The Secret by the Lake (22 page)

‘Are there more drawings?’ I asked.

‘There are. Wicked drawings. You will do as I say, won’t you?’

‘Yes, of course. I’ll make sure nobody goes into the room. Thank you so much for your help.’

‘No need to thank me.’ He shifted in his chair and took something out of his jacket pocket – a wallet. He extracted a five-pound note and held it out. ‘It’s for you,’ he said.

I shook my head. ‘I can’t take that.’

‘Take it,’ the doctor said. ‘Buy yourself something nice. Treat the little girl if you wish.’

‘Really, I can’t accept this.’

‘Take it,’ the doctor said, and his voice had an authority that forbade any further protestation. ‘Go on. Spend it on food if you must, whatever you like. Only make sure,’ he said, ‘that the poor dear child is kept away from that terrible room.’

I FOLDED THE
five-pound note and put it in my bag. Already I was planning what I would do with it. Fish and chips, I thought. I would buy us all a fish and chip supper, with mushy peas, gravy, salt, vinegar – as much as we could eat. And cake. I’d pay off my bills at the shops and then I’d buy the ingredients for a cake, and I’d make a great big cherry cake with vanilla butter icing on top and a whole pot of blackcurrant jam in the middle. I would buy a tin of Nescafé coffee – we hadn’t had any at Reservoir Cottage since before Christmas – and a bottle of lemonade. I would buy chocolate and fresh bread, a pound of butter and a joint of meat. I’d make a roast dinner tomorrow, we’d have carrots and parsnips and cauliflower cheese, gravy and stuffing, a whole tray of Yorkshire puddings.

I was headed back to the reception desk at Sunnyvale, my stomach growling with anticipation as I planned the meals we would eat, when I felt a gentle tapping on my shoulder. I turned to see Susan Pettigrew. I was so lost in my thoughts that I didn’t register who it was for a moment and perhaps when I said, ‘Hello,’ I sounded a little off-hand.

Whether or not I put her off, Susan didn’t say anything. She merely stood close to me, looking terrified.

‘Did you want to talk to me, dear?’ I asked.

Susan’s eyes flickered around nervously. She nodded.

‘What did you want to talk about?’

Susan came up very close to me, and whispered: ‘Caroline.’

‘All right.’ I smiled. ‘I’d be happy to hear what you have to say.’

Susan looked around her again. The receptionist, at the front desk, was only a few feet away but she was speaking on the telephone, not looking at us. Susan held one hand up to her mouth, to mask her lips, and she muttered: ‘She wasn’t evil.’ She shook her head to emphasize this. ‘She wasn’t even bad.’ Her eyes at once reddened and so did her cheeks. ‘She was my friend.’

‘Oh Susan, I know she was.’

Susan blinked and tears caught on her lashes. ‘She was my only friend,’ she said. Her shoulders were hunched and her head held low as if she were trying to make herself as small as possible. Tears were running down her downy cheeks.

‘Come and sit with me by the fire for a while, dear, and we can talk,’ I said gently.

‘It’s not allowed.’

‘Surely we can have a few minutes.’

‘No. I’m not allowed. I’m not presentable.’ She fidgeted up her sleeve for a handkerchief. I passed her mine. She took it and dabbed at her eyes, mumbling, ‘They said Caroline did it on purpose, but she never; it was an accident.’

‘What was an accident, dear?’

‘Mrs Aldridge going under the water.’

‘Oh!’

The receptionist heard my gasp and looked up. She saw Susan’s distress. I put one arm around Susan and turned her, so our backs were towards the reception desk.

‘I don’t understand,’ I whispered. ‘I know Mrs Aldridge drowned in the lake, but what does that have to do with Caroline?’

Susan’s voice was urgent now. She twisted the handkerchief furiously between her hands. ‘She never meant to hurt her! It was an accident!’

The receptionist put down the telephone receiver, stood up and began to walk towards us.

‘Susan! Come on, dear, leave our visitor alone,’ she called. ‘What will Matron say if she finds out you’ve been a nuisance?’

‘It was an accident!’ Susan repeated fiercely. ‘She wasn’t supposed to go in the lake!’

The receptionist had reached us. She took hold of Susan’s arm. ‘Sorry,’ she said to me. ‘She gets herself into a bit of a tizz sometimes, don’t you, dear?’

‘I was telling her about Caroline!’ Susan said.

The woman rolled her eyes. ‘Caroline, Caroline! It’s always Caroline! Now’s not the time or place, is it, dear? We’ve talked about this before, haven’t we? Come on now. Don’t make me get cross.’

She hurried Susan away, back along the corridor, ignoring my protestations. I was afraid of making things worse for Susan but that was no excuse really; I should have done more to help her. I watched her go, then I buttoned my coat and left the building, the money safe in my bag.

I walked up the hill feeling as if I were carrying a weight on my shoulders. Susan’s words went round and round in my mind. I told myself I should be feeling better about everything; the doctor had agreed to sort out the redecorating of the empty bedroom and we would all eat well that evening. I didn’t feel better though; I felt more unsettled than ever.

I TOLD JULIA
that I had found the five-pound note in the lining of my suitcase. We all celebrated this serendipitous find by dancing, hand in hand, around the kitchen table. After that I went to the Lake Inn and bought three fish suppers to take away and two bottles of beer and one of lemonade, and Julia, Vivi and I ate like queens, queens who enjoyed sucking every last morsel of salty grease from their fingers. We fed the fish skins to the dog. And after that, happily sated, I arranged to meet Daniel for a drink. I was full of food and sleepy but he didn’t seem to mind that I was quiet.

It was so easy to be myself with him; there were no secrets of the heart that I would hide from him. We sat in the pub and talked of this and that, but it was enough for me that we were simply there, together, as if that was how we always had been and always would be.

When I was with him, it felt as if everything was falling perfectly into place. I already knew that soon, there would never be a morning when I didn’t wake up, or a night when I did not fall asleep beside Daniel, and that that was how my life had always been meant to be. He was my way forward. He was my future. With him, there would be no uncertainty; with him I would be secure and happy. I did not doubt him, not for one second.

We had a lovely, peaceful evening and afterwards we spent a while together in the car steaming up the windows, and only after that did Daniel drop me off at the end of the lane. I kissed him goodbye and walked alone towards Reservoir Cottage. As I drew closer, I could see the lights were still on, even though it was gone midnight. I began to run back towards the house, praying that nothing bad had happened.

Viviane was waiting for me in the hallway in her nightdress and slippers. She threw her arms around me and pressed her head against my shoulder.

‘What is it?’ I asked. ‘Darling, what’s wrong?’

Julia wandered out from the back room, leaning on her stick, a glass in her free hand, looking terribly tired. Vivi looked up towards her mother.

‘Amy, dear, while you were out there was a telephone call,’ Julia said. ‘It was a neighbour of your father’s – a Mrs Botham.’

‘Is it my father? What’s happened to him?’

‘Now don’t panic, he’s all right but he’s in hospital. You need to go back to Sheffield. That’s it, sit down. Let Vivi hold your hand, take the glass. Now listen, sweetheart, it might not be as serious as it sounds but the doctors think it’s his heart and they’re taking every precaution. Drink the gin, it’ll do you good. Vivi has been round to Mrs Croucher’s to borrow a copy of the train timetable. You can go back to Yorkshire in the morning. We’ve booked a taxi to pick you up at seven. All the arrangements have been made. You don’t need to worry about anything.’

But I can’t leave you, I thought. How can I leave you both alone?

I dropped my head into my hands. There was barely enough food in the cupboards to last the week and although I had money now, I knew Julia wouldn’t go to the shop to spend it. There were God knows what horrors hidden behind the wallpaper in the empty bedroom and, if I went away, I would miss my appointment with Dr Croucher – which would delay the redecoration of the room. How could I possibly leave Julia and Viviane? How could I?

‘I can’t go,’ I said.

‘But you must, dear.’

‘There’s no benefit in me going,’ I said. ‘It will make no difference to Dad if I’m there or if I’m not and you need me here.’

I looked at Julia, held her eyes. I had once told her that my father cared more for his pigeons than for me and she had laughed, but not unkindly. ‘Birds are not complicated,’ she had said, ‘but daughters are. Perhaps he doesn’t know
how
to love you.’

‘You must go,’ Julia said, more firmly. ‘If, heaven forbid, your father takes a turn for the worse, and you aren’t there for him, you will never forgive yourself. And I will never forgive myself either.’

‘But how will you manage?’

‘We’ll be all right,’ Julia said. ‘God willing you’ll only be gone a few days and we can cope for that time. Mrs Croucher is next door if we need anything, and we have the telephone.’

I turned to Viviane. ‘And you’ll be up in time to catch the bus to school each morning?’

‘Yes, of course.’

‘And you’ll remember your choir practices? Because it’s not long until the concert now.’

‘Yes! It’s not like Mr Leeson would let me forget.’

‘Go upstairs and pack yourself a little bag, Amy dear,’ Julia said gently, ‘then you must try and get some sleep.’

I did as she said. By that time, the others had gone to bed and the house was quiet. The door to the empty bedroom was closed and locked, as it had been when I went out, but I had a compulsion to look inside. I turned the key, pushed the door open, switched on the light and went in. The room seemed to contract away from me, like a sea-creature closing itself back inside its shell. I had a sense of its withdrawing and I reached out to steady myself against the doorframe in case the floor beneath my feet disappeared. Strips of half-peeled wallpaper hung around the chimney breast, like lacerated skin. The patch of wall that we had scrubbed, where the drawing had been, was dark and bad-tempered, a filthy plaster slapped over a wound.

I became suddenly tearful. I left the room, locked the door, took the key and put it in my coat pocket. Then I finished packing – only a few things, I didn’t intend to be away for long. At the last moment, when I was almost done, I pulled Caroline’s satchel out from under the bed, unfastened the buckles, opened it up and took out the gold necklace that had once belonged to Daniel’s grandmother. I dangled the chain over my fingers, watched the pendant swinging, the way the ruby caught the light; it was exquisite.

It belonged to the Aldridges. It was part of Daniel’s inheritance, and more than that, part of his family history. Already it was a secret, a barrier between the two of us. I had not directly lied about it, but not telling was a kind of dishonesty; it tainted our relationship.

I wished I’d never set eyes on the thing.

AT BRISTOL’S TEMPLE
Meads station the next morning, I called Daniel from a telephone box to let him know what was happening, assured him that I would be fine and that I would miss him. He said he wanted to come with me; I told him that was absolutely not necessary. I promised to call again that evening. Then I treated myself to a cup of tea and a slice of buttered toast. I sat in the café at a table between shafts of sunlight falling through the high glass roof and shared my breakfast with Bess, who I had brought with me at the last moment, at Julia’s insistence. She was worried about keeping the dog at Reservoir Cottage when I was not there to look after her. How would she be exercised, Julia had asked, while I was away? Where would she sleep? I looked down at Bess, who sat beside my knee, looking up at me. I smoothed her ear, soft as silk.

‘I’m glad you’re here,’ I told her.

Bess thumped her tail. I offered her the last of the toast and she took it very gently from my fingers. It felt as if the dog and I were isolated in our own little bubble of aloneness. All around, people in coats and scarves and hats were going about their ordinary daily business. They were reading newspapers, talking to one another, blowing on their fingers, holding tightly to their briefcases, looking down the tracks to see if trains were coming, checking their watches. For weeks my world had been confined to the lake, the hills, to the village of Blackwater. I no longer felt that I belonged in this big, hectic outside world. I had become disconnected.

The train was busy, but the guard helped me find a seat by the window where Bess could sleep between my feet. As the train rolled north, I rested my chin on my hand and stared out of the window, watching my reflection superimposed over the bleak, wintry countryside. I let myself drift into an almost-sleep in which my father’s pinched face moved through my mind and disappeared as quickly and smoothly as the winter countryside. I let myself dream, for a while, about Daniel.

My father’s next-door neighbour, Eileen Botham, was waiting on the platform at Sheffield, bleached hair set in a severe permanent wave protected by a headscarf decorated with black and white Scottie dogs tied beneath her chin. She waved when she spotted me and headed across the platform. I was enclosed in a bony hug, a cloud of Max Factor.

‘Hello, my pet, how are you?’ Mrs Botham asked.

‘I’m fine,’ I said.

Mrs Botham patted Bess’s head. ‘It’s nice to see your Granny’s doggie again,’ she said.

I didn’t bother to reply.

I had prepared myself for being alone in Sheffield. I hadn’t counted on the company of Mrs Botham, a widow who, as my grandmother never tired of pointing out, was no better than she should be. She had a reputation, according to Granny, for being a gossip and a busybody. It was probably true, but I had been reluctantly grateful to Mrs Botham when she volunteered to make the sandwiches for the wake after my grandmother’s funeral and then handed them round. She’d helped me tidy up afterwards too. She was nice enough but she was just a bit
much.