Chapter 11
Things That Have Bloody Annoyed Me Today:
People who put my toast onto a plate straight out of the toaster. I like to pyramid it for five minutes so it de-wangs!
Those stupid bows you put on babies.
Being trapped in a hot car on a hot day with people who don’t want me.
Liquid running down my arms or legs.
Sand.
There was no more sign of the man in black for the rest of the week.
Not once did he reappear in the trees to stare up at my window, and though I didn’t know who he was or what he wanted with me, the altercation with Mitch made me realise absolutely that whoever he was and whatever his business in the UK, he was definitely a protector, not a threat. And I missed him.
There was more about Rhiannon’s forthcoming TV exclusive interview with Guy Majors though – it was set for Friday, 20 April. And with Rhiannon back in the news again, the fallout was of course an increase in paparazzi outside my front door. I was to stay at Heather’s for the foreseeable.
As it was Easter weekend, Heather announced the family were going to Exmouth, an hour away down the coast. I didn’t presume to be invited but I was (probably to stop me drinking the day away).
Heather’s eldest son, Ed, wanted to stay home revising and Tom wanted to play video games, but I think she’d had a quiet word with both of them and insisted we all needed to get out of the house.
So we did – her, me, them, and Heather’s husband, Dan, leaving hellishly early to beat the holiday traffic which, for the most part, we did.
I felt like a right cuckoo in the nest, watching them all tucking into their meat-filled picnic from Fortnum’s and chatting about upcoming family reunions and birthdays.
My head was a popping popcorn bowl of random-ass thoughts: how I was going to acquire more alcohol now that Heather had removed all traces from the house.
My imminent deportation to Oz. My mother’s even more imminent funeral.
I didn’t know what to sweat about first so I sat up cross-legged, draped my towel across my head and opened the second Sweetpea book to escape.
Rhiannon had just gone into labour. With me.
And so I did. I pushed with all my might.
I knew that if I didn’t, she might get stuck …
I did it for her. And everything seemed to give way – she was out of me and in their arms. And lots of high voices were saying, ‘Well done’ and ‘Good girl’ but they were all the adult voices.
The voice I wanted to hear wasn’t there – the little cry of freedom …
And then it came – a squawk. Like a tiny sparrow …
I wasn’t in the least bit prepared for that feeling.
I didn’t know I was capable of that feeling.
Bitch Midwife brought her back to me and she was all I could look at – this little squawky bundle, all purple and wriggly and ugly with pasty white shit all over her little scrunched up angry face. Just like her mother.
‘She’s beautiful,’ said Bitch Midwife as she placed the wriggly fish on my chest. She stopped crying instantly.
‘There you go. She wanted her mummy, didn’t you, darling?
’ I looked down at her – my daughter – her tiny hands pushed up to her chin, fingers splayed like her face was the centre of a flower.
This little girl who had grown inside me, against my will, forcing me to feel things I didn’t want to, didn’t think I could.
She was part of me. Built of my skin, my bones, my hairs, my nails.
She was wound up so tightly within me, I couldn’t untie her now if I wanted to.
I couldn’t see the words for tears. I set my book down and stared out to sea, eyes dazzled by the sun on the water.
All I could see were mummies with children.
Children crying for their mummies. Children calling for their mum.
I pushed down the sob but it wouldn’t go away.
All I could think about was finding some alcohol to drown this rush of feelings I was having.
I hugged the book close to me, crying silently under my towel.
This woman was a monster, but she’d created me.
I was hers. And her heart still beat in this world.
Heather and Tom went to get ice creams – I didn’t want one. Dan was asleep under his hat. Ed was on his phone. This was a family, but it was not my family. I didn’t belong with them. I didn’t belong anywhere. And if I couldn’t be with my mum, or with Rhiannon, I didn’t want to ‘be’ at all.
I left the book under my towel and stood up, walking down to the water’s edge.
The sunlight sparkled on the waves; the water freezing on my toes.
If I could keep walking, it would all go away.
The water would swallow me up like vodka and drown all my senses.
I’d see nothing and hear nothing and feel nothing.
So I kept walking, further in, until it didn’t feel cold anymore.
Numbness, like the vodka. Inch by inch, it started feeling warm. Comforting. Like a womb.
‘She’s Ivy.’
‘Ahh, that’s nice. Is that a family name?’
‘No, after the plant.’
Ivy nuzzled into me … I was empty and there she was. Warm. Real. Little chest pulsing. I was shaking from head to toe … ‘She’s got her father’s eyes,’ I said. And the tears came again.
There was a guy far out to sea sitting on a surfboard with his legs dangling in the water, but there were no waves so I guessed he wasn’t surfing.
He was tall, slim, curly hair, strong arms, and he was smiling.
He was so far away. I swam towards him, but the harder I swam, the farther away he seemed to get. But it was him, I knew it was.
‘DAD!’
He waved out to me. I swam closer and waved back, struggling to catch my breath as I fought the swell. I pushed and pushed and pushed against the salty tide, and just when I thought I must be getting close to him, I looked up and he was even farther away. Still waving at me.
‘DAD!’
Now the alcohol was out of my system, I could feel it all again.
I cried for him – for how far out to sea he was.
I cried for the moments we never had together.
For the summers he’d have been teaching me to surf or play football.
For the birthday candles he’d have helped me blow out.
For all the bedtime stories he should have been reading me, not Mitch.
I wouldn’t have minded going to live in Delaney’s Creek so much if he was there, but all that remained of him was a half-empty urn.
I looked around the beach – it was a world full of strangers.
Dad waved at me again from his surfboard.
The water lapped over my chin, my mouth. My nose. The top of my head. I couldn’t push myself through it anymore. I reached out but he was so far away. I floated down.
I watched as the distance between me and the surface of the water grew longer and longer. And the riptide washed over the top of my head.
I flailed and flapped against the water pressure.
I want to be with you. I want to be with my dad.
What about Maddox? said a voice. No one will feed him if you’re not there. Swim up. Kick your feet, Ivy.
Heather will feed him, said another voice. Just take a breath and swallow the sea. Go and be with your dad.
Get kicking. Save yourself!
No. I’m going to die. There’s no point. I’m a psycho. I’m disgusting, like she is. Keeping my mother’s body with me. Stripteasing in the music room. Going to Kieran Andrews’ house that night …
Breathe, Ivy, breathe!
I wanted to kill him. I wanted him dead.
Breathe, Ivy, breathe!
If someone else hadn’t done it, I would have.
You wouldn’t, you couldn’t do that! You’re not like her!
I want to die.
No, you don’t. IVY! Fight for your life! Kick harder!
My breath ran out and my dad’s face was on the surface of the water – I’d reached him at last and he was waiting for me – and suddenly I was kicking for all I was worth, kicking to get higher towards the light on the surface, and the waves kept rushing over it and pushing me back down.
But I was stronger, fighting for all I was worth to get closer to the surface – to him – and finally, finally I broke through and gasped the warm salty air. I looked everywhere for Dad in the faces of all the other dads but he was gone, vanished into blue skies and wisps of cloud.
Had it been his voice telling me to kick? To fight? Had it been her voice telling me to drown? I didn’t know. But I knew one thing: he hadn’t saved me. Nobody was coming to save me.
I had to save myself.