Chapter 26
Henry
Fourteen Summers Ago
Later, Henry would tell people it was the incident with the digger that did it. Before that day, he’d only had an inkling that his son was not like most children, an inherent sense that there were fissures below the surface of his serious little boy.
Violet had planned every stage of their garden with meticulous detail, working out what to plant, consulting Ynes on where to separate beds, and figuring out how to ensure that everything thrived during the months that she wouldn’t be there to tend to it herself. Everything had been sketched out in her careful hand, and she’d come to Henry for help with the bigger structural jobs, such as adding steps and creating a rockery. For the first week of their summer sojourn on the island, she’d painstakingly uprooted and stored every plant she wanted to save, digging deep into the ground to ensure fragile roots weren’t damaged, and unravelling their delicate strands with her fingers. Any robust weeds or flowers that were at the end of their natural life, she allowed Luke to pick. He had inherited his mother’s love of the outdoors as well as her treasured flower press, which he was clutching as Henry watched him come cautiously out through the back door. Every other child of five he encountered seemed to travel at a set speed of full throttle, often cannoning off whoever or whatever happened to be in their way. Luke was different, he was guarded, and would shy away from any kind of game that incorporated a surprise or chase element.
‘What’s that?’ he asked now, in the high, imperious tone that reminded Henry of Violet’s mother. His son was pointing towards the small excavator that had just been delivered, its angled arm and clawed base raised in preparation for work.
‘That’s a digger,’ Henry told him, remembering what Luke’s nursery teacher had told them about explaining how things worked. Luke, she’d said earnestly, worried less when he understood better, and so Henry took the time to talk the little boy through exactly what the machine would do, and why he had decided to use it in the garden.
‘Would you like to ride on it with me?’ he asked.
Luke squinted up at him, gaze watchful below his tangle of dark hair. ‘I’m not sure.’
‘It’ll be fun. You can sit on my knee.’
Luke shook his head.
‘Please,’ Henry cajoled. ‘I think you’ll like it when you see what it can do. Mummy will be so proud of you,’ he added, knowing this would go a long way towards convincing his son to at least consider saying yes. They may not have much in common, the two of them, but basking in the glow of Violet’s adoration was very much a shared desire.
‘Come on,’ he said, holding out a hand for Luke to take. ‘We’ll get in the digger and call up to Mummy, so she sees us out of the window. You can wave to her.’
After what felt like an interminably long pause, Luke relented. Putting his flower press down carefully on the low wall of the patio, he took Henry’s outstretched hand and allowed himself to be led down the steps towards the digger. Henry lifted him up into the seat, wriggled the keys out of his shorts pocket, then climbed in behind.
‘Ready?’ he said.
Luke nodded obediently and, having done a quick final check, Henry fired up the digger’s engine. It spluttered, rumbled, and then roared to life, the little cab vibrating as the starter motor whirred. Glancing up towards the house, Henry smiled as he saw Violet’s head appear at one of the upstairs windows, her expression one of delight.
‘Look, Luke – there’s Mummy. Why don’t you give her a wave?’
But Luke didn’t move. He was rigid, Henry realised, frozen in horror. Peering round, he saw the whites of his son’s eyes, the pallor of his skin, the open slash of his mouth. Sensing that something terrible was about to happen, Henry made a grab for the keys – but he wasn’t fast enough. Luke shot up and began to scream, his arms and legs thrashing as he writhed to be free. Henry took a fist to one eye, an elbow to the groin, bellowing with pain as he attempted to gain control of the hysterical child. He heard Violet shouting, then glimpsed a blur of red as she flew out through the back door towards them. Luke lurched forwards, his head narrowly avoiding a large lever and hitting the panel of buttons beside it with a sickening crunch. The digger continued to tremble as the engine growled.
Violet wrenched open the door of the cab, her hands grasping for her son.
‘Turn it off, for god’s sake,’ she cried.
‘I’m trying!’ Henry yelled back, fear and guilt making him sound angrier than he felt. Luke was still in a state, and as Violet stepped up to try and reach him, she received a punch in the throat.
‘Hold him,’ she croaked, blinking back tears. Henry did as instructed; wrapping both his arms around Luke and clamping him as tightly as he dared against his body. He could feel the frantic racing of his son’s heart, the heat of his anger, and felt close to tears himself. Violet was making soothing noises, her hands stroking Luke’s hair. Henry met her eyes and saw his own fearful bewilderment reflected back.
‘What were you thinking?’ she hissed at him.
Henry released his grip a fraction and allowed Luke to slither out of his grasp. The boy’s hands reached immediately for Violet, and gathering him up into her arms, she crooned, ‘It’s OK now, baby. Mummy’s got you.’
Frustration was mounting inside Henry.
‘I didn’t force him,’ he told her. ‘I gave him the option. He wanted to have a go.’
Luke shook his head against his mother’s shoulder.
‘You can’t coerce him into being like you,’ Violet scolded. ‘You know he doesn’t like loud noises and rough games.’
‘A digger is hardly a game—’
‘You should have checked with me,’ she insisted.
‘But he wanted to,’ Henry said again, and once more Luke defied him.
‘Too loud,’ he whined. ‘Don’t like it.’
Violet hugged him tighter. ‘Don’t worry, darling. You never have to hear it again.’
‘And how’s that going to work?’ Henry exploded. ‘We need it to get the garden done. Your garden!’
‘We can do it without the digger.’
‘Vee . . .’
‘Fine. Then me and Luke will go to the beach instead. Would you like that, sweetie? We can take the buckets and spades?’
‘How is this a good lesson, though?’ Henry persisted, following Violet across the garden as she carried a still-whimpering Luke back to the house. ‘You’re just teaching him to run away from the things that’s he’s irrationally scared of.’
‘You think we should lock him in there and tell him to put up and shut up, is that it?’ she stormed.
‘Now you’re being ridiculous.’
Violet stopped at the bottom of the patio steps, and Henry moved in front of her. He was all set to continue their row until he took in the dark smudges under her eyes, the listlessness of her gaze, the concern that was etched across her features. All she was doing was trying to protect their child, and he was being cruel.
‘Sorry,’ he said, shame making him droop like one of Luke’s picked flowers. ‘I’m an idiot. You’re right, I should have waited for you. I thought it would be a fun surprise.’
‘We don’t like surprises – remember?’ Violet’s tired smile indicated that by ‘we’, what she actually meant was ‘Luke’. Henry had not forgotten; he should’ve known better than to push against a boundary firmly drawn.
‘I’m sorry, little Mister,’ he said, crouching so he could look his son in the eye.
Luke turned his face away and buried it against Violet’s chest.
‘Did you hear that, baby? Daddy said he’s sorry.’
Nothing. Not so much as a murmur. Luke may as well have hit him again, thought Henry. The pain of this was on a par with that.
‘You two go,’ he told Violet, levering himself back to a standing position. ‘Head to the beach. I’ll stay here and do everything I need to with the digger, and make sure it’s gone before you get back.’
‘Thank you,’ she said, beckoning for him to lean over so she could press her lips briefly against his. ‘And don’t worry about Luke, I know just how to cheer him up.’
Henry stood and watched the two of them go, a mess of conflicting emotions tumbling inside him. But of all the things he felt in that moment, the one that struck him hardest was the relief.
He was glad that she had taken their son away because it offered him a break from the permeating, all-encompassing worry that had become such a stain on their lives. And no matter how vile he knew this made him, there was nothing Henry could do to deny it.