What Have I Done? (22 page)

‘Do you, Kathryn Gavier, take Mark Brooker to be your lawful wedded husband?’

With breath drawn, tongue poised and words ready, it was as if an unseen force had placed magic on her lips. She had to fight to say it, struggle to get the response out that the vicar, Mark and the assembled congregation had waited her whole life to hear… If only she had let the magic do its work and not fought so strongly to utter the two syllables that would alter the course of her life forever.

Stacey left for her daily stroll on the beach and Kate sauntered into the kitchen.

‘Coffee?’ Natasha stood at the countertop and raised the cafetière in the direction of her friend.

‘Mmmn… Please.’

‘How’s she doing?’

‘Worrying about the future and starting to think about going home.’

‘Well, those are good signs, aren’t they?’

‘Yes. When she’s ready. I don’t want her to rush into anything.’

‘You’ll miss her, won’t you?’

Kate nodded. Yes she would, she would miss her greatly. She smiled at her mate, acknowledging the unspoken words, the dangers of getting too close.

Kate understood the bond between Stacey and Nathan as those who are fortunate to know the love of a trusted sibling or best friend do. Kate knew that no matter how much time passed, she would always dearly love
her
best friend. The day Natasha had turned up unannounced at the prison was one she would never forget. The memory would, however, always
be tinged with the bitter disappointment that her unexpected visitor hadn’t been one of the kids…

‘Oi! Daydreamer!’

Natasha’s shout pulled her back into the present.

‘I was saying that I’m struggling a bit with Tanya. A great girl, really open to my suggestions and seems happy enough, but I kind of get the feeling that she is going through the motions and saying what she thinks will please me, but not truly opening up. Classic closed-in state of the abused.’

‘What can I do to help?’

Kate was as usual looking for a way to ease the path of her latest charge.

‘Oh, nothing different. She’ll open up when she’s ready. I mean, look at Stacey. It took her months. And of course she’s a different kettle of fish, a victim and not a perpetrator, plus she has a brilliant network of support, which means in the long term her prospects of full recovery are good. With Tanya it’s different; we have to be careful. She’s fragile, Kate, more than most. I’m not fooled for one second by that sunny smile or the indifferent shrug; there’s a lot going on in that pretty head.’

‘I know what you mean, Tash. We should pick it up with Janeece.’

‘Good idea.’ Tash nodded.

‘Does she ever mention her mother?’

‘Couple of times, but no real revelation. She occasionally drops her name in passing, usually associated with a memory. I find she wants to talk more about the sea; she’s fascinated by it. Her pictures are quite dark and nearly always with some water theme – the sea or just blocks of black and blue.’

Both noted the bruise analogy.

‘I can’t work out if it’s just because the ocean is new and exciting or whether she is subconsciously looking for a way to
escape, sail off into the sunset, quite literally. There’s a piece she is working on that I find a little unsettling…’

‘What is it?’

‘It’s the sea again, but with a skeleton arm coming up and breaking the surface. Lots of black as is usual in her work but it’s almost Gothic, with horror undertones. I don’t think her memories or associations with water are good.’

‘Doesn’t sound like it. What will you do?’

‘I’ll see how it progresses; get her to interpret it for me, a number of things. Sometimes it’s enough that it’s been put down on paper, almost like exorcising the bad thoughts. It’s similar to having someone to talk to, getting all that dark stuff out into the open so that you don’t carry it around.’

‘Has she told you about the ex-boyfriend?’ Kate was curious.

‘A bit. He sounds like a total shit,
comme toujours
. She mentioned he was a dealer, but quickly checked herself, she’s still not confident in how much she should reveal. It amazes me how these bastards seem to have some kind of sixth sense that enables them to seek out girls that are needy, vulnerable, and they know exactly how to exploit it. How do men do that?’

Kate hunched her shoulders inward.

‘I guess because some girls let them…’

‘Oh God, Kate, I didn’t mean you!’

Natasha slapped her own forehead in mock reprimand.

‘It’s fine, Tash. It’s fine, really. And you are right, it’s important for girls like Tanya to know that they are not alone. It can happen to any woman, even one like me!’

‘Top up?’ Natasha once again lifted the coffee pot.

Kate raised her mug before dropping it loudly on the table. Coffee drops scattered rain-like as the china crashed and split into pieces.

‘God, that made me jump! What was that?’

A motorbike roared into view, its deafening engine powering it up the drive.

‘I can’t say exactly, but I can predict that it’s a new Mr Someone in whose arms Tanya can forget – and he has a
very
large motorbike!’

Kate placed her head in her hands.

‘Oh that’s great, just what we need, a rebel without a cause.’

‘Kate, you worry too much. It might be good for her, a little diversion. Mind, you have to give it to the girl, she’s a fast worker. How long has she been here?’

‘Nearly three weeks.’

‘Blimey, we’ve been here years and not so much as a sniff!’

‘Speak for yourself. I got propositioned at the fish market a couple of weeks ago, by an octogenarian with a customised scooter and a fancy for gurnard!’

‘Bloody hell, you dark horse. What did you say?’ Natasha squealed, reminding Kate of her sister in their teens.

‘I said no.’

‘You’re kidding me! Are you mad? Customised-scooter-driving, gurnard-wielding octogenarians are fairly thin on the ground in these parts.’

‘I know. I did, however, manage to resist. Although to be honest, Tash, even if it had been Mr Clooney himself with whitebait for two I’d have said no. I’ve got enough to think about.’

‘Did you get his number?’

‘NO! I’ve told you, not interested.’

‘Not for you, you dozy cow, for me!’

The two laughed as they mopped coffee into paper towels and retrieved the scattered slivers of china. Kate thought how lovely it was to break a mug without breaking sweat, knowing that she would not be ‘punished’ later for this accidental misdemeanour.

The kitchen door opened to reveal Tanya with a flush to her cheeks and her hair perfectly tousled. She looked beautiful.

‘Hello you, what was that mighty roar? Have you been on a motorbike? If yes, I hope you wore a proper hat thing.’

Kate was aware that her tone was a little too censorial, but it was difficult. She wanted Tanya to hook up with a boy who would do the right thing, treat her properly. Anyone who would roar off without seeing her safely through the door or introducing himself was already falling short of Kate’s exacting standards. It was difficult for her not to apply Mountbriers etiquette.

Kate felt a huge sense of responsibility towards all the residents who had come under her care; her biggest battle was to remain objective. She could only look at Tanya’s new beau in clichéd terms: an unsuitable boy, a member of the wrong crowd, trouble waiting to happen.

‘Thanks, but I’m a big girl, Kate. I’ve told him to get me a helmet.’ She rolled her eyes skywards.

‘Oh good. It’s just that apart from being illegal not to wear a helmet, the roads around here are winding and unpredictable. I want you to be safe.’

‘Yes. Winding and unpredictable, understood. Can I go now?’

‘Of course you can go, Tanya. I’m only trying to show you how dangerous it is and to take an interest in your new friend. It would be good if he came in to say hello next time he collected or dropped you off.’

‘Err… don’t think so, that would be too weird!’

‘I worry about you, Tanya. This is all new for you and I want you to take things slowly.’

‘No, that’s not what you mean at all, Kate. You don’t want me to be happy. You want me to sit around feeing miserable
and still broken like Tracey or whatever her bloody name is, so that you can be the great fixer and feel slightly better about your shitty life. That’s why you do this, isn’t it?’

Kate’s response was measured.

‘Oh, Tanya, I wish that were true. I wish that by helping you and the others I could heal myself, but sadly, no, it doesn’t quite work like that.’

Tanya covered her face with her palms, speaking through the gaps in her slender fingers.

‘Oh God, Kate, I’m sorry. I don’t know why I said that. I didn’t mean it!’

‘Tanya, it’s okay. I am really rather chuffed that you can say exactly what you think. Goodness me, when you arrived a few weeks ago, you would have nodded and agreed to just about anything. You’ve come a long way in a very short space of time.’

‘It’s just that I’m not used to anyone being nice to me and I think any comment is going to lead to a fight, so I tend to get my side in first.’

‘I understand, Tanya. Don’t worry. I don’t want it mentioned again.’

Tanya looked thoughtful and a little sheepish as she trod the stairs to her room.

Natasha had been silently observing from behind the breakfast bar.

‘You are remarkable, do you know that?’

Kate raised an eyebrow by way of reply, wishing beyond wish that it was Lydia she had been reprimanding.

It was Kate’s turn to cook while Tom held court in the Lobster Pot, as he did every Tuesday evening, the open mic night
providing an excuse for him to play to an unpaying crowd. Natasha had gone to a fine art and sculpture seminar in Truro and Kate served dinner to the girls. She dug the spoon deep into the fish pie. Steam rose from the fractured brown crust of buttery mashed potatoes.

Tanya wrinkled her nose.

‘You don’t know that you don’t like it until you try it, Tanya.’

‘I didn’t say a bloody word!’

‘You didn’t have to.’ Kate laughed. ‘You did your nose-wrinkling thing.’

‘Well I think it looks lovely, Kate,’ Stacey piped up.

Kate smiled at her, always sweet, gracious and positive.

‘Okay, Mrs Suck-Up! God, you’d eat poop pie if Kate made it!’

Tanya’s retort was biting and predictable.

Kate didn’t comment. She had enough experience to know that interrupting warring youths was never a good idea. A pang of grief scraped at her chest and spread throughout her body. She used to think you could only grieve for people long gone, but she now knew that it was possible to grieve for a time long gone, more specifically a moment in time, when her own children had been under her wing, squabbling at her table.

She missed cooking for the kids; there was something quite primal in the preparing and cooking of food for your offspring. It was one of a thousand comforting daily rituals that had marked her life for so many years. Sometimes she would recall a chubby hand resting in her palm, a sticky face lifted skywards awaiting a kiss, or the smell of a fragrant bay-scented scalp, and her tears would pool. Her babies, long gone. The role she fulfilled for these girls was multi-faceted: she was counsellor, protector and guardian, but never mother, even when the barriers were down and hope was at its strongest. Having never
had children, Natasha would smile across the table when these tense exchanges occurred; it was the closest she came to living in a challenging family environment.

Tanya forked a mouthful of the pie into her mouth and now felt fully qualified to talk with authority.

‘I don’t like fish pie.’

She folded her arms across her chest like a petulant toddler.

Kate looked at her stern face.

‘Well that’s fine, Tanya,’ she sang, as she removed Tanya’s plate from in front of her and deposited the contents into the pedal bin. ‘You can jolly well starve.’

Kate was happy to wave the girls off for the evening, Stacey to a movie in the village hall and Tanya to the pub, to mock Tom’s vocal efforts no doubt. It was a luxury to have the house to herself. She poured a large glass of plonk and turned on the sitting room lamps. Cosy. She was alone and happy with the idea of an uninterrupted few hours, a chance to gather her thoughts. When Mark was alive, evenings had been the worst part of the day as the threat of bedtime loomed ever closer. Now, however, it was her time, and the thrill of knowing that a peaceful night lay ahead had not lessened over the years.

Down at the pub, at the clanging of the bell and the gathering of swilled glasses, the bar had gone from crowded to empty in a matter of minutes. Drunken revellers had been cast into the real world, where the air still carried the lingering warmth of a blissful summer day. It was one of those days when night would never truly fall. A light glow persisted, offering a peek at the morning that hovered in the distance.

Tom had been in full flow, his mouth organ twittering out shanties and tunes. Even those not native to Penmarin, who
didn’t know the ancient rhymes and lyrics, had participated through foot stomping and clapping. It had been a golden night, one to remember.

Tanya loitered at the end of the bar. Her red hair fell over her shoulder as her head lolled to one side. She gripped the motorbike helmet under her arm, the biker’s first and last present to her. She was ready for her ride home.

Rodney grinned at her as he gulped the remains of his single malt. She was gorgeous and for once it wasn’t his beer goggles that gave her that irresistible edge; she had been drawing his gaze since he first saw her. If he was being honest, he liked the idea of the rough diamond that wouldn’t be looking for romance and whispered exchanges. He would take a guess that her usual beau was sparing with the chocolates, corsages and Moët. This would be easy.

‘A good night?’

‘I’ve had better.’ She smiled.

He liked her confident banter, not like some of the dozy tarts who hung around, laughing at his every word, dreaming of living in the big house or at the very least hoping for a day trip on his yacht. Her cutting repartee told him all he needed to know: this was no-strings fun. He had let the pot boy and barmaid go early, almost as if clearing the stage for this long awaited performance. Perfect.