Honest Page 3

  67% of women think they should always dress to impress no matter who they’re seeing. You either play the part, or you’re out of the game!

  I decided on the stick.

  Leaving the house was eerier than I’d prepared myself for; I wasn’t used to going out alone anymore at all. I tugged the front door shut and bowed my head against the spittle from the sheet of grey cloud hovering above the harbour. Keeping my eyes on the boats below, I searched for David while I staggered, step by step, until I spied something coming into the quay. A great fishing boat, piled high with their catch, was getting dive–bombed by a flock of seagulls.

  He had to be on there; there weren’t many working fishing boats left in Mevagissey. I hurried, my knee throbbing, past all the little shop windows and round the wide bend to the other side of the harbour where I would wait for him. The boat seemed to take forever to come in, and the wind whipped my hair to rat’s tails, but I leaned against my stick and watched until I spotted his familiar figure emerging from the boat. I gritted my teeth and screamed inwardly as my knee cramped up from my too–brisk walk, but I didn’t care.

  I needed him to know that I was back, and I’d survived. Really survived.

  It was reported that 34% of women admitted to being in an abusive relationship. Do YOU need to breakaway?

  When he got closer I waved my arm frantically, and after a moment’s pause, to my relief, he waved back. I was taken aback by his appearance; the boy David had changed. The pimpled, skinny–limbed fifteen year old I remembered had shot up to around 5”11, which compared to my 5”4 seemed a big difference. His skin was clear and his hair, a rich chestnut brown, was released from underneath the beanie hat in one snatch of his large hand.

  I was still waving when he came just a few feet in front of me. I was just so...captivated by the change in him. Somehow I’d almost believed I would see the boy I used to know coming towards me. I dropped my arm immediately and smiled back at David the man, who smiled with a row of straight off–white teeth. His eyes, green as seaweed, looked drowsy under his heavy brow.

  He looked tired, his healthy teenage glow almost evaporated.

  ‘David!’ I said, because I didn’t know what else to say.

  ‘Ellen,’ he said back, shrugging his shoulders in his big plaid coat. ‘How have you been?’

  I blinked. What could I say to that? I decided to be honest. ‘I’ve been...Pretty normal. Usual stuff. How about you?’

  ‘Pretty much the same,’ he said. He looked at his feet, then back to me. ‘I saw your dad this morning. I didn’t think you were ever coming back to town.’

  A lump rose in my throat. He remembered everything; of course he did. ‘Yeah well, we weren’t, but dad needs the work again. We weren’t ever coming back again.’

  David’s smile faded and the tired look seemed to take over all of his face. I knew what he was thinking. You have no business being here.

  ‘Look, a lot of time’s passed. There’s no need for us to be weird with each other, is there?’ I decided to plunge right in with the obvious. A strong, independent woman.

  He frowned and kicked a piece of crab shell into the choppy waters off the edge of the harbour. ‘Do you ever think about him?’

  ‘All the time,’ I confessed. ‘All the time. I never stop thinking about Peter.’

  ‘I meant his dad,’ said David, squinting against the wind. Up ahead, a man was smacking a fish against the concrete by its tail, snuffing out its life. I felt the impact in my gut.

  ‘His dad?’

  David nodded. ‘He’s still in prison.’

  What could I say? I searched his eyes, immediately suspicious. Perhaps the old David I’d known hadn’t changed at all. ‘What are you trying to say, that I have something to be ashamed of?’

  David frowned. ‘No.’

  ‘Are you sure? Because it sounds like you think I have something to be guilty about. If he’s still in prison it’s because he deserves to be there.’

  ‘I know!’ he held up his hands in protest. ‘I just meant...Oh, Ellen I’m sorry. It came out all wrong. I just mean to say that...Well, it’s a lot to come back to.’

  I pressed my lips together, suppressing my frustration. Perhaps I had jumped the gun. If I wasn’t careful, I’d say something I would regret. ‘Fine,’ I said, faking a smile. ‘You’re right. Sorry. I didn’t mean to get nasty.’

  David pocketed his hands. ‘You look cold.’

  ‘I am cold.’ I changed hands with my stick and shifted my weight. The weather was going to get to my knee soon enough, and then I’d be sorry. I knew I couldn’t stand out here too long. I was still weak, and felt as though I could be swept into the sea like a stray shred of paper.

  ‘Look, I’m not working tomorrow. You remember my dad’s boat?’ he pointed to the boat he’d just emerged from, where five or six men were unpacking.

  I nodded. ‘Course. I always knew you’d go into fishing.’

  He smiled. ‘Well I only help out, you know, when he needs it and that. We should go out tomorrow and catch up. I drive now too.’

  ‘Wow,’ I said. ‘You do?’

  ‘Yep. I’ve got my own little banger to get around in. I’ll take you to see Pete, if you like. I mean, only if you—’

  ‘Yes,’ I said quickly, my heart fluttering at the notion. It’d be like a reunion, the three of us together again. It was perfect. ‘That’d be fantastic.’

  ‘Cool,’ he said. ‘About lunchtime?’

  I nodded, grinning so hard it felt unnatural. I could hardly believe I was even out here, standing with David, talking about Peter as if he was still alive. My smile faded. ‘It really has been such a long time, hasn’t it?’

  David nodded softly. ‘Yeah, it has.’ He looked at my stick. ‘Your leg still bothering you?’

  ‘It’ll always bother me,’ I said, shrugging. The slight shower quickened, and we both looked up at the dark clouds above.

  ‘It’s going to rain hard any minute now. Are you still up there in that old cottage?’

  ‘Yep,’ I said, waving my stick. ‘Up that hill.’

  ‘I’ll drive you,’ he said, pulling a set of keys out of his pocket. ‘Save you the trip.’

  I knew it. I knew David would help me home.

  I tucked my hair behind my ears and let him guide me towards his car, parked just beneath the cliff. He even helped me inside, laying my stick down on the backseat. As he slammed my door and made his way to the driver’s seat, I took the opportunity to fluff my damp hair up and wipe the mascara from beneath my eyes. When he got in I flashed my best smile.

  ‘Thanks for this,’ I said. I noticed a fluffy pink charm hanging from his car keys. ‘What’s that, a monkey?’

  He laughed as we pulled out and turned to go around the harbour. I only had a few seconds in the car and I wanted to make the most of it. I breathed deep, taking in his scent: sea salt.

  ‘Yeah,’ he said, laughing. ‘It was a present. Hey, I’m sorry if my clothes smell. Fishing comes with obvious downsides. I must smell like a—’

  ‘Not a bit,’ I insisted, though it was a lie. I figured I’d ignore the smell of the day’s catch clinging to his woolly coat.

  ‘Right,’ he said, rolling his eyes, but he smiled all the same. I could see a little dimple in his cheek when he did it. Had he always had dimples like that?

  He changed gears as we went up the hill, engine roaring, until he came to a halt outside the cottage.

  ‘This is really considerate of you,’ I said. I wondered what dad would say if he knew I was sitting in David Peirce’s car. I could imagine his head going so red it burst. Then again, what would Peter think of me being here?

  A wave of something horrible came over me. I couldn’t stand the thought of it anymore; of what Peter might think about us being here together when he didn’t have the option. He would always be dead while I limped on through life, broken.

  ‘You’re welcome,’ said David, cranking the hand break. ‘So I’ll come at lunch
tomorrow to take you to see Peter?’

  Tears prickled my eyes. ‘That’s so kind.’

  ‘No it isn’t,’ he protested. ‘It’s the least I could do. I knew you’d want to go and see his grave again.’

  The horrible feeling subsided. I let out a long breath. I felt like I should repay David somehow, just for being so nice to me. In truth I hadn’t been sure what kind of reaction to expect if I ever met old faces again. There weren’t many that I could trust.

  I knew one thing I could do for him. 72% of women say that you should act on impulse a few times in your life.

  I looked at him under my eyelashes and smiled, making an effort to put emotion in my eyes, however the hell you did that. I looked until I could see I’d caught his attention.

  ‘Do you want to come in and see my room?’ I said, my voice carrying over the thudding sound of the rain on the windscreen. With all the noise of the rain outside, his breaths seemed closer, more intimate.

  David seemed to freeze, a strange look in his eyes. His hands squeezed the steering wheel.

  I understood him. This kind of...What do they call it, ‘come on’, sometimes had that affect on men, or so I’d read in a magazine. I was probably intimidating him.

  ‘I don’t think so, Ellen.’ He said, his voice hoarse.

  I couldn’t help but giggle. He was obviously shy; a far–cry from years ago, but that was okay. I would have plenty of time and privacy seeing as there was nobody else at the cottage, and I knew he’d get brave eventually. I’d read that some men needed coaxing. A strong independent woman.

  I decided to give him one more chance.

  ‘Are you sure? You don’t want to come up and see my room?’ I smiled again.

  ‘No,’ he said firmly.

  What could I do? I had to respect that he was nervous. I had to give him time. He’d come around. Though of course by then, I might have met somebody else. I was free now, after all; free from dad’s shadow. During the day, at least. Night time was a different story.

  ‘That’s fine,’ I said, smiling wider. ‘It’s totally fine. You’ve probably got a lot to be getting on with.’

  That terrified look remained in his eyes, but he let out a long breath. The windows were beginning to mist up. ‘I’d better get out or people might get ideas,’ I said, gesturing at the steamed up glass.

  David’s neck went pink. He cleared his throat. ‘Ellen, you should probably know I’ve got a girlfriend.’

  I blinked. What was he telling me that for? What did she have to do with what had just been about to happen between us? ‘Oh,’ I said. ‘That’s nice.’

  ‘Yeah,’ he said. He smiled with his mouth, but his eyes remained flat. I’d obviously shaken him up — perhaps he was afraid of making her jealous. I realised suddenly that this made me the other woman.

  I tapped my nose. ‘Not a problem,’ I said. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow at twelve?’

  He paused, then nodded his head. ‘Yeah, if you want. I could take you to see her if you like. Her name’s Lauren. She works at one of the little shops down the lanes. You’d like her.’

  That’s sweet, I thought. He was making an effort to form a link between us, probably paying homage to her. I’d read once that men tended to do these things when they were dissatisfied with their partners, purely out of guilt, as if the other woman and the girlfriend could be friends. ‘That’s nice,’ I said.

  He seemed to take that as a yes. ‘Great, we’ll go and see her after the cemetery,’ he said, smiling briefly. ‘Well, mind how you go.’

  I waved as he drove off, but he kept his eyes on the road ahead of him. That was typical of the David I remembered — he never could look me in the eyes.

  Melanie arrived at one o’clock on the dot, so reluctantly I let her in. She was a tall thin woman with springy hair like Peter’s, except hers had been dyed a deep, plum red. I was back in my chair again, the cold having seized my knee up, so I took the lead and wheeled to the living room where we’d be having the first of our weekly chats.

  ‘You can sit where you like,’ I said, waving at the sofa. ‘Obviously I won’t need to take a seat.’ I smiled up at her while she bumbled past, planting herself on the end seat closest to me.

  ‘Yes,’ she said, chuckling. Her eyes were hard and blue, and she had a wide mouth coated in pink lipstick. She looked about fifty–something. She wore a deep brown suit and held a book and pen under her arm.

  ‘OK,’ she began, letting out a long breath. ‘I’ve got your notes from your sessions with your counsellor back in Enfield, and we’ve had a good chat on the phone.’ Her face creased up in a big grin. I didn’t smile back.

  ‘What did she say about me?’

  She opened her book and popped the top off her pen, before settling back in her seat, pretending to be relaxed. They all did it. She was trying to give me the illusion that this was a safe environment, but I knew better. I needed to keep my guard up.

  ‘Nothing to be worried about,’ she said, the pitch in her voice rising. I stared back at her, waiting for the truth to come. I knew it never would. ‘We just went over some of your old discussions, that’s all.’

  ‘You’re going to make me tell you all about what happened with Peter’s dad, aren’t you?’

  She shook her head softly. ‘Not if you don’t want to, though we’ll get to that eventually. We can talk about something else if you like.’

  ‘You mean I can talk about what happened that same night on the boat with Peter instead.’

  Her eyelids blinked furiously. She smiled again, tapping the head of her pen on the book of paper. ‘If you like. Whatever suits you,’ she said.

  She was the nervous type, I could tell. She was probably new to the industry. Back to school, new career path, that sort of thing. I’d read that it was common in people of her age. She was probably unsatisfied in her relationship the way David was in his, too. I could always spot the signs. There was no way she was one of those strong, independent women.

  ‘Do you and your partner have regular sex?’ I asked, making her flinch.

  ‘Ellen,’ she began. ‘Let’s not start off on the wrong—’

  I clasped my hands in my lap. ‘You can tell me,’ I said, interrupting her. Her blue eyes were wide and staring like a painted doll. ‘You can tell me everything. This is a safe environment.’

  That night I lay in bed and stared at the harbour through the big bay window and thought of seeing David tomorrow, wondering what might happen. There was a light flickering some way off on the horizon, maybe a lighthouse, but I couldn’t tell from where I lay. I could see it beyond the cliffs, blinking on, off, on, off.

  Something else was moving out there. I squinted, searching for the movement. On the cliff top I could see the silhouette of someone against the moon, walking alone, heading for the edge of the cliff.

  I sat up and stared, unblinking, frightened of taking my eyes off the walking shadow. I couldn’t make out much, but what I could see sent my skin prickling. The figure had a big head of springy hair fanning out around its head, and the skinny limbs of a young man.

  I watched the figure walk right to the edge, and just as his foot lifted to take a fatal step, I whispered in a shrill voice, ‘Peter!’

  The shadow blinkered, like an image from a projector, then flickered out all together. Peter was gone.

  My hands quivered as I clutched the bed sheets, craning my neck, desperate to see the boy again. Only the moon looked back at me.

  There came a rapping on my door, interrupting everything. I laid back and kept very still. I let out a long breath. I knew I couldn’t hold off forever or he’d be upset. I turned on my side, facing the window, and said nothing.

  The door creaked open, a long rectangle of light flooding in, then disappearing as it closed. I heard his breath, felt the bed compress as he leaned with his knee, and finally, felt his hand groping for me under the covers.

  I stiffened, and turned onto my back when his hand guided my shoulder. I kept my f
ace to the window while it happened. I focused on willing that shadow boy back again with my mind.

  He still hadn’t appeared by the time I was being tugged back and forth. I kept my mind shut off from what was happening to me, expertly, from years of practice. I watched the blinking light on the horizon instead, until I could no longer hear the creaking of the bed in the comfort of my mind.

  I closed my eyes and thought of Peter and me floating on the deep black ocean, miles and miles and miles out to sea, far away from everything.

  Chapter Four

  Peter Denton had the most beautiful green eyes I had ever seen, and I believed that until the day he died.

  It was my twelfth birthday, and dad had invited the few people we knew back to the cottage to celebrate. David was there with his mum, who knew dad in passing at the shops. Then there was Peter’s dad Dennis, my dad’s friend from work at the campsite — or “the black Liverpudlian guy” as people called him, seeing as there was only one of him in Mevagissey. And then there was Peter himself, who helped out at the camp in the holidays.

  I’d opened my presents from dad in the morning before my party, and the contents of the pink tissue paper had set me off to a bad start. He’d bought me nightwear. One gift was a pair of fluffy black slippers with embroidered love hearts. Another was a big fluffy dressing gown with embroidered hearts to match. But the last piece had given me a cold sweat.

  It was a black chiffon nightdress.

  It had cap–sleeves and a piece of lace on the bust and a long lace hem, but there was no hiding the fact that it was a little black nightdress.

  I held it up by the sleeves like a stinking rag, and then let it drop back inside the tissue. Someone else had worn a nightdress like this before, and I remembered it clearly.

  ‘Don’t you remember your mum having one just like it? It’s the same range too. They still do them at Marks’. I know it’s a bit old for you and it doesn’t match the dressing gown and slippers, but still. My little girl is growing up,’ said dad, not quite meeting my eyes.

  I scrunched it up tight inside the tissue; seeing it on my lap was unbearable. Rage bubbled inside me. How could he? What did he think this was, a sick joke? What was I to him?