14
Sara
T his couldn’t be happening. Not now, after all these years.
She’d kept the trauma firmly in the past. She’d spent decades learning to block it out. She’d built friendships, and a family. She’d built a life.
If thoughts about that time ever entered her head, she ruthlessly ignored them. She didn’t talk about it. She was proud of the way she’d locked it all in a box and refused to give it even a morsel of her attention. It was a form of self-protection, and it had mostly worked. On the rare occasions her mother tried to talk about it, her response was visceral and physical. She was right back there, living that awful moment, feeling control slip away from her. She started to shake. Her heart pounded. Her palms became sweaty. She felt a tightening in her breath and a desire to run to a safe place and hide until the memories were back in the box. It was a scary experience and one she tried hard to avoid. She was sympathetic with her mother, but firm. She gave her the same message. You were not to blame. But then she moved her on. Not dwelling on it had been an important element in her ability to function normally.
She’d been doing well, but then her mother had struck up a relationship with Imogen.
This was the outcome she’d been afraid of for so long. From that first day when her mother had come home from a meeting with the conference company they were using and told her that Imogen was handling the account, she’d had a sense of impending doom. She’d known, deep down, that it was just a matter of time before the whole thing exploded.
And now it had.
She didn’t want to think about it. She didn’t want to remember .
Her mother’s actions had flipped open the lid of that box, and now the past was spilling back into her life. Wounds that she’d thought were healed opened up again, and she realized she hadn’t healed at all, she’d just bandaged it well and continued to function.
Panic closed over her, threatening to drown her. She wanted to call Patrick. She wanted to feel him wrap his arms tightly around her and promise to keep everything bad away. And she knew he’d come in an instant if she called.
She reached for her phone, but then she saw her mother sink onto the nearest chair and all thoughts of calling Patrick vanished from her mind.
However bad she was feeling, it was clear from her mother’s face that she was feeling worse.
She put her phone down.
She needed to hold it together for her mother’s sake if not her own. She would not fall apart. She would not let Tina do this to her, or her mother, again.
When her mother had told her she’d offered Imogen the cottage, she’d been horrified and more than a little angry, but even in her most pessimistic moments she wouldn’t have predicted an outcome quite as brutal as the one she’d just witnessed.
Sara took a slow deep breath, and then another. To calm herself, she thought about Patrick and the girls. She thought about Christmas and how much fun they were going to have.
“Mum—”
“Are you angry with me? You must be so angry with me.”
“Of course not.” Her anger evaporated in a moment. How could she be angry with her mother for being warm and generous? For always wanting to reach out and help anyone in trouble? It was one of the many things she loved about her, and the fact that this time it had backfired so badly wasn’t her fault. “You were trying to help. It’s not your fault. Just as it wasn’t your fault last time.”
“It was. Some of it was. I said terrible things on that dreadful day.”
All justified in Sara’s opinion, but she knew better than to say that.
“We all have moments when we say things we regret. That’s part of being human. It’s impossible to go through life always saying the right thing. It doesn’t change the fact that people make their own choices, and Tina made hers. To think that your actions could have influenced those choices is fanciful. You can’t control everything, Mum. People aren’t puppets. You need to forgive yourself and move on. Instead of blaming yourself, you should try acceptance. It happened. It was messy. But in the end Tina made her own choices.”
“Yes. You’re right. But those choices have impacted on poor Imogen. Right now she is our priority. I have to go after her.” Her mother stumbled to her feet, the suddenness of the movement knocking the chair over.
Sara shot out her hand and caught it before it could hit the floor. “Mum, just take a moment. Let’s talk about this. Think about the best approach.”
The sight of her mother’s face scared her. She was taken back to that awful night. The memory of it all blurred together. Tina shouting. Little Imogen screaming her lungs out and clutching her stuffed bunny, her father collapsing. The shriek of an ambulance siren, the flash of blue lights and then bleak hospital corridors and her mother’s white face as she tried to hold all of it together.
Seeing her mother so upset scared her. It couldn’t happen again. She wasn’t going to let it happen again.
“Breathe, Mum. Please stay calm. It’s going to be okay.” She was saying that for her own benefit as much as her mother’s. “We’re going to fix this.”
“How? Those things she said—” Her mother clutched her arm. “I’m going to find her and explain. She doesn’t understand any of it. I need to make her understand.”
Sara didn’t voice her own fears—that Imogen would never understand because the only family member she could remember having in her life was Tina. Unlike her mother, Sara harbored no illusions about her sister.
But she knew better than to raise that now.
“We will talk to her, but for now you need to calm down if you possibly can.” It wasn’t going to be easy to talk to Imogen, because she’d walked right out of the door without giving them a chance to explain.
But that was shock, Sara reminded herself. They were all in shock.
There were things she needed to process herself, but right now her priority was her mother.
“I can’t calm down until I’ve seen her. Spoken to her. She left her coat. We need to take her coat or she’ll freeze. And she left her bag, with her phone.” Her mother looked around her, panicked and distracted. “Where did I put my car keys?”
Sara’s heart sank because she knew she was the one who was going to have to do this, even though all she wanted to do was hide.
“You’re not driving anywhere.”
“I have to. I have to go after her.”
“I’ll go.” She had to force the words out. The last thing she wanted to do was have another encounter with Imogen that involved raking up the past. She didn’t even want to think about Tina, let alone talk about her, but if the alternative was letting her mother do it, then she was just going to have to face her fears.
Her mother didn’t argue. “Yes. You’ll be faster than me. Go after her, Sara. Tell her how worried we are about her. Apologize from me. And I should be apologizing to you, too. You said this was a mistake and you were right. I should never have offered her the cottage. But when she said she wouldn’t be spending it with family—” Her mother’s hands were shaking, and she was breathing much too rapidly for Sara’s peace of mind.
“It was a difficult situation. And I know you still feel a sense of responsibility.”
“I do, particularly as she seems so alone. Why isn’t she spending Christmas with family? Where is Tina? Are they not close?”
“I don’t know, Mum. I don’t have any answers.” And she didn’t really want answers. She didn’t want to think about it at all, but she had no choice now.
“I assumed she was doing fine. That she’d built a life.” Tears fell, and her mother pressed her hand to her mouth, trying to stop the sobs.
“Oh, Mum, please—” Sara put her arms around her mother, offering what support she could. “Please don’t cry. I can’t bear it. This is not your fault.”
“Oh, it is.” Dorothy sniffed and rummaged for a tissue. “We both know it’s my fault. Even the way Tina left was my fault. The things I said—”
“You told the truth, that’s all. And she needed to hear it.” She really didn’t want to talk about this. She didn’t want to think about it.
“And telling it did no good at all. If I could change one thing about that time it would be the words I said to her that night.”
Sara felt her mother cling on to her, and she tightened her hold, not knowing what to do or say. She felt helpless and more like a child than a grown woman with a family of her own.
She worked hard at never thinking of her sister, but when she did it was almost always with anger for the destruction she’d wrought within their family.
After a moment, Dorothy took a deep breath and pulled away. “I’m sorry. This isn’t about me. It’s about poor Imogen. Go after her, Sara. Please. Right now.”
“In a minute. I’m not leaving you like this, Mum.” She didn’t voice her worries that her mother might collapse, just as her father had. “I can’t believe she spoke to you like that.” She was a little shocked by it.
“We mustn’t blame her. It’s not her fault, poor thing. She was hurt. Shocked. And there was some truth in what she said.”
“There was no truth in it.” Sara chose her words carefully. “You didn’t abandon Tina. The idea of it is ridiculous.” She tried hard to control her own emotions on the subject. She could vent at Patrick later. Poor Patrick.
“But Imogen felt it so strongly.” Her mother dug her hand into her pocket and found a tissue. “You saw her. She was furious with us.”
“I think we should leave her to calm down a little, get used to the idea, and then we should all sit down and have a conversation.”
“We can’t do that.” Dorothy blew her nose. “You heard what she said. She’s leaving. She is probably packing as we speak. You have to stop her.”
There was a noise from the doorway, and Dorothy quickly turned her back and tried to pull herself together.
“Mummy, when are we going to eat? Ava is really hungry.” Iris stood there, Ava by her side.
For a moment Sara was thrown.
She’d forgotten about her children. When in her life had she ever forgotten about her children?
She swiftly pulled herself together. “Nanna is going to serve lunch, while I just pop down to Holly Cottage for a minute.”
Iris was looking horrified. “Is Nanna crying? What’s the matter?”
“She’s probably hungry,” Ava said helpfully. “I feel like crying too. Chicken would help.”
“Oh, you poor things. Come and sit down and eat some lunch.” All bright smiles and willpower, Dorothy carved chicken onto plates and added vegetables.
Sara quickly reheated gravy and poured it into a jug. “Help yourselves. I’ll be back in a moment.”
“Where are you going?” Iris poured gravy on Ava’s chicken and then on her own. “Aren’t you having lunch too?”
“I’ll join you in a minute. There’s something I need to do.”
“Where’s Imogen? She’s probably hungry too.” Ava stabbed a piece of chicken. “I like Imogen. And Benson liked her. She’s very pretty. She has golden hair like yours, Mummy.”
Iris caught the look on her mother’s face and pushed the plate closer to her sister. “Eat your lunch. You’ve been complaining about being starving for the past hour, so eat.”
Sara took advantage of the moment and left the room. She grabbed her car keys. Holly Cottage was only a five-minute walk down the drive, but she’d be there in less than a minute if she drove. For her mother’s sake, she didn’t want Imogen to leave before she’d had a chance to talk to her.
What exactly was she going to say?
Sara closed her eyes for a moment, dreading the forthcoming encounter. Imogen was her niece. Her sister’s child. She still remembered every detail of the night Imogen was born. She remembered holding her in the hospital. Remembered the precise moment the midwife had carefully given her Imogen to hold.
She’d been swaddled in blankets, a tiny innocent little bundle oblivious to all the complexities that her arrival had created.
And then she’d opened her eyes, and nothing had prepared Sara for the rush of feeling that had engulfed her.
Sara had gazed into Imogen’s blue eyes and realized that love at first sight really could happen. It was a thing. Right there in that moment she’d given her whole heart to her sister’s child.
And four years later her heart had been broken.
And it was probably about to be broken again, because whenever Tina was involved, that was what happened.
Bracing herself for what came next, she stepped outside and shivered. While they’d been inside, the temperature had dropped and it had started snowing again. She was glad now that she’d decided to drive and not walk.
But Imogen had been walking, and she’d left her coat in the kitchen.
Sara felt a flicker of concern as she turned the car and headed back down the drive to Holly Cottage. It wouldn’t have taken Imogen long to walk home, but it would have been long enough for her to get cold. If she was sensible, she’d take a hot shower before packing up the car, which at least gave Sara a little more time.
If necessary, she’d beg her to have at least one calm conversation with her mother. She’d explain that Imogen had some of the facts wrong (some! Ha. All of them, more likely) and that it was important that she listen to Dorothy.
But what if she refused to listen?
The trees that lined the side of the drive were coated with fresh snow, and normally Sara would have taken a moment to admire it. Snow had a certain magical quality, and it made her happy. Or, to be more precise, it made her girls happy, and anything that made her children happy made Sara happy. But today she wasn’t thinking about snowmen, or snow angels or snowballs. She wasn’t thinking about Christmas.
She was thinking about her mother. About how white she’d looked. How stressed.
And she was thinking about Imogen, and the shock of that interaction they’d just had. She’d done everything she could to avoid meeting Imogen face-to-face because she just found it all too difficult. At the event last year she’d made the excuse that Ava was ill because she hadn’t trusted herself to come face-to-face with Imogen and not react. And her mother had known it was an excuse.
She felt an ache deep in her chest.
Part of her wanted to pull over and have a good cry as her mother had, but she couldn’t do that. She didn’t have time to waste. She needed to talk to Imogen.
Sara gripped the wheel more firmly and told herself that this was not the same situation they’d faced with her father. Her mother didn’t have high blood pressure or any of the other medical issues that had affected her father.
Her mother was going to be fine. But the sooner they could have a conversation with Imogen and set her straight on a few things, the better Sara would feel.
You were her family, her only family, and you threw her out when she needed you most.
She didn’t have to ask herself why Imogen would have believed all those awful things. She already knew.
She clenched her jaw. It had been decades since she’d seen Tina, but she was not going to think about her sister now or she’d be the one with blood pressure problems. She needed to focus on Imogen. Imogen was an innocent victim of very unfortunate circumstances. She deserved to hear the truth. Whether she chose to believe it or not was outside Sara’s control.
She approached Holly Cottage and felt a rush of relief as she saw Imogen’s car parked outside the cottage.
At least she hadn’t left. That was good.
She parked, picked her way along the snowy path and pushed open the door of the cottage. “Imogen?”
There was no reply, and Sara tugged off her shoes and stepped into the hallway and then into the kitchen. It was empty, and there was no sign that anyone had been here in the past few hours.
Maybe she was upstairs using the bathroom.
Sara walked to the bottom of the stairs. “Imogen?”
She went from room to room, which didn’t take long because the cottage was small.
A quick glance told her that Imogen’s suitcase was still in the bedroom, her clothes neatly folded into the drawers.
Sara walked back downstairs, confused.
Imogen’s belongings were still here, but there was no sign of Imogen herself. So where had she gone?