True Colours (The You Don't Know Me Trilogy Book 2) Page 18

  I step out over the lawn, into his arms.

  ‘It’s been piddling down all morning.’ Releasing me, he squints up at the sky. At just the right moment, a crack in the clouds lets through a thin shaft of sunlight. ‘But you’ve brought the weather with you.’

  As quickly as it arrived, the sun disappears.

  ‘How did you get here?’ Mum demands.

  ‘I drove.’

  She stares at me as if I’m mad.

  ‘And I can’t stay long,’ I add.

  ‘Oh, why not?’

  ‘I’ve got to go somewhere.’

  ‘But you’ve got time for a cup of tea?’

  ‘No, Mum. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Next time you come, you can stay longer … and you can bring Daniel with you. We’d love to see him again, wouldn’t we, Roger?’

  ‘Oh yes.’

  ‘I mean, we don’t mind about all that stuff. He’s a lovely lad.’

  ‘I’m not sure.’

  ‘What do you mean you’re not sure?’ Her eyes widen.

  ‘I don’t know if he wants to come back.’

  She stares at me again, and suddenly I’m wondering how much she actually knows.

  ‘I’ve been thinking about that family,’ she muses. ‘You never saw much of them. I mean the girls used to come out and play in the street, but not Daniel.’ She glances at me, her eyes awkward. ‘His mum kept herself to herself. And I never liked his dad.’

  ‘Step-dad,’ I correct her.

  She barely seems to register my words. ‘He was always down the pub, wasn’t he, Roger?’

  Dad nods. ‘One of those nasty types. He’d fight you over a bag of crisps. No one liked him. Remember that time he got beaten up?’

  ‘Oooh yes.’ Mum shakes her head. ‘And then he dropped dead not long after.’

  ‘Dead?’ The word flies out of my mouth and I stare at my mum, amazed by her little afterthought. ‘When did he die?’

  ‘A long time ago. You were about eleven or twelve. Died in his sleep.’ She points a finger at her head. ‘A brain whatsit.’

  ‘Haemorrhage,’ Dad mutters.

  I blink and blink again, dislodging a vague recollection of it all. I remember a death on the road, and that’s about it. I suppose I was too caught up in my own little world to pay much attention to what went on around me.

  ‘You were at school when they took him away,’ Mum goes on. ‘And then they moved out, her and the two girls. They didn’t go far though. Other side of town.’

  I don’t want to hear any more.

  ‘Why don’t you two come down to London?’ I suggest quickly. ‘We’ll put you up in a nice hotel.’

  ‘A nice hotel!’ She claps her hands together. ‘Hear that, Roger? We haven’t been to London since we went to see Cats. When was that?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know.’ Dad rolls his eyes. ‘It was my first and last musical, Maya. Singing cats. I can’t bloody well stand cats, and she drags me to see that. We get enough of the bloody things in the garden.’

  Mum fires off a quick scowl in Dad’s direction.

  ‘So, why are you here?’ she demands.

  ‘I’m meeting an old friend.’ God, I wish I’d come up with a decent back story. ‘And I don’t want Dan to know about it,’ I add quickly.

  Mum’s gawping at me now, as if I’m totally deluded. I never really had any friends until art college, and she knows that.

  ‘Oh God, Maya, it’s not a man, is it?’ she gasps. ‘You’re not turning into a trollop?’

  ‘Of course it’s not a man. I’m …’ I trail off into silence, desperately fumbling through my brain for something half-way decent. Out of nowhere, an idea shuffles into view and seeing as it’s all I’ve got, I’ll just have to go with it. ‘She’s an artist. I’m fixing up a surprise for Dan’s birthday and I don’t want him to know. It’s a portrait … of me. And I need you to do me a favour. If he ever asks, tell him I’ve been here all afternoon.’

  And now, my mother looks positively affronted.

  ‘You’ve just got to trust me on this one,’ I insist. ‘I’ve got my first sitting in ten minutes.’

  She folds her arms and pouts. Okay, so maybe I should make a quick concession.

  ‘I’ll come back for a cup of tea afterwards. How about that?’

  At last, her face breaks into a smile.

  ‘Don’t you forget,’ she warns me.

  ‘Of course not.’

  With another kiss, I make a hasty exit.

  Just in case Mr Foster can track my movements in the Jag, I decide to leave the car where it is and walk. After all, Dan’s sister didn’t move far away from the original family home. In fact, she’s only three streets away and less than five minutes later, I’m standing on her road, feeling like I’m about to throw up. I have no idea what I’m playing at, meddling in things that are none of my business, but I’m incapable of stopping. Drawn on by a need to fill in those missing pieces of the puzzle, I know I’m going to see it through. For a few brief seconds, sunlight appears again, scudding its way across the road and guiding me towards my target: a modern house, much like the one I grew up in, complete with a neat front lawn and a tarmac drive. I’m in a daze, conscious that my legs are moving again and before I know it, I’m right in front of the door, watching helplessly as my hand reaches up to press the bell.

  ‘Shit!’ my brain cries out. ‘You’ve done it now!’

  As the seconds draw themselves out, I swallow hard, realising that my mouth has dried up. I glance along the road, seriously considering making a run for it, but it’s already too late. Before I can act, the door swings open, revealing a flustered-looking woman.

  ‘Hello?’ Drying her hands on a tea towel, she tilts her head to one side. ‘Can I help you?’

  ‘I …’

  Struggling to find the right words, I take her in. Maybe in her mid-thirties and about my height, she’s dressed in a pair of jeans and a strappy T-shirt. And then I notice her eyes: bright blue, just like Dan’s. But that’s where the similarity ends. Her hair is darker than his, a deep brown. And her features aren’t quite the same. She has thinner lips, a slightly more oval shape to the face. There are traces of the man I love, but differences too.

  ‘Can I help you?’ she repeats.

  ‘I’m … I’m sorry.’ I falter.

  ‘For what?’

  ‘For just turning up like this … out of the blue.’

  ‘Are you selling something?’

  ‘No.’ I manage to conjure up a smile. ‘No, no. I’m …’ I swallow again before I land her with the news. ‘I’m Dan’s girlfriend.’

  Her forehead dips. Her lips part. Somewhere behind her, I catch a movement. A voice calls out.

  ‘Mummy! Cameron did a wee in my bucket!’

  ‘I’ll be there in a minute. Go and play.’ She waves a hand. ‘Dan’s girlfriend?’ she asks. And then, as if she needs absolute confirmation: ‘My brother’s girlfriend?’

  ‘Yes.’

  I watch the shadows flit through her eyes: first shock, then disbelief. Understanding that I need to explain myself a little, I reach inside my handbag, my fingers shaking, and grapple for the pieces of card.

  ‘I found these.’ I thrust a handful at her. She looks down at them. ‘I found these in the bin … your birthday card. It had your address on it and I wanted to meet you and …’ Oh God, I’m gabbling now. She really must think I’m a lunatic, but I’ve started so I might as well finish. ‘I thought I could get him to meet you.’

  Her mouth opens further. She leans out of the door, taking a quick look up and down the road, a flicker of excitement in her eyes, a touch of nerves. And suddenly I realise what she’s doing: she’s searching for him.

  ‘He’s not here,’ I explain. ‘He doesn’t know.’

  My admission plants a frown back on her face.

  ‘You’ve done this in secret?’

  ‘Yes.’ Shoving the pieces of card into the handbag, I realise that I need to introduce myself p
roperly. ‘I’m Maya. Maya Scotton.’

  She raises a hand as if she’s about to point at me, and then seems to think better of it.

  ‘Maya Scotton? Sara’s sister?’

  I nod. Her face tightens. And I think I’ve just met another of my sister’s victims.

  ‘But you lived over the road from us.’

  ‘I did.’

  ‘And now you’re seeing Dan?’

  Jesus, this must be weird for her. She’s shaking her head now, ever so slightly, and it’s clear that she’s struggling to take it all in.

  ‘It’s kind of … kind of complicated …’ I stammer. ‘How we got together.’

  ‘And he knows you’re from here? He knows you’re from Limmingham?’

  ‘Yes.’

  She stares at me, wide-eyed with confusion. I’m pretty sure I’m about to be told to sling my hook when she steps back, waving the tea towel in the direction of the back of the house. ‘You’d better come in.’

  Stepping over the threshold, I’m ushered through a gloomy hallway into a kitchen-diner where a set of French windows give out onto a modest garden. Outside, the sun has come out again and two young boys are whirling about on the lawn, circling a paddling pool and shrieking with delight.

  ‘Take a seat.’

  She motions to a table. It’s littered with pencils, colouring books and mangled Plasticine figures. I sit down just as the boys skitter into the kitchen and come to a halt in front of me.

  ‘Who’s that?’ Clutching an Action Man in one hand, the smaller boy gazes up in awe.

  ‘A friend,’ Layla explains, eyeing me suspiciously. ‘And this is Cameron.’ She places a palm on the back of his head. ‘He’s my youngest. How old are you, Cameron?’

  ‘Three!’ he squeals.

  ‘Hi, Cameron.’ I smile.

  ‘Did you wee in Ben’s bucket?’ Layla asks with mock sternness.

  ‘Yes!’ He runs back out into the garden.

  ‘And this is Ben.’ The taller boy comes forwards, watching me cautiously. ‘He’s five.’

  ‘Hi, Ben.’ I smile again.

  ‘We’ve got a paddling pool,’ he announces proudly.

  ‘Go and play in it,’ Layla encourages him.

  I watch as Ben runs back out into the garden to join his brother. Picking up the offending seaside bucket, he slings it across the lawn before jumping into the paddling pool and disappearing from view.

  ‘We had it out last week when it was hot.’ Layla throws the tea towel onto the counter. ‘I can’t get them out of it. I filled it again this morning and it’s already clogged up with grass. Who’d have kids, eh?’

  I grin like an idiot, recalling my little day dream in Dan’s garden. Shaking it quickly out of my mind, I drag myself back to the task in hand.

  ‘Cup of tea?’

  ‘Please.’

  I don’t want a cup of tea at all, but I know the deal: we’re about to have a difficult conversation, something that’s always easier to bear with a touch of caffeine. In silence, she flicks on the kettle, makes two mugs of tea and brings them over to the table.

  ‘So …’ She pauses, settling herself onto a chair. ‘Dan’s girlfriend, eh?’

  I nod.

  ‘And you’re Layla.’

  ‘That’s me.’ She raises her mug as if making a toast, and takes a sip of tea. ‘He definitely doesn’t know you’re here?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Good.’ Placing her mug on the table, she runs a finger round the rim, watching its slow progress while she speaks. ‘I don’t think he’d be too pleased about it. You know he doesn’t want anything to do with me?’

  I nod again.

  ‘So, what made you come?’

  Oh God, how do I explain that? Trying desperately to put the chain of events into order, I run through it all in my head, every last detail that’s brought me to this point. And then I simply give up, open my mouth and let anything spill out.

  ‘Because I love him, and I want to spend the rest of my life with him … because I need to understand him and trust him.’ The words begin to catch in my throat. I must sound ridiculous. ‘I just can’t work out why he’s so determined to cut you out of his life. He says it’s complicated, but it doesn’t make any sense to me. And I don’t think he’s happy about it, not really. I want him to work it out. I want him to get back in touch with you.’

  She seems to wince. ‘I’m not sure that’s possible.’

  ‘But why not? Why won’t he see you?’

  ‘I don’t know for sure.’

  Her eyes shift from my face to the garden. She watches her boys, clearly thinking things through. I have no idea how long we spend in silence before she finally speaks again.

  ‘I’d love to see him again, Maya. I’d love nothing more. After all, he’s my brother … and their uncle.’

  I take a sip of tea, listening to the sound of splashing and squealing.

  ‘Do they know about him?’

  ‘I tell them he works abroad. He’s a very busy man, but they might meet him one day.’ She picks up a lump of Plasticine and rolls it between her thumb and forefinger. ‘Has he told you anything about when we were kids?’

  ‘Not a lot. Just the basics. It’s pretty difficult to get much out of him.’

  ‘That’s not surprising.’ She takes in a deep breath. ‘He had a hard time. I don’t blame him for wanting to forget.’

  While she drifts away into memory, staring at the Plasticine and squeezing it over and over again, I begin to wonder exactly how I’m going to keep her in this conversation.

  ‘He told me you saved his life,’ I venture.

  The fingers come to a halt. Convinced I’m about to be told to mind my own business, I’m on the verge of apologising when she looks up, smiles and leans forwards.

  ‘I wasn’t that old,’ she explains, her voice lowered. ‘Eight, I think. He was sleeping in the outhouse.’ She checks the garden, making sure the boys are still otherwise engaged. ‘You know about that?’

  I nod.

  She nods back.

  ‘It was freezing cold out there.’ Dropping the lump of Plasticine, she begins to move an index finger about on the table top, as if tracing the outline of the rooms. ‘There was a door from the kitchen. Dad locked it at night, but I knew where he left the key. Every now and then, usually when he was pissed, I’d sneak a bit of food out to Dan.’

  She pauses, waiting for my reaction.

  ‘I know they didn’t feed him. He told me.’

  Her eyes widen slightly and she smiles again. Evidently satisfied that I’ve been allowed a handful of confidences, she presses on with the story.

  ‘He used to pretend to be asleep, so I just left the food next to him. A bit of bread. A biscuit. Anything I could find. He never said thank you but I didn’t care. He didn’t need to.’ She checks the garden again. ‘But that one time, I just knew there was something wrong. He was on top of the covers and there was this weird smell … like metal.’ She pauses. ‘I tried to wake him up … and then I saw what he’d done ...’ Her voice wavers. She’s deep in the past now, her eyes unfocussed.

  ‘You don’t have to tell me.’ I lay a hand on her arm.

  She shakes her head.

  ‘I want to.’

  ‘But I’m a stranger.’

  ‘For now.’ She watches me for a moment or two, her bottom lip trembling. ‘I’ve never talked about this before, not even with my husband.’

  Watching me some more, she waits for a sign that she can unburden herself. With a slight nod, I give it to her.

  ‘I called the ambulance. I had to get it done before Dad woke up. God knows what he would have done if he knew … And then I got a cloth and tried to make it stop, but it wouldn’t stop. I thought he was going to die.’ She stares at something on the table top. ‘They took him away. That was the last time I saw him, for years. He never came back and we never got to visit.’

  She checks the boys again, the ghost of a smile playing across her face
. It doesn’t reach her eyes.

  ‘So what happened to you?’

  Pulling her arm out of my touch, she leans back. ‘Me?’

  ‘Your dad? Was he the same with you?’

  ‘Nothing quite so bad. With Dan out of the picture, I was his next target. He was always more careful, but it didn’t stop him.’ She levels her gaze at me. ‘I felt the back of his hand.’

  ‘And Sophie?’

  She laughs quietly.

  ‘Sophie was the apple of his eye. The special one. He never touched her. To this day, she won’t accept what he was really like. I didn’t even go to his funeral. She didn’t talk to me for years.’

  ‘But you’re talking now?’

  ‘A little. But we don’t talk about … that.’ She chews at her lip. ‘Sophie’s not well. She wanted to get back in touch. We’ve kind of turned a blind eye to all the crap.’

  She frowns, and I decide not to ask any more. After all, I’ve done the same with my own sister.

  ‘I heard he’d died.’

  ‘In his sleep. Too quick. Too easy.’ She’s deadly serious now. ‘He should have suffered more.’

  Trailing into silence, she flicks a pencil across the table.

  ‘Does Dan know that he’s dead?’ I ask.

  ‘Yes. And he knows about Mum.’

  My forehead furrows. ‘His mother died?’

  ‘Liver cirrhosis. Last summer. After Dad went, she drank more than ever. Maybe it was grief. Maybe it was guilt. Anyway, she drank herself to death.’

  My mouth opens but nothing comes out. My brain’s far too busy stumbling through the facts and tripping over connections. Last summer. When he was miserable. When a visit from someone sent him over the edge. When he walked away from his old life forever.

  ‘It was you,’ I gasp. ‘You went to see him.’

  Her eyes meet mine.

  ‘I did. When I knew Mum was on the way out, I traced him. Somebody contacted him for me, just to see if he was interested, and he said yes.’

  ‘He agreed to it?’

  She nods. ‘I shouldn’t have left it so long really. We organised to meet at his office.’

  ‘So, what went wrong?’

  ‘I have no idea. He was on edge right from the start. It felt like … like he changed his mind as soon as he saw me. I told him that Dad had died, but he already seemed to know about that. And then I told him about Mum, and he just flipped, completely lost it, told me to get out.’