. But they didn’t get round to prosecuting quickly enough.”
Despite her instincts, she forced her eyes to open, and turned her head in order to see how Zach was reacting to this. There was mild shock in his face, slight disgust – but he didn’t look like he was about to bolt from the room.
“There’s more…” Imogen said, in a quiet voice, not sure if he would want her to continue, or if she wanted to anyway. He merely nodded, and didn’t speak – but he did stroke her nearly-white knuckles that were gripping his fingers; laid his hand on top of hers until she relaxed her grip.
“They held the body, because the circumstances seemed suspicious,” she continued, “and my father did what he’d always done: went to work, went to the pub, came home and slept. He carried on like normal: and that included leaving his now motherless children home alone every day.
Family Portrait (Kingsley Family Trilogy Book 1) Page 17
