“God,” said Becca when we were halfway up a flight. “Your dad likes them young.”
I shivered. “Don’t.”
“Sorry,” she said. There was a moment’s pause. “This house is truly amazing. I can’t believe you grew up here.”
“Well, I was at boarding school for some of it,” I said. We had reached the Blue Room. “Here you go. The loo’s just across the corridor.”
Becca walked in and looked around. “It’s amazing. Thanks.” She gave me a quick look I couldn’t quite decipher. “I was only joking about dressing for dinner.”
“God, I know that,” I said. I rolled my eyes. “Don’t worry about my father, anyway. He’ll be too taken up with what’s her name to pay us much attention, you’ll see.”
In that, I was wrong. When we came down for dinner, I could see Angus had switched into charming mode. Perhaps he was bored with Teresa – and I could quite see why – or perhaps he’d become aware of his previous shortcomings. He talked a lot to Becca and sometimes to me. Teresa pushed her food around the plate in a sulky manner. I tried to talk to her but gave up after a while.
I’d thought she’d leave after dinner but again I was wrong. We went back into the drawing room for coffee.
I may have over done it a bit on the booze that night, I’m prepared to admit. I was wound up and anxious; hoping Becca was enjoying herself, trying to please Angus, trying to alternately include Teresa or ignore her as politely as possible.
It meant I had to get up in the middle of the night, my bladder almost bursting. I was staggering down the corridor when I heard the sounds, sounds so immediately strange that at first I thought I was dreaming. I’d been dreaming when I woke up, thick tangled dreams of wolves and forests and these were sounds straight out of the dream; feral, rough animal sounds. In my befuddled state, it took me a moment to realise what they were, and that they were coming from Angus’s bedroom.
I managed to get to the bathroom before vomiting. At least I managed to do that. My croaks and gasps drowned out the noises Angus and Teresa were making and when I’d finished vomiting, my tears and sobs were able to drown them out too. I went back to my room and lay rigid, my fingers in my ears, trying not to hear, listening to the thunder of my heartbeat and the gallop of blood in my veins.
Chapter Five
It was a while before Becca and I could meet again. We chose a bar we both liked for our rendezvous, a little subterranean cavern with lots of tucked away nooks and crannies. Since the smoking ban had come in, visibility had improved a little but I still had to screw up my eyes against the dimness as I threaded my way through the tables and chairs, looking for Becca.
I couldn’t find her anywhere in the bar; I was obviously the first to arrive. I found a little table right at the back with two spare seats and sat myself and my glass of wine down. I’d bought a bottle for us; I knew I’d be needing it. A candle in a votive glass holder cast a flickering golden light over the rough surface of the table. I pushed it further back against the wall and took out my book but I couldn’t concentrate. When I realised I’d read the same line five times, I shut it and put it away and concentrated on drinking my wine.
Becca came around the corner in her usual rush, trailing scarves and her battered old handbag.
“God!” she said, flinging herself into the chair opposite. “What a night! Total overload at the office and then I get here and make a beeline for someone who I was sure was you and obviously it wasn’t. Oh, excellent, you’ve got us a bottle - slosh some in there would you, darling? How are you doing?”
We talked about inconsequential things through the first half of the bottle. Becca asked after Matt, although I didn’t have much to tell her.
“He says hello,” I said. “He was pleased I was going out again. I think he’s worried I’m just going to closet myself away at home.”
“Well, it’s understandable,” said Becca. “You do have a tendency to get a bit hermit-like.”
“I do not!”
“Okay, well, only sometimes.” Becca wasn’t interested in arguing the point. “Anyway...”
“Anyway, what?” I was stalling and both she and I knew it.
“What’s upsetting you? I know it’s not just your dad. What’s wrong?”
I emptied the rest of the wine into our glasses. I could feel the two glasses I’d already swallowed warming my stomach and I basked in the feeling. It was such a comfort.
“How long have we known each other?” I said.
Becca looked surprised.
“Five years? No, more. Six years? Ever since we both worked at Whitfords.”
“Whitfords, that’s right.” Or ‘Shitfords’ as I’d overheard Becca calling it, one day in the canteen there. It had been a good time in my life, relatively; it was before I’d started to fall ill. Becca had left Whitfords not long after that but by then we were drinking partners, buddies, friends. That we still were, despite my illness and Angus’s disapproval, seemed something of a minor miracle.
I was aware I’d fallen silent. Becca looked at me through the candlelight, frowning slightly. “Want another drink?”
I gave her a wry look. “What do you think?”
She grinned and pushed her chair back. While she was waiting at the bar, I was thinking about my options. To tell, or not to tell? If I told, how much to tell? Should I just lie and make something up, for the sake of another few months of peace before she got curious again? It would be easier, but... in a strange way, I wanted to tell her. I hadn’t spoken of this to anyone except Matt for years. Matt and my therapist.
Becca came back with another bottle, bless her. She poured us both a generous glass and I watched the condensation bead on the glass and run in a shining droplet to splash onto the table.
We didn’t clink glasses this time.
“Look,” she said, gently for her. “I know something’s bothering you. You’ve got that look again.” I opened my mouth to ask her to elaborate but she waved me down. “It’s just – well, I want to help you. I’m your friend, after all. You don’t have to tell me anything but, you never know, I might be able to help.”
I nodded. I took a sip of wine, pondering. Becca sat back and smiled at me, still gently, but in her eyes I could see a glimpse of something that was almost greedy. For a second, I felt a tiny flash of dislike for her, and stamped down upon it. Of course she was curious, I’d been so mysterious about my past. I couldn’t blame her. I felt the old impulse to pretend it didn’t matter, to turn the subject. But what had Margaret said to me at our last session? It’s nothing to be ashamed of, Maudie. I think it’s time you started letting people in.
Guilt gripped me around the throat and I coughed. I took a sip of my drink. I talked to myself, like I so often did. Becca’s my friend, she won’t judge me. Much.
“Well,” I began. I didn’t know how to start. “It’s not – I mean, it’s not as if I’ve got something really terrible to tell you. Well, terrible in that it’s something I’ve done. It’s not. It’s just – hard – for me to talk about.”
Becca didn’t say anything but she reached across the table and took my hand. Touched, I tightened my fingers around hers for a moment, before speaking again. I was finding it easier now, the words were coming more fluidly.
“When I was ten, I was on holiday in Cornwall with Angus. He’d bought two cottages out in the middle of nowhere, about a half an hour’s drive from Penzance, which doesn’t sound like much but really, they were incredibly remote, or so they seemed to me. It was the first time we went there - we had the one cottage and the other cottage–“ my voice clogged and I coughed and started again, “the McGaskills took the other cottage.”