What Have I Done? (28 page)

When Janeece and Natasha caught up with her, Kate was transfixed by a large canvas, about fifteen feet square. She studied every square inch with a wide grin. Her hands fluttered at her chest. She wanted to whoop with joy!

Natasha read the title. ‘
My Background Noise
– it’s an interesting title, what do you think it means?’

Kate turned to her friend, the art expert, and with eyes
brimming was able to interpret the meaning of the piece with confidence.

‘It means me, Tash. I am her background noise. Not cool, but like jam or a favourite pillow!’

Kate ran her fingers over the daubs of paint that depicted a set of speakers with flowers, strawberries and dolly pegs coming from them in every shade of the rainbow. It was beautiful and it was a message that Kate read loud and clear. Happiness swelled in her chest.

‘Oh, Lydia, my clever, beautiful girl! I will be waiting for you.’

As Natasha and Kate pulled into the driveway of Prospect House, they were still discussing the minute aspects of Lydia’s work. Kate knew that she would analyse and reinterpret what she had seen, time and time again. She felt close to her little girl; her hand had touched the paint that her daughter’s hand had applied. It was wonderful. But the state of excitement was not to last long, once the front door had been opened.

‘Ah, Kate, I’m so glad you’re back. We’ve got a bit of a situation on our hands.’

‘What kind of situation, Tom? Is the house burning down and you have forgotten the number for the fire brigade? Or have we run out of biscuits and cake will have to suffice? I’m really hoping that it’s closer to the latter; I don’t want anything to spoil my lovely day!’

Tom shook his head and held open his palm, in the centre of which sat a plastic bag. Her time in jail and her work in the field of rehabilitation meant that she could instantly identify the irregularly shaped, off-white rocks as crack cocaine.

‘Oh please God no, not that! Is it Tanya’s?’

‘Well I think we can assume so, Kate, unless you have taken up the habit?’

‘Oh, don’t tempt me, Tom! Right, leave it with me. Where is she?’

‘In her room. I haven’t mentioned it to her.’

‘No, you did right. It would be today, wouldn’t it; the one day I am away.’

‘How was it, boss?’

‘Oh, Tom, it was magnificent!’

‘I’m glad. If that’s all, Kate, I think I’ll call it a night. Been quite a day. Stacey got off okay; phoned to say that she’d arrived at her mum’s and was doing fine. Said she’d be back in a few days.’

‘That’s good. Night, Tom, and thanks for today.’

Kate saw the lamplight shining from beneath Tanya’s bedroom door. She knocked and waited.

‘Yeah?’

‘Can I come in, Tanya?’

It was unusual for Kate to visit at this time of night, so Tanya instantly knew that something was up.

‘Sure.’

Tanya was in bed, propped up on several pillows and cushions, reading a magazine and doodling in the margin with a biro. Kate noticed that she had drawn rolling waves over and over, making a frame around the article that she was reading.

‘Hey, Kate, how was it?’

‘Good, thanks, Tanya. Amazing, in fact.’

Kate let out a long sigh.

‘Everything okay?’

‘Not really, Tanya, no. I’m sorry to have to ask you, but do you know anything about this?’

Kate opened her hand to reveal the plastic bag with the drugs nestled inside.

Do I know anything about it? I would say you have found
someone’s candy. Judging by the colour, a good grade, not too cut. An eight ball probably enough for fifteen hours of bliss with a comedown so bad that whoever is using it would give anything, even sell their grandma for another high. That’s all I know about it.’

‘This isn’t funny and that wasn’t what I meant, Tanya, and you know it. Is it yours?’

‘Well it wouldn’t be Stacey Goody-Bloody-Two-Shoes, would it?’

Kate sat on the end of Tanya’s bed. She rubbed her temples and ran her fingers through her hair.

‘I give you a lot of freedom, Tanya, because I think that’s the right way for you to explore where you are going and where you have come from. The one rule I have is no drugs and only moderate alcohol, you know that. This is a serious breach of trust. I’m really disappointed.’

‘Well welcome to my world. Now you know what it feels like to live my life. I am permanently bloody disappointed! Although let me tell you, Kate, that if the worst disappointment you have to face is the fact that I have a small amount of rocks in my pocket, then your life ain’t too bad!’

‘I’m not the one being reprimanded here, Tanya. You broke the rules. It’s not as though we have that many. And it’s not like you’ve snuck in some booze or are smoking out of the window, its crack cocaine! This is on another scale. People have been asked to leave Prospect House for much less.’

‘As I said, yet another disappointment for me. Go on, ask me to leave. I couldn’t give a shit. At least if I go, I’ll be able to eat what I want instead of all that organic shit Tom makes, and I’ll be able to smoke what I bloody like!’

‘Well, that is up to you, Tanya. I’m not asking you to leave; I’m just asking you to think about what you are doing.’ Kate
held up the bag. ‘This is not what I want for you Tanya; you can do so much more than look for answers in this muck. You have to observe our rules. It’s how we keep you safe.’ She paused, not knowing quite how to wrap up this horrid end to an otherwise perfect day, ‘Quite frankly, it’s too late for me to deal with this right now. We can talk about it tomorrow when we are both less tired.’

Kate walked to the door.

‘Good night, dear.’

Tanya mumbled her response. Most of it was inaudible, but Kate could just make out the words ‘cow’ and ‘off’.

‘Pancakes, Tanya?’

Tom stood by the stove and waved the spatula in the air, indicating that he at least was in a jovial mood. A debate raged from the tinny radio in the corner: the voices were barely audible, yet it was enough of a noise to make the place feel like home.

Tanya shrugged her pointy shoulders inside her oversized sweatshirt and let her fringe hang over her face as she addressed the floor.

‘Don’t know if I’m allowed pancakes. I might be on gruel rations if ma’am has anything to do with it. Or, worse still, no breakfast at all before I’m turfed out.’

She was only half joking.

‘I’m sure it’s not that bad, Tanya. Kate’s got a lot on her mind, that’s all. She wouldn’t turf you out, love, I’m sure. She ain’t a pushover, but she won’t give up on you. I know that.’

‘Don’t know if I really give a shit actually, Tom. I was thinking that maybe I’d be better off heading back to London.
It’s so bloody quiet here, it could drive you mad. Plus I’ve got things I should be getting on with, people that I should be seeing. I was thinking I might go and get a job, sort a few things out, stay with a mate for a while. Y’know…’

Tom smiled. No, he didn’t know, and he had seen enough of Tanya and her slumped posture, nervous hair flicking and nail biting to see that she didn’t really know either.

‘You need to talk to her, Tanya. It’ll all come out in the wash, you’ll see. That’s one thing I can tell you about Kate and Tash: they only have your best interests at heart, love. I see how they worry and how they discuss the best way to help everyone that stays here. They’re good people.’

Tanya shrugged with indifference and simultaneously curled her top lip to show aggression and dislike in two simple moves. This was in fact the exact opposite of how she was feeling. She wanted to sob, to apologise, to lie wrapped in the soft pink lambswool blanket with her head on a cushion in front of the fire. She wanted to be told that she could stay for ever and ever.

‘Whatever.’

She wasn’t even sure who the bravado was intended for any more; it was a habit that she didn’t know how to break.

‘So is that a yes for pancakes or a no?’

Tanya cracked a smile in spite of her best efforts. Her tummy groaned as she inhaled the buttery, vanilla scent of the batter that wafted from the hot pan.

‘Well, as you’re making…’

It was a beautiful, clear Cornish day in the early flush of summer; one of those days when weather and mankind conspire to make a golden day of perfect memories. The sun was hot against bare skin, the sky bright blue with the merest wisp of cloud, as if painted by an artist’s brush stroke. The air was warm with a
gentle breeze that lifted the flower heads just enough to show off their true beauty. Toddlers dozed in pushchairs, couples held hands and strangers smiled, each playing their part.

Kate mooched around the harbour, taking time with her chores and enjoying the moment. Every time she closed her eyes, one of Lydia’s paintings came into focus. She felt closer to her somehow. Seeing her daughter’s work had been like peeking into her diary, offering wonderful insights into her darling girl’s mind. She was so glad that she had gone to Bristol, despite her initial worries. Kate also had to acknowledge the tiniest hint of disappointment. Deep down she had secretly hoped to catch a glimpse of her daughter; it had been difficult not to envisage a full-blown running-with-arms-wide reunion.

She wondered how Stacey was getting on at home and hoped that she would simply come back to Penmarin, collect the rest of her things and return to her mum and brother. As much as she would miss her, Kate knew that was where she belonged; it was the best thing for her long term.

The previous night’s showdown with Tanya weighed on her mind. She would call Janeece and get some advice. Drug use and addiction were Janeece’s specialisation, although where Tanya was concerned, Kate suspected it was more a recreational habit born out of boredom than an addiction. She needed to occupy her more: maybe a job in the village, the pub? No, not the pub, silly thought. Bloody Rodney Morris; even the thought of him brought a fresh wave of anger.

She would give it some thought and they would find a way through, whatever happened. Kate loved Tanya’s spirit, even if her energy was a little misdirected at times. In the cold, bright light of day Kate laughed to herself at the detailed description Tanya had given her of the small bag of drugs. Cheeky girl. She’d go back and talk to her now, so that they could all return
to calm waters and move forward. Kate inhaled the fresh sea air. Life felt good.

Tanya locked her bedroom door, turning the heavy key until the satisfying clunk told her it was safe to proceed. In her bathroom she removed her purchase from the white plastic bag. She unwound the thin strip of coloured cellophane, then peeled the wrapper off the rectangular box. With her jeans and pants bundled around her ankles like a nest, Tanya gave little thought to the task in hand. By mentally transporting herself somewhere else entirely, she could pretend for a little while longer.

Job done, Tanya washed her hands meticulously, taking care to scrape under her nails and lather between her fingers. She patted her palms dry on the thick white towel and then, as she always did, inhaled the fresh scent that the liquid soap left on her skin. She breathed deeply, intoxicated by the floral tones that filled her head. She cherished this small ritual; there had been so many times that she had been without soap and the means to get clean.

The spatula-like stick sat on the glass shelf above the sink. Tanya felt slightly faint when she considered what was at stake. There was the slightest tremor to her grip as her fingers rolled around the plastic. The truth was she had known the result before looking. She knew because her instinct had been screaming at her for the best part of six weeks. The slight sway of nausea, the fatigue, the heightened emotion – it had been very easy to explain away each of these elements. It could be the change of environment or Tom’s unfamiliar food; even the sea air had shouldered some of the blame. It had all sounded plausible, reasonable. Yet deep down Tanya knew that the symptoms would have been exactly the same had she stayed in London or ended up in Timbuktu.

She could recall the hour, if not the very minute of conception. It hadn’t been beautiful, romantic or considered. It never was. She had gone to say goodbye, explain that she wanted a fresh start away from him, away from that life, away from temptation. He had been quiet and surprisingly understanding, leading her to believe that he never had really given a shit, or that her replacement had already been lined up. Whichever, it mattered little now.

One drink, two, maybe three later and they had done what was natural and familiar to them both, for old times’ sake, one last time. His deep blue eyes with their penetrating stare still fascinated her and drew her in. She had relished the comfort she found in his arms, loved the feel of his skin against hers. This dark, brooding man who had shown her both the height of ecstasy, sending her spirit skywards, where it would dance among the stars, and also the depths of despair, where she would beg to be shown the merest crumb of affection, for which she would be deeply grateful. This man, whom she would jump through hoops for, follow to the ends of the earth, even take the rap for. They were cut from the same cloth: two individuals whose life experiences and surroundings were so similar that their connection went way beyond physical attraction; theirs was a deep yet destructive union. It was almost impossible for her to distinguish between the need for the man who wrought so much influence over her life and the drug that he supplied, the two were inextricably linked. One thing she knew for certain was that he would always be the love of her life.

After wiping around the sink and flushing the loo, Tanya returned to the bedroom. She looked out of the window and not for the first time marvelled at the fact that if you could swim far enough you could get all the way to Canada. She would like to go to Canada. What did she know about it?
They ate a lot of maple syrup; they had big bears and even bigger mountains. Something in the back of her mind told her that they spoke French, was that right? This made her laugh. Imagine that, swimming all the way to Canada and not being able to speak French.