I stop and stare up at the sky, trying to stem the overflow of tears that are about to spill out at any given moment. The setting sun gives off an easy, coppery glow and I enjoy basking in its warmth, if only for the briefest time. I should do this more often. There are so many sights and places of interest round here and I haven’t seen any of them. My head has been so full of plans and worry and heartache that I’ve forgotten how to live.
I allow myself one small thought that once I’m reunited with my parents, we will take in the sights together. They will show me around the town, let me know where the best restaurants are; perhaps even give me an idea of where I should start applying for jobs. Everything will be fine. That’s my dream. Everything will turn out okay. It has to. I have too much riding on it. I’ve given up everything to come here. Everything. The least they can do is be half decent human beings and accept me. I refuse to consider any other possibilities.
I head back to my flat. I’ll come back first thing in the morning and try again. At some point, I will catch them in. At some point we will all be reunited. And then the real fun will begin.
London
12
Gareth
It’s madness. He knows it for sure, but something keeps driving Gareth on. This isn’t like him. Spontaneity isn’t in his nature. Perhaps it was the medic’s words. There was certainly something about them. It was the way she spoke about retribution and revenge that got to him. It stirred his soul and made him feel that the effort this will take will all be worth it in the end. He could have listened to his inner rational voice and walked away, he could have kept on fighting the overwhelming feelings of sickness that washed over him every time he thought about Eva, but he didn’t. For the first time ever, he went with his gut feelings and reacted in a way he never has before. For all of his life, he has tried to do the right thing, follow the rules, be the good person that none of his family ever were, but the time has come for change. The time has come for him to develop a backbone and face up to it. It involves him deeply – this secret. This information that was denied to him has now surfaced and almost wrecked his life and it’s about time his family faced up to their mistakes. It’s about time they admitted their guilt and apologised. He was going to stay away, to leave his mother to rot in her own little pocket of self-made misery, but why should he? What she did was unforgivable. He has a right to know. And if he had known then maybe none of this would have happened. Forewarned is forearmed, and he wasn’t. He was ignorant and unwittingly stumbled into a complete mess that almost wrecked his life.
Gareth reaches into his pocket for some loose change and buys a coffee, wincing as he takes a gulp of the steaming hot liquid. It’s going to be a long night. He’ll need plenty more of them to keep him going; a constant stream of caffeine to keep him awake and alert, to stop his mind from drifting and straying from what it is he is about to do. He is on his way and has to face it head on.
Gareth sits forward and stares around, his eyes narrowed against the trail of hot steam that billows up from the rim of the cup as he takes another sip. Only a couple of other passengers are scattered around him, which is good. He expected it to be packed but as it is, he is sitting on his own in a half empty carriage. No need to avert his gaze when his eyes inadvertently lock with somebody else’s, no need to listen to one sided telephone conversations, no need to fight for seats. All of these things are positives. And it’s warm and dry, which is more than can be said for his clothes at this moment in time. He is still drenched from the earlier deluge.
Standing up, Gareth wriggles out of his coat and gives it a shake, before folding it neatly and placing it in the overhead compartment. Sitting down, he rests his head back, thinking how unlike him this unplanned journey is. He is usually methodical, enjoying the familiarity of his daily routine, and yet this impulsive decision sends a frisson of excitement through him. He feels empowered by his actions. Even the fact that he won’t be available for work in the morning doesn’t faze him. He’s good at his job. No, he’s better than good. He’s bloody brilliant at what he does and has never missed a day so far. They will have to manage without him. He’ll ring in sick first thing in the morning. It will kill him, having to lie, but there are worse things in life and God knows he should know.
Despite what his friends and colleagues might think or say about him, despite what he has let them think over the years, he hasn’t led the blessed existence they all believe he has. It’s been a struggle. He has worked hard at leaving it all behind him, pretending he is somebody from a different background, somebody better. It helps him forget the past, all the bad stuff that happened. He has done his best to stay focused on his career and work hard. He has made a pretty good job at building up his reputation as somebody who really knows what he is doing. People ask for him specifically. They trust him. Having that sort of reputation hasn’t come easily. He has had to put some real effort in, always going the extra mile, working longer hours, always with a ready smile, and never making mistakes.
And then Eva came along and fucked everything up.
Just when he thought his life was ticking along nicely and he had managed to pile all the nasty memories away, she saunters into his life and drags it all back out again, his seedy secrets and messy history so close to being revealed to the rest of the world it made him sick to his stomach. All his sins on display. The thought of it repulses him. He likes being perceived as being squeaky clean. It makes him feel strong and energised. It makes him feel like somebody else. Somebody who didn’t have his upbringing. Because the truth is, if he could alter the past, he would. He is ashamed of who he is; ashamed of what he was. He has had to work hard at leaving it all behind.
None of his friends know, and he would prefer it stay that way. That’s why he’s making this journey, to see it all for one last time before he turns his back on it and gets on with the rest of his life. She’ll be there. He just knows it. If she isn’t… He shakes his head and stares out at the blur of landscape from the carriage window. She’ll be there. It’s the only place she can have gone to. She’ll be there and when he finds her, he is going to tell her exactly what he thinks of her and her warped little games. He will rid himself of all his demons and return to London cleansed and pure, free from her filthy little clutches.
He rests his head back on the seat and half smiles. They all deserve one another. Shit attracts more shit. The thought of turning up unannounced gives him a warm glow. He tries to visualise their faces, the look of horror and surprise as they open the door to him. For once in his life, he will have the advantage, the balance of power tipped in his favour. He deserves it after all the crap they have given him. He has earned this small piece of happiness.
The landscape passes in a mesh of distorted colours as the train picks up speed. They leave the redbrick buildings of the capital far behind them and rush through the greenery of the surrounding countryside with its vast tracts of neatly hedged farmland and distant crumbling barns and farmhouses.
Gareth sighs, the knots in his locked muscles slowly softening and loosening as the feeling of propulsion lulls him into a state of relaxation. He shuts his eyes and sighs, then opens them again, a sensation so close to a meditative state washing over him that he feels sure he has been drugged. He smiles and takes another swig of his coffee before placing it carefully on the table in front of him. It’s been a long time since he has felt this way. Being uptight and permanently on edge has been part of who he is for so many weeks that it feels good to let it all go, to relax and kick back and not give a shit.
He pulls his phone out, toying with the idea of sending a few pre-emptive messages but thinks better of it. Surprise will be his calling card. It will give him a head start. And God knows, he will need it. He thinks back to the last contact he had and feels a weight of darkness descend. He shrugs it off. He refuses to feel weakened or miserable any more. They have no right to do this to him. He deserves better.
A hot beam of excitement travels through him a
t the thought of seeing the look of shock on their faces. The look of abject horror as he churns out a few home truths. This is better; thoughts that stoke his excitement, set his senses alight. He now has the ability to push the dark memories away. If there is one thing he has learnt from all the crap he endured as a child, it’s how to remain positive in the face of adversity.
He thinks of his childhood home and the scowling faces of his parents. He won’t be there of course. Good. The thought of that old bastard rotting in his grave gives Gareth a warm glow of satisfaction. He runs his hands through his hair, feeling the bumps and small scars there, remembering the nightmares he endured, the terror he felt at the slightest squeak of a floorboard outside his bedroom door and how he would lie under the covers, sweating and shaking, fear and revulsion rippling over and through him.
He remembers one particular time – he can’t have been more than nine or ten – and the rain was lashing the windows, the howling wind battering at the frames, rattling them until he felt sure the glass would shatter into thousands of tiny pieces. He had lain in bed listening to his parents arguing in the room next door, his head buzzing with fear, his stomach taut with sheer apprehension and dread when his bedroom door had burst open, slamming into the wall with such a racket he had wet himself, hot sticky urine covering his legs and groin. Seeing the dark patch spread like a blossoming stain on the bed covers, his father had ripped a young, terrified Gareth from his bed and half carried, half dragged him downstairs, roaring at him that he was a filthy, stinking waste of space, before opening the kitchen door and throwing him out into the back yard. Gareth had stayed there for almost an hour in the darkness and the cold while his parents continued their drunken tirade inside and the weather continued its fierce onslaught outside, soaking his young skin through his flimsy pyjamas and freezing him to the bone.
When his mother finally came to collect him and bring him back inside, he was huddled down the side of the old coalhouse, his hair slick with rain, his body shaking violently as he struggled to stay warm in the plunging temperatures and raging wind that howled its way in from the North Sea. It took three days in bed, a prescription for a chest infection and a whole host of lies to teachers and social workers to get over that evening of hell; just one of many.
And then his mother wondered why he refused to attend the old bastard’s funeral. If he could, Gareth would have had the old man carved into tiny pieces and had his remains fed to the seagulls. Even that would have been too good a send-off for him. Gareth hopes he is currently rotting in the fires of hell with Lucifer stoking the furnace beside him.
She had rung Gareth full of woe after it happened, howling down the phone about how lonely she was now she was on her own. Her life choice. She made the decision to stick with her husband all those years, regardless of how badly he behaved. And it was bad. No amount of lapsed time will ever erase the hurt that man caused or repair the damage done to others. A heart attack was too swift. If Gareth had had his way he would have wished a long lingering disease on his father, one that caused pain on a scale too distressing and agonising to register. Then Gareth would have visited, just to see the suffering on the old man’s wizened, puckered face and he would have smiled as his father writhed in agony. Forgiveness, as far as his father’s behaviour is concerned, isn’t on his agenda, and never will be.
He takes another sip of his coffee and swallows it down along with any misgivings he feels at this visit. He’s on his way now, no turning back. He’ll find a half-decent B&B and stay there while he does what has to be done. His mother will try to insist he stays with her. Not a chance. Her complicity in his childhood hell is never far from Gareth’s mind. She allowed it to take place, not even acknowledging his bruises or the trauma he suffered from the beatings he received. She received plenty of her own so should have had an inkling of how it would have affected him; how it affects him still. How it ruined his childhood. How it almost ruined his life. But instead she did nothing. She let it all unfold; the pain and horror that took place in her home. She is as guilty as her husband. If anything, she is worse. She should have protected him, taken care of him, loved him. She did none of those things.
Gareth blinks back unwanted tears and shakes his head, glad of the almost-empty carriage.
She could have left that place. She could have given up the drink and found a new place; somewhere they could have had a new life, free from the fear of violence.
Instead she chose to stay.
The stone sized lump in his throat refuses to shift no matter how loud he coughs or how often he swallows. It’s here to stay, like the memories and the damage from his childhood that he carries about with him, concealed from everybody, hidden too deep for anybody to ever reach. Or so he thought.
He stuffs his hands in his pockets, turning to gaze out of the window at nothing in particular. All of a sudden, the generous swathes of greenery and rushing scenery have lost their appeal. No matter how often he tells himself it’s all behind him, the cracks of his past always seem to have a habit of reappearing if he lets his mind wander or if he dwells on it for too long. The only way it stays firmly in place is if he doesn’t think. Work has been his sanctuary for so long, personal thoughts have been pushed down to the deepest reaches of his mind, exactly where he likes them. Until Eva came along, that is. Stupid Eva, unearthing what should have stayed buried.
He slumps down in the seat wishing he had bought a beer instead of coffee. It’s going to be a long night with a change at York and finding somewhere to stay for the night before he finishes the last leg of his journey in the morning. Christ almighty, this trip had better be worth it.
By the time he gets to York city centre he is exhausted. It’s after midnight and while he was on the train he managed to book a small, functional hotel not too far from the station. After grabbing a sandwich and a drink from a vending machine, he flags down a taxi, already dreaming of hot showers and a soft, warm bed to fall into.
‘Spending a few days shopping, are you?’
Gareth stares into the narrow strip of mirror at the taxi driver’s eyes as they pull out of the station and swing out onto the surprisingly busy road given the lateness of the hour.
‘Business,’ Gareth replies and turns to stare out of the window. He’s too tired for conversation, too deep in thought and too downright fucking miserable to bother replying. All he wants is that hotel room, a soft bed and a spectacularly hot shower to rid him of the day’s filth.
Turns out the reality of the room isn’t quite as comfortable as his dream, but it has hot running water and somewhere to lay his head for the night. The last thing that runs through his mind before sleep whisks him off to a place of peace is Eva; her face, her voice, the look on her face when he told her exactly what he thought of her that final evening. The evening that she eventually told him. That one hurt. He actually had deep feelings for her that he has never felt for anybody else. And then she went and ruined it with her words.
Turning over, the cheap mattress creaking under his weight, he silently thanks her for finally giving him the courage to do what he should have done all those years ago, for helping him to grasp the nettle and face the past. He allows himself a small smile before falling into a deep and welcome slumber.
13
Celia
The dash for the train after over sleeping puts her on the wrong foot for the rest of the day. By the time Celia purchases her ticket and finds a seat, tiny crystals of perspiration sit at the base of her hairline and her armpits are damp. She slumps down opposite a businessman who glances her way with a certain amount of scorn before turning away and returning to his laptop, tip tapping away methodically, the noise a sudden source of irritation to her.
Her face reddens and her body heat continues to rise until she manages to wriggle out of her coat, glad of the cool breeze from the vent close to where she is seated. She lets out a long, drawn out breath. The sooner she gets there the better. There are times when she could quite easily throttle E
va. She has spent so long looking out for her, being happy for her through the good times, crying with her through the bad, that it feels as if he has spent her entire life looking out for her, guiding her through every single event. Will it ever end? She bites her lip and idly nibbles at a loose piece of skin and thinks probably not. Especially given the way Eva is. She rests her head back and closes her eyes, already drained despite how early it is. The way Eva is. Such a phrase. Words that cover everything and mean nothing. Unless you know Eva. Then you would understand.
Celia twists herself into a more comfortable position and enjoys the chug of movement as the train sets off out of the station. It lulls her into a state of near sleep, the smooth pull of the engine having an immediate soporific effect on her weary body.
A long-since-forgotten memory forces itself into her sluggish thoughts. She and Eva as teenagers, Eva the younger of the two by six months. Celia had bragged about it for weeks; hitting the big thirteen before Eva did. It gave her a strange sense of satisfaction being the older one, knowing she entered this world half a year before Eva did. She had no idea why it gave her such a buzz but when your world was as small and difficult as theirs was back then, you feel the need to cling onto even the tiniest of victories.
Eva had been with Greta for quite a while by the time Celia arrived, terrified and unsure of the dynamics of the place she would now call home. She spent many a sleepless night wondering where she fitted into her new family, how she should behave, what the rules were, what their general routine was. Celia’s biological family didn’t have any kind of routine worth speaking of so finding out that Greta set the table for breakfast every morning complete with a jug of fresh orange juice and plates piled high with hot buttered toast and scrambled eggs, was like stepping through the gates of heaven with a one-way ticket. No screaming arguments, no rooting around through a sea of stinking, unwashed laundry to find clothes that weren’t stained and didn’t smell as if they had been dragged through ditchwater, while her mother stumbled around the kitchen, bleary eyed and smelling like a brewery.