Traces of Her

Chapter 4

AVA

1998

It had become a habit, following Gail and her friends to the arcade. Watching them flirt with boys – laugh – have fun. Although Ava only ever stayed long enough for the thump of the music to get under her skin, for the games machines – clunking and whizzing and flashing coloured lights – to heighten her senses.

Despite Maxen’s advice, she was still hiding – too self-conscious, her self-esteem low, getting her thrills from watching Gail enjoy life. Wishing she was like her.

It was September, and the holiday season had dialled down a notch ready for winter – the arcade seemed empty compared to previous months, and there weren’t so many places to hide. Gail had left school after her final exams in May, but, so far, she’d made no attempt to get a job. ‘She worked so hard on her exams,’ Mum had said. ‘She needs some time out.’

Ava had left school too, with no qualifications. ‘You need to get a job, Ava,’ Mum had said. ‘Pay your way.’

Today she watched from behind a slot machine, ‘Candle in the Wind’ playing loud through the speakers as she sipped cola from a plastic cup. Suddenly Gail looked in her direction and she stepped backwards, bashing into someone. She spun round to see a handsome lad of around eighteen, with cold blue eyes and tousled dark hair.

‘Christ!’ he said, brushing cola from his black leather jacket. He had a confident air about him, his jaw set tight. ‘Watch where you’re fucking going next time! Idiot!’

‘Sorry,’ she said, as he pushed past her, almost knocking her over as he headed towards her sister.

‘Hey, beautiful,’ he said as he flung an arm around Gail’s shoulders, and she planted a kiss on his cheek.

‘His name’s Rory Thompson.’ It was Maxen, appearing beside her. She’d seen him about, but he hadn’t spoken to her since that day in the café two years ago. ‘He’s going out with your sister,’ he said. ‘Did you know?’

Ava shook her head. Gail hadn’t mentioned him, but then she never told her anything anymore.

Maxen’s eyes were fixed on the couple, who were now kissing as though they were in a blockbuster movie. ‘He gets his looks from his Italian mother,’ he said. ‘He’s rich too, just inherited three international IT companies and several properties from his father who kicked it a couple of months back.’

She stared up at Maxen – at the splattering of acne across his pale cheeks, the way he was huddled into his khaki jacket, various badges pinned to the pockets.

‘And now he’s going out with your sister,’ he said.

She clenched her fists. Why did everything good happen to Gail?

‘Why are you telling me all this?’ she said. But she didn’t wait for an answer – she turned and rushed from the arcade and out into the dull grey day.

She hurried along Cliff Road, eventually turning a corner towards the sea, and shuffled a packet of cigarettes from her denim jacket pocket.

The cliff edge was deserted, apart from a teenager with his back to her looking out to sea, his hands in black trouser pockets. She dropped down on a bench and stared at him as she lit a cigarette. He turned as though sensing her there. She vaguely recognised him from school – although he hadn’t been in any of her classes. He looked somehow wrong in a creased white shirt that had clearly been taken straight from the packet, and a black tie.

‘Hey,’ he said, raking his fingers through white-blonde hair. ‘Couldn’t spare one of those, could you?’

She threw him the packet, and he took one and threw it back. ‘Got a light?’ he said, approaching. She handed him her lighter as he sat down beside her. He smelt of cheap aftershave.

He dragged on the cigarette and blew smoke circles upwards. ‘My mum died,’ he said after some moments. ‘I’ve just been to her funeral. Carried the coffin. Life’s shit, don’t you think?’

‘I’m so sorry,’ was all she could think to say.

‘Me too.’ He sniffed, looking up and into her eyes. ‘You look a bit like one of those china dolls,’ he said. ‘My mum used to have one. It freaked the life out of me when I was little.’

‘Oh …’ She touched her face.

He laughed. ‘You’re all right. I didn’t mean you’re freaky or nothing. Just pale and fragile, and your hair’s all curly and that.’ He smiled. ‘Do I know you?’

She shrugged. ‘I think we went to the same school.’

‘Yeah, that’s it. And you live in Bostagel, don’t you?’

She nodded. ‘Ocean View Cottage.’

‘Yeah, I thought I’d seen you about. I live in Cranberry Close.’ Another sniff.

‘How did your mum die? If you don’t mind me asking.’

‘Fucking cancer,’ he said. ‘She’d been ill for ages. We all knew it was terminal, but it was still a shock, you know.’

She met his blue, watery eyes. Her family was useless, but at least they were alive. ‘I’m so sorry.’

‘Cheers for that.’ He turned from her gaze. Kicked a stone. ‘Dad’s taken it bad. She was his rock – mine too.’

‘I’m so sorry,’ she said again. She felt an urge to lean over and hug him, but beat it down.

They sat for a while, looking out. The sea and sky were the same shade of grey. It was impossible to tell where one ended and the other began. Boats bobbed on the waves and a feeling of peace washed over Ava, and her stomach twisted as she looked at the lad, and quickly looked away again. She liked him.

Nearby seagulls wailed, breaking the quiet.

‘What’s your name?’ he said, and she turned back to see his eyes were fixed on her.

‘Ava.’

‘Nice – suits you. I’m Justin.’ He rose. ‘Well, Ava, I’d better get back to the wake. Dad’s been necking the spirits, so I need to keep an eye on him. I reckon he’s full of grief and guilt and shit.’ He threw the cigarette to the ground and pummelled it with his trainer. ‘Maybe I’ll see you in the village sometime.’

‘I hope so,’ she said, as he walked away, hands deep in his pockets, shoulders hunched, not looking back.

Chapter 5

AVA

1999

Ava stared at the ceiling, eyes wide. She hadn’t slept for two nights. Not since she bought the pregnancy test on Thursday. Not since it told her she was having Justin’s baby.

It had been a weak moment – that night they went back to Cranberry Close when Justin’s dad was out. She hadn’t meant for things to go so far.

‘She’s seeing Justin Havers, Mum.’ It was Gail’s voice – her tone high-pitched, carrying up the stairs. Ava sat up. She’d kept her relationship with Justin from her mum for almost four months, knowing she would disapprove of him. Think he wasn’t good enough. How the hell had Gail found out?

‘Ian Havers’ son?’ Jeannette cried.

‘Aha. That’s the one. Talk about scraping the barrel.’

‘Oh my God, no.’ Jeannette’s voice was high and tense. ‘She can’t go out with him. For goodness’ sake, that girl will be the death of me. Whatever is she thinking?’

Ava dived from her bed, and raced down the stairs in her pyjamas to where Jeannette and Gail sat in the lounge drinking coffee. They looked up.

‘I love him,’ Ava blurted from the doorway.

‘You have no idea what love is, Ava. You’re only seventeen,’ her mother cried, slamming down her mug. ‘And Ian Havers’ son of all people – sometimes I think you go out of your way to upset me.’ She sniffed, pulled a tissue from her sleeve, and dabbed her nose.

Ava stepped into the room and sat down on the chair, glaring at her mum and sister. She took a deep breath and blurted, ‘I’m pregnant.’

Jeannette gasped and covered her mouth with her hands.

‘Jesus, Ava,’ Gail said. ‘Just when I thought you couldn’t stoop any lower.’

‘You failed all your exams, you smoke, you drink …’ Jeannette released the slide clipping her fair hair back, as though it might relieve her tension. ‘And now you’re pregnant,’ she continued. ‘You’ll have an abortion. There’s no doubt about that. I’ll book you in privately. And don’t for goodness’ sake tell anyone.’

‘No!’ Ava yelled.

‘No?’

‘I’m keeping the baby. I know when I tell Justin he’ll be pleased, and we can move in together.’

‘Ava, for Christ’s sake stop being so naïve,’ Gail said. ‘He’s seventeen. And not only that, he’s a total loser. I saw him with one of the Bristow brothers the other day, and they’re a bad lot – into drugs and joyriding and—’

‘You’re lying,’ Ava cried.

‘No, Ava, I’m not lying. And a baby will ruin your life. Think of your future, you must have an abortion.’ She sounded almost kind. ‘Rory could get you a little job in admin where I work.’ She leaned forward and placed her hand on Ava’s. ‘Let me talk to him.’

‘No!’ Ava snatched her hand away. ‘I’m going to be a mum, and I’ll live with Justin. He’s not into drugs. He’s going to be a singer, and we’ll be rich one day.’

‘A singer?’ Jeannette laughed, a hard, fake laugh.

‘He’s got a great voice, Mum.’ He had. He’d even written a song for her.

Jeannette rubbed her face and with a deep sigh said, ‘You need to see a doctor, Ava. He could have given you something awful.’

‘Like a baby,’ Gail muttered.

Ava shook her head. ‘I’m his first, Mum.’

‘Oh for God’s sake, wake up, Ava,’ Gail snapped. ‘Please.’

Ava rose. ‘I’m keeping this baby,’ she said, holding her stomach, a feeling of nausea swirling. ‘Whether you like it or not.’ And with that, she turned and left the room, leaving Gail to comfort their mother who burst into tears.

Chapter 6

ROSE

Now

My phone rings as we pull onto the drive outside Darlington House. It’s Aaron.

‘Go ring the bell, sweetheart,’ I say to Becky, and she clambers from the passenger seat and hurtles towards the front door. I answer the call.

‘Just landed,’ Aaron says, as though he is a passenger on a flight, rather than the pilot. I admit it’s what hooked me in when I met him a year ago. Although I’m not sure if, at the time, I equated a pilot’s uniform with being alone so often. But when he is home he’s the best partner there is, so I mustn’t complain.

‘That’s great,’ I say. ‘I thought we might have a takeaway tonight. I’ve picked up wine.’

‘Sounds good. I should be home in a couple of hours.’

I will only see him for two days before he takes off again. I don’t like it, but I guess I’m getting used to it. I love him and the times we spend together mean everything. And there’s always the bonus that absence is a great aphrodisiac.

‘I’m at my dad’s at the moment,’ I say into the phone. ‘But I need to tell you something when I see you.’

‘What?’ He sounds alarmed. ‘You can’t leave me hanging. Nothing’s wrong, is it? Is Becky OK?’

‘She’s fine. Nothing’s wrong. It’s just that … well, Willow called.’

‘Willow? Is she OK?’ He’s met Willow several times, and they seem to get on well, although he does find her a bit flaky, and frankly I’m not surprised.

‘Yes. Yes, I think so. I’ll tell you everything when you get home.’

‘Did she say why she hasn’t been in contact?’

‘Of course.’ I don’t want to get into a conversation about it right now. ‘She’s staying in Cornwall, apparently. I’m going down there when school breaks up.’

‘What’s she doing in Cornwall?’

‘It’s a long story, Aaron.’ I bite down on my bottom lip. ‘Listen, can we talk at home? I’m at my dad’s,’ I repeat.

‘OK, yes, I’ll see you soon,’ he says.

He rings off, and I drop my phone into my bag.

As I climb from the car and stride towards Darlington House, I notice Eleanor’s jeep isn’t on the drive. Dad will be alone. The house is too big for two people, but Eleanor refuses to sell up and move somewhere smaller – she says her memories are here. She told me once she still hears Willow’s childhood laughter echoing around the walls.

Becky has left the front door ajar, and I step inside out of the bright day, and into the dimly lit hallway that feels cold, whatever the weather.

‘Hi,’ I call out, placing my bag on the antique cabinet by the door.

‘In here, Mum,’ Becky calls back, and I make my way into the lounge, where three sofas – that have been there since we moved in and are now a little worn – hug an open fireplace that hasn’t been lit since last winter. Sun pours in through the huge bay window, and I blink, my eyes adjusting to the sudden light. Becky and Dad sit in the middle of one of the sofas, her head on his shoulder.

He peers at me over his glasses, ‘Rose, darling. It’s lovely to see you. How’s the headship going?’ He’s so proud – part of the reason I accepted it. ‘I was telling the boys at the Fox and Hound how well you’re doing.’

‘Fine,’ I say, looking about me. It isn’t strictly true –I’m not sure I’m cut out to manage a school. ‘Where’s Eleanor?’

‘Shopping with the girls,’ he says, with a small laugh. ‘They call themselves “the girls” and yet they’re almost sixty.’

I want to say I know. That he tells me that every time I visit. I bend and kiss his silver-grey hair, his familiar aftershave tickling my nostrils, making me smile. ‘Shall I make some tea?’

‘Not for me, dear,’ he says, and Becky shakes her head, giving me a look as if to say tell him, tell him Willow called.

‘It’s such good news,’ Dad says once I’ve told him. His irises look far too blue, as though he might cry, showing however many times Willow takes off, it still worries him. He loves Willow as though she is his own daughter.

Becky takes her grandpa’s hand in hers and squeezes. ‘We’re going to see her at the weekend. We’ll bring her back. Promise.’ She fumbles in her pocket for a tissue and dabs his cheeks. ‘Everything is going to be just fine, Grandpa. You’ll see.’

*

Aaron’s Mercedes is on the drive when we get home, and a fizz of excitement runs through me.

‘Call me when the Chinese is here,’ Becky says once we’re inside and she’s unlacing her Doc Martens and tugging them free. She jumps to her feet and bobs her head around the lounge door. ‘Hey, Aaron,’ she calls, raising her hand in a wave.

‘Hey, Becky,’ he says, waving back.

‘I’ll have beef and broccoli with boiled rice.’ She’s done her research online for the healthiest Chinese takeaway options, and always has the same thing.

She drops her boots and heads up the stairs. I bend to pick them up and stand them neatly on the shoe shelf.

I enter the lounge. Aaron is watching The One Show. He looks up, points the remote control at the TV, and presses pause.

‘Hey, beautiful,’ he says, rising and heading towards me, taking me into his arms. He’s showered – smells of Jimmy Choo. He’s worn it ever since I bought him a bottle at Christmas.

‘It’s so good to see you,’ I say, nuzzling into his shoulder, breathing him in. I suppose the only consolation of this difficult way of life is we never seem to get bored with each other. My heart still races when I see him, and he says his does too. I’m guessing if we’d seen each other every second of the last year, things might be different – more static, normal. But I guess I’ll never know. He suggested once that he could change careers, said he hated that we were apart so often, but I knew how much he loved his job – still does. It wouldn’t have been fair to ask him to throw it in for me.

‘It’s so good to see you too,’ he says, placing a kiss on my forehead, and releasing me. He sits back down, patting the seat next to him.

I grab my laptop, and as I lean back, opening it up, his arm falls loosely around my shoulders, and I feel safe. ‘I’d better order the Chinese,’ I say with a smile.

‘Pork in black bean sauce for me, please’ he says, pointing the remote control at the TV again and unfreezing Matt Baker, his smile dimpling his cheek as he glances at the menu with me.

An email notification appears in the corner of my laptop screen. I click on it. It’s from Willow, telling me her address in Cornwall – and a brief message:

I can’t wait to see you, Rose. I need you so much, Willow. X

Chapter 7

AVA

2001

Ava screwed up her face and wiggled so the bridesmaid dress rustled. It was floor-length, yellow satin, like her daughter’s – although Willow looked like child-sized sunshine, and Ava most definitely did not.

But in seven weeks Gail was getting married to Rory, and Ava would be their bridesmaid.

‘I look stupid, Mum,’ Ava said, strutting around the lounge, bashing her leg on the coffee table, as her mum looked on. ‘This headdress would look better on our front door this Christmas.’

‘You look fine, Ava. Now stop with your whinging,’ Jeannette said, pinning her with a stare.

Ava pulled the fake floral headdress over her eyes. ‘Ah, I can’t see.’ She held out her arms like a zombie and took pigeon steps across the room. ‘I reckon Gail pinched this thing off a gravestone.’

‘Enough. Stop that stupid talk.’ Her mum reached up and straightened her daughter’s headdress. ‘Your sister wants you and Willow to look beautiful. Why would she go out of her way to make you look stupid on her wedding day?’ She took short, sharp strides away from Ava, retreating into the kitchen.

‘Because she hates me, that’s why.’ Ava had no doubt of that. ‘She’s only having me as her bridesmaid because you told her she had to, and Rory wants Willow as their flower girl.’

Her mother reappeared in the lounge, and folding her arms across her slim body, said, ‘She doesn’t hate you, Ava. She despairs of you, as we all do. There’s a difference. And this is Gail’s big day, not yours. So can you please stop thinking about yourself for once, and be happy for her?’

The words stung. Ava rarely thought about herself.

Ava followed her mum as she headed back into the small, impeccable kitchen. ‘I’m pleased for Gail, really I am,’ she said. It wasn’t true. She wasn’t pleased for her sister. The only plus she could see was that Gail had finally moved out of the cottage. It had taken a while for the move to happen, as Rory had had problems getting rid of his lodger, but now her sister had moved into Rory’s Edwardian detached in Newquay.

Gail and Ava had always shared the bigger room – neither wanting to sleep in their brother Peter’s old room when he left for Australia when he was eighteen. They both claimed it smelt funny. When Willow was born, the young women had fought over the limited space. Gail had never had any patience with Willow – said she wasn’t cut out to be an auntie and didn’t want kids herself. But now Gail had gone, and it was bliss for Willow and Ava to have the room to themselves.

‘Do you like Rory, Mum?’ Ava asked, taking two mugs from the cupboard. She wasn’t sure what she felt about her soon to be brother-in-law. He had the looks, the charm, but she’d seen him grip Gail’s arm a little too tightly on occasions, and the aggressive way he’d treated her in the arcade two years back when she’d bumped into him, still stayed in her mind. ‘You’re sure Gail’s making the right decision marrying him?

‘For Christ’s sake, stop, Ava.’ Her mum raised her hand. ‘Rory is handsome, intelligent, witty, well-off—’

‘Too good to be true?’

‘He’ll make your sister happy.’ She turned and shoved the kettle under the streaming tap. ‘Sometimes I think you’re jealous of Gail.’

‘Maybe I am,’ Ava whispered, out of her mother’s earshot. Gail was marrying a rich, handsome man, while Ava struggled to hold on to Willow’s father. Some days she felt as though she might lose her mind stuck in this isolated part of Cornwall, with no means of escape.

But she had her beautiful daughter. Willow made things right.

And while she didn’t have many friends, she drew comfort from being close to the sea. From her bedroom window she would watch the tides rise and fall, and could be on the beach within moments; smell the salty air, feel sand between her toes. It kept her sane. Gave her hope. Hope that one day everything would be different. One day she would give her daughter a perfect life – the life she’d never had.

She looked down at the yellow dress once more. ‘Right,’ she said, putting the mug back in the cupboard, deciding she didn’t want a hot drink. ‘I’m getting out of this.’

She climbed the stairs, unzipping the dress as she went, and once in her room, she pushed it from her shoulders, letting it drop in a heap around her ankles. She stepped from it, and grabbed her robe, and pulled it on over her bra and pants, and flopped onto her bed wishing she was a million miles from away.

‘I’m heading out, Ava,’ her mum called up the stairs later. ‘Do you need anything from the shop?’