by Nina Manning
Caitlin didn’t even open her eyes.
‘Mum likes you more than me. No one is going to blame you, Sasha. You couldn’t put a foot wrong. Everyone loves you.’
I let myself absorb Caitlin’s words. Not an apology, but she thought everyone loved me?
‘But your mum’s dress?’ I said quietly. Caitlin opened one eye and shaded it with her hand.
‘Who cares about a stupid dress. She deserves it.’
‘Caitlin, surely you can’t mean that? I mean, I know you and your mum have your problems, but she’s your mum, and that was her wedding dress!’
Caitlin breathed in and let out a huge sigh. ‘Oh, Sasha, you look at the world so romantically. You think just because I am related to someone by blood, because I was birthed from them, that I must love them? You don’t know my mum. You don’t understand the way she is.’
I was boiling with fury. I wanted to shake Caitlin, shout at her for what she did. As much as I wanted us to be friends, the differences between us were apparent. Like how Caitlin’s parents treated her, which in turn made her treat me badly. It hurt me, but I could also see that Caitlin was in pain. Mum and Dad always taught me that kids who lashed out were usually dealing with far more complicated things than I could ever imagine.
I knew now that something wasn’t quite right with Caitlin. I knew her parents treated her differently to the way my parents treated me, but I thought back to the day I met her and how she talked about the house. It occurred to me that there could be terrible secrets lurking behind the doors of Saxby. Perhaps they were linked to Caitlin’s behaviour? And in that moment, I felt as though it were my duty to know.
I decided that one way or another, I would find out, and it would happen this year. It was time for Saxby to open its doors and reveal itself to me.
21
London, September 2009
One week until the wedding
* * *
Chuck waits for me on the corner of the road. ‘One last time. For old times’ sake,’ he says as I sidle up to greet him.
‘I knew you couldn’t resist,’ I say, receiving his kiss on my cheek. It’s begun to drizzle, and the rain is speckling his light beige jacket dark brown. ‘Shall we get inside before it pours it down?’
I grab his hand and pull him down the street. The doors open up automatically and we walk in arm in arm. I take a deep breath and vow to savour every moment. For I know this is the last time we’ll do this together.
An hour and a half later, when we leave and walk down the street together, my phone pings a message.
We’re both really looking forward to next week. X
I look at Chuck, who is eyeing my phone but can’t see the message.
‘Everything okay?’ he asks.
‘Another client,’ I say, and then I immediately hate myself. Because now I am lying to Chuck as well. I realise how much is at stake, but I’ve come too far now to change my mind. I have to go ahead and face whatever consequences will come of it.
22
Saxby House, Dorset, August 1990
I looked at the ornament on my dressing table: a brown bear holding a huge red heart with the words Best Friends Forever on it. It had appeared on the doorstep of the cottage in a red box with a white bow wrapped around it on the morning of my birthday in April. There had been no card, but I knew it was from Caitlin.
Later that April afternoon, after Mum had taken me clothes shopping, Caitlin had come over. I had thanked her for the ornament, but she had shrugged it off as though it was nothing. But I pressed her some more and said I was glad she was my best friend. Then I said ‘like sisters’ and she had looked at me with a sparkle in her eye and gripped my pinkie finger. Deep down she loved me like her own flesh and blood. Siblings argued and did mean stuff to one another, but they made up and moved on. Being like sisters with someone was better than being best friends, because no matter what you did to one another, you could never really disown your own sister.
So last week I had asked Mum if I could get the same ornament as the one Caitlin bought for me, for her. So she took me into town and it wasn’t long before we found a replica in a card shop, where they sold candles and pens. I would leave it wrapped on the table in the kitchen tomorrow afternoon and was looking forward to seeing what Caitlin thought when she discovered it later.
This weekend was the big weekend: Caitlin’s and Josephine’s joint parties. Caitlin was turning fourteen and Josephine, who couldn’t possibly say – although Mum and Dad knew it was her seventieth.
Ava had hired party planners to run the whole the weekend. I thought about my own birthday a few months ago. A Colin the Caterpillar cake had been sat on the kitchen table surrounded by a handful of presents in silver wrapping paper when I arrived downstairs for breakfast. Mum, Dad and Hunter grinned inanely, and all sang ‘Happy Birthday’ loudly in different keys. We devoured Colin, and I told them I wanted him every year from then on.
As I sat in my bedroom, I wondered what it would be like to have a party planner for my birthday. There was going to be a marquee and a little stage for a DJ and a dance floor for a disco. They were also putting three temporary toilets in the garden as Caitlin said Ava was adamant she didn’t want anyone traipsing through the house to use the facilities.
I had asked Caitlin who she was inviting to the party, and she had said it was just the usual cousins and extended family, and it was Josephine who was bringing the most guests. Friends were flying and driving in from all over: old school friends, cousins, old work colleagues. It was going to be the party of parties. Even Mum and Dad and Hunter were invited to this one, and Mum had bought herself a new dress from a catalogue; it had arrived in the post just last week.
Of course, Chuck was there too. He seemed to spend as much time here with Caitlin now as I did; it was almost unheard of for Caitlin to arrive at Saxby alone any more. As I sat by the open window in my room, I heard him and Caitlin running out of the gates and across the wildflower meadow towards the tennis courts. Part of me thought about following them, but I was tired and I fancied being alone.
Looking out over the wildflower meadow, I had a sudden urge to be in the woods. Mum was working, and Hunter had gone off to work with Dad as he usually did, where he would either sit in the greenhouse eating Mr Kipling apple pies and reading his comics, or Dad would be teaching him a new skill or piece of information about a flower.
I packed myself a rucksack with an apple, some beef Monster Munch, a carton of Um Bongo and the latest copy of Jackie, and I set off through the wildflower meadow towards the woods. I felt a strong sense of independence as I headed off to the spot I had only come to over the last year or so with Caitlin. When Caitlin was not here, I would invite a friend over from school. I was good mates with Sian and also Jeni, and they both were in awe every time they came down the drive in the back of Dad’s Volvo with me. But when Caitlin was here, it was the holidays, and so I didn’t want to rub Caitlin up the wrong way by bringing other friends over.
I realised for the first time, we always went where Caitlin suggested, and that not once had I been down to our camp by myself, even when Hunter begged for me to take him there. I had told him it was our secret place, and so Dad made him his own special den out of branches near the elderflower trees at the top of the drive.
I realised it made no sense that I should have stayed away, after all, it was our den; it was mine as much as Caitlin’s. It had been ages since either me or Caitlin had been down there together. We had begun to spend more time around the gardens and pool in the summer months, and it was too chilly to go down there in the winter. Even though it was Caitlin’s land – well, technically Josephine’s – I had a connection to it too, which was probably what had stopped me visiting it alone.
I found our camp as we had left it the last time we’d been here. All except some leaf and stone art we had done a few months ago that had now been disrupted by wind or a small woodland creature. I bent down and tried to see if I could spot any a
nimal prints, but I couldn’t see anything. I sat down on the biggest of the log seats, which Caitlin and I fought over each time we were here. It had a slight raised back to it, giving it the effect of a throne, and needless to say it was Caitlin, whose frame was slightly broader than mine, who always managed to wrestle her way into it first. Eventually, she would tire of sitting and get up and make some sort of effort at tidying the camp, but it always remained a little messy. In a way, I preferred it like that; it was more authentic and somewhere both Caitlin and I were truly able to be ourselves, away from the regimented structures imposed upon us by the adults.
I settled down into the log throne, knowing I had about ten minutes before it would become so uncomfortable it was unbearable to sit on any longer. I opened my crisps and my drink carton and sat back and opened my magazine. I had just got stuck into an article about the pop star Tiffany, when I heard a loud branch snapping behind me. I dropped my magazine and my crisps on the floor in front of me and stood up. I was too far away from both houses and gardens to be heard if I screamed, unless Hackett was working somewhere in the wildflower meadow, but I hadn’t seen him all day. I bent down and picked up my magazine and rolled it into a tube then I bent it in half in the way Dad had reliably informed me to make a fast weapon, something he referred to as a ‘Millwall brick’. It was the sort of thing I presumed I would have needed when I lived in Hackney, but never once thought I’d need it here in a manor estate in the Dorset countryside. But I rolled and folded that magazine without hesitation until it resembled a hard and pointy weapon; if I was to get out alive today, Dad would be proud of my quick-witted thinking.
I turned to face where I had heard the branch breaking, my weapon held out in front of me.
‘You can put that down for a start – I’m only stalking a baby deer,’ the voice of a boy came through the trees. It wasn’t one I recognised. I looked to my right and saw a young lad roughly my age, possibly younger. I presumed he was part of the traveller lot as he was wearing white cut-off denim shorts, which were so filthy they were almost grey, and no T-shirt. He had on a pair of black plimsoles with no socks. His hair was a mass of dirty-blonde curls, and he was now crouched down near a cluster of trees opposite me. He had yet to look my way, and I wondered at what point he had seen my magazine weapon.
I let the brick drop to my side but kept a firm grip on it, ready to hurl it at his head should he try any funny business.
‘So where’s the deer then?’ I did a whisper-shout.
‘Right behind those bushes over there. It’s a baby – maybe it’s lost. I’m following it to make sure its mother comes back for it. They usually do.’
I was suddenly intrigued. Although I had tried to suppress my desire to connect with the animals and nature after the Ivy incident, I had not been able to squash it completely. I had seen a few deer running through the wildflower meadow in the mornings when I was up early for school, but I had never seen a baby deer. I tentatively made my way over to where the boy was crouched. He still didn’t look around, so I aligned myself with him until I too was hidden behind the same tree as him. From there, I was able to get a good view out towards the patch of ferns he was referring to. Then suddenly, the ferns shook and a small baby deer scurried out rather ungainly and then stood, just a few feet away from us, not moving, just staring with its big brown eyes directly towards us. I let out a small gasp, and I felt the boy next to me move his hand slightly to indicate that I should stay deadly still, which I did. Then, as though it was a perfectly rehearsed script, an adult deer appeared from stage right and walked straight up to the baby deer. It could only have been the mother. She began to lick her head and push her nose towards her neck and body. The fawn reacted with a small leap and then the two turned and walked away, deeper into the woods.
I realised I had been holding my breath and let out a long sigh. I was in an almost trance watching the deer, so when I took a step back, I realised I was standing next to a complete stranger. I tightened my grip on the magazine.
The boy got up from his crouched position and looked me up and down.
‘I told ya, the brick ain’t needed – I ain’t gonna ’urt ya.’
‘Sure, well, I’ll keep hold of it just the same, because, as you well know, this is private property and you are trespassing.’
I realised as I spoke that I sounded like Caitlin, and it was exactly the sort of thing she would have said under the circumstances. I felt a surge of power that I had been able to assert myself and I felt I was probably above this traveller boy and although I didn’t own the land, I was allowed to be here and he wasn’t.
‘I ain’t trespassing. This is God’s country – no one owns the grass, the bracken and the trees but nature itself. You’re talking rubbish, ain’t ya? What’s your name, anyway?’
‘Sasha,’ I said quietly, feeling ridiculous now for using terms like trespassing and private property.
The boy pulled the sides of his mouth down and pouted his lips in appreciation for my name. Most people thought it was pretty cool.
‘I’m William. Or Bill to me mates. I’ve just moved into the camp with my ma and da.’
‘Oh, so there’s more of you now?’ I knew Caitlin, Maxwell or Ava would not be pleased to learn this news.
‘Well, three more. You can count, I s’pose. So you live ’ere or what?’ Bill pointed towards the clearing where the woods turned to the path that led to the wildflower meadow beyond.
‘My parents work at the manor house. We’ve lived here for a couple of years now.’
‘Right, so those toffs are all right with us lot hanging out over there?’
‘It’s not for them to say, is it? It’s Brian’s field,’ I said, feeling a warming towards Bill now.
He pulled his mouth down again.
‘You gonna eat them crisps or let the animals get ’em?’ Bill pointed to the Monster Munch that I had thrown on the floor in terror when he’d appeared just minutes ago. I walked over to the mass of crisps and picked them up, blowing any stray dust or twigs off them, then put them all back in the bag.
‘Sit down if you like.’ I gestured to one of the other logs. He sat down opposite me, and I offered him a few of the Monster Munch. He took a handful. I gulped down some of the juice and offered him the rest, which he took.
‘So what’s the deal then, you ’anging out with the posh lot? You don’t talk like them.’
I knew my voice had changed in the time we had lived here. I could feel it when I spoke; I made an effort to pronounce each word properly, but I supposed there was still a twang of my old accent.
‘No, we moved from Hackney. My dad’s the gardener, my mum’s the housekeeper. They are both working today – there’s a big party tomorrow night. It’s Caitlin’s fourteenth and the lady who owns the house, it’s her seventieth.’ Straight away I wondered why I had revealed so much information to a stranger.
‘Party, you say? Well, la-di-da!’ Bill said, and I regretted saying too much.
‘Well, I’d better get going,’ I said, standing up and starting to gather my things. ‘I know Hackett, one of the gardeners, will be along soon. He likes to patrol these parts since we met one of your friends with his pants down out here.’
‘Oh, right then. I’d better get going or I might get sent on me way by a leaf blower.’ Bill laughed loudly as he followed my lead in getting up.
‘Thanks for the deer moment,’ I added, not wanting to sound ungrateful for what he had shared with me. I would have missed the whole thing, sat there with my magazine.
‘No worries, anytime. Just come and shout for Bill over at the camp and we can go foraging. I know all the things you can and can’t eat.’
‘Oh, okay.’ I had enjoyed how much I’d learnt about things you could eat here on Saxby land and I was keen to learn more, but I knew I was lingering near a very dangerous line. Befriending the travellers would go against everyone’s opinions, including my own parents – they needed to keep their employers happy. So I vowed
not to mention this to anyone, for if I did, I knew for sure we would not be allowed back into the woods until they had left, and who knew when that would be.
I was just coming through the front door of the cottage when Hunter appeared.
‘Excuse me, I’m starving,’ he said and shot past me into the kitchen. Dad followed behind, talking about how much his stomach was rumbling too. Mum came in after them, and before long we were all at the kitchen table after Mum rustled up some cheese rolls and yoghurts for lunch.
‘Judith’s made them salad niçoise – they’re having it with French bread and a cheese board. With chutney.’ Mum always let us know what the Clemontes ate.
‘What’s salad nis, nis…’ I tried to say it.
‘Tuna, potatoes and green beans.’ Mum put two rolls on her plate.
‘Ergh,’ Hunter said and fake vomited into his plate. I had to admit it sounded pretty awful.
‘Is everything ready for the party?’ I asked Mum, taking a cheese roll.
‘I have a few more things to do but it’s really down to those party planners. It’s a blessing, really. The fact that they come and do everything, then take it all away afterwards. Did you know they’re roasting a hog?’
‘It’s positively medieval,’ Dad said in his best posh voice and we all cracked up laughing.
The next few hours and into the night were a hustle of comings and goings as more trucks arrived to put up the toilets and balloons. By midnight, the driveway was deathly quiet, but I wasn’t asleep. I was downstairs in the lounge looking out onto the driveway, when I saw a flash of light go past the window. My stomach lurched, and I felt my heart speed up. I remained rooted to the spot. I needed to go upstairs and tell Dad. But Mum and Dad had gone to bed an hour ago and would both be asleep. The gates were often left open, and the same was true of tonight, as activity for party planning would resume in a few hours. I crept to the front door and found Dad had left today’s newspaper, which he read in the greenhouse on his breaks, by the front door. I picked it up and fashioned it into another weapon, took a small thin torch out the top drawer of the dresser, slipped my feet into my wellies, then slowly and quietly opened the front door and stepped out into the driveway. The night was cool and quiet and I was only in my pyjamas but I didn’t mind, the adrenaline was running too fast through me to care about a bit of dew.
