Chapter 46
NATHAN
“Nathan, babe, how long are you staying with Faye?” Jessica’s voice is muffled through the car speaker. I turn the volume up another bar before answering.
“Maybe for one more night. I’m not sure.” Then I laugh and add, “Gotta get in the old stepmother’s good graces to inherit that house.”
Jessica doesn’t answer right away. But when she does, her voice is measured and calm. “Nathan, you can’t carry this guilt for the rest of your life.”
Sometimes I can’t stand that Jess sees right through me, as she has just now. She’s the only person I’ve told the whole truth to. Not even Faye herself has told anyone else what happened that day. But Jess knows, and Jess loves me anyway. Not that I deserve it.
I’m a brat. Dad could be strict at times, but after Mum died he ended up spoiling me, hoping it would fix everything.
But it taught me that I could get my own way, that I could get anything I wanted.
And the thing I wanted more than anything in the world was for Faye to disappear and for my mum to come back.
I’ve replayed the day it happened again and again in my mind.
She’d been married to dad for about three years by then.
Penny was two – I could never hate that little munchkin as much as I tried to – and Faye was pregnant with her second child.
Though I didn’t actually know that as an eight-year-old boy.
We were upstairs in the new house in London, and I was screaming at Faye.
I don’t know what it was about, but I remember the pure unadulterated rage I felt towards her.
I blurted out all the classics: “You’re not my real mum”, “I hate you” with the disco remix of “go to hell”.
It was the first time I’d seen Faye snap. She threw something across the room, and then she stormed out.
It was like an elastic band went off inside me. She wasn’t allowed to lose her temper. Only I could scream and stamp my feet. So, I ran after her and shoved her as hard as I could.
Did I know she was on the top step of the stairs?
Did I know I was going to hurt her?
Or was I simply acting out in the moment?
I’ll never know.
But the part that sticks out in my mind is how I stood there watching her crawl along the hallway.
I didn’t help her.
And I have carried around the guilt of that day ever since.
I indicate off the A road and start making my way towards Palmer House.
I clear my throat. “I’m trying to move past it but right now Faye needs help.
Her and Penny are kind of tense with each other because of that new fiancé of hers.
Faye doesn’t exactly want my help, but I owe her, so I’m going to stay for at least a night and make sure she’s back on an even keel. Is that okay?”
“Yeah, of course. I get it.”
“Can you put Kiri on?”
“She’s already in bed, asleep. Call first thing in the morning, and I’ll make sure she’s up.”
“All right,” I say, disappointed. “I’ll speak to you tomorrow. Love you.”
“Love you too.”
I pull onto the driveway and think once again how beautiful Palmer House is.
I’ve made jokes before about stealing it in the inheritance but they’re only supposed to wind Faye up.
Perhaps a part of me wants to remind her that I belong to this family too.
I don’t know why I continue to antagonise her, but it’s like I’m stuck in a repetitive loop.
The truth is, I owe her. She never told Dad I pushed her down the stairs.
She protected me when she had every right to expose me for who I really am.
Penny and Dad both know I didn’t help Faye as she was miscarrying, but they think that’s the extent of the situation. But it’s worse than that. I’m worse than that. I’m a murderer. I pushed my stepmother down the stairs. I killed the baby.
I sit in the car for a few minutes before getting out.
The sun is beginning to set, and I expect to see the curtains drawn, but they are still open with no lights on inside.
Faye always likes to close the curtains in the evenings, but perhaps that’s a habit she formed when she lived in London, where anyone walking past the house could look in.
It’s much more isolated here. Maybe she doesn’t feel the same need for privacy.
With a deep breath, I climb out of the car and walk up to the door.
I knock a few times, but no one answers.
I didn’t call ahead but she knew I was coming back tonight.
I’m about to walk back to my car and wait for her to turn up, when I decide that’s stupid.
I have a key to the house. I’m family. Why shouldn’t I let myself in?
And what if she’s had a fall? I know she’s not old, but she’s vulnerable, isn’t she?
It’s still awkward stepping into my stepmother’s house, so I knock on the wood again as it creaks open, then call out.
“Faye? Mummy Faye? Hello?”
The house is deathly silent. I shut the front door behind me and peer through the unlit hallway. There’s nobody here. Nothing except for a feeling of deep unease running through the air. I walk over to the bottom of the stairs and then I hear it.
The sound of water running.
She’s in the shower.
A wave of relief floods me and shows me in an instant just how much I care about her.
I fill the kettle and let it boil as I lean against the kitchen counter.
I make two cups of tea, take them over to the table and scroll through a few social media apps. When the water stops running, I go back out to the hall and call up the stairs.
“Mummy Faye? I let myself in, I hope that’s all right?”
I wait for a moment, but there’s no answer.
I climb the stairs. “Faye? It’s me, just wanted to let you know I’m here.”
Finally, she responds. “Okay.”
“I made you a cup of tea. It’s still warm if you want it, but it’s getting cooler by the minute, so… you know, you might want to hurry up. I thought I’d stay the night again. In the guest room. That okay?”
“Yeah. Fine.”
I make my way back to the table with the cup of tea. On Facebook, I discover that a school friend I lost touch with is getting married, and my grandmother on Dad’s side has fallen for a fake political meme.
Faye finally makes her way down in a dressing gown, wet hair brushed away from her face. She takes a seat across the table from me, staring at me with a blank expression.
I push the tea over to her. “Are you okay? Did you take your medication?”
“Yes,” she says.
“Good. You seemed a bit spaced out, is all.” I turn my phone around so she can see the screen. “You wouldn’t fall for this nonsense, would you? Even with the dementia. I mean, it’s obviously fake. Right?”
She looks at my phone and nods but doesn’t speak.
“Nanna keeps liking all this crap. And she doesn’t even have dementia.” I slap a palm against my forehead. “Shit, sorry, I didn’t mean that to come out like… I know I’m a dick. How’s the tea?”
“Good.” She takes a sip and then sets it down.
Her movements are eerie, detached.
She must be having an episode. There’s no other way to describe how odd and quiet she is.
“Sorry I’m back so late. This executive insisted on taking me out for dinner.” I scratch an eyebrow, suddenly not wanting to hold her gaze.
She makes no response and just stares into the distance. Maybe she’s upset with me. Then I realise that there’s no maybe about it. She’s been upset with me for years, and rightly so.
I pull in a deep breath. “I guess I thought that if I stay a bit longer to help you, then maybe you’ll finally forgive me. I know I can be a sarcastic bastard at times. Well, all the time, but I’m… I dunno, pushing you away like I always have.”
She looks at me as I speak, but offers no sign of how she’s feeling.
“You probably think I’ve always hated you, but I haven’t. Not as much as I hated myself, anyway. Jessica made me go to therapy.” Silence surrounds us. I tap the edge of the Maltesers mug that came free with an Easter egg years ago. “Well, say something.”
“I… forgive you,” she says.
My shoulders relax as soon as she says the words I’ve been waiting to hear since that terrible day. I open my mouth to thank her, but then she smiles a crooked smile, and the hair on the back of my neck shoots up. Fingers tightening around the mug, I freeze as a warning bell chimes in my head.
I’m looking at Faye’s face, but that is not her smile. The arrangement of her muscles is all wrong. And where’s the sarcastic comment, the biting remark to put me in my place? My apology was accepted too easily.
I stand quickly, so full of energy that I shove the chair backwards and it clatters to the floor behind me. Then I lift an arm, extend a finger and point at the woman sat at the kitchen table. “You’re not Faye.”
Her eyes widen in fear and she rises from her chair, her eyes fixed on the door behind me.
She backs away from the table and turns, starting to run. I lurch forward, tripping over the table leg and falling onto the hard kitchen floor, palms slapping the tiles. Her gait is ungainly and stiff as she hurries from the room and then she disappears from view as I scramble on the ground.
I push myself up from the floor like a sprinter in the blocks, and finally, I’m on my feet, chasing after Claire Blackburn as she tries to run away.