Like One of the Family (16 page)

She wiped her eyes and, carrying the sacks of rubbish to the garden, made a bright, burning bonfire of them. Oh, how differently everything might have turned out if only she had glimpsed the drawings in time, she thought in anguish. Truly, they bore all the signs of a deeply disturbed mind. Watching the leaping flames Jane felt infinitely older and sadder than she would have ever thought possible, even on the day of the funeral.

Jane found herself dwelling obsessively on all that had happened, continually retracing in her mind the lead-up to each incident and recalling words and gestures and accompanying glances. She knew this was not healthy, but she was past prescribing for herself. It was as if she was preparing to give evidence at a court of inquiry, at which she was the self-appointed judge, jury and prosecution for the defence, all rolled into one. And the more Jane dwelled upon the past, the greater was her jealousy that Claire had had sex with Eddie and conceived his child. Erotic images of Claire and her husband, at various stages of arousal, with their limbs sensually entwined, tortured Jane, and she felt weak with hatred for the pair of them. Sometimes she tried telling herself that sexual abuse was not inspired by love, and tried to convince herself that she had no real reason to feel such jealousy of Claire. That Eddie hadn't really loved the girl, but had merely indulged his lust. What a load of rubbish! She told herself the next minute. As if that lessened the offence. Anyway what did she know about what Eddie thought or felt? The only thing she did know was that middle-aged Eddie hadn't shown much love for anyone but himself in seducing a teenage girl. Painfully conscious of her own ageing body, Jane was filled with fresh envy. She felt a sudden rush of anger towards her dead husband.

And so it went on. When Jane was not castigating Eddie in her thoughts she was railing at Claire. Without being fully aware of it, her grief at her son's death was gradually being replaced by a baser emotion. No longer was Jane able to see Claire as she once had, as a victim, abused and taken advantage of. Instead, mentally she derided her, calling her sly and sluttish, fanning the flame of her anger and resentment to the point of exhaustion.

It was only in calmer, more rational moments that Jane dimly perceived what was happening to her and felt horror at the awfulness of her own reactions. But most of the times she tended her resentment like an ailing plant, discovering fresh excuses and justification for keeping it alive.

One day Ruthie confessed how much she was missing Claire and wished she would come and play with them all again. Jane's overwrought burst out in a senseless tirade. She hardly knew what it was about, something about little girls learning to play with nice children of their own age and not depending on brattish teenagers for company.

‘You don't like Claire-bear anymore, do you?' the little girl said with pitiful perspicacity and, with a sorrowful glance, she left the room.

Jane felt a deep sense of shame. She covered her face with trembling hands, stricken at what she was becoming. How could she have reviled the girl, she asked herself, and before Ruthie who loved her so? Jane's eyes filled with tears, she felt worn out with the tussle going on in her soul. She was haunted by a vision of Claire as she had seen her last, nervous and wretched, and she began to cry in earnest. In that searing moment of clarity Jane recognised that she had nothing left in her to give but hate and began to feel truly frightened. Oh God, she prayed, let me have the peace of forgiveness, anything rather than go on like this.

It was Jane's first step towards recovery, in the slow process of healing. While more time would elapse before she was able to bring herself to visit Claire, and even longer again before her old affection for the girl returned, the unhappy vengeful spirit that had possessed her for weeks was banished at last.

For Claire the weeks passed in a kind of dream sequence of waking and sleeping, not always able to differentiate between them. Whenever she opened her eyes, her mother was sitting on a chair near the bed. Annette held a book in front of her but seldom turned the page. Sometimes she was weeping but, on seeing that Claire was awake, she would make an effort to smile and enquire how she felt.

Claire's head felt swollen and heavy as though filled with hot pebbles. She wondered what she was doing in bed during the day and why her mother was sitting there. It would seem to suggest she had been ill, but from what and for how long? Once or twice the doctor came, the one they used to go to before the McArdles came to the road. He was an elderly man, kindly and loquacious. So she was sick, she thought, but when she asked him what was the matter with her he only patted her head and told her she was fine and had no need to worry about a thing.

Claire tried hard to pierce the fog in her mind but the harder she strained the more confused her thinking became. Eventually she remembered being in the classroom listening to a lecture. Gradually, the strands of fog parted to reveal more details until she recalled the whole frightful day. What puzzled her now was why Annette was weeping. She tried to stay awake long enough to put the question but her lids grew heavy again and she slept.

Claire dreamed she was on her hands and knees in a dark underground tunnel, trying to crawl to a higher level, but the space got smaller and smaller until her head wouldn't go through the opening. She sensed something big was moving along fast behind her but there was no room to get out of its way. She was about to be crushed when she woke up.

She turned on the bedside light, then her eyes were hurt by the glare so she turned it off again. She called weakly to Annette, but it was Christopher sitting, dozing in the chair.

Next time Claire awoke her father was sitting in the chair reading a newspaper. She tried to him something of her confusion but he just smiled at her and told her not to tire herself out with talk. As she lay there looking at him her lids grew heavy and to her dismay she couldn't keep awake long enough to ask him how he was or when he would come again. When she awoke and found him gone, hot tears of disappointment slid from under her lids. It was so long since she had seen him, and now who knew when he would come again.

And then she was dreaming that she was trying to get back to the holiday bungalow. She was pushing an enormous pram along the seafront with all the McArdles in it. They were laughing and talking amongst themselves and didn't seem to notice her. She wondered why none of them got out to lessen the load or to lend her a hand. She pushed with all her strength but then she got very tired and let it roll away from her. She lay down on the road. A car came along and she tried to struggle out of its path but she was too weak and it went right over her. Strangely, she felt no pain, only a tremendous relief.

She was telling Jane all about her other dreams. She was lying on the couch in Jane's surgery and Jane was sitting beside her, jotting everything she said down in a notebook. And then Jane was gone and Eddie was bending over her, examining her. He wore a white coat over his shirt and tie but had no pants on and was trying to make her suck his cock.

She awakened, sobbing and crying, struggling against the blankets which were tucked too tightly, not sure if she were still in the dream, trying to shake it off but remaining anguished and scared. It was dark outside the window. Slowly, she got out of bed, leaning against the wall until the blackness receded from her eyes. Holding the banister, she went down, carefully placing each foot on the stairs.

At first she thought the house was empty it was so quiet, then she heard her mother's voice in the kitchen. She pushed open the door. Annette and Jane were sitting opposite each other, sipping drinks. ‘Why Claire,' Jane said, half-rising, her expression concerned, ‘I was on my way up to see you.'

Annette got up to bring Claire back to bed. Claire felt suddenly aware of her crumpled night-dress, the sour odour of her body. Shamed, she allowed herself to be led upstairs. She felt exhausted from the effort. A few minutes after her mother had gone out of the room Jane came in and sat on the chair.

‘Claire, dear,' she said. ‘How do you feel?'

‘Sleepy,' Claire answered truthfully. ‘Am I very ill?' she asked. ‘Is that why you're here?'

Jane looked pale and tired. She gave Claire a long, pitying look.

‘No love. I just wanted to see you. It's been a long time.'

Claire felt uneasy. She didn't know what month it was, let alone what day of the week. There was something in Jane's subdued manner that frightened her. The light in her eyes seemed to have gone out, her mouth was serious. Uncomfortable, Claire looked away.

‘How is Sheena... Hugh?' she asked.

Jane's voice was steady as she said, ‘Sheena's very well... she and Terry are doing their summer exams...'

Were they into June already?

‘.... and Ruthie, in her own way, struggling along.'

‘What about Hugh?' Claire asked again.

‘You must hurry and get well,' Jane said. ‘This year we'll be going to the cottage a little earlier and we hope you'll come with us.'

Back to Waterford. How could she?

‘There's plenty of time yet,' Jane said, as if reading her thoughts. ‘You'll be fully recovered by the time we're heading off. Your mother has promised to come too, later on, so we'll have that to look forward to.'

When she was gone Claire wondered again about Hugh. She suddenly thought of the day she called to see his puppy. He'd been abrupt, not exactly rude. Embarrassed. But why? He hadn't wanted the puppy
.
The thought was followed by a vague, terrifying memory about the puppy, and something about Eddie. She tried but the fog had come down again and she couldn't remember.

Her father had to come and visit her before Claire found out that they were both dead. Why hadn't someone told her?

‘You were ill, Claire,' Jim said, sitting on the side of the bed, holding her hand. ‘It wasn't the time to trouble you with something so tragic.'

No wonder Jane hadn't answered her when she asked about Hugh. Poor Hugh. Her head felt hot and heavy, as if the pebbles were overheating again.

‘Why did he do it?' she asked, her voice breaking.

‘No one knows, Claire,' Jim said. He stroked her hand, studying her face anxiously. ‘Try not to dwell on it, love. It seems the poor kid was bullied at school and just flipped under the strain.'

Claire thought that her father was looking very well. He was wearing a blue, short-sleeved shirt. The colour suited him. His breath was free of alcohol. He had even cut down on cigarettes. She wondered who washed his hankies and socks now that he had left home. She felt a lump in her throat. She wanted to kiss him but didn't want to be the one to do it first.

‘You get yourself better,' he said, when he was going. Everyone was telling her that. As if she didn't want to! She nodded. ‘You'll come and visit me soon,' he said. ‘I've got this great thing for making lemonade. I'll stock up on flavours in the meantime. Chris can come too and we'll have a party.'

Claire tried to smile but it went all wobbly. She wished he would stay and just go on talking. It seemed so long since they'd had a proper conversation. Years. And now he was going and he hadn't even kissed her.

‘Hey,' Jim said, coming back over. ‘Give me a glimpse of those pearlies.' It was an old joke between them. She smiled in spite of herself. He bent down and kissed her forehead. Claire clung to her father, not wanting to let him go.

When he had gone she lay back with closed eyes, mourning for Hugh, remembering him that last day forlornly watching herself and Sheena through the kitchen window. And Eddie. His last words to her? She wished with all her heart she could remember.

In the middle of July Claire went with the McArdles on their summer vacation to the seaside. She sat in the back of the Rover with Ruthie and Sheena, quiet and withdrawn, dreading the moment of arrival at the bungalow.

The previous week her father had rung and asked her over to his flat. Annette was convinced that Jim was living with the woman who had ousted her and strongly condemned any association with the enemy. Longing to accept, Claire had hesitated, but in the end had braved her mother's displeasure and gone. It had been a pleasant visit. Her father had cooked up rashers and sausages and bought in a chocolate cake.

‘I'm on flexitime this week,' he told her when she asked how he had found time to shop. ‘I go to work at eight and finish at two.'

Claire felt sudden jealousy for his new way of life. Why couldn't he have arranged his life this way for them? Paradoxically, he had abandoned his family in order to become like other fathers.

‘This bothers you?' Jim asked.

She had not known what to say.

‘You think I've selfishly gone off and left you?'

‘I didn't say that,' she managed at last to get out.

‘You don't have to.' He sighed. ‘In some ways I wish to God I hadn't left but there seemed no other way. Was no other way.'

‘You said it was only for six months,' she reminded him, almost accusingly, although she had never really believed in it herself.

‘I suppose it was wishful thinking,' her father admitted.

Claire had suddenly hated the woman, whoever she was. It was all her fault, she thought miserably. She had come between her parents at a time when their marriage was too shaky to withstand her, when Annette was too sad and dispirited to fight back or even recognise the danger. If only the baby hadn't died, Claire thought.

‘You have your life ahead of you to do with what you want, Claire,' her father had said as he kissed her goodbye. ‘Don't forget that. You'll be cleverer than we were. You won't allow anything to spoil it.'

Claire glanced out at the passing landscape and blinked away easy tears. It seemed her life was already spoiled.

The holiday site was unchanged, the local people as friendly as ever, although now their warmth was tinged with pity. Nobody wanted to be the first to say anything but expressed their sympathy in gruff throat-clearings and lowered glances. Jane was aware of the warm tide of feeling but elected not to give them the opening they sought.