Till We Meet Again (37 page)

‘That’s definitely enough for one day,’ Steven said.

‘It certainly is,’ Roy sighed.

Chapter eighteen

Steven was deeply troubled as he drove away from the prison. According to the prison doctor, Susan had fainted as the result of a combination of stress and lack of food. She had been taken to the hospital wing for observation over the weekend, and Steven had said he would ring the prison on Monday morning to see how she was.

As he approached the Almondsbury interchange between the M4 and the M5, and saw the Friday evening traffic almost at a standstill, he felt even worse. He wanted to go back to the office and see Beth before he went home, but he had promised to take Polly and Sophie to Brownies that evening, and if he went to Clifton first, he wouldn’t make it home again in time.

Wearily, he joined the queue of cars. It would be a long weekend having to hold Susan’s partial confession inside him. Anna had never taken much interest in his cases, but since she’d stopped drinking she seemed almost jealous of his relationship with his clients, and Susan in particular, but that was probably because she’d picked up on his sympathy for her.

Anna was even more jealous of Beth. She’d sensed that she and Steven had become close friends and felt threatened, so now it was safer for him to avoid mentioning her at all. But that meant he wouldn’t go and see her this weekend, even a phone call was out of the question. Anna wouldn’t need much of an excuse to start drinking again, for she had reached the stage where she had almost forgotten the bad aspects of her drinking, and the effect it had on the children. Now she really missed the pleasure of it and she was often snappy and depressed.

But with his mind on Susan, and still shocked by her frank confession, Steven hadn’t got much sympathy left for Anna right now. She’d had it all, a secure and happy childhood, the career of her choice, a great deal of fun, and freedom to express herself, plus two pretty, healthy children and a husband who loved her and took care of her. It was a great deal more than Susan had.

Steven thought of Susan’s revelations to Roy about Beth earlier that day, and wondered if he should at least make a quick call to her to warn her about it in case Roy contacted her this weekend. Yet it didn’t seem right to blurt out something like that over the phone, or to tell her about the confession. Both were likely to distress her.

But then, everyone involved in this case was distressed by it – himself, Beth, Roy and not least Susan. Then there were the victims’ families, and the present owners of The Rookery who were about to find out that their garden concealed a grave. That hardly bore thinking about.

He wondered what Susan was thinking about right now. He didn’t entirely believe the doctor’s verdict as to why she fainted. He thought it was more likely a panic attack brought on by what she knew she had yet to reveal.

Susan lay in her bed in the hospital wing, her head spinning with confused thoughts. It seemed to her she’d got herself into a situation which was a bit like climbing up on a big rock at low tide. The tide had turned and now she was cut off, watching the dark water swirl around her rock, knowing that before long the waters would rise to engulf her.

It hadn’t seemed that difficult to admit to killing Liam because she knew she really hadn’t meant to do it. But she soon found that knowing in her head what she had done was very different to relating it to someone else for the first time. She found she was almost standing back from herself and seeing the full horror of it as another person.

She couldn’t understand now how she managed to stay so calm afterwards, or why she felt so little remorse or guilt. If Annabel hadn’t died, how would she have coped with her questions about her father later on? She didn’t remember ever considering that before.

But then she supposed she was guilty of never really considering anything properly in her entire life. She hadn’t stopped to think what agreeing to take care of her mother would mean. She certainly hadn’t stopped to think before embarking on a love affair with Liam. Maybe she could excuse both of those because her heart was ruling her head and she was naive. Yet she couldn’t understand why she allowed herself to become entrapped by Reuben, for in many ways he was another Martin, every bit as cunning, cold-hearted, cruel and on the make.

Of course she didn’t see that at the time. The way he talked about feelings, religion and psychology made him seem as opposite to Martin as it was possible to be. Then there was his unconventional appearance and that way he had of looking right into your eyes, as if you were the most fascinating person in the entire world.

Yet when she thought back to the way Reuben just took her off to the bedroom and stripped off his clothes, she realized she ought to have heard warning bells jangling. It was, in her vulnerable state, almost rape. Just the fact that he’d said he loved her shouldn’t have made her believe he had a right to take complete control of every aspect of her life.

She did believe that though. She let him mould her into exactly what he wanted from his woman. He didn’t like her ordinary clothes, she had to wear hippie-style long dresses. He wouldn’t let her get her hair cut, or wear makeup. She had to learn to like New Age music and read David Eddings fantasy books instead of Catherine Cookson. She didn’t dare admit to approving of Margaret Thatcher, she had to become a dyed-in-the-wool lefty.

She got so far into his power that she almost admitted to him once that she believed Annabel was taken from her because she’d killed Liam. It wasn’t long after she’d arrived at Hill House.

With her eyes closed, she could see herself on that warm, sunny afternoon in early October. Reuben had taken her out for a walk, to what he said was a secret place which he’d never shared with anyone before. They walked across one of his fields, then through another, and skirted round a wooded hill and over a fence to a tiny rough path that went up into the woods.

The trees and bushes were so dense, the ground so rocky, steep and difficult to walk on that she didn’t really want to go on. It was chilly in the shade of the trees, and brambles and twigs were snatching at her face and clothes. But Reuben kept saying it would be worth it when they got there.

It was indeed worth the hard slog to reach it, for once they’d fought their way through the last of the thick bushes they came into a little horseshoe-shaped glade, encircled by tall trees which almost met above their heads. The opening of the horseshoe was at an escarpment of rock, far too steep for anyone to climb up that way. The afternoon sun streamed down through the opening on to lush, mossy grass. Reuben led her over to the rocks, and there was Hill House far below, the village beyond, and a view all the way to the sea.

‘This is your new kingdom,’ he said, kissing her. ‘And you are my queen.’

He had brought a blanket with him, and a bottle of wine, and he said they had to make love there for it would be like a marriage ceremony. It had seemed so sacred, not a sound except birdsong, the sun slanting in through the leaves which were just starting to change colour. Susan could remember thinking as she lay back on the rug that it was almost like being in a cathedral.

Reuben’s love-making was the best ever that day, tender and giving. She felt like Guinevere being seduced by Sir Lancelot, for she was wearing a medieval-looking, long russet-coloured crushed-velvet dress he’d bought for her from a second-hand clothes shop.

‘You are so beautiful,’ Reuben said, leaning up on his elbow to look at her, running one hand through her hair. ‘There is purity in your face, despite the hurt in your eyes. That hurt will go when you have my baby in your arms. Nothing will ever harm you again.’

He looked handsome that day, his newly washed hair falling on to his lightly tanned shoulders, and his eyes so adoring. Susan felt he had rescued her and brought her to a new happy world and her heart filled with gratitude.

Reuben was always saying that people should share their inmost secrets, good and bad. In the evenings at the house they had sessions they called ‘sharing’, when each of them would tell the others something from their past. Susan had listened to so many shocking stories of prostitution, or stealing from family members to buy drugs. One of the men talked about his days as a pimp and how cruel he was to ‘his girls’. All these things were so far removed from Susan’s own experience that she listened in appalled astonishment.

So far, the only thing she had told the others about herself was Annabel’s death. But in that moment there in the glade she was ready to tell Reuben why she thought it had happened.

She thought later that God or whatever power it was who took her child didn’t want her to reveal it, for Reuben suddenly got up and began pulling on his clothes. He had remembered he had to collect some paints and other craft materials before five-thirty. The chance was gone, and she never had the desire to tell him again. Much later she was very glad she hadn’t told him, he would almost certainly have used it against her.

In the ensuing months, Hill House turned her inside out and upside down. Although there were no prayers or formal religion, there was a strong leaning towards the spiritual. Astrology, I Ching, Tarot and meditation were common interests among the residents. Most of them had some experience of group therapy, they liked to dig into one another’s minds, and discuss each other’s problems. They saw themselves as a large family, to which Susan was the latest welcome addition, and in her bruised and battered state she found this immensely comforting.

Yet at the same time she felt like an orphaned child taken into a totally different world where she barely spoke the same language, and all the customs were the opposite of what she had learned previously. All the standards she’d been taught by her parents were challenged. No one at Hill House cared if the table was laid correctly for meals – they laughed at her when she first got there because she asked where the napkins were kept. Beds were never made, cleaning was minimal, nudity didn’t raise so much as an eyebrow, and bodily functions were discussed openly.

One day she would be totally repelled by someone discussing homosexual acts in graphic detail, the next she would be mesmerized by exotic stories of travelling in India or Africa. Reuben wouldn’t have hard drugs in the house, but they all smoked cannabis. Some of the others changed sexual partners frequently. Roger liked to watch other people having sex, and the others seemed to welcome it. There were pornographic magazines all over the house.

Yet to balance the things she didn’t like, there were so many that she did – Simon playing classical guitar, Megan’s painting, the work in the craft room, the discussions and the laughter over the evening meal. And Reuben made her feel safe and protected because he called her ‘his woman’.

She was happy there and her past became misty as she embraced a new way of living. No one ridiculed her for clearing up, cleaning windows or washing clothes, the way Liam had. They called her Mother Earth and said they loved her for it.

Yet it was her shooting that really impressed them. Father’s revolver was tucked away, wrapped in a soft cloth, and she didn’t tell anyone about it. But there was a shotgun in the house which Reuben said had been left by a previous resident. She cleaned it up and practised out in the fields until she got back the skill she’d had as a young girl.

Nothing made her happier than seeing their shock at her bagging a pheasant or a rabbit. She supposed the elation she got was much like the kid at school who always won the hundred-yards sprint on sports day. She liked being praised for her cooking and her ability to mend clothes, but shooting was something special. It set her apart, made up for her ignorance about sex, drugs and travel. It made people look up to her.

But the honeymoon period when everything seemed exciting, new and challenging was beginning to pall by the following spring. By then she’d heard everyone’s stories several times. Being Mother Earth and cleaning up after everyone wasn’t much fun when she had to do it day after day, without any real appreciation, and she was starting to doubt that Reuben was all she had first thought.

She had fully believed he set up the commune for the good of the members, that all the money made in the craft shop went straight back into the common purse to feed and clothe them all. But she had noticed he had a mercenary streak – he could never be drawn into admitting how much money came into the house. At times she had a sneaky feeling he was conning them all, and that the meagre pocket money he doled out from time to time was a mere fraction of what he pocketed himself.

The warmer weather brought the sparkle back. It was wonderful not to be cold all the time, to be able to work in the garden, to go out in the fields and woods, to watch the sun going down over the hills in the long light evenings. But as summer arrived, Reuben expected them to work harder still so he could sell more to the tourist shops, and he got angry if anyone was slacking in the workshop. Some of the others became rebellious, they wanted to go off to rock festivals or visit friends, and in whispers they would suggest that Reuben was making fools of them all.

When Susan found the bill from the auctioneers for her furniture, and saw it had raised over £7,000, she felt crushed. While she was happy to share all she had with Reuben, she felt he ought to have told her exactly what she had put in. But just as she had never confronted her father with his unfairness and duplicity, she remained silent and became an observer.

It was only then that she began to see what Hill House really was, a kind of working hostel for the damaged. Every single one of its occupants had problems, whether it was lack of self-esteem, laziness, selfishness, an addictive personality or even mental instability. All of them had been through traumas, ranging from being abused as children to prison and drink and drug addiction. Hill House had helped them all in as much as it had removed them from damaging environments and given them a kind of family life, but it failed in that it didn’t prepare them to go back into the real world.

Yet Susan couldn’t say she was disillusioned. Reuben had saved these people, and she still believed he truly loved her. He continued to make passionate love to her whenever he returned home from selling trips, and still said he wanted her to have his baby. She imagined that the day she told him she was pregnant, he’d want to persuade the others to leave so they could be alone. She even dreamed of running the place as a sort of bed and breakfast for hikers and those needing a retreat from city life.