‘This is just what I needed, thank you,’ I say, taking another sip.
‘Where do you live?’ she asks me.
‘Everywhere and nowhere,’ I say. ‘I don’t really have a base.’
‘A nomad.’
‘I suppose.’ Isn’t that how Viktoria described Niall? I squirm in my seat. I don’t know whether Niall and I really are so similar, or if I’m just reading into it.
‘Has Luki explained how we live?’ she asks.
‘A little.’
‘Did he tell you about Otto?’
I shake my head.
‘Good,’ she says, nodding. ‘It means you will come to this with an open mind.’
‘Why do I need an open mind?’ I ask.
‘The artist Otto Muehl ran a commune just outside Vienna,’ Luki explains. ‘There were many good things about it.’ His face darkens. ‘But many more bad things too.’
‘We don’t have to talk about that,’ Judy says, waving her hand around. ‘That’s in the past. All that matters is that Jens, the first man who came here, was once a member of that community.’
‘So is that where your unique approach to family comes from?’
She nods. ‘We believe everything should be shared, possessions, love, everything. No one person has the right to own the title of, say, “mother” or “son” or “nephew”. We are all responsible, we are all family.’
I think of Aunt Hope. She always made it clear to me that she wasn’t my mother, she was my aunt. It confused me to begin with. Everyone else had a mummy, why couldn’t Aunt Hope be mine? I lived with her, she tucked me into bed, read to me like the other mummies did. But as I grew older, it suited me not to call her my mum. In my mind, it was clear: Aunt Hope didn’t give birth to me so she wasn’t my mother, never would be. But now I wonder if that was just a security blanket for me, a way to deal with the hurt and confusion of not being allowed to see her as a mother. One of my friends was adopted. There was absolutely no confusion for her: her parents were her parents, full stop. The woman who gave birth to her, the man who was her biological father? Yes, there was a blood connection but beyond that, it was nothing compared to what she had with her parents. So why couldn’t it have been that way with Aunt Hope?
‘Anyway, we talk too much about ourselves,’ Judy says. ‘What’s brought you here?’
‘She knows Niall,’ Luki explains. ‘The C from the tree is her mother.’
Judy nods, a small smile on her lips. ‘I see.’
‘How did you know Niall?’ I ask.
‘He stayed here many years ago.’
‘Did he say anything about my mum?’
Her smile deepens. ‘She was his great love.’
I look down into my hot chocolate, trying to control my breathing. ‘Was she here with him?’ I ask, not really wanting to know the answer.
‘No.’
I let out a breath of relief. ‘Did he say anything else about my mum, about their relationship?’
‘Yes, many things, I’m sure.’ She leans across and puts her hand on my arm, looking into my eyes, pity in her own. ‘But it was many years ago, Willow, and I can’t remember. All I do remember is that they lived together near where I was born in Norfolk at some point.’
Norfolk. The location of yet another submerged forest.
‘They lived together?’ She nods and I feel my cheeks flush. Aunt Hope hadn’t mentioned they’d lived together. But then she hadn’t mentioned much else either. ‘Anything else you can remember? Did he say anything about Kazakhstan?’
‘He was there with your mother.’
Laughter and chatter fills the room as people enter, plates of food in their hands.
‘You must stay for dinner,’ Judy says.
‘I really ought to get back,’ I say, needing to be alone to process everything.
‘What for?’ Luki says. ‘We have good food and even better wine. Please?’
I watch people take their seats, the children running over and grabbing bread rolls. Some peer up and wave at me. Maybe I should stay. Luki’s right, what have I got to go back to, another lonely night in a hotel room?
I shrug. ‘Why not?’
Luki keeps an eye on me throughout dinner, introducing me to everyone, drawing me into conversations, keeping my glass filled with delicious sweet wine. And Judy watches me often, smiling whenever I catch her eye. At first, it makes me feel a little uncomfortable. But the more wine I drink, the more I like it, as though someone’s watching out for me.
When I’m not being drawn into a conversation, I find myself trying to figure out which kid belongs to whom. But I really can’t tell. All the kids seem comfortable with all the adults, running around for cuddles and attention from each one. If one goes too far – like a little boy who decides to jump on to the table and try to walk down its centre – they’re punished with a quick smack to the bum by whichever adult is closest.
I also watch the couples in the crowd. Do they swap around? Luki seemed to suggest that. Maybe Mum and Dad had an open relationship. No, that feels wrong. But whatever it was they had, it’s clear Mum loved Niall too at some point if she lived with him, travelled with him.
After dinner, we all sit down on the cushions and that’s when the entertainment starts. One by one, people are encouraged by Jens, the man who started everything and who seems to be in charge, to perform, whether that be singing, playing some instrument, dancing, even reading poetry, which makes me think of Aunt Hope. Even Luki gets up to sing some traditional Austrian song in an off-key voice, though you wouldn’t guess it the way everyone cheers and claps. It takes all my strength to stop myself from bursting out laughing.
‘I’ve never had such a surreal dinner in my life,’ I say, a couple of hours later as I sit outside with Luki, staring up at the stars. We’re sitting on the back of a truck, a thick blanket wrapped around us as we share a bottle of red wine. I ought to be cold, it’s autumn after all, but the wine and Luki’s proximity keep me warm.
‘Why surreal?’ he asks, taking a sip of the drink before passing the bottle to me. His lips are red from the wine, the hints of blond hair on his shorn head turned white under the glare of the moon. He looks like a boy.
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ I say, smiling to myself. ‘I don’t mean it in a bad way, just different from what I’m used to.’
‘Well, it’s very normal for me. I would probably find your family life strange.’
‘Family? I don’t really have a family.’
‘What about your aunt?’
I take a slug of wine. ‘We don’t see much of each other nowadays.’
‘She took you in though, cared for you, gave you a home.’
‘I know. But—’ I glance towards the tent, see the spark of orange light coming from it, the laughter and the music. ‘My childhood wasn’t loud and warm like it is here. When I look back on it, it all feels very cold and very quiet. I get scared sometimes. When my aunt Hope dies, I’ll have no family and I’ll just end up like Mad Shoe Lady.’
‘Mad Shoe Lady?’
I explain about the homeless woman in Busby-on-Sea.
‘You will never be a Mad Shoe Lady, you clearly have terrible taste in shoes,’ he says, gesturing towards my dusty walking boots.
I can’t help but laugh. ‘I bet you had a wonderful childhood.’
Luki looks thoughtful for a few moments. ‘It wasn’t so wonderful,’ he says after a while. ‘I’d have liked to have known my father.’
‘I thought you said you have many fathers?’
He looks up at me, blue eyes sad. ‘I know who my father is, Willow. My biological father, as you say. I pretend it doesn’t matter but it does.’
I think of the men I saw earlier. ‘Does he live here?’
He shakes his head. ‘He lives everywhere and nowhere.’
I go very still.
‘That is why I go to the lake,’ he says. ‘I like to visit the etching. It’s all I know of him.’
‘Niall Lane’s your father?’
He nods.
I examine his face.
Everything is different now. Luki could be my brother.
‘How do you know?’ I ask, my voice trembling.
‘My mother told me.’
‘Does Niall know?’
‘Yes, he sends me his photos.’
‘Just photos? So you’ve never met him?’
He shakes his head.
I look at him in disbelief. Is this what Niall Lane does, sow his seed then disappear?
‘What’s wrong, Willow? You look very shocked.’
‘I am. And—’ I pause. How can I say this? ‘There’s a small chance – okay, more than a small chance – he might be my father too.’
His eyes widen. Then his face breaks out into a huge smile. ‘I have a sister?’
‘Don’t get carried away!’ I say, unable to stop myself smiling with him. ‘He totally might not be my dad. It’s just a possibility.’
‘Why do you think this, Willow?’ he asks, breathless with excitement.
I explain what I’ve learnt about their time in Kazakhstan. His smile widens, if that’s at all possible. ‘Willow, this is wonderful. You will not be Mad Shoe Lady!’
I laugh. His excitement is contagious. Then I impulsively hug him, hold him so tight I think I might have hurt him a little. But I’m worried that if he moved away now, he’ll see the tears of happiness in my eyes. I eventually let him go and he jumps up.
‘You will need to stay now,’ he says. ‘It’s too late for you to go back. I will not have any sister of mine being in danger. We can sleep in the room where the children like to sleep, you can see the stars from there.’
He puts his hand out to me. I look up at him, try to find my features in his. Could he really be my brother? The idea makes me shiver with excitement. I’ve always wanted a brother or sister.
But then that means the dad I knew and loved isn’t my actual dad. My stomach crinkles as I think of Dad’s handsome face, the dad I knew for seven years. I want him to be my real dad, the kind, funny man who’d whirl me around and take me out for ice creams and help me paddle my feet in the frothy sea near our house. The man who made people’s faces light up when he walked into the room; who I’d watch in his office, his legs propped up on the table, head thrown back as he laughed.
But he’s gone. What’s better, a father who’s dead or one who’s alive?
I feel guilty.
Either way, I need to find out. I can’t live my life not knowing who my father is. Maybe Norfolk holds the key? If I can find out where my mum and Niall lived together.
But for now, I can at least pretend I have a brother, can’t I?
I take Luki’s hand, letting him lead me back into the noisy house.
Chapter Twelve
Charity
Norfolk, UK
October 1987
Wizened old tree stumps littered the patch of windswept beach Charity was standing on, looking eerie and forlorn under heavy grey skies. She wrapped her raincoat around herself, specks of rain falling on her head.
This wasn’t quite like the ethereal underwater forests she’d seen in Busby-on-Sea and in India. Faith would probably still like it though. Hope would love it. So moody and dramatic, perfect fodder for her poems.
Charity sighed just as she always did each time she thought of her sister. They hadn’t talked once since Charity moved to Norfolk three months ago to cover someone’s maternity leave. In fact, they’d barely talked at all since that night in Austria when Charity confirmed Hope’s suspicions.
‘What happened?’ Hope had asked with a trembling voice. ‘I want to know exactly what happened.’
Charity stared at her sister, trying to find the words. She hadn’t been able to find them for the past ten years. She’d been a coward. But she had been so young and secrets can grow like a weed.
‘I snuck out to meet Niall,’ Charity began, trying to stop herself from crying. She knew Hope would resent her tears. ‘We’d decided to sleep the night on the beach near Seaford. We just wanted to spend a whole night together, and I knew no one would notice as long as I was back in the early hours. He drove me back in his new car. It was raining, the car skidded slightly as it went around the bend. You know how notorious that bend is, even before Faith died. And—’ She shuddered at the memory. ‘We – we felt a bump but it didn’t feel like a—’ Charity swallowed. ‘A person,’ she finally managed.
Hope grimaced, turning away.
‘Niall stopped. He did stop, Hope,’ Charity said, reaching her hand out to take her sister’s. But Hope just shoved her away. ‘We both got out to look,’ Charity continued. ‘But it was so dark and the rain…’
She took a deep shuddery breath, the night coming back to her, the sheer force of the rain, the feel of it drenching her skin, the sight of Niall’s headlights on the shiny road.
‘We couldn’t see anything,’ she said. ‘The police said Niall would have known, but we really didn’t, Hope! How were we to know she fell down the slope? I was so young, so scared. Niall convinced me not to say anything, told me it would just make things worse. And I didn’t want to make things worse, Hope, it was already so horrible.’
‘And when the police came? You knew then that what you felt when the car bumped into something was her, didn’t you? That’s why you ran into your room and hid your face when Mum and Dad told us, you knew I would see it in your eyes.’
‘I think deep down I knew. But I’d only just snuck back when the doorbell went and I was in shock. I didn’t want to say anything unless I was sure. If I could go back,’ Charity said, looking into her sister’s eyes, ‘I would have told you. But I was so so scared. And…Niall convinced me when I saw him next that it wasn’t a good idea.’
‘And all these years, this secret…’
‘It grew so big, I just couldn’t get a grip on it.’
Hope laughed bitterly.
Charity put her head in her hands, the guilt overwhelming. ‘I’m so sorry.’
When she looked up, her sister was walking away from her. She tried to follow, but Hope shoved her away. So she left her, remembering what Faith always said to her about Hope: she needed time.
Four months later, Hope still wasn’t ready, despite Charity leaving her contact details before she left for Norfolk. She thought of Faith. Would she be sad to know she and Hope weren’t speaking? Would she try to get them to reconcile?
Or would she be just as angry with Charity?
Charity looked up as she heard the roar of a motorbike.
Niall was here, right on time.
She smiled to herself. A couple of months ago, Niall had finally sent her the photos he’d taken of the submerged forest in India. Before she’d left for Norfolk, she’d impulsively passed her new address on to his agency just in case he needed to get in touch. With the photos was a letter:
Dear Charity,
Thanks for sending on your new address. Norfolk, hey? You know there’s a submerged forest there, don’t you?
I hope you’re good and you’re enjoying your new job. It feels weird writing this. I’ve never been one for writing. I guess that’s why I never replied to your letters when I was inside. Who am I kidding? Truth is, I wanted you to get on with your life.
Just like I do now.
I miss you though. I can’t deny it. So if you want to write back, I’ve included the address of a PO Box I’ve set up. Maybe I can make up for all those unanswered letters?
I hope you like the photos. Maybe if you take some pictures of the submerged forest in Norfolk, you can send them to me. I promise I won’t critique them…
Take care,
Niall
She’d found herself writing a letter straight back to Niall and before she knew it, she’d written several pages about her new job, the quirky little beach hut she was staying in…nothing serious. It just felt good to share it with someone, especially Niall. Over the next couple of months, they exchanged more letters, Niall writing about an assignmen
t he’d recently returned from in Australia, Charity about the quirks of the local community where she was living. They also wrote about the past, the drives down the coast during their last summer together, and life in Busby-on-Sea. Each time a letter arrived, Charity’s stomach would tilt, face flushing with excitement.
When Niall brought up the possibility of him visiting to take photos of the submerged forest Charity had hesitated. The truth was, the idea made her happy. His letters were the highlight of her week. But she was also apprehensive. But before she could stop herself, she suggested they meet if he did decide to visit.
So here she was. She watched Niall jump off his bike, removing his helmet and approaching her with a huge smile on his face. He was more tanned than she’d ever seen him and the beginning of a dark beard was growing over his cheeks and chin, making his blue eyes even more vivid.
‘What time do you call this?’ she shouted above the bluster.
He laughed. ‘Sorry, bad traffic.’ He gave her a quick peck on her cheek. ‘It’s great to see you, Charity.’
‘Looks like a storm’s coming,’ Charity shouted above the wind. She looked at the camera Niall had slung around his neck. ‘Better get on with it soon if you want to take some photos. Then we can get some fish and chips down the road.’
His face lit up. ‘Sounds perfect.’
As Niall took photos, Charity took the chance to observe the forest. It was a complete contrast to the submerged forest in India. The tree stumps were on land here, the ground beneath the soles of her wellies sludgy with brown peat. It was more of a ghostlike wasteland than an ethereal underwater world.
After a while, Niall pulled his small knife out. ‘Want to do the honours?’
‘You mean an etching?’ He nodded. Charity shook her head. ‘No, I feel bad doing it myself. Go ahead if you want to.’
‘Oh come on, it’s art.’ He lay on his belly in the sand, carving their initials into what remained of the tree. Then he pressed his camera close to his face to take a photo. Watching him like that made Charity’s insides clench.
‘I saw your etching in Austria,’ Charity said. ‘When were you there?’
‘I went there straight from India. I ended up getting a commission from the tourist board – they want me to go back and take photos for their brochures. The lake’s out of this world, isn’t it?’
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