The Game Changer (5 page)

Once she had finished at Ocean House, driving home across the
city, with the sun shining and autumn crispness in the air, Kate had looked at the myriad shades of the leaves and made up her mind to go for a run at some point that day. Now, unable to think clearly, she felt that a run was exactly the right thing to do, and within ten minutes, she had changed into her gear, the town-hall clock striking midday. At that time, it was relatively laidback in Ranelagh. Children were at school, the commuter traffic had eased, but there was still a bustling hub of village life. The cafés seemed endlessly full, and with the Luas stop only metres from the centre, people coming and going gave the impression of a transient, somewhat cosmopolitan community.

As she headed in the direction of Palmerston Park, the rhythm of her movements got steadier the further up Palmerston Road she went. Part of the footpath was still damp from a shower half an hour earlier and, as if she was a child again, she went out of her way to find pockets of dry leaves that she could crunch – she remembered stomping from one leaf to the next on her way to school.

Before reaching the park she turned left onto Cowper Road, taking a right at the T-junction at Merton Avenue, then ran on to Springfield Road. Their apartment was only a few minutes from her old home, but it had been a long time since she had passed the house. Perhaps it was because of the dreams that she wanted to see her old home again, or maybe it was connecting with Malcolm after all this time, especially his inclination to talk about things that had happened years before. It was only natural, she supposed, for him to enjoy revisiting old times, like friends who hadn’t seen each other for years reliving events they had shared. However, their last conversation had caused her to reflect. There had been a sharp slant to his words when he spoke about her father that she hadn’t noticed before. She realised that, even though she was a grown woman, she still looked up to him – not, as she had originally thought, like an older brother, but as some kind of surrogate father figure. She found herself unwilling to contradict or challenge him, behaving with a level of shyness, indicative of
how she had been as a child. She had always thought that Malcolm and her father were close, but something had been bubbling below the surface, she was sure of it. She increased her pace: suddenly, getting to the house seemed more important than ever. She was breathless when she arrived, not realising she had pushed herself so hard. She stood on the opposite side of the road, not wanting to encroach on the family living there.

There were no cars in the drive, and her mind drifted to when she and her friends had played chasing out the front. She had been an only child, which had meant the company of others outside the house was often far more interesting and nicer than that inside. She had hated those afternoons when the atmosphere felt hostile and threatening, and although she had made peace with her father long before his death, there were emotional bonds that could never be rebuilt in adulthood. That was partly why she understood how hard it was for Addy to accept Adam. These things took time, but time couldn’t cure everything.

Leaning back against the railings, she stared at the stone walls of her old home, thinking about her father, what an angry man he could be. Her mother hadn’t encouraged his behaviour, or in the early years tried to avert it. At some point, though, during Kate’s late teens, her father had withdrawn into himself, and the angry outbursts had subsided. She had asked her mother about it, but all she ever said was that people could change once they had the right motivation. Kate used to wonder about his name too. Valentine, symbolising love, although at times he was certainly a far cry from that.

Lost in thought, she didn’t notice an old woman out walking her dog until they were close upon her, and all of a sudden, Kate felt self-conscious about staring at someone else’s house. Let them pass, she told herself, but the nearer they got to her, she saw that the dog, a dachshund, was readying itself to attack. With its short legs and elongated body, it pulled hard on the lead, snarling, its lips drawn back, showing its teeth. She reminded herself, he’s on a lead,
but even so, she pulled in closer to the railings. What if the woman couldn’t control the dog? What if it was too strong for her? And as if the animal sensed her fear, it barked loudly, menacingly.

‘Stop it, Roger,’ the woman roared, pulling the lead shorter. Kate didn’t move, waiting for the dog and its owner to walk on. Her heart was thumping, her palms were sweaty and the skin around her ankle tingled. Pull yourself together, she told herself, it’s only a dog, but the fear was almost palpable. Something similar had happened to her during a previous conversation with Malcolm. He had mentioned the way her father used to flick his keys from one hand to the other. She hadn’t been able to work out why the flash of memory upset her. Now, looking at the house again, she wondered if any of that old stuff was worth obsessing about. She was happy, wasn’t she? Why couldn’t she forget the past, move on? She bit her bottom lip. Meeting Malcolm after all this time had intensified her questions about the year she was attacked, when she was twelve; even though she repeated in her mind the words she had said to herself many times,
Let it go
.

It was only after she had decided to start back home that she noticed a curtain move in one of the front windows of her old house, that of her parents’ bedroom. It happened so quickly that she wasn’t sure if she had imagined it. On the spur of the moment she crossed the road, opened the small wrought-iron gate and walked up to the front door, now painted a bright canary yellow. She rang the doorbell, and waited.

She thought about the dog again, its jaws ready to tear at her skin, as she stood back to check for any more movement inside, wondering if this was such a good idea after all. Like earlier, when she had detoured to run this way, the desire to walk around the rooms that held her past was immediate and strong. She told herself people were sympathetic about such things, and although she knew it was a long shot, she also knew that it was important to her to be inside the house.

When the door wasn’t answered on the second ring, she stepped
back once more. What was it about the house that was unsettling her? Why did she have the feeling that she was being watched? She turned, looking behind her, but other than some passing cars, the street was empty. She rang the doorbell a third time. Again, there was no response, and reluctantly she was forced to walk away. It was only as she opened the gate to leave, and turned to look at the house for the last time that she realised the sensation of being watched had been with her ever since she had crossed the road. Could someone be watching her from inside?

Beethoven’s Symphony No 5, Op. 67 (first movement) was playing at low volume from the sound system. It was a recent favourite of the Game Changer, adding greater energy to the completion of records, player evaluations, progress reports, prescribed readings, seminar content and confidential material under the 20 Steps to Self-enlightenment Programme.

EVEN THOUGH IT HAD BEEN A WEEK SINCE LILY’S arrival, Sarah worried that everything must feel so strange and new to her. Yet, she was being so good, never crying or making a fuss. Cuddling her close to her chest, Sarah told her about the box of baby clothes at the bottom of the wardrobe. Part of her knew Lily was too young to understand what she was saying, but she hoped she could sense how happy her mother was, and how much she loved her.

‘The clothes have been waiting for you, Lily,’ she murmured, ‘waiting for you to come home.’

Laying Lily in the centre of the bed, she said, ‘Mummy will get you dressed in something nice. Mummy understands that all of this is very new for you. It must have been so dark and scary inside that cardboard box. You had to travel a very long distance on your own, but you’re not alone now, and that makes Mummy very happy.’

The doll stared at her, but Sarah didn’t mind, energised, rummaging through the clothes, trying to decide on the right outfit. It was the first time she had opened the box of baby clothes in years, and as she felt their softness, a sharp pain hit her in the chest as she thought of all the joy that had been taken from her. She remembered picking out each and every item as if it had happened last week, not five years earlier. None of that darkness mattered now. What mattered, she told herself, was that, at long last, her darling Lily was with her.

Before removing the white Babygro, Sarah checked the radiators were hot enough in the room. She didn’t want Lily to catch a chill. Gently manoeuvring the clothes off the doll’s arms and legs, even though she was all fingers and thumbs, she kept telling Lily how
much she had missed her, and that Mummy would never let her go away again. It didn’t take long to change Lily into her coming-home clothes, the ones she’d never had a chance to wear, the ones with the clowns and the bright primary colours. John had said it looked more like an outfit for a boy than a girl, but that was part of his conditioning too, blue for a boy, pink for a girl. He probably wanted Lily to wear something with a princess on the front – more nonsense that the world used to warp thoughts.

After Lily was dressed, Sarah wrapped her in a cream blanket, holding her close and sitting on the rocking chair. It felt completely natural to open her blouse and snuggle Lily to her right breast. At first, she was unresponsive, but then Sarah got that tingling sensation, and they both relaxed some more. Soon Lily closed her eyes, falling into sleep. Sarah waited a long time before moving. When she stood up, the rocking chair creaked but, thankfully, the sound didn’t wake Lily as she took her into her bed.

Sarah knew John wouldn’t be happy about Lily being in their bed. He’d say Sarah was starting a bad habit and that she should be putting the baby in her cot. As if any of that nonsense mattered. Nobody ever said they wished they hadn’t held or loved their baby quite so much. They said the very opposite. Lily could sleep with her for as long as she wanted to. She would try her in the Moses basket later on, in case she preferred it. It was in the storage cupboard downstairs. She would put the cot together too. John’s tools were in the garage. It shouldn’t be too hard to follow the instructions.

John had wanted to get rid of everything, to pretend Lily had never existed, that her life hadn’t happened. Sarah wasn’t having any of that, not any more. Her love was too strong. It was the pain of trying to hide it that messed up her head. You had to be a mother to understand these things. Her life had changed the moment Lily was born. Nothing would ever be the same – she didn’t want it to be.