Chapter 36
JACK
I slip into fourth gear and glance at Maggie, watching the darkening patchwork of countryside that was the backdrop to my childhood rushing past. The mosaic of rolling fields to the left; to the right, glimpses of the coastline dipping under the setting sun keep up with our progress.
Despite it being November, winter is yet to hit us in full force.
‘When shall we go to the police?’ Maggie asks. ‘I’m sure they’ll reopen your case now.’ She’s searching on her phone again for any mention of an attack, or a clue as to who the woman, or the person in the shadows was, but so far nothing has come up.
‘Yeah. Maybe.’
We’re quiet for a while, Maggie’s hand furiously typing into the search bar. ‘I’ll check the missing people pages, again.’
The sun catches the bronzes and golds of Maggie’s hair, her pupils small against the jade of her irises, and the memories of that time take on a fresh design.
For so long, I had felt like I’d lost all purpose in this life, but now I’m starting to realise that the night I thought I’d lost everything was actually the beginning of something new.
And now, with Maggie’s help, I’m finally finding answers to the questions that have plagued me since that night.
I think back to my previous session with Dr Levin.
It’d been amazing to me, the pride I felt in being able to read The-lion-sat-on-the…
I didn’t quite get plains, but after a few weeks of intensive reading and writing, for the first time I think that maybe, I might be able to find a way back.
He’s made it clear I will never be the person I was – reading will always be taxing; the alexia will never go – but the reading age of a six-year-old is better than no reading at all.
I turn onto the steep driveway leading up to the house. ‘We’re here.’
‘Here?’ Her eyes widen as she looks up from her phone. ‘Your family lives on a cliff?’
I cast an apologetic glance in her direction as we pass the sign that I know reads: Chadwick Crest.
‘And they have a crest named after them. Of course they do.’ Her eyes sweep the surroundings, her head turning towards the sign as we pass.
‘Kind of, my great-great-grandfather named the place after himself. A kind of two fingers up to the previous owners. He worked on the estate when he was younger, then made his fortune.’
She’s alternating between pulling her cuffs down and pushing them back up her arms.
‘Before we get there, it’s important you know that’ – I drop a gear again as I follow the gravel higher up, the outer edges of the garden wall coming into view – ‘it can kind of look imposing but…’
‘Holy hell.’ She leans forward as the house comes into view. ‘It’s like Manderley had a baby!’
I round the car into the car park to the right of the house, the crest of the cliff dripping off the edge of the garden. ‘I promise, it’s half falling down, everywhere creaks and the majority of the furniture is second-hand and most things have a knack to them.’
‘A knack?’
‘Yeah, like the downstairs loo needs three pumps of the flush; the kitchen door needs a quick shoulder barge below the hinge and…’
She shakes her head and pulls at her cuffs again, hands smoothing down her trousers as though she can change the whole outfit the more she fiddles with it.
I grin over at her but she’s pale. ‘Hey,’ I add softly. She turns her head to me, hands clutched around the tops of her arms. ‘I promise you, my family are as much of a mess as me. Don’t be fooled by the whole…’ I wave my hand at the house. ‘Chadwick thing.’
‘So they’re not perfectly groomed, articulate and charming? That makes me feel a whole lot better, thanks.’
‘I know this is a lot. But I promise, I wouldn’t have brought you here if I didn’t think you would be comfortable.’
She breathes in deeply through her nose, holds her breath then exhales slowly. ‘OK. Let’s go meet the parents.’ She frowns as though never expecting to ever say the words. ‘God I hope I don’t go all Ben Stiller and offer to milk your dad’s nipples.’
I laugh, but she’s nervous. Maybe this is too much too soon?
We climb out of the car. I double click the lock, as Maggie pulls her navy-blue leather coat around her, arms folded.
The cast-iron rusting garden furniture is still out, as is the pergola.
Lights swing in the sea air, and flames are dancing in the paella tin/firepit that Dad insisted we brought back from a week in Madrid.
The waves are loud, but I can hear laughter, the whack of a cricket bat and cheers coming from below.
‘And you’ve definitely told them about… the germ thing?’ she says as I walk around the car to her side and we head towards the house.
‘Yes. They know not to touch you.’
‘What else have you told them?’ The wind is whipping her hair around her head, thick brown and blonde curls flashing across her face. I step towards her.
‘Enough. Just be yourself.’
‘I don’t know how to be anyone else.’
‘And thank God for that. You are the perfect you.’
‘How do you do that?’ She stills, hand over her eyes blocking out the sun. ‘Land the perfect one-liner?’
‘I rehearse them into my mirror every morning.’
‘You do not.’ She laughs, but she’s nervously looking back up at the house.
‘Ready?’ I ask.
‘I guess?’
I stretch out my hand and she lets her own fall into my palm.