“She didn’t come back this morning, did she?” I ask, feeling hesitant.
Harriet shakes her head. “No, I know the hotel they stay at. It’s right next to the salon. She’ll have gone straight from there to the work this morning.”
Harriet opens the door and my eyes widen. I haven’t been in here yet. Rachel has one of the biggest beds I’ve ever seen, with a huge Chesterfield style headboard. But that’s not what’s taken my attention. Beside the bed is a small table with just one item on it; a black and white photo of me at around twelve-years-old. I’ve never seen that picture before. It’s been taken side on, and I’m smiling at something in the distance. It’s one of those carefree photos taken when the subject doesn’t realise a camera is pointing at them. It must have been one of the last photos Rachel took of me before she left London.
Harriet follows my focus and smiles sadly. “She adores that photo, Em. Leaving you really did break her heart.”
I press my lips into a tight smile.
Harriet walks over to a closet and slides one of the mirrored doors open. She crouches down and drags out a storage box with a purple flowery pattern on it. She pops the lid off and sits on the floor in front of it, patting the space next to her.
I sit down next to her and watch as Harriet’s fingers fan through the paperwork in the box. She finds what she’s looking for and pulls out a medical report with confidential stamped on it.
“Read this,” she says, opening the report to a page filled with smudged handwriting.
I take hold of it and smooth my hand over the page.
“This paragraph here,” Harriet says, tapping her finger halfway down.
I push my hair back from my face and begin reading.
‘You have highlighted your second daughter lives with her father who is, in your words, “a good, kind man and an exceptional father who loves Emily very much.” It is unfortunate that your relationship with this man has broken down beyond repair. My advice is that you must make a tough decision. You either move back to the UK and be a present parent to your daughter, or you relinquish all parental responsibility to your ex-husband, and spare her the pain of remote parenting.’
I catch Harriet looking at me.
“It’s his fault she never contacted you. He should have been more clear.”
I sniff. “What do you mean?”
“Mom took that advice to mean she had to cut off all contact with you, for your benefit. I tried to tell her she’d misunderstood, and that he only meant she shouldn’t try to parent you; that of course you would benefit from regular contact with her, even if it was just letters and phone calls.” She starts shaking her head. “But she wouldn’t listen. This guy was some kind of God-like figure to her and she thought she’d understood him perfectly well.”
While she talks, other phrases from the medical report jump out at me: ‘severe end of spectrum,’ ‘intensely sensitive to rejection,’ ‘reckless impulsivity,’ ‘inappropriate anger.’
I pinch the bridge of my nose and look back at Harriet.
“I even tried speaking to her doctor about it,” she says. “But he refused to discuss the case with me. Said it was confidential. Mom thought I was wrong and we argued about it. A lot. But that doesn’t mean it was easy for her. She’s spent hours in this room staring at that photo of you, sobbing her heart out.”
I put my elbows on my knees and sink my head into my hands.
Harriet gets on her knees, leans forward into the closet and retrieves a similar patterned box. I assume it’s going to be full of old photos, but when she pops the lid off, I see it’s full of envelopes. None of them appear to be sealed. She plucks one out, slips the card out of its sleeve and inspects it before placing it on my lap.
I pick it up hesitantly and slide the card out. ‘Happy Birthday Daughter,’ is written on the front in silver embossed letters. Underneath the greeting a puppy holds a present in his mouth, surrounded by balloons and streamers. I flip open the cover and see the handwriting is smudged, the same as on the medical report. I take a deep breath and start to read.
‘To my darling daughter, Emily, on her thirteenth birthday. I’m so sorry we’re not spending this day together, but I hope you’re happy and your dad is spoiling you. I love you more than you could ever know. Always have, always will, Mom xxx”
I close it and shove it back inside the envelope. Harriet retrieves another one and puts it on my lap.
“No.” I brush it off and stand up. “I can’t do this.” My head is thumping and I can’t make sense of my emotions.
What the hell was Rachel thinking? It appears by leaving, she’s tortured herself just as much as she did me.
“Okay,” Harriet says softly, picking the card up off the floor and tucking it back in its envelope. “But you need to know everything in here is addressed to you. There are Christmas, Easter and Birthday cards, plus random letters she’s written to you over the years. When you’re ready, you should read them.”
I press my lips together and fight a wave of emotion.
“Please don’t hate her, Em.”
I look up at the ceiling. “I don’t hate her. I just can’t work her out what her game is.”
Harriet shrugs. “That’s the problem. Neither can she.”
Chapter 13
I’m putting away glasses when a middle-aged man approaches the counter. He has a kind face and a grey beard peppered with flecks of red. He looks past me, to where Lois is working. I follow his gaze and see she has her back to him.
I turn to face him again. “Are you after Lois?”
“I certainly am.” His voice is gravelly and distinctive. On hearing it, Lois spins around, squeals and springs out from behind the counter, straight into his arms.
“Daddy,” she says, burying her face in his chest.
“Hey, pumpkin.” He plants a kiss on the top of her head. “I’ve missed you.”
“I can’t believe you’re actually here.” She peels herself away from the hug and grabs hold of his hand. “My dad,” she tells me, beaming from ear to ear. “Visiting from Ohio.”
“Hi.”
“Good to meet you.” His eyes crinkle as he holds his other hand out towards me. “My name’s Brian, but everyone calls me Red.”
I wipe my hand on my apron before shaking his hand. “Nice to meet you, Red. I’m Emily.”
“Ahh, Emily.” His tone lets me know Lois has been talking about me. “I thought you must be the new colleague from across the pond. How are you settling in?”
I look around the cafe. “Great. I really like it here.”
He nods. “Lois is always telling me how much she loves working here, and how great the boss is.”
Lois rolls her eyes. “Shut up, Dad. I don’t want Nate hearing and thinking we actually like him.” She glances at me and winks before turning back to him. “Can I get you a coffee or something?”
He laughs. “No, no. I know you’re busy but I just couldn’t wait to come in and say hi. I’ve got a couple of errands to run so I’ll attend to those and pop back later. What time does your shift end?”
Lois looks at her watch. “In two-and-a-half hours.”
He smiles. “Okay, kiddo, I’ll be back then.” He hugs her once more and then gives her hair a playful ruffle before heading off towards the exit.
Lois is wearing a wide smile as she lifts the counter and steps back into the serving area. “It’s so great to see him,” she says, tugging her ponytail back into place. “I’ve missed him so much.”
“Don’t you get to see him often then?” I say, collecting more glasses from the dishwasher.
She shakes her head. “When he and my mom got divorced, he moved back to Ohio, so my sisters and I don’t get to see him as much as we’d like.” She looks towards the door, raises her eyebrows and her face brightens. “But we’re going to make the most of the time we’ve got while he’s here. I’ve got next Monday off, so me and Dad are going hiking in the mountains.”
“That
sounds like fun.” My mind flashes up an image of me on an adventure with my own dad. Whenever Rachel was away on one of her trips, he’d take me and Harriet to the New Forest. We’d play hide-and-seek in the ancient woodlands and paddle in the babbling streams. They are the times I remember being happiest.
Since Dad died I find myself thinking more and more of the fun-loving, energetic dad he used to be and less of the shell of a man I lived with for the last few years.
I realise Lois has stopped speaking. She’s looking at me with a puzzled expression and I guess she must have asked a question.
“Sorry, did you say something?” My palms feel sweaty. I look at them in disgust before wiping them across my apron.
She laughs. “I said what about you? Are you close to your dad?”
“Uh....” I’m breathing too fast and it’s far too hot in here.
Don’t do this, Emily. Not here....
“Em?”
There’s not enough air in the cafe. Each breath feels like it stops short of my lungs and pins and needles prick at my fingers. I know I can’t stop what’s about to happen.
“I need to take a break.” I gasp.
Lois’ forehead creases. “Is everything okay? You don’t look so good.”
“Just a headache. I need some fresh air.” I spin around before she can say anything else and hurry through the store room, throwing the door open and rushing outside into the warm air. I let the door bang behind me as I drop down onto the bench and dig my fingers into the wooden slats. I put my head between my knees and desperately try to remember the advice my doctor gave me back in London.
You just need to relax. Slow your breathing down and take a pause between each breath.
I press my lips together and inhale through my nose for a count of five. My heart is thumping so hard I wouldn’t be surprised if it broke through my ribs and landed on the road. Despite the ache in my lungs, I manage to hold onto the breath for a couple of seconds before letting it go in a ragged exhalation.
Come on, Emily, you can do this.
My hands shake as I repeat the pattern, inhaling through my nose, holding on to the breath and then letting it out before doing it again, over and over.
Breathe in. Pause.
Breathe out.
Breathe in. Pause.
Breathe out.
Gradually the sound of blood pumping in my ears melts away and although my heart is still pounding, it’s not as frantic as it was a couple of minutes ago.
I sit up and stare out across the ocean, swiping at the fat, salty tears spilling down my cheeks.
My doctor thinks I have anxiety attacks because of the violence of that awful day. Post-traumatic stress disorder, she said. She might be right. But I think it’s more to do with the panic I feel whenever it hits me I’m never going to see my dad again. I can’t quite believe I’ll never see those familiar eyes or that big cheesy grin….
I freeze at the sound of the storeroom door creaking.
Oh no. Please don’t come out, Lois.
I dip my head and run fingertips under my lashes, trying to remove any trace of tears or smudged mascara.
“Emily?”
It’s Nate’s voice.
Crap.
He walks over, sits beside me on the bench and lets one of his long legs brush against mine. He doesn’t say anything else, but I feel him watching me.
I swallow a couple of times, praying my voice will sound normal. Then I take a deep breath, turn to face him and manage a croaky, “Hello.”
“Hey.” His blue eyes are filled with concern as they search my face. “What’s wrong?”
I shake my head. “Nothing. I’m fine.” My words spill out too fast to sound genuine. I try to recover the situation by forcing my lips into a wobbly smile. “I’ve just got a bit of a headache. That’s all.”
He raises a warm hand to my cheek, brushing away a fresh, traitorous tear with the pad of his thumb. “Do you always cry when you have a headache?”
I close my eyes and silently will him to leave.
“Please tell me what’s up. Maybe I can help….”
He can’t. Nobody can. The damage is done.
I want to tell him to stop being nice because all that will do is tip me over the edge again. Instead I open my eyes, stare ahead at the ocean and give a small shake of my head.
He sighs but thankfully he doesn’t push it any further. Instead we sit silently on the bench, the breeze playing with my hair, his leg still touching mine.
Once I’m confident I’m not going to cry or hyperventilate again, I give my eyes a final wipe and turn to him. “I’m okay now.” I nod, probably more to convince myself than him. “Thanks for coming to see if I was alright, I really appreciate it, but now I need get back inside and carry on what I was doing.”
“I have a better idea,” he says, standing up. “Come on.” Strong hands reach for mine and he pulls me into a standing position. “Lose the apron and let’s go for a walk on the beach. Clear away that headache of yours.”
I shake my head. “I really shouldn’t. I need to get back inside and help the others.”
He smiles. “No need. Lois and Riley will manage fine.”
I look at the surf crashing onto the beach and purse my lips, blowing out a long, deep breath.
“Boss’s orders,” he adds, tipping his head to one side.
I sag in defeat before untying the straps and lifting the apron over my head. “Okay,” I say quietly. “I guess a quick stroll would clear my head.”
Nate nods, a satisfied smile on his face. “A quick stroll it is then.”
He takes the apron from me and drops it onto the bench. Then we walk side-by-side across the road towards the golden sand.
The sun is bathing everything in its glow but right now the beauty is lost on me. All I notice are spat-out blobs of chewing gum on the sidewalk and a scrunched-up food wrapper, probably from O’Shea’s Place, lying in the gutter. Nate picks it up, tightens it into a ball and launches it into a trash can several feet away.
I step onto the sand and let Nate walk ahead while I extend a leg to flick off my sandal. As I do, I feel something on the back of my leg. I twist around and look down at my cropped trousers, but I don’t see anything. I shrug before kicking off my other shoe and sinking my toes into the warm sand. I take a final sniff, give both cheeks a quick wipe and then step up my pace to catch up with Nate who is now almost at the water’s edge.
I’ve almost reached him when a woman’s voice stops me in my tracks.
“Excuse me.”
I look back to see who it is. A grandmotherly type wearing a yellow t-shirt and matching shorts is striding towards me holding something aloft between thumb and forefinger. Her lips are pressed tightly together.
“Uh … are you talking to me?”
She doesn’t answer, but she doesn’t need to. It’s definitely me she’s heading for.
Nate appears by my side the same time she draws level.
She looks me up and down and then clears her throat. “You dropped these over by the road.” She thrusts something into my hand. “Lord knows how.” She steps back and shakes her head disapprovingly before turning on her heel and marching back towards a man waiting by the roadside.
I glance at Nate and wrinkle my nose. His lips pull into a bemused smile as he watches the retreating lady.
“What was that all about?” he asks.
I shrug and open my hand to reveal what she gave me. And now the item isn’t so scrunched up, I see what it is immediately.
“Oh,” I breathe, screwing the white, lacy material back into my hand. I take a quick peek at Nate, praying he didn’t see.
His eyes are wide as he looks from my hand to my face. “Are those ... panties?”
I squeeze my eyes closed, a scarlet rush of shame heating my cheeks.
“I don’t understand,” he says. “Are they yours?”
I open one eye and manage a feeble nod.
“Really?” His eyebr
ows pull together but he’s grinning. “How did she get hold of those?”
My stomach muscles tighten. Crap. Crap. Crap.
“I don’t know … they must have gone through the wash tucked inside these.” I tug the waistband of my trousers. “I guess they fell out when I kicked my sandals off just now.”
He nods, attempting a serious expression. “Well, that’s a relief. I was beginning to wonder what kind of girl you are … I mean, I innocently invite you for a walk on the beach and within minutes your panties are off.”
I stare at him open-mouthed.
His eyes are brimming with amusement and his dimples appear.
“Oh get lost, Nate.” I stoop to pick up a clump of damp seaweed and launch it at his head. He ducks and it narrowly misses him.
“Oh man.” he gives in to a chuckle. “The look of disapproval on her face....”
I put my hands on my hips and frown.
“And the way she was holding them....” He turns his nose up as he mimics holding something between his thumb and forefinger. “It was like they were contaminated or something.”
“Alright, Nate. You can stop going on about it now.” I try to glare at him, but even I’m starting to see the funny side now.
“She couldn’t get away from us fast enough,” He says, his face creasing as he holds back a wave of laughter. “I bet she’s going straight to church to pray for your soul.”
I press the back of my hand to my mouth as a giggle escapes.
Nate’s shoulders shake and that’s all it takes for my own giggles to escalate into full-blown laughter. In fact, I laugh so hard my belly starts to hurt and tears spill down my cheeks. Tears of a different kind this time.
This is crazy. A few short minutes ago, I was beside myself with sorrow and now I’m laughing so hard my sides feel like they’re going to split.
Eventually I reach the point where I can’t bear it any longer. I double over, put one hand on my stomach and raise the other. “Nate, stop,” I gasp. “I can’t breathe.”
He presses his lips together and raises his eyebrows as he desperately tries to stop. Turning from me, he lowers himself onto the sand and I’m grateful when the sound of his laughter fades into uneven breaths. I flop down next to him, exhausted by the rollercoaster ride of emotions. A couple of times I look at him but his face screws up and he shakes his head, and I have to look away so we don’t go back to square one.
The Cold Hard Truth: A Gripping Novel About Secrets and Lies Page 9
