Chapter 37
‘I thought I heard voices.’
Jake was in the hall, watching Marcus through the open doorway. He was standing by the hire car, looking cheesed off, waiting for Jake to join him.
Jake turned at the sound of Gayle’s voice. She marched down the hall towards him, wearing green wellies and leaving a trail of muddy footprints in her wake.
Olive was right behind her, muddy paw prints and all.
She stopped in front of Jake and pointed at his bag. ‘You’re leaving?’
‘I’m afraid so.’
Olive sniffed his bag and whined.
Jake took out his wallet and handed Gayle the cash for a two-night stay.
Gayle took the money. ‘Oh, you’ve given me too much.’ She attempted to hand half of it back.
Jake shook his head and refused to take it. ‘I booked two nights, so I’m honouring that booking.’
‘But you’ve only stayed one night.’
‘I know, but you might have had another booking.’
‘I still might,’ said Gayle holding out some of the money.
Jake wouldn’t budge on the issue.
‘Are you leaving because you had a rough night on the couch? You should have taken two rooms.’
Jake reassured her. ‘The sofa was fine.’ He decided not to mention that it was Marcus who had ended up sleeping on the sofa, nor the reason he’d felt compelled to share a room in the first place.
Gayle rolled the notes and tucked them in the pocket of her jeans.
Jake looked down at Gayle’s wellies.
She followed his gaze. ‘Oh Lord!’ She looked down the hallway and saw the muddy trail. ‘Gardening’s not my thing.’ She turned back to Jake. ‘Marty usually does the garden, but it’s such a lovely day that I got a sudden urge to get outside. I only nipped in for a glass of water. I was about to take off my wellies at the back door when I spotted you with your bag.’
Gayle tutted at the mud on the floor. ‘Now I’m wishing I hadn’t bothered doing any gardening.’
‘Marty?’
‘Yes, the gardener. The house I can manage, but the garden …’ Gayle held onto Jake’s arm as she struggled out of her left Wellington boot. ‘He comes once a week.’
‘The red-headed lad?’ Jake remembered the young man. ‘I saw him at The Lake House.’
Gayle put the boot on the mat by the front door. ‘Is that where you went this morning?’
Jake nodded.
She leaned on Jake’s arm once more as she struggled out of her other boot. She set the boot down on the mat with the other one.
‘Look, the reason I didn’t mention where I’d been—’
‘It’s okay, you don’t have to explain.’ Gayle rested her hand on his forearm and gave it an affectionate squeeze. ‘You haven’t been back since …’ She trailed off, knowing Jake would understand.
‘No.’
‘Eleanor’s brother?’ She glanced outside.
‘Same. Not until last night.’
Gayle nodded. ‘Did you like the room?’
‘Sure.’
Jake picked up his bag, thankful that Gayle still hadn’t asked why they hadn’t stayed at The Lake House. He guessed it was obvious; how could they, after that terrible Christmas?
‘If you pass this way again, be sure to stop by.’
‘I will,’ said Jake, although he thought it highly unlikely that he would ever return.
He stepped outside. He could see Marcus still waiting by the car, his arms folded. Jake turned back to Gayle. ‘Thanks again for the room.’
‘No, I should be thanking you.’
Jake frowned. ‘I’m sorry – what?’
‘For your wonderful gardener. I know your family are his biggest employer. I’m just glad that he had the time to do my garden.’
‘Your garden looks fantastic,’ Jake said, and he meant it.
‘As does yours, I’m sure.’
Jake nodded. ‘Yeah, it makes quite a contrast to the house. When I first saw it I couldn’t get over how it’s started to deteriorate in a little under a year.’
‘That is sad.’
Jake realised that Gayle hadn’t seen the house up close recently – if ever. Jake admitted, ‘I shouldn’t have been all that surprised. I’ve neglected that house. I was more taken aback by the grounds.’ The gardener must have remained on the payroll, and not only that, had continued to do his job despite the fact that nobody ever came to the house. ‘The peculiar thing is that I thought the gardener was some old guy.’
‘Marty took over from his father when he retired.’
It had always seemed normal to Jake that he didn’t know what went on at his own house. The company always took care of everything. He’d assumed that this would stop when he stopped working at the Ross Corporation, although he was still a company director.
‘I remember now. He occasionally brought a kid along.’ Jake remembered the freckle-faced, ginger-haired little lad who couldn’t have been more than twelve when he’d last seen him. ‘When did his father retire – do you know?’
‘I think around about the time …’ she trailed off, aware of the delicate nature of mentioning the name Eleanor Ross. ‘He loves that old house; said it was so sad the way everyone had deserted the place.’
Jake was thoughtful. ‘I wish I’d known that he’d retired after all those years.’ Jake imagined that the company had probably done something for the gardener when he retired – hopefully given him a bonus. Even so, Jake would have liked to do something for him too.
Jake glanced over his shoulder at the car. Marcus was mouthing something and making a point of looking at his watch. Jake sighed and turned back to Gayle. ‘I’d better go.’
Jake stepped onto the gravel drive, realising that it was probably the beautifully manicured lawn and flower borders that had kept squatters away from The Lake House. How could the house appear abandoned if the gardens looked so well cared for?
He did an about-turn and asked Gayle, ‘Will you tell Marty, next time you see him, that I’d like to do something special for his dad, in recognition of all the hard work he’s put into the garden over the years?’
Gayle folded her arms. ‘No.’
Jake stopped. It wasn’t the response he was expecting from Gayle when he’d asked her to pass on a message to Marty. He looked quizzically at Gayle. She was normally so accommodating.
‘Do you want to know why I won’t do it?’
Jake nodded. ‘Yes, I do.’
She unfolded her arms and took a step towards Jake. ‘You should speak to Marty yourself and let him hear some praise for his father from one of the Rosses themselves.’
Jake eyed Gayle. She was right: an apology was in order for not even realising Marty’s father had retired, and he should also welcome Marty to The Lake House and thank him for continuing his father’s excellent work. ‘You’re absolutely right,’ said Jake. ‘Thank you, Gayle.’
‘You’re welcome.’
Jake turned to go, hoping Marty was still at The Lake House. Jake knew he hadn’t long returned to Lark Lodge, so hopefully the young gardener would still be there.
‘Jake.’
He turned back.
‘Perhaps in another life we could have been neighbours.’ Her eyes drifted in the direction of The Lake House over the garden wall.
Jake vividly remembered that as a small child, not long before his life had been turned upside down and he’d gone to live with the Rosses, he had told his mother that he would never leave the place. He sighed. ‘Gayle, I’m afraid life has an awful habit of getting in the way of the best-laid plans.’ Those plans had been spectacularly derailed when his parents had died.
‘Who said they were the best-laid plans?’
Jake frowned. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘Perhaps there’s a reason that fate, or whatever higher power you believe in, stepped in to change the course of your life. Maybe that wasn’t meant to be the plan for your life.’
Jake stared at her. Was she seriously suggesting that losing his parents, losing Eleanor, was for the best? Jake knew what she was doing. He’d seen the shelves full of books in the study; self-help psychobabble purporting to help people see a way through their grief, their loss, their troubles, to arrive at the other side; she was just trying to make him feel better by saying that things happened for a reason.
Jake could never accept that. He could not see what possible reason would there be for losing his wife and unborn child.
A sudden thought crossed his mind; if he hadn’t lost them, he would never have met Faye or Natty.
Jake just offered Gayle a tentative smile. Perhaps that’s what she meant; every cloud has a silver lining – even if it’s the darkest cloud of them all, something good had to come out of a tragedy.
He knew she meant well, but the conversation wasn’t helping – especially when he stepped out of the door and saw Marcus. Jake frowned at him as he approached the car. He opened the car door and slung his bag onto the back seat.
‘Have a safe journey,’ Gayle called out, waving goodbye.
Jake waved back before getting in the car. He sat in the front seat and watched Gayle walk inside the house and shut the door.
‘God, I bet you couldn’t wait to get out of there. What on earth was she prattling on about?’
Jake switched on the engine and turned to face Marcus.
‘What are you looking at me like that for?’
‘You’re such a …’ Jake searched for something appropriate; a word came to mind, ‘dipshit sometimes.’ He put the car into gear and moved off.
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
Jake rubbed his forehead; it still felt tender where he had banged his head on Marcus’s sign in the cellar of his house.
Jake cleared the drive and started down the street. Marcus turned his attention to the car radio, switching it on and tuning in the radio stations. After a short distance, Jake took an abrupt turn.
‘Hey!’ Marcus reached for the dashboard in surprise, but it was too late. He slammed into the car door. ‘I thought we were going straight to the airport?’ Marcus took his hand off the dash and rubbed his sore arm.
‘I need to see someone before we leave.’ Jake drove along the road leading to The Lake House. He turned up the driveway.
‘Not again,’ Marcus groaned, ‘didn’t you see enough this morning?’
Jake stopped outside the house. ‘I need to see the gardener.’
‘I don’t think it’s the gardener you need to see. Unless,’ Marcus was staring at the house, ‘he’s responsible for that.’
Jake had forgotten that Marcus had not seen the house in daylight, in all its dilapidated glory. Jake opened the car door. ‘Are you coming?’
‘What for?’
Jake shrugged and got out of the car. There was no point dragging Marcus along to find Marty. He slammed the door shut. Then he hesitated. Instead of heading into the garden, he walked around the car, crouched down and tapped on Marcus’s window.
Marcus pressed the button and released the electric window. ‘What now?’ He was still staring at the house.
‘Marcus,’ said Jake, waiting for his full attention.
Marcus lowered his eyes to look at him.
‘I’ll come with you, if you want to see …’
Marcus’s face hardened. ‘Didn’t you hear a word I said to you this morning?’
Jake threw up his hands – he didn’t have time for this. He stood up, casting about for any sign of Marty. The lad was nowhere to be seen. Jake entered the gardens as he tried to go over the conversation with Marcus before they left Lark Lodge, but that morning just seemed to be a jumble of Eleanor and Marty and Arnold, and the two envelopes in his pocket, and questions; so many questions. Jake rubbed his forehead and felt a raised lump and a headache coming on.
He stopped and listened for the scraping sound of rusty shears. All was quiet apart from the twittering of birds and the irritating high-pitched cackle of radio frequencies as Marcus tuned in the car radio. Jake continued to wander the grounds until he found himself standing at the gap in the hedge leading to the hidden garden for the second time that morning. He wandered inside.
There was no sign of Marty.
Jake walked over to a narrow stone bench set back in a recess cut out of the hedging. Anyone unfamiliar with the garden would not immediately see the bench. Jake brushed away some hedge clippings that had fallen on the seat and sat down.
His head was now throbbing. He hoped that if he sat still for a few moments, the headache would subside. He stared at the garden; the flowers seemed even brighter and more vibrant the second time round. The memorial stone seemed smaller. The inscription seemed clearer.
The inscription.
That single word.
‘Oh, god.’ A dawning realisation washed over Jake as he recalled what Marcus had said to him that morning: I can’t visit the garden without your little inscription staring back at me, accusing me .
Now he understood. Jake read the inscription out loud. ‘ Chosen .’ He closed his eyes and shook his head. Why hadn’t he seen it before?
He opened his eyes. It explained why Marcus found it difficult to visit the garden. Jake had had his reasons for using that word, and they had been nothing to do with Marcus – but evidently that was not how Marcus saw it. To Marcus, it meant something different entirely. It was an accusation, it was blame, and to Marcus, it was a lie. And it was there for all to see – family, friends – but only for the two of them to understand.
Jake rubbed his temples with his balled hands. His headache was not improving, but he couldn’t sit there all day; Marcus had a flight to catch.
Jake left the garden and headed back to the car, this time hoping he didn’t bump into Marty; he had something else a lot more pressing to sort out first.
He tried to go over what he was going to say to Marcus, how he was going to explain. Would Marcus believe how blind he had been? How unintentional it had been to use that word? He could scarcely believe it himself. He wouldn’t have been that callous.
As Jake walked back to the car, he kept telling himself he didn’t care what Marcus thought. Jake was the one who had severed their friendship, had cut Marcus off at every turn since the accident. So why did Jake feel the need to explain, to atone, to ask for Marcus’s forgiveness? It didn’t add up.
Jake had thought he had it all figured out – his new job and new home back in London; discounting the small matter of Marcus interrupting the flow, and the nightmares he still suffered from. Although he knew things weren’t perfect, at least Jake had felt that he was getting his life back on track. So why was this happening? Why did he feel increasingly like he was losing it?
He had known that the holiday was a bad idea. Nothing had made sense, and he needed things to make sense. Like the inscription. That single word summed up the truth that Marcus could not face; that had driven them apart. And yet Jake was looking to apologise for it; to tell Marcus he had made a mistake, when he so clearly had not.
‘I am so screwed up!’ said Jake, unable to shake the feeling that in some way he had been wrong about Marcus. But how was that possible? That crazy thought had been nagging at him for months – a what if scenario; what if Marcus had been telling him the truth all along? What if he had not been lying about what had really happened to Eleanor?