Chapter Three
‘You what?’
‘I bought it,’ James says, a quiver to his smile. His hand runs through his salt-and-pepper hair as my eyes pin him down.
My body reacts before my mind has a chance to catch up with it.
I pick up the closest object to me, a porcelain serving spoon, and chuck it at his head.
He ducks, and the spoon shatters against the wall.
While my chest heaves, Harper and my mother abandon their chopsticks, guiding Skyla quietly away from the table.
Guilt eats at me as she turns to look over her shoulder at us, wanting to make sure we’re okay. I give her a small, reassuring nod as I calm myself.
I am left at a table surrounded by men. A lioness, cornered.
‘I think that’s fantastic, James.’ My dad raises his glass, and I try to hide the chagrin that runs up my spine.
‘You didn’t even ask me.’ I shake my head at my husband. ‘If we can afford it there, why couldn’t we just stay here?’
‘It’s time, Bella,’ James says, butter soft. ‘It’s time to go.’
The warm, thick scent of hoisin, of toasted sesame, vinegar and spice is in my nose. It’s so strong I can’t breathe. Before I can respond, my dad interjects.
‘He’s right. This isn’t good for you,’ he says, gesturing around the living room.
‘But this is our home,’ I cry, my hand coming down hard on the table in front of me. The dinner set clatters noisily against the wood.
Everyone jumps.
‘Sweetheart,’ my dad says slowly. ‘This place can’t be healed with time. You should’ve left long ago. I understand why you stayed, I do.’ He reaches out for my hand, but I rip mine away from him. I don’t want anyone touching me right now.
‘She isn’t coming back,’ Oscar says, and I want to jam those words back into his mouth.
My body starts to shake violently. James makes his way around the table, crouching at my side. My fight is gone. I don’t even have it in me to push him away as he places a hand on my thigh, tender from my nails digging into them.
‘This is what we need. It’s what Skyla needs,’ he says, placing the pamphlet onto my lap. I blink at it through tear-filled eyes, at the nineteenth-century home with its panoramic Cotswold views that is apparently now ours. ‘Skyla deserves a good life.’
And I guess that seals it. One daughter needing a good life over the other needing memorialising.
* * *
I can’t pack our lives up into cardboard boxes — I just can’t. Instead, I take Skyla away to Center Parcs for a weekend while my parents help James. The woodlands and outdoor activities keep us busy; it stops the horror I’m feeling from unfurling.
For a couple of days, Skyla and I become nobodies, and it’s lovely.
We learn archery, play adventure golf and get our hair braided.
I take her on a pony ride, and she begs at least once an hour every waking minute of the trip for a pony of her own.
And I think, maybe, if we can afford this home in the Cotswolds, maybe we can get her a pony. Maybe we can become horse people.
I catch myself wondering if this is what it’ll be like out there.
Is this really what we’ve needed all along?
It’s a rattling thought, and it makes me want to cry.
The biggest part of me feels like leaving Bristol is abandoning my other daughter.
Even my counsellor tells me otherwise, but I won’t believe it.
Can’t believe it. Robin is still out there somewhere; I know it in my heart, which shatters as we close the door to our apartment for the last time and walk away from the place where Robin was taken.