Finding Grace

by K. L. Slater

  The house is quiet. They’ve all gone at last and left us alone.

  Dad is in the single bed in Oscar’s room and Blake is sleeping next to me.

  Sleeping! I feel a surge of negative emotion rush through me. It’s made up of all sorts of feelings: anger, sadness, envy that he seems to be taking it all in his stride and remains positive that Grace will return.

  I know I’m not being fair, but it doesn’t stop the way I feel.

  After Blake insisting, and then pleading, I ended up taking one of Dr Mahmoud’s tablets before bed. They’re not sedatives, apparently, but I can feel the effect on me, like it’s taken the sharp edge off the physical pain.

  I’m aching, head to foot. It’s a deep, bruising ache that has infiltrated my flesh and bones. I am aching for the missing piece of me: for my Grace.

  The pain is so bad I almost wish I’d asked the doctor for the strongest sedatives he’s able to prescribe. I don’t know how long I can stand the torture of not knowing. Of waiting.

  Yet I know oblivion will not provide respite or answers.

  Nothing can stop the terrible feelings from rising up. I learned that lesson a long time ago.

  Thirty-Two

  Sixteen years earlier

  The boy sitting next to Stefan picked up his sandwich wrapper and moved to another seat without being asked. Stefan indicated for Lucie to sit down.

  Their group of seven was made up of two male and five female students. They all looked up to smile or say hi to Lucie, but to her relief, nobody stared long enough to make her feel uncomfortable.

  ‘So, Angela tells me you’re new here and you live on her landing?’ Stefan rested his elbows on the table and cradled his chin in his hands as he watched her.

  So that was the mousy-haired girl’s name.

  Lucie mashed a little of her potato into a soft, neat pile, but she couldn’t eat it. Not while he was watching her like this, and besides, her appetite had completely disappeared.

  ‘That’s right.’ She was surprised to hear her voice sounding upbeat and rather more confident than she felt. ‘I’m studying accountancy.’

  ‘My deepest condolences,’ Stefan murmured, lowering his eyes. When she looked startled, his face sprang alive again as he laughed. ‘Only joking, Lucie! You’ll get used to me, I like winding people up.’

  ‘Too right.’ The bespectacled red-haired boy next to him grimaced.

  Stefan elbowed him in jest, but Lucie noticed his smile dim as he did so.

  ‘So.’ He angled himself so he was turned a little more towards Lucie. ‘Tell me a bit about yourself. Is Lucie your full name?’

  Lucie pushed her plate away. She glanced around self-consciously, but the others appeared to be chatting amongst themselves, apart from one girl. She appeared to be in conversation, but instead of looking at the person she was talking to, she stared unblinkingly at Stefan.

  ‘My full name’s Lucinda, but nobody calls me that.’

  ‘Why not? It’s a gorgeous name. Sounds aristocratic and mysterious.’ Stefan laughed as Lucie blushed. ‘What else?’

  ‘Nothing much else to tell, really.’

  ‘Now I know that’s not true. Someone like you… beautiful, a little secretive… I’m intrigued. Tell me anything at all about yourself, but be truthful. I can spot a liar from ten paces.’

  A heat flushed through her. His candour was disarming, as were his compliments. It was just bullshit, she knew that, but still. She couldn’t help a part of her responding to him.

  ‘I’m nineteen, from Nottingham, and if I’m truthful, I was full of excitement at coming to Newcastle and now I’m wondering if I’ve done the right thing.’

  ‘Completely natural,’ Stefan declared, taking a swig from his can of Coca-Cola. ‘I felt the same way myself when I did my first degree.’

  ‘First degree?’

  She’d spotted he was older than everyone else at the table. Maybe he was a lecturer? She glanced over at the staring girl again and saw her seat was now empty.

  ‘I’m what polite people call a lifelong student and what everyone else calls a bit of a waster, I suppose.’ He laughed heartily. ‘I didn’t feel ready for a job when I completed my BA in English, a good few years ago now. So I did a history degree, and after that, I still felt exactly the same, so now I’m studying for an MA in history of art.’

  Lucie started a little mental arithmetic.

  ‘I’m nearly thirty, if you were wondering.’ He grinned.

  ‘No! I mean, I wasn’t…’

  ‘See, I’m a good person to hang around with. There’s nothing I don’t know about this place, nothing I haven’t seen. If you’ve got a problem, don’t bother with your useless house manager or your tutors, just come and see your uncle Stefan.’

  She nodded, felt her shoulders relax a little.

  Stefan seemed really nice, as did everyone else in the group. Lucie noticed there was another guy sitting a little further down the table who also looked older, but the rest of them seemed to be freshers like herself.

  On the one hand, everyone seemed so relaxed but she thought she could sense something else, something strange and unidentifiable, running underneath like a current that belied the apparent calmness of the surface.

  Stefan’s voice broke through her thoughts.

  ‘So, have you got any brothers or sisters at home?’

  ‘Just me and my dad,’ Lucie said. ‘He’s really proud I made it to university, but he’s devastated at the same time. I never really knew my mum and she died a long time ago, so it’s been hard on my dad, me leaving home.’

  As she said the words, she felt surprised to hear herself opening up to Stefan. He just seemed to have that way about him; like he was a good listener and wouldn’t judge.

  ‘Oh, that’s just the old empty-nest syndrome,’ he remarked, waving his hand dismissively. ‘Nearly kills them, but they soon get over it. This is your time to enjoy life; don’t let guilt spoil it for you.’

  Lucie pressed her lips together, not wanting to comment. Half of her knew he was right, but the other half felt disloyal speaking about her dad like this, especially with a stranger.

  She’d made a real effort to text regularly and call Pete each day, but it never seemed to be enough for him.

  When she’d woken up this morning, he had already sent two texts. The first one complained that he’d expected to chat to her before nine a.m. and why was she sleeping in so late? The second one demanded exact details of what she was cooking and eating.

  She missed her father dearly, she really did. But after only a few days away from home, she was realising to what extent her every move had been governed by him. She had never complained, because it was all she’d ever known and she fully understood that it came from a place of pure good intentions.

  ‘Dad worries terribly about me,’ she said when she realised Stefan was still waiting for her to say something. ‘I’m texting and calling him lots, but I think he expects more of me.’

  He shook his head. ‘Wrong way to go about it. You need to make a real effort to contact him less.’ He shuffled his chair a tiny bit closer to hers. ‘Think of it this way. You’ll be helping him get a life, too. He’s probably given up so much, looking after you the best he could, and now he has more time to enjoy the stuff he wants to do. He just has to realise that.’

  Lucie felt as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. She’d never looked at it like that. What Stefan was saying made perfect sense.

  ‘I think you’re right,’ she said. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘I know I’m right.’ He smiled. ‘Like I said, I’ve seen it all. Ever read “This Be The Verse” by Philip Larkin? I reckon he’s spot on when he talks about your mum and dad fucking you up. Most of them do, in my experience.

  Lucie gave him a weak smile, but she didn’t agree with Larkin and said so. ‘To be fair, my dad has done his level best to make sure I have every chance in life.’

  Stefan’s rugged features moved closer, and s
he saw tiny amber flecks in the depths of his chocolate-brown eyes. ‘Admit it, though. You’re still a little bit fucked up, right?’

  Lucie laughed, thinking about her loner-bordering-on-sociopath tendencies since she’d arrived in Newcastle.

  ‘I suppose you’re right,’ she agreed reluctantly.

  ‘Don’t worry, doll.’ He smiled, baring wolfish incisors that she actually found rather attractive. ‘We’re all fucked up here.’

  Thirty-Three

  Olivia

  When Olivia’s dad had finished reading the customary two chapters of Harry Potter she was allowed before sleep, he kissed her forehead and said, like always, ‘Night night, don’t let the bed bugs bite.’

  Olivia lay still, squeezing her eyelids shut. When she heard her father’s slippered feet pad downstairs, she counted… ten, eleven, twelve… then rolled silently from her bed, lying down on the carpeted floor.

  She stretched her arm straight and extended her small fingers as far as they would go under the bed until she touched the small pink rucksack that Grace had pushed as close as possible to the wall.

  ‘Promise you won’t tell a single person it’s there?’ Grace had said when they got home from their trip to Alton Towers.

  ‘I promise,’ Olivia pledged solemnly. ‘But why aren’t you taking your rucksack home?’

  ‘Mum will want to unpack it and I don’t want her to see I I’ve been writing in my diary.’ Grace shrugged. ‘And Livvy?’

  Olivia looked up from setting up a game on her computer.

  ‘Promise you won’t look in the bag either?’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘I mean it. Say you promise.’

  ‘I promise!’ Olivia sighed dramatically. ‘I don’t want to read your diary anyway, Grace. I know all your secrets already, don’t I?’

  ‘Hmm.’ Grace nodded. ‘I’ve fastened the rucksack up in a special way, anyway. I’ll be able to tell right away if someone’s been meddling with it. Oh, and the diary is locked and I have the key at home.’

  Grace had started to annoy Olivia now. This wasn’t the way best friends were supposed to act with each other.

  ‘How long do I have to keep it under my bed for, anyway?’ Olivia asked, suddenly worrying what she’d say if her mum found it.

  ‘Just until tomorrow night after school,’ Grace said easily. ‘If I come over to yours to play Fortnite for a bit, I can get it back then.’

  ‘OK, but I don’t know why you can’t take it with you when you go home later,’ Olivia grumbled, turning on the game.

  Grace sat down next to her and picked up her controller.

  ‘I’ll tell you soon, I promise,’ she said cryptically. ‘I think everybody will know about it soon.’

  It was nearly ten o’clock in the evening now, and Grace still hadn’t turned up at home.

  Grace’s parents had visited tonight, and her mum, Lucie – who was always really nice to Olivia when she went over there for tea – had looked so sad and ill that Olivia almost told her about the rucksack under the bed so she’d know Grace had a secret.

  But her mum would’ve been furious with Olivia for not telling her and Dad when they’d asked her if there was anything she could tell them about what Grace might have said or done.

  Her own parents were weirdly trying to act normally in an attempt to make Olivia think nothing was wrong. Their voices sounded brighter than usual, and when she’d asked for a second helping of Ben & Jerry’s after their pizza tea, her mother dished it out, no question. And that never happened.

  Whenever they thought Olivia wasn’t paying attention, her mum and dad put their heads together, whispering. And she’d heard her dad on the phone in his office with the door shut.

  Olivia had tiptoed outside the room and stood there with her ear pressed to the door.

  ‘We say nothing, do you hear me? Nobody needs to know; it’ll just make everything ten times worse,’ she’d heard her father say. ‘But just so you know, if anything goes wrong, this is entirely all your fault.’

  Nobody needs to know what, exactly? And what might go wrong that’s someone else’s fault? Olivia wondered, but she didn’t hang around, just in case her mum caught her eavesdropping.

  Besides, the whispering seemed to have turned into proper fighting. They kept going into the kitchen and closing the door. They thought she couldn’t hear, thought they were keeping their voices low. But Olivia discovered that if she hung around in the hallway a while, their voices soon grew louder, like they’d forgotten she was in the house at all.

  ‘What is wrong with you?’ she’d heard her mum half shout just before Grace’s parents arrived tonight. ‘How could you even think of doing something like that?’

  There had been a sharp slapping noise and Olivia guessed her mum had hit her hand angrily down on the worktop in temper, or something like that.

  Olivia glanced at her bedroom window. Her dad had forgotten to pull the curtains closed and the night sky was black as ink. She wondered if Grace was scared, wherever she was.

  It had only been a few hours; perhaps Grace would come back soon. She turned away from the window so the panicky feeling would stop, and instead of thinking scary thoughts, she dragged the rucksack towards her and looked quizzically at the fastenings.

  Grace said she’d done it up in a special secure way, but as far as Olivia could see, they looked like the regular plastic clips that you found on any rucksack. Impulsively, she reached for them and flicked them open with ease. Then she opened the top flap of the bag and peered inside.

  She saw a dog-eared copy of Diary of a Wimpy Kid, a large spotted handkerchief and a crumpled T-shirt. She reached in and moved the items aside. Underneath them lay a small pink diary decorated with a floral print.

  Grace was weird like that. She loved notebooks, paper and glittery pens; always made a beeline for Paperchase when they went into town with their mums.

  Olivia lifted the diary out and inspected it, feeling a twinge of disappointment when she realised, exactly as Grace had told her, that it was one of those with a tiny padlock.

  Olivia had one herself in her desk drawer, though she’d never used it. Her auntie had bought it her for Christmas last year, but she’d mislaid the key and hadn’t got around to looking for it yet. She preferred typing on a keyboard to writing by hand, and if she was going to keep a diary, she’d rather get one of those cool electronic ones that you could put a password on.

  She stuck a fingernail in the top of the closely packed pages and caught a tantalising glimpse of Grace’s handwriting. She couldn’t see enough to read anything, but it looked like her friend had written a lot.

  She placed the diary back in the rucksack and stuffed the items on top again so it was invisible, like before. After refastening the bag, she pushed it, this time with her foot, as far as she could back under the bed.

  If Grace found out she’d been snooping, she’d probably never speak to Olivia again.

  But if Grace didn’t return home soon, Olivia would be forced to say something, wouldn’t she? And what then?

  She didn’t want to get into trouble with her parents, and especially not with the police.

  No. It was best she said nothing at all. For now.

  Thirty-Four

  Lucie

  Sunday night

  Blake snorts and turns over in his sleep, and I snap awake. My heart is hammering; my palms are damp.

  I’ve tried my damnedest to bury this stuff for sixteen years, and yet here it all is; every detail, every nuance has been filed away and retrieved by my unconscious mind, as if it just happened yesterday.

  These are the early chapters, the setting, the build-up. My mind is presenting the terrible story like a perfectly structured novel, but I can’t stand revisiting the horror of what came later. I just can’t face it.

  I’m a different person now. That girl – the monstrous person I became at university – it wasn’t me, not really. I was coerced and controlled until I forgot about everything tha
t was important to me.

  I wish I could go back and draw a line between the person I was and the person I became. They have blurred into the fabricated person I am today.

  I was forced to make a decision back then. I had to. Under the circumstances, I think the outcome I chose was the one most people would’ve opted for.

  Some might say how apt it is that I’m suffering now. They might say it’s only right that I’m finding out for myself the pain of losing the thing I love the most.

  ‘Luce?’ Blake rouses from his slumber and props himself up on one elbow. ‘Are you OK?’

  ‘Go back to sleep.’

  ‘I haven’t been asleep, not properly. I’m just resting, just trying to—’

  ‘You’ve been fast asleep. Snoring, in fact.’

  ‘Listen, Luce. I want to say something.’ His voice is dry and croaky. I know he’s suffering like I am; we just deal with it differently. ‘I want to say that I love you and Grace and Oscar so much it hurts. I want you to know that.’

  It feels like this might be a preamble to him saying something else: a confession about the money, or that he’s having an affair? Something I might not want to hear, anyway.

  I turn on my side so I’m looking right at him. ‘I know you do. I love you too.’

  ‘I know this is the hardest thing to deal with, but I don’t want us to end up hating each other. I couldn’t bear it.’

  ‘That won’t happen,’ I say.

  ‘People can be cruel at times like this. They can stick the knife in, put doubt in our minds about each other.’

  ‘Tell me about the cash, Blake. You’ve brought it into our home and I’ve a right to know where it’s from and who it belongs to.’

  His eyes bore into mine. He takes a breath and his fingers brush away a wisp of hair lying across my cheek.

  ‘It’s really important we’re truthful with each other,’ I say gently. ‘However bad things get, I’d rather hear it from you than from someone else. We owe each other that much.’