Chapter 13
I am standing in Josh’s little apartment, wearing one of Josh’s sweaters over my soggy dress. A fresh towel is draped over my shoulders, my hair rubbed as dry as I can get it and now hanging in a shaggy tangle down my back. He is making us both a coffee while I use his landline.
Every time Rose and I tried to call Lyssa back on our mobiles we got cut off, so now we have retreated inside. Rose is standing in the little living area, looking fretful, her boots tapping on the floor as I dial.
Lyssa answers and for once the connection holds. Her voice sounds shaky and faint as she says hello, as though even one word is too much effort. I feel a sense of dread build in my stomach. “It’s Lucy. Are you okay? How can we help?”
There is a pause and I realise that she is crying. I hear the background snuffle as she holds her phone away, and can picture her trying to pull herself together.
“Ummm… no, I’m not really okay. I’m so sorry to bother you. I’ve been so stupid, and I shouldn’t have come, and?—”
“Lyssa, it’s all right. Stop apologising. Take a deep breath. Do it with me – in for four, out for six.”
I’d normally go for eight out, but she doesn’t seem like she has it in her.
I count her in and out and repeat it a couple of times, realising that this is helpful for me as well as her. Knowing that she would do it when she was told to – because she is used to doing as she’s instructed.
When we’re finished, I say: “Well done. Now, where are you? Are you with the children?”
“Yes, they’re here – Eleanor and Alfie are asleep. Hugh is… um, I don’t know what he’s doing. I let him use his iPad even though it’s after seven and he’s supposed to be banned from it after seven.”
She sounds worried by this, by the fact that she has broken a rule. I completely understand the root of that deep-seated anxiety, but the more distracted she gets, the longer it will take to help her.
“That doesn’t matter now, Lyssa. Where are you?”
“I don’t really know! We were coming to see Rose. She sent pictures and it looked magical, and the kids really wanted to visit, and Robert left for a conference in Geneva this morning, and… oh I don’t know what I was thinking! I just started driving! But we couldn’t find you, and we’ve been on the road for so long, and I’m so tired, and the little light that says we’re almost out of petrol came on ages ago and now I’m driving on fumes, and the car started to make a funny noise.”
Josh passes me a coffee mug and I mouth a silent “thank you”. He’s changed into a plain white T-shirt and Levi’s and still manages to look like he’s in a movie.
“That’s okay, Lyssa, don’t worry. But we need to have an idea of where you are right now, so we can come and get you. Do you have satnav in the car, or can you use your phone?”
“Yes, both, but they couldn’t find Starshine Cove – they said it didn’t even exist! I was probably using it wrong, or maybe I didn’t put the right details in… and my phone’s almost out of battery and I left in a rush and didn’t bring the charger. I’m such an idiot.”
“No, you’re not. It’s a thing, apparently – lots of people have trouble finding this place and it’s not on any maps either. But can you switch the engine on and see if the satnav tells you your location? And is there anything nearby that’s a landmark?”
I hear the engine come to life, and wait while she looks.
“It just says I’m on an unnamed road near the A35… but I passed a little retail park place a while ago. There was a sign for a McDonald’s and Hugh got excited, but I’d already gone past the turning, and then there was the petrol, and then I thought I’d better stop because I’m just so tired, Lucy, I felt like I was going to fall asleep at the wheel.”
“I can imagine. Now look – if your phone is going to run out, I need to ask you a few more questions. How long ago was the retail park? And do you know which direction you’re travelling in? Can you see anything else, any signs?”
“I passed one for Lyme Regis just before I turned off into a side road. It said it was twenty-something miles away. And there was one of those signs for a picnic area, and maybe a place called something-hill that started with a B?”
I am relieved when I hear this – because that all means that she is nearby. I was worried that she was halfway to Land’s End and there wouldn’t be anything we could do.
“And are you in a safe place?” I ask. “You’re not in oncoming traffic, or anywhere risky?”
“Erm… no, I don’t think so. It’s just a little road with a lay-by. There are no other cars around. And no street lights… and it’s a bit scary to be honest. Should I try and walk somewhere and look for help, or see if I can get more petrol? There’s got to be somewhere on the main road.”
“No, don’t do that, Lyssa – it’s getting late, and you’re exhausted, and you can’t leave the kids on their own, can you? Sit tight. Carry on with the deep breaths. Turn off your phone for now. I think you’re only a few miles away, and I’m going to come and get you, all right? Don’t leave the car. I will find you, I promise.”
She sounds tearful again as she hangs up, and I can’t say that I blame her – she’s pregnant, alone with three kids, tired after driving for hours, lost in a strange place and out of petrol. One of the side effects of her marriage to Robert will also be that she doesn’t feel capable of doing anything on her own now – whatever sense of independence she had, however capable she might once have been, will feel like a distant memory. It makes me furious, and I clamp my lips shut so I don’t swear out loud. Inside is a different matter – the mental air turns blue.
“Is she all right?” asks Rose, chewing on her lip around the words.
“Yes. She’s fine – but she’s out of gas and we need to find her. Josh, I hate to ask, but could you maybe drive us out to have a look? I feel totally sober now, but technically I’m over the limit… and, um, I don’t have a car either, now I come to think about it.”
“Yes, of course. Did she sound like she could drive, if we took a petrol can?”
I smile at him, feeling so grateful for the fact that he has simply agreed to help. No probing questions, no third degree, no conditions. Just a very solid “yes”.
“Lyssa is Rose’s stepmum, by the way, Josh. It’s a complicated situation, and now’s probably not the time to explain it. And no to the driving. She sounded like she was on the edge of losing her shit, to be honest. Be better if we could just collect her. Except there’s four of them, and if we all go there’ll be seven of us.”
“Someone will have a bigger car, and if not we can take the village minibus. We need to consult the oracle.”
“Connie?” I ask, guessing at who he means.
“Connie. She knows everyone, knows everything, and tends to know what people need even before they do.”
He’s right, of course – Connie will know what to do, and probably the exact road that Lyssa is parked on. We make our way down the iron staircase at the side of his little home, and back towards the marquee.
Inside, the party is in full swing – the ceilidh band has been replaced by a DJ, and the place is packed with people agreeing with The Mavericks and dancing the night away. Katie is going full on, pogo-ing to the chorus, along with Connie’s son, Dan, and a few other teenagers. I see Priya and Martin at a table, one drowsy daughter on each of their laps, holding hands between their chairs.
Ella and Jake are nowhere in sight and have presumably snuck away as she said they were planning to do.
I spot Connie dancing with her father-in-law, George, in an old-fashioned ballroom hold, swaying around the floor in a stately shuffle. The song comes to a close, and I take the opportunity to walk towards her. I explain as quickly as I can, and despite the fact that she has clearly had somewhere between a small glass and a Nebuchadnezzar, she quickly grasps the situation and tells me to leave it with her.
Rose still seems stressed, which is understandable, and I lay a hand on her shoulder in reassurance. Josh, at my side, does exactly the same to me, and it makes me smile – there’s a whole lot of comforting going on.
Within minutes, Connie heads back towards us, Archie and Cally in tow. Archie is a huge man – not just tall, but brawny as well – and I have to admit I find him a little intimidating. I have spoken to him a few times, and he is very much the gentle giant, but his physical presence is enough to make me want to take a step back. I always fight it, and maybe one day it won’t even happen. I have no idea if he notices my reaction, and I hope not, because I wouldn’t want him to be offended by it.
He nods at us both, and hands Josh a set of car keys.
“Take mine,” he says. “It’s parked outside the inn, blue Toyota Verso. It’s set up for five at the moment, with a car seat for Meg and a booster for Lilly, but there are two extra seats you can pop up in the back as well. Sorry I can’t drive you, but I’ve been enjoying myself a bit too much.”
Josh takes the keys and thanks him. Connie gives us a few simple directions to where she thinks we’ll find them – the turn-off for Bibbington Hill, a few miles past the retail park – and Cally ask us a few questions about how many guests we’ll be bringing back and their ages. Before we leave I debate asking Rose to stay behind, but I don’t know her half-sibs that well, and I’m sure they’ll be comforted by her presence.
“I know where Connie means,” Josh says, as he adjusts the seating arrangement in Archie’s car. “It’s the road that leads to the hill where they all go sledding at New Year if there’s snow. It’s not far away, don’t worry.”
I thank him, and glance back at Rose as we set off. The car is very much set up for a family with young girls, and I’m sure the extra seats are handy for playdates and parties – it also comes complete with a smattering of plushies, picture books, and abandoned hair accessories. Rose is currently using a bright blue scrunchie she’s found on the back seat to tie her hair up.
We drive in silence, all of us looking out of the windows for the right turning point. Josh is a good driver, calm and competent, his hands firm on the steering wheel and his gaze alert, which helps subdue a little of my tension.
He sees it before we do – which is fair enough as he’s been here before – and hits his flickers before we turn off to the left. Our headlights soon shine over a dark-coloured car that is parked on the lay-by – though parked may be too kind a word for it, as it’s almost diagonal.
We pull in behind it, and as we climb out of the Toyota, Hugh – at least I presume it’s Hugh, I can never tell the twins apart – dashes out of the back seat of their car and throws his arms around Rose. She hugs him back, and scuffs his blond hair, and keeps hold of his hand as Lyssa emerges.
She blinks, dazzled by the headlights, shading her eyes as she takes hesitant steps towards us. I see her nervousness, and say: “It’s us, Lyssa – Lucy and Rose, and this is Josh. He’s a friend. We’re going to take you back to the village, where everyone can have something to eat and drink, and get some rest. How does that sound?”
She edges towards us, her fingers clenched into tight fists, and I see her glance uncertainly at Josh. He nods, says hello in a soft tone, and then gets back into the Toyota, seeming to sense that she will feel better if he is removed from the equation for a minute.
Lyssa looks dreadful. Her usually neat and tidy hair is in disarray, she has lipstick smeared on her teeth, and there’s a coffee stain on the front of her blouse. More than any of that, though, it’s the sheer fatigue that seems to be oozing from her that makes me worry – she looks like she could stumble and fall at any moment. She exudes a bone-deep weariness, and I don’t think it’s just because of today’s ordeal.
The rain has stopped, but it’s left the night air cooler, and she is shivering as she stands before me. She seems to have no idea what to do next.
“Lyssa,” I say firmly, “could you please get Hugh settled in the car? Rose and I will get the others. Do you have any bags in the boot, anything you need us to transfer?”
“Oh… well, no. I didn’t pack any bags. I didn’t think I’d really make it out of London… we have nothing. Nothing at all.”
As that statement starts to sink in and her eyes flare wide open and shining, I quickly reply: “That’s all right. You’re safe now, and we have everything you and the children could need. Shall we all make a move?”
She finally nods, and seems to switch back into mother mode, taking Hugh’s hand and doing as I asked. Rose and I bring the other two – Alfie wakes up and is delighted to see her; Eleanor briefly rouses but does that thing that small children do where she utters a few words that make no sense – in this case “jellybean candles” – and falls straight back to sleep.
I do a quick scout of Lyssa’s car, twist the keys out of the ignition, gather up her handbag, the iPad, her phone. It’s parked badly but won’t be in the way if the road gets busy tomorrow, and we can sort it all out then. I close the doors, lock up, and head back to the Toyota.
We are back at Starshine Cove within twenty minutes, and I hear Lyssa murmur: “We drove past it so many times…” as we turn down towards the inn.
As quickly as we can, we shepherd the whole gaggle towards Kittiwake. Rose is carrying little Eleanor, who is leaning her drowsy head on her shoulder, and the boys are looking the way that boys of their age can – absolutely exhausted but refusing to give in to it until someone takes their batteries out.
The wedding party is still going on, and Lyssa shakes her head when she sees it, putting two and two together and realising what she has dragged us away from.
“I’m so sorry,” she murmurs, wrapping her arms around herself. “I didn’t realise the wedding was today. I didn’t mean to cause so much trouble.”
Josh answers: “Don’t worry about it. Things were dying down anyway.”
Just as he says it, a huge gang of people spill out of the marquee onto the green, doing a demented dance around the canvas to Kylie Minogue’s version of The Loco-Motion. It’s part conga, part line-dance, part communal stagger, with everyone singing along as they go.
I bite back a laugh at the timing, and usher Lyssa through the door to the cottage.
As soon as I’m inside, I see that Connie and Cally and whichever helpful pixies they recruited have already been here. The dining table is covered with an impromptu buffet – some of it brought over from the wedding, which had an ever-revolving variety of food throughout the day. There is a tray of sandwiches, little sausage rolls, a big bowl of pasta salad, and a selection of tiny jellies in individual pots. The rest – cookies, cupcakes and still-warm pizza slices – have clearly been brought over from somebody’s kitchen. I guess Connie’s, when I see that the cookies are very obviously home-made.
There’s a big jug of squash and fresh glasses, and a huge flask of what turns out to be hot chocolate, complete with a selection of marshmallows, cream and sprinkles to add to it. Lyssa simply stares at the feast as though it isn’t real – just a mirage her imagination has conjured up.
“Mummy,” says Eleanor, tugging her hand, “can we eat it? Is it okay?”
That seems to snap her out of her fugue state, and she plasters a smile on her face as she leads all three children over to the table.
“Of course,” she says, picking up paper plates and loading each of them with goodies. “It’s a midnight feast!”
“It’s not midnight, Mum,” says Alfie, scratching his head and yawning.
“Well, it is somewhere, Alfie!” she replies brightly. She is faking it well, but I can hear the faintly shrill undertone. There’s less left in Lyssa’s tank than her car’s, I suspect.
Rose pours the children glasses of juice, and all three of them stand and gulp it all down without pausing. Lyssa can now add “almost dehydrating my children” to her list of self-recrimination.
“Shall we have the feast upstairs?” Rose asks, getting three resounding yesses in return. It’s a good idea, and hopefully it will give me the chance to talk to Lyssa properly and find out what’s happened. I’ve acted, because she clearly needed me to, but I’m still not quite sure what’s going on. She mentioned that Robert had gone to a conference, and a cowardly part of me is glad – I don’t want him showing up here, in this special place, and turning it all sour. I told Lyssa I’d help her, and I will – but that doesn’t mean I’m Superwoman.
Rose and the children start to traipse up the stairs with their plates, sausage rolls and biscuits rolling precariously as they climb. Rose is carrying the jug of squash, and Lyssa has jellies and plastic spoons. I wait until they’ve disappeared, and then turn to Josh, who is leaning against the back of the sofa with his arms folded across his chest. It makes the muscles of his arms pop from beneath his T-shirt sleeves in ways I really shouldn’t notice at a time like this, and I shake my head at my own fickleness.
“I’m going to make a move,” he says, straightening up.
“Hoping you might make it back to the party in time for the Macarena?”
“Ha, I wish – no, I’d better just make sure my dad’s sorted, and then I think I’ll hit the sack. This was… interesting. We packed a lot into one wedding reception.”
I meet his gaze and look straight away again. There is too much going on there. Before Rose came and fetched us, before the mad dash to find Lyssa, we had… a moment. A really lovely moment – one where anything could have happened. But it didn’t, and that moment passed, and really, that’s probably for the best.
Josh is a good man as well as sex on a stick, and I am nothing but poison. Maybe I won’t always be, and, compared to the woman upstairs, I am a beacon of confidence and self-sufficiency – but that is only on the surface. Deep down, I know I’m not ready for anything more than a moment. I am not the kind of woman who gets a happy ending, and Josh is the kind of man who deserves one. Even as I think that, I realise how stupid it is – how much I am denying myself. I am horrible mess of a human, I know, but now is not the time to try and fix that. Now is the time for emotional triage – and helping Lyssa is the priority.
“Thank you,” I reply simply. “For everything. I know this is a weird situation – she’s my ex-husband’s wife, for goodness’ sake – it is weird! And odd and messy and confusing. But… well, it’s more complicated than I have the energy to explain. I’ll just leave it at thank you.”
He smiles a long, slow smile, and I know that he’s figured at least some of it out. There aren’t many explanations, after all. He walks towards me, but keeps a small distance between us.
“You’re welcome,” he says, sounding sincere. “And that’s life, isn’t it? Odd and messy and confusing. I don’t know the whole story, but I know you did a good thing here, tonight, and that’s enough for me. Right… I’m off. See you tomorrow?”
I look up at him, wondering if he might kiss me goodnight. Wondering if I might want him to. Wondering if I should kiss him. Wondering if anything will ever be simple again in my whole stupid life. Our eyes meet, and it would be such a small thing, to let my fingers float up to his chest. To touch him. To invite him in.
“Mum!” Rose shouts from the top of the stairs. “Can you bring that plate of cookies up with you?”
Ha, I think – I don’t need to ever worry about moments between me and Josh turning into anything more significant, as my daughter seems to have made it her unintentional life’s mission to interrupt them every time. For the best, I tell myself, as Josh laughs, gives me a final goodnight, and leaves.
I let out an audible sigh, and stuff one of the cookies into my mouth, still whole. It just about goes in then there is a significant period of time where I am at risk of choking to death. I stand still, munch my way through its delicious but potentially deadly chocolate-chip goodness, and wipe the crumbs off my chest.
I allow myself a minute to recalibrate, because “messy” and “odd” doesn’t really come close to doing tonight justice. I close my eyes and breathe, and tell myself that everything is fine.
When I walk into Rose’s bedroom with the plate a little while later, I have to smile at what I see. Connie and Cally didn’t just bring food – they transformed the whole room. There is a mattress on the floor fully made up with pretty pink bed linen, a fold-out bed adorned with a dinosaur duvet, and two blow-up air mattresses side by side with piles of sheets and fleecy blankets on top of them. There are pillows and cushions and even a bean bag, and the whole floor is now covered with different shades of cosy.
I see a small stack of games and toys, some books, and a wicker basket full of essentials – toothpaste and brushes, shower gel, deodorant, a comb and even a small pack of brightly coloured bobbles. Both boys – sprawled on the floor with Rose, playing Uno – are wearing pyjamas that they definitely didn’t have with them earlier. Eleanor is in a nightie that’s covered in tiny ponies, lying with her mum on the big bed. All three children look tired but excited, like they’re on holiday in a magical land, and having a huge adventure.
I feel so enormously grateful to be here, in a place like this. I mean, neither Connie, Cally nor any of the other people who must have helped with this have a clue who Lyssa is. They’ve only just met me, really, never mind my complicated not-quite-family – but all they needed to know was that someone was in need, and as if by magic, this happened, all within the hour or so we were gone. It really is awesome.
I place the cookies down and say: “You all look like you’re having fun! I’m going to change out of this dress, and then Lyssa, maybe we could meet up downstairs for a hot chocolate?”
Eleanor looks up at me as though she’s about to insist on coming – hot chocolate, who can blame her? – but Rose asks her if she wants to join in and make a team against the boys in the next Uno game, which is obviously even more tempting. She clambers out of bed, clutching a fluffy purple dinosaur cuddly toy that I’d guess has been donated by Archie’s girls, and joins her siblings.
By the time I climb into blessedly comfortable tracksuit bottoms and a fresh T-shirt and head back down, Lyssa has already prepared us both a mug of hot choc with all the trimmings. Between this and the cookie, I’ll be on a sugar rush all night. I notice as I mooch around the kitchen that there is also a package from Trevor’s Emporium on the counter by the fridge – extra milk and boxes of cereal for breakfast. They really do think of everything.
Lyssa has also got changed, into a set of flannelette pyjamas that are way too big for her. She’s cleared her smeared make-up off her face, brushed through her hair, and is sitting on the big armchair with her bare feet tucked up beneath her, blowing gently on her hot chocolate. She looks like a very tired twelve-year-old.
“Where did all the stuff come from?” she asks, looking up at me as I settle on the sofa opposite her. It’s a very squishy sofa and I sink right into it. “The clothes, the food?”
“Ah. Well, the locals are very friendly… and very strange… and in their own way also super-efficient.”
“You’re not kidding – there was even a little cardboard box with different types of phone charger in it, and one of them fitted! That’s a bit of a relief, at least… I really am sorry, Lucy.”
This time when she says it, it sounds genuine and reasonable, rather than borderline hysterical. Now that her kids are safe and settled and happy, and she has had the chance to rest, she is regaining some of her calm. Her hands are still clutching the mug a little too desperately though, and she is very pale.
“When did you last eat?” I ask gently.
“Ummm… I have no idea. In fact, I don’t remember eating at all today. This morning feels like it was a month ago.”
I nod, hoist myself up out of the sofa, and get her a plate of pizza and a couple of cupcakes. This is no time for healthy eating.
I let her munch for a while, smiling at the way she devours both, making little ooh and aah noises as the fat and the sugar work their magic. She licks her fingers at the end, then looks at me and giggles.
“That was decadent,” she says, putting her plate to one side. “And exactly what I needed. So, again, I’m sorry for all this – and also grateful. I don’t know what I’d have done without your help.”
“You’d have coped, somehow, Lyssa. But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t surprised to hear from you.”
That, of course, is an under-statement. The last time I saw Lyssa, she basically told me to mind my own business, and made it very clear that my help wasn’t needed. “It’s not like we’re friends” was the actual phrase, I think.
Now she’s sitting in my holiday home, looking mortified, but still not showing any signs of opening up. I get it, I really do. The Robert Experience trains you well. It teaches you to remain huddled in on yourself. It teaches you not to trust anyone. It teaches you to stay quiet, to lie, to hide the truth of your life – but she has taken steps to break out of that, and whether she planned it or not, I am now involved.
“Lyssa,” I say, quietly, “what’s going on? I know how hard it is to talk about. I know you and I have danced around each other for a while. But maybe the time for that is gone? You’re safe here. You can talk to me. If anyone is going to understand, I am.”
She looks at me carefully, biting her lip, and I can almost see the cogs turning. The risk assessment. The weighing up of how many rules she will be breaking if she speaks. Finally, she gives an almost-imperceptible nod and says: “I know that. And I’m sorry I was so rude to you at the house.”
“That’s okay. That doesn’t matter. I’ve spent the last few days reconnecting with old friends who I cut out of my life for years. I understand how hard it is to admit you need help, even if you’re screaming inside.”
“Screaming inside… that’s a good way of putting it. I get through every day, you know? School runs and housework and cooking and social events and… him. Every day, I get up, and I paint my face on, greet the day with a smile I don’t feel. I chat to the mums at the school gate, and I do the shopping, and I go through the motions, and I know that on the surface everything looks so shiny and right. But yes – inside, I’m screaming. I’m screaming and nobody can hear me.”
It’s a feeling I am familiar with, and it’s one of the things that angers me the most now – looking back at the me I was then: trapped, controlled, terrified. But smiling my way through it – because on the surface I had a perfect husband and a perfect child and a perfect life.
“I hear you, Lyssa. I promise, I hear you.”
She meets my eyes, and I see her start to unfold. Her fingers unclench, and the frown smooths a little. It’s like she begins to breathe again.
“I’m still not sure what came over me,” she says, “but as soon as he left for the airport this morning, I put the kids in the car and just started driving. They had been asking if they could go to see Rose – something about magic caves – but I’d never normally dream of bringing them. Certainly not without asking.”
She grimaces, and I can tell she is embarrassed – but she also sounds a lot stronger now, at least.
“That’s okay. I did say you could call me, Lyssa, when I saw you in London – so it’s all my fault really!”
She leans her head to one side as though considering it, and then announces: “True! Totally your fault… except it’s not, is it? And it’s not mine either. It’s his. I thought I could carry on… I thought I could manage it all, get through it. That things might get easier. But finding out I was pregnant again… when I did the test and it was positive, the first thing I asked myself was if I was going to keep it. I hate even saying that out loud, but it’s true – I felt even more trapped, and like I had even fewer options, and I was so overwhelmed. I love my kids, beyond belief, and I know I’ll love this one just as fiercely – but my first response was unhappiness. Isn’t that horrible?”
Her hands lie protectively on her tummy as she talks, as though she is trying to shield the baby from hearing her words.
“No, it’s understandable,” I say. “And this is a complicated situation. Look, you and I don’t really know each other, Lyssa, but we share an experience. Not a nice one. When I saw you last time, I just… well, I knew what was happening to you. I could see the toll it was taking on you. Until then I hadn’t been sure. I always kept a close eye on how things were when Rose was around, and you’d mainly seemed okay… a bit uptight, but as far as I knew, that was just your personality!”
She laughs, and replies: “Maybe a little bit, yes. I’ve always been a bit that way – military family, everything always needed to be very precise and well-planned when I was growing up, and that rubbed off. It’s one of the reasons I was attracted to Robert when I first met him. When… well, when he was your husband, no point hiding it. Not my proudest moment.”
“Honestly, Lyssa, you were more than welcome to him… while he was distracted with you, Rose and I escaped. Not that he ever mistreated Rose.”
“No,” she replies bitterly, “he doesn’t stoop so low as to mess with the kids, does he? Maybe he thinks that makes him noble? I have noticed, though, that he’s clashing a lot with Rose now she’s older… and maybe, if you’d still been together, that would have been worse for her. Maybe she’d become one of us.”
I feel a sharp stab of panic at the very idea, and remind myself that it will never happen – I got her away. I raised her to be confident and strong. And she doesn’t show any signs of caring what her father thinks of her at all.
“I have no idea if that’s true or not,” I reply as steadily as I can. “But the very idea of it makes me feel sick. You coming into his life when you did was the best thing that ever happened to me. I’d been careful, and gone on the pill without him knowing – but I was always scared he’d find out somehow. I didn’t trust the confidentiality of our family GP, because you know what he’s like – he’d charm them into thinking he was acting in my best interests – so I ended up going to a clinic in the city and giving a fake name. I knew that if I had another baby, I’d be lost.”
“Ha,” she says, humourlessly. “Maybe he figured it out, because he was very insistent with me that we needed a big family. That the more children we had the happier we’d be. I should have been braver. I should have done the same – but I was too…”
“Scared,” I finish for her. “It’s okay. I know. It doesn’t make you weak, Lyssa. It just makes you human. What made you leave today? And… well, I hate to ask, but are you going back?”
I really do hate to ask, but I have to. I remember almost doing the same once – driving with Rose in the car, heading for the motorway, thinking I’d make my great escape. I only made it as far as some services on the M6 before I turned back around. There’d been a queue at the petrol pumps and it freaked me out so much the thought of driving all the way to London to my mum was too much.
“I’m not going back, no,” she says. Her voice is quiet, but firm. “I actually didn’t even know that until the moment you asked. I feel shaken up and dizzy with it all, but I’m also starting to feel… really pissed off.”
“That’s good. Pissed off will help you, believe me. I love feeling pissed off with him – it means there’s less space for feeling worried.”
“And sad? Or is that just me? I feel really, really sad as well… because not everything was bad. There were things about my life I liked. Things about him I even liked, which I know is mental.”
“It’s not,” I assure her. “I’m never sure if it’s one of his tricks, or if he actually can sometimes be nice? I suppose nobody is one hundred per cent bad.”
“No. But perhaps he’s ninety-nine point nine?”
We both smile, needing the respite. This isn’t easy, for either of us – for her it is fresh and raw and new. For me, it is like picking off a half-healed scab and pouring acid on the wound.
“But no, I can’t go back,” she repeats, as much to herself as me I think. “I need to get away – for my sake, and for the children – because I have a little girl too, and maybe another on the way. And I have those precious boys, and I can’t risk them growing up thinking that’s the way to be a husband. To be a man. As to why now… well, part of it was practical, I suppose. He’s away for a week. He’s got his speech in Geneva, and then a small series of lectures and symposiums in Switzerland and France. I spoke to him this afternoon and managed to sound normal, even though by that stage I was almost in Reading, so I have a little time. Part of it was because of seeing you, seeing Rose – I watched the two of you when you left our house last week. Laughing together, joking… you seemed so free. So happy. So strong, both of you. The opposite of me.”
“I’m not as strong as I seem, Lyssa – and I’ve had years to rebuild and try to recover. You’re in the thick of it, so don’t start blaming yourself – I still do that, and I hate it. Don’t let him make you do that.”
She nods, and I can see that although she agrees with me, she doesn’t feel it yet. That will take time.
“I’ll try. Last night, he was stressed because of the speech. You know how he gets – worried about his performance, his whole Master of the Universe thing. And then I packed his bag wrong. I’d apparently folded one of his shirts with the sleeves the wrong way, and I also didn’t know where he’d put the European plug adaptor after his last trip. God, now I’m here and saying it out loud, it sounds insane doesn’t it? That such trivia can even matter? But it was enough. It gave him an excuse to take out his stresses on me. To tell me yet again how useless I am, how pointless my existence is. How completely awful I am at everything. And then… did he… put you somewhere? I noticed, in the house in Manchester before we moved, that there was a lock on the outside of the attic room. I never thought anything of it at the time, but now…”
I feel all of the muscles in my neck and shoulders clench and freeze, and the slow legacy of fear run its fingers through my scalp. This is a dark thing, a dark time. Dark hours spent alone in a small room, trapped and confined and never knowing how long I was going to be left there. Even now, remembering it makes me sweat and breathe in too much air at once.
“Yes,” I say simply, because I do not want to explore this particular memory. I have spent years trying to erase it, and the many subtle ways it still affects me now. “You?”
“Wine cellar.”
I nod, and we are both silent. United in something so awful that neither of us wants to speak of it.
“At least you always had something to drink?” I venture, hoping to break our communal tension. It will do us no good if we disappear down the rabbit hole of our own trauma.
She laughs, and replies: “If only! He never let me take a corkscrew! I’m sorry… sorry you went through that too.”
I nod, and she leaves it alone. She understands that it is not something I want to talk about right now.
“So, after he’d left,” she continues, “with his shirts folded correctly but still muttering about how he’d have to buy a new adaptor at the airport, Rose happened to send some more photos – a beautiful wildflower meadow, and a couple of dogs, and a pine tree with pixies perched in it – and the kids started saying, again, why don’t we go and see Rose? Daddy’s away, and it’s the holidays, and why why why? Eventually something just snapped, and I thought yes, they’re right. Why don’t we? I didn’t allow myself to think about it, or to even pack a bag, I just said yes, as though it was this brilliant spontaneous fun thing, and piled them all in the car… I knew if I’d stopped to think, if I’d delayed long enough to pack, I’d have lost my nerve. The moment would have passed…”
She sounds calm as she describes all of this, almost methodical – but I can sense the turmoil that lies beneath her words. If she cracks, if she allows herself to feel as well as speak, she will lose control.
“I get it, I do. Courage comes in waves, and you have to ride them when you can. You did the right thing – and you’re safe here, in this place, with us. It’s not just me and Rose – you’ll have a whole village fighting your corner. But eventually, you know you’ll have to see him again. You can’t run forever, and you can only hide for so long. I’d hate for you to have done all this only to crumble when he’s there, in your face, convincing you that you can’t survive without him.”
She grimaces, and sips more of her hot chocolate. It leaves her with a squirty cream moustache, and it’s a good look for her.
“I know. I know this is just the beginning, not the end. I just need a few days’ head start, I think – that’ll give me the chance to just be away from him, and his house, and his rules. Even when he’s not in it, I tiptoe around the place as though he can still see me. I already feel better, just being somewhere different. And I’ve got my phone working now, so I can speak to him and pretend everything’s okay… he’ll have no need to track me if he thinks everything’s normal.”
I hadn’t even thought about stuff like that – the digital era has moved on a lot in the last decade, and it’s probably harder than ever to disappear. Knowing Robert, everything will be in his name as well – the phone accounts, the bank cards, the car. Lyssa will have literally nothing that he can’t control. Much as I occasionally curse all my household bills, I always remain grateful to actually have them – to have that independence. There is joy to be found in even a gas bill, if you look at it from the right angle.
“I’d like to go to my parents and my brothers,” she continues, the plan obviously formulating as she speaks. “But I don’t know how well that will go down… I haven’t seen them for over six years. They haven’t even met Eleanor. They tried, they really did, but… well, you know.”
I nod. I do know. He did exactly the same with me – convinced me that my mother was against him, that she was jealous of our marriage, that she was a bad influence on Rose. That she wanted to infiltrate our lives, that she’d hold me back, that she wanted me for herself. That my brother, Jamie, was mad, bad and dangerous to know, that he had a drug problem and shouldn’t be in our lives – and especially not our child’s life.
None of it was real, but he took grains of truth, strands of human frailty, and turned them into something ugly he could use against me. My mum could be clingy, yes, because my dad had died while I was still at uni, and that understandably left her world unsteady. And Jamie had been known to take the odd party drug in his younger years, as did millions of people – but I’d made the mistake of telling Robert. He was never an addict, he just went through an experimental phase, which he came out of as he matured.
But somehow Robert twisted all of this so much he made it seem unreasonable not to cut them out – not to stop them infecting our “perfect” lives with their selfishness and chaos. I still feel a deep regret, a hint of shame no matter how hard I try to deny it, at the way it unfolded.
“They’ll want you back,” I say firmly. “They’re your family. They love you. And you might think it’s all been a big secret, what’s happened to you, but I guarantee they’ll know more than you suspect. Did you say your family was military? Is there a chance they might shoot him if he turns up?”
She barks out a laugh, and I realise I may have sounded a little too hopeful when I said that. No matter what’s gone on, I shouldn’t hope for that – he is still the father of our children.
“I wouldn’t rule it out,” she replies. “My dad and my brothers have all served. It’s like the family business. I think one of my brothers is still on active duty… I don’t really know, like I said, I’ve lost touch with them. And now I’m really nervous about seeing them again.”
“Don’t be. If it was you, and Eleanor landed on your doorstep after a long silence, would you turn her away when she needed you?”
“Never.”
“Well, I’m sure your parents will feel the same. Where do they live?”
“The Lake District. It’s a little way away isn’t it? Like, hundreds of miles and hours on the road… I might have to look at trains. I’m still at that exhausted stage with the pregnancy, and as I demonstrated today, I’m not the world’s best at long journeys.”
I look at her, chewing her lip and frowning at her own incompetence, and remember what she was like when I first met her – a bright young thing, full of life and ready to take on the world.
“Let’s think about that tomorrow,” I say firmly. “Now, maybe try and get some sleep. Just remember – whatever you decide, you’re not alone anymore.”